by Kate Hewitt
So did he, yet having her say it made him angry, although he couldn’t have said why. “I don’t have any choice—”
“I know.” She took a step towards him, one hand held out in appeal. “Why are you acting as if you’re angry with me? I haven’t seen you in three days—”
“I’m not angry with you. I’m just angry about everything.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
Something flickered in Emily’s eyes. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”
He didn’t deny it. “What with all this…” He paused, still not wanting to say it. Not wanting to feel it. He’d been trying to save Emily, and he was hurting her instead.
“With all this?” Emily repeated. Her voice came out strong, but still with a quaver. “What is that supposed to mean, Owen? With all this, what?”
“I’m not… I can’t…” He swallowed. He was such a coward. He couldn’t even say it, but then he saw that he wouldn’t need to.
Realisation flashed darkly in Emily’s eyes and her lips trembled before she pressed them together. “Are you trying to break up with me?”
“I…”
“That is, if there was anything to break up? I know we haven’t really been dating—”
“We have.” He wasn’t going to tarnish or diminish what they’d had, even now. “You’ve…been important to me, Emily.”
“Past tense.” The words were bitter. Owen didn’t reply. “I don’t understand you. Three days ago we were walking around London like we were—like we were in love, and now all of a sudden it’s all off? How did that happen?” The words burst out of her, radiating with hurt.
“I still care for you,” Owen allowed. “I just can’t focus on a relationship when my whole life has fallen apart.”
“But isn’t that precisely when you should focus on a good thing in your life?” Emily demanded. “When everything else has gone wrong?”
Yes, if things were that simple. If he felt like he had anything to offer Emily, but now he didn’t. He was back to being the roughed-up kid from the wrong side of the tracks, with nothing in his bank account and no job prospects whatsoever. He’d probably end up on benefits, drinking his life away just like he would have done if he’d stayed in the valleys. Maybe there were some things you just couldn’t escape.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really not in a place to have a relationship now. I have nothing to offer you.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”
“No.” The word was flat, uncompromising.
Emily flinched, and tried to hide it, and it hurt Owen more than if she’d just taken it on the chin, or gone all prickly, the way she used to. She’d changed, and he’d been part of that. He’d helped her, and now he was hurting her. The way he always did.
“So that’s it,” she said quietly. “That’s just it.”
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly, accepting, her face pale, a dazed yet determined look in her eyes. “Is there anything I can do to help around here?”
After what he’d just done, she wanted to help him? Her kindness and generosity just made Owen feel worse, and more certain that he’d done the right thing. He didn’t deserve her. He never had. “No, I don’t think so. But thanks.”
She gave him a disbelieving look, and Owen imagined what she wanted to say but wasn’t. Thanks for nothing, you arse.
“Emily…” he began, but then trailed off to nothing because there was nothing to say.
“I guess this is goodbye,” she said.
“I’ll see you around the village,” he offered, although perhaps that made it all worse.
She gave him another eloquently silent look and then, without saying anything more, she turned and walked out of the pub. As the door closed behind her, Owen swore out loud.
*
She was not going to cry. At least, she was not going to cry until she was back in her cottage, and no one could see her start to sob. Emily walked quickly away from the pub; the warm spring sunshine spilling from the sky felt like an insult, after all the rain. Now you shine. Too little, too late.
She drew in a steadying breath to keep the tears at bay as she walked back to Willoughby Close. It was Friday afternoon, and she’d left work early, so unlike her, but she’d needed to see Owen. Three days of silence and she’d really begun to worry. She’d had reason, it seemed.
I’m not in a place to have a relationship. What did that even mean? She’d seen the grim resolve in Owen’s eyes, and known better than to argue. Not that she would have. She felt far too uncertain and inexperienced to fight for something she barely trusted or understood herself. They’d had a handful of dates, after all, even if it had felt like so much more than that.
From the first moment she’d met him, her relationship with Owen had been intense and overwhelming. And now it was over. He couldn’t have made it clearer just then that he’d wanted her out of his pub, out of his life.
Why? Why did this have to make a difference? Her life was messy and complicated too, but she’d still wanted Owen in it. Why was he pushing her away? Maybe she was the problem, Emily reflected despairingly as she let herself into her cottage. Cass trotted up to her faithfully, and with a sigh she scooped her up, kicked off her heels, and headed upstairs to the rocking chair in her bedroom, with its view of the wood and the river.
Maybe she was too complicated for Owen. He couldn’t handle her problems along with his own. She could hardly blame him for that; she knew she was difficult, and touchy, and fragile. She had a mother in a psychiatric hospital who was coming out in sixteen days, and going to have to live with her. She didn’t even know how to do relationships, never mind fight for them. She was at a complete loss.
So maybe Owen was right, and it was better this way, at least for him. She was too much work. Too much effort. And even though it didn’t feel right now, it might eventually. She could go back to the way she’d been, because she’d been happy like that.
No, you weren’t. The blunt voice in her head could not be ignored. You might have tricked yourself into thinking you were, but you weren’t. And you can’t go back, at least not easily.
But she could try, because at least the way she’d been had been a whole lot safer. Closing her eyes, Emily buried her nose in Cass’s fur and let the tears come.
*
An hour later a persistent knock at the door had her rising from the rocking chair, her heart leaden and her limbs aching. She didn’t know how long she’d been staring into space, reliving the best moments she’d had with Owen, even though every one felt like sticking a needle into her eye. Gone. All gone.
She opened the front door warily, knowing she looked a fright and not really caring. Ava stood there, looking so sympathetic and sorrowful that Emily struggled not to burst into tears. She already looked a mess, anyway, so she supposed it didn’t matter all that much.
“Oh, Emily.”
Ava stepped into the cottage and put her arms around Emily for a quick, hard hug, which felt exactly like what Emily needed. It was a hug to bolster rather than one to fall into, and Emily gave a big sniff as she turned to put the kettle on.
“How did you know?”
“Because I just rang Owen to ask if I could help and he gave me a typical man’s pity party, invitation for one.” She shook her head in exasperated disgust. “He is being so very stupid.”
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Emily said in a woebegone voice. She couldn’t help it; the words slipped out of her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ava said firmly. “It’s just Owen, being a typical man, thinking he has to save the world.”
“Or just me,” Emily said softly. She’d been thinking a lot about that over the last miserable hour, how Owen had swept in on his charger and changed her life. He’d been so kind, so understanding, so very patient, but maybe at the end of the day she really was too much work.
“Most men have some sort of complex,” Ava said after a moment, her lips pursed and her han
ds on her hips. “They can’t help it, bless them. Owen’s is of the save-the-world variety, it seems, so you might be right there.”
The kettle clicked off and Emily dolefully plunked teabags into two mugs. “What with his pub and his livelihood up in smoke, it’s no wonder he doesn’t want to bother with me, as well.”
“Well that’s even stupider than what he said,” Ava returned robustly.
Emily splashed milk in the mugs and then handed Ava hers. “What did he say?”
“That’s for him to say to you, not me,” Ava said after a moment. “I’m not going to gossip.” Which piqued both Emily’s curiosity and her anxiety.
“I don’t think he’ll say anything to me ever again,” Emily said, knowing she was being melodramatic and unable to help it. “At least not anything important.”
“The thing you need to realise,” Ava said as she sipped her tea, “is that you don’t need saving.”
Emily stared at her uncertainly. “What…what do you mean, exactly?”
“I’ve been where you are,” Ava said matter-of-factly. “As I’ve told you before. Different situations, of course, and we reacted differently, as well. But I’ve felt…damaged. Different from everyone else.”
“Yes…”
“And then Jace came along and saw me for who I really was, who I could be. And that felt like the most wonderful thing in the world. But he didn’t save me.” Ava paused. “He simply thought I was worth saving.”
A tear threatened to drip down Emily’s cheek and she blinked rapidly to keep it back. “Evidently Owen doesn’t think I’m worth saving.”
“He does,” Ava replied with sudden ferocity. “I know he does. It’s just that he’s too stupid and proud to see it.” She shook her head, giving a long, frustrated sigh. “Give him some time and space. I’m sure he’ll come round. You know Jace was the same? Too proud, especially when everything was taken from him.”
“Everything was taken from him? When was that?”
Ava hesitated, and then shrugged. “I don’t think he’d mind me telling you. A long time ago, Jace got in a fight in a pub and punched a bloke. Unfortunately the bloke died, and Jace was sent to prison for seven years.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “I had no idea…”
“Well, he doesn’t go around shouting about it,” Ava said dryly. “For obvious reasons. And part of the story is that the bloke in question was Henry’s younger brother.”
“What…”
“Which is why he got such a stiff sentence. But that’s Henry’s story to tell, not mine.”
“Actually, Owen said something about all this,” Emily said slowly. “About Henry and Jace. He didn’t say what, but he referenced it.”
“Jace got the job here at Willoughby Manor because Lady Stokeley thought Henry had been unfair. And Jace and Owen became friends because they’d had somewhat similar experiences, although Owen never went to prison.” Ava smiled wryly. “But don’t you see, Emily? Everyone’s got stories. Sorrows. Regrets and things that make them feel less than, like nobody would want them. You’re not the only one.”
“Yes, I do realise that,” Emily said. She’d been learning it since she’d moved to Willoughby Close.
“But do you really realise it?” Ava persisted, her tone both gentle and challenging. “Do you really believe it, deep down inside, that you are worth not just saving, but fighting for?”
“It’s whether Owen believes it…”
“I know he believes it about you. Whether he believes it about himself is another matter.”
“About himself! But…” Emily shook her head. “He has everything together.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Have you not been listening to a single thing I’ve said?”
Emily let out a little laugh. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I have a lot to think about.” She just hoped Owen did, too.
Chapter Eighteen
“You’re looking well, Mum.” For once Emily managed not to inject her voice with that manic note of cheerfulness. She sounded normal, and more amazingly, she felt normal.
It had been a week since Owen’s devastating decision to end their fledgling relationship, and Emily had worked hard on coming to terms with a lot of things. Fortunately she had amazing friends to help her along, something that felt like a miracle. She had Ava’s brisk but loving talking-tos, and Alice’s sympathy and amazing muffins, and Olivia’s kindly chats. Emily had apologised for getting cross with her a few weeks ago, and Olivia had apologised again for interfering.
“Actually, I need people to interfere,” Emily had said frankly. “I’m hopeless on my own.”
“Aren’t we all,” Olivia had returned with a laugh and a smile.
She had Cass, who was growing bigger by the day, and a job she was really starting to love, and even Henry’s brisk cheerfulness to keep her on track.
Yesterday she’d mustered her courage to ask Henry about his relationship with Jace.
“You’ve heard about that, have you?” he’d said with a sigh. “I’m not surprised. Wychwood-on-Lea really is a small place.”
“I think I already know what happened,” Emily had told him. “And I know it was a long time ago. But how do you feel about it now?”
Henry was silent for a long moment, staring at the ceiling as he reflection on her question and how to answer it. “The truth?” he finally said, and his voice held a timbre of sadness she’d never heard from him before. “I feel regret. At the time, I was so angry, and so sure I was right. And most people who knew me would have thought I could never, ever change from that position.” He dropped his gaze to look at her directly, the expression on his face both bleak and wry. “But I did, with Alice’s help. With a lot of people’s help. And I realised that everyone can change—myself included. Which was quite a big thing to grasp, for someone like me.”
Everyone can change. It meant that she could, and was, and she didn’t even need Owen to do it. And it meant Owen could change, as well, which she hoped he would, at least in relation to his feelings or lack of them for her. But just as Ava had said you couldn’t save anyone, Emily realised you couldn’t change them, either. And so she’d spent the last week working and waiting, hoping and healing, and here she was, visiting her mum, six days before she was due to come back with her to Willoughby Close.
“I am feeling a bit better,” Naomi allowed with the smallest of smiles. She still looked worn and somehow faded, as if something essential had been leached out of her, but there was a faint spark to her eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago.
Emily put the bunch of pink tulips she’d brought in a vase by the window. It was the end of April and spring had finally sprung, complete with blue skies, lemony sunshine, and warm breezes. Too late for The Drowned Sailor, but Emily was trying to enjoy it anyway…even if every time she walked past the now-dilapidated pub filled her with sadness and longing. So much had changed, in such a short amount of time.
“I’ve been getting your room ready,” Emily said as she turned back to her mum with genuine cheer. “I had quite a few of your things—that crochet blanket you made a few years ago? And some of your books on pottery.”
“I did like pottery,” Naomi mused.
That, along with a lot of other things, had been one of her mother’s phases. “There’s a few of the vases you made as well,” Emily said. “I’ve put them in the window. You have a lovely view of the meadow, and the Lea River beyond. I know it’s not London, but I’ve come to enjoy living in the country.”
“I think country living suits you,” Naomi said unexpectedly, and Emily looked at her in surprise. Her mother so rarely took any sort of interest in her life.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes, you seem more relaxed, despite all this.” Naomi gestured around the room, encompassing everything that had happened to both of them. “You were always so anxious, Emily. I suppose that’s at least partly, if not all, my fault.” Naomi sighed, and Emily sensed her retreating, as if that engaged
part of herself were sinking back into the swamp of her lethargy.
“I have been anxious,” she said quickly. “It’s true. And controlling. But I’m learning not to be, and that is definitely a good thing.” With a self-conscious smile she willed her fists to unclench.
“Well, that’s something good, then,” Naomi said after a moment. “But I don’t know if country living will suit me. When your father took me out to Reading, I felt like part of my soul started to wither. He never understood.” She turned to look out the window, a sad smile curving her lips.
“I didn’t know that.” Her mother never spoke about her failed marriage, how she’d walked out of the family home one evening and hadn’t returned for three days. Or so Emily’s father had said; Emily couldn’t remember it herself. Perhaps she’d blocked it out. She perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for more, but Naomi stayed silent. “What happened, Mum?” she asked after a long, still moment. “Between you and Dad?”
“It’s not his fault.” Naomi’s voice was distant. “The truth is, I never should have married him. I wanted someone to steady me, but it wasn’t fair to ask another person to do that for me.”
“Steady you…?”
“Yes.” Naomi turned back to Emily. “You can’t know how it feels, to know you’re out of control and unable to help it. To crave a feeling you know could destroy you. To feel like your life is never your own.”
“I didn’t realise…” It had never occurred to Emily that her mother might fight against her condition. Sometimes it seemed as if she wasn’t even aware of it. And yet here she was, lucid and honest and full of weary despair. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I. I know I’ve put you through a lot.”
“It wasn’t your fault, and it made me stronger.” Emily knew she couldn’t be angry with her mother for the way she was, the way her own life had been. It wouldn’t be fair or right. And in this moment, she was thankful, in a strange and unexpected way, for everything that had brought her to this moment, this place, this understanding. “We’re going to get you home soon, Mum,” she said, reaching for Naomi’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’s going to be good. Really good.”