by Kate Hewitt
“I…” He rose for the bed, yanking a T-shirt over his head. “I need some air.”
Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”
“Out.” He couldn’t think in this tiny room that felt airless, claustrophobic with memories and words that could not be unspoken. He’d never not know these things now.
“Fine.” Esther curled up on the bed, her eyes dark and wide as Will jammed his feet into his dress shoes, the only pair he’d brought, stupidly. He grabbed his coat and wrenched the door open, needing only to get away. Esther didn’t say anything as he went; she didn’t even look in his direction as he left, the door slamming shut behind him.
*
Esther lay back on the bed, her knees tucked up to her chest, everything in her aching although her eyes were thankfully dry and her head felt clear. At least now he knew. Perhaps she hadn’t needed to say it so starkly, but it was the truth, and that was something she’d kept from Will too long. Telling him had felt a bit like lancing a wound, relieving that dreadful pressure, but once the immediate relief eased up, which it already had, she was left with the blaze of pain of an open injury that still needed to heal. Maybe it never would.
Even though she was glad Will knew, that she didn’t have to hide it anymore, she hated the thought of him looking at her differently. Maybe he’d hate her. Was that why he’d had to leave? Because he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her, the abnormal woman who hadn’t wanted her husband’s baby, who had been relieved by what should have been a tragedy? She hated herself; it made sense for Will to hate her too. She almost wanted him to hate her, and maybe that was why she’d said what she had, his baby, making it as personal and cruel as possible, because having Will hate her felt right, the punishment she deserved. How crazy and messed up was she?
Eventually she fell into an uneasy doze, only to wake in the middle of the night; someone was shouting in the street below, but she couldn’t make out the words. Esther fumbled for her phone and saw that it was nearly four in the morning, and Will hadn’t come back.
Her stomach felt hollowed out and she knew she wouldn’t get back to sleep. She dressed and made herself a cup of awful instant coffee with the little kettle perched on the top of the bureau, and then sat on the edge of the bed drinking it until a greyish morning light filtered through the curtains.
Her mind was blank and she didn’t know how many minutes or hours had passed until she heard the key turning in the lock and then Will was there, looking exhausted and unshaven.
“Where did you sleep?” Esther asked, and he shrugged.
“In the car.”
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say than that. She had no idea how to bridge this chasm that had opened between them, a chasm absolutely of her own making. They packed up in silence and were headed back to Thornthwaite before it had gone six.
“Esther.” Ruth Holley’s expression was almost comical as Esther came into the kitchen of the vicarage two and a half hours later, feeling completely grotty. Will hadn’t said a word as he’d pulled into the farmyard. Not one word as he’d got out and then gone right to the lambing shed. Esther had watched him go, wondering what on earth she wanted him to say. What could she even expect him to say? Then she’d climbed into her car and driven to the vicarage, because where else was she going to go?
Ruth gazed at her in open concern as she dumped her bag on the kitchen table, among the breakfast dishes. Her mother was dressed for church because it was, of course, Sunday, and she whisked away several dirty plates so Esther could sit down at a clean space. “I didn’t expect you back so early… is everything all right?”
“There wasn’t any real reason to stay.”
“Have you eaten…”
“I’m not hungry, but I could murder a cup of tea.”
“Of course.” Her mother had already switched on the kettle as a matter of habit. She frowned at Esther as she got out a mug and teabag. Esther dropped her head into her hands, because she felt so very tired, and even worse, defeated. Like nothing mattered anymore, because maybe it didn’t.
“Esther…”
“Not now, Mum.” Esther forced herself to lift her head and meet her mother’s worried gaze. “I can’t talk about it now.”
“I know you can’t,” Ruth answered, her tone managing to hold both asperity and gentleness. “I wasn’t going to ask you anything. But maybe you should do something else. Get out of yourself for a bit.” She paused. “You could come to church.”
Esther tried not to cringe. Coming along to the morning service would delight both her parents, but she couldn’t summon the energy, never mind the desire.
“Sorry, but I’m just too shattered.” The kettle bubbled and then switched off, seeming to plunge the room into silence. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”
Ruth nodded. “All right, darling,” she said, clearly trying not to sound disappointed. “I’m sure you could do with a good kip.” She made Esther a mug of tea and Esther sat and sipped it, feeling wretched, while her mother moved around her, cleaning up.
“Leave it,” she said after a few minutes, half because she felt guilty simply sitting there, and half because she wanted to be alone. “I’ll tidy up while you’re at church.”
“All right…”
“Is anyone coming for Sunday lunch?” Someone usually was.
“Not this Sunday.”
“I’ll make us all something, then,” Esther said, although she couldn’t imagine finding the energy or the will.
“Get some sleep first,” her mother advised. She still looked terribly worried.
After Ruth had gone, Esther dragged herself upstairs for a shower before she fell into bed, curling into a ball, knees tucked to her chest. In the distance she heard the peal of church bells and the sound of her father’s modest flock coming into church. It was a cheerful sound, the soundtrack of her childhood, but right now it just made her sad. Everything did. When she closed her eyes, she saw the look of shock and then something far too close to revulsion on Will’s face.
I don’t want to have your child. Why had she said it like that, as if she was disgusted by him? Had she been trying to hurt him, or had she simply wanted him to see the ugliness inside her that she’d been trying to hide for so long?
It didn’t really matter though. The outcome was the same. Will wouldn’t contest the separation, or even the divorce. Not now that he knew the truth.
She woke eventually, blinking muzzily in the gloom of her little bedroom under the eaves; she could hear the patter of rain against the roof and it was a strangely comforting sound. A glance at the clock made her realize she’d missed lunch, never mind making something for her parents. Esther yanked on a fleece as well as ran a brush through her unruly hair, and then headed downstairs.
The vicarage was quiet, so different from the chaotic bustle of her childhood, or the times when she usually came here, which was for family dinners and holiday celebrations. Esther saw that her father’s study door was closed, which meant he wasn’t to be disturbed, and so she made her way back to the kitchen, only to find it empty, a note on the table from her mother saying she’d left a plate in the oven for her.
Esther took out the pasta bake that had dried out, developing a hardened crust, but she ate it anyway, more out of guilt than anything else. Then she went to find her mother, only to find room after room empty and silent. The house felt eerily emptily, despite the fact she knew her father had to be closeted in his study, no doubt preparing for his evening sermon.
The family TV room upstairs was empty as well, as was her parents’ bedroom. Unsure even now why she was looking so persistently; her mother might be out, after all, Esther peeked in the empty bedrooms upstairs only to come to a shocked stand still when she found her mother in her brother Jamie’s old room, sitting on the edge of the bed, a distant look on her face as she gazed out the window at the stark and leafless cherry tree in the vicarage’s Victorian walled garden.
“Mum…” Esther
half-wished she hadn’t said anything; her mother looked as if she were having a private moment. Yet she had, and Ruth turned to her, startled out of her moment of contemplation.
“Hello, darling. Are you feeling better?”
“What are you doing in here?”
Ruth shrugged, smoothing one palm over the duvet. “I like to come in here sometimes.”
Esther took a step into the room. She hadn’t been in here since before Jamie had died, she realized with a jolt. Had she been avoiding the room subconsciously?
“Why do you come in here?” she asked quietly.
Ruth’s lowered gaze remained on the duvet. “I know it doesn’t really make a difference, but I feel closer to Jamie in here. I feel as if there are more memories here than by some cold headstone in the churchyard.”
“Do you miss him?” Esther asked, realizing at once it was a completely idiotic question. It might have been twenty years, but Esther knew you never stopped missing someone you loved. Never.
“Every day.” Ruth’s mouth curved in a small, sad smile. “Every single day.”
“Oh, Mum.” Esther sank onto the bed next to her mother and, somewhat awkwardly, put her arm around Ruth’s shoulders. She’d never been much of one for physical affection, whether with family or regarding romance; sex or smiles, that was pretty much it in her repertoire. But now, feeling so jagged and broken inside, and suspecting her mother, her calm, capable, always smiling mum, might feel a little bit of the same way, compelled her to offer what little she could. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Ruth squeezed her arm, briefly leaning her head against her shoulder. “So am I, darling. But one thing I’ve learned in this world is that grief and suffering are always going to happen. You might be able to avoid them for a while, but they’ll still come for you eventually. It’s how you respond to it that matters.”
Uh-oh. Esther straightened, giving her mum an uncertain smile. Here came the lecture. “Is this where you tell me to keep my chin up and pull myself up by my emotional bootstraps?”
“Emotional bootstraps?” Ruth looked bemused. “Heavens, no. That sounds awful. No, Esther, this is where I tell you that I can see how unhappy you are, and how hurt, and I know that sometimes there is no way but through it, just as if you’re going on a bear hunt.” Esther laughed softly at the mention of the children’s story.
“We can’t go under it, we can’t go over it…” She quoted with a sigh. If only.
“But you don’t have to go through it alone,” Ruth continued quietly. “And you don’t have to drag your feet and hang your head the whole time. Let us help you, my darling. Let us in.”
“Oh, Mum.” There were the tears, always lurking, threatening to spill from her eyes, the sobs from her mouth. She swallowed hard. “I don’t think you really want you know.”
“Do you think,” Ruth asked seriously, “that anything you say could change the way your father or I feel about you? Anything at all?”
Esther swallowed the lump in her throat down, determined to remain dry-eyed. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and her mother’s face crumpled a little bit. “That’s a reflection of me, not you,” she hastened to add.
Ruth sighed and rose from the bed. “It’s a reflection of both of us. But I hope you’ll be able to share whatever it is that is tormenting you, Esther, because I promise you, your father and I love you very much, more than you could ever know, and we just want to help.”
“I know,” Esther whispered, feeling more wretched than ever. “Thank you.”
Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. “If ever you feel like talking, you know we’re here,” she said sadly, and left the room.
Chapter Seven
The vicarage was quiet as Esther set up work in the kitchen, the warmest room, the next morning, Charlie stretched out by her feet and the Aga emitting a comforting warmth. Her father was working in the study and Ruth had gone out grocery shopping. For a few minutes, as Esther sipped her second cup of tea, she let herself appreciate the peace and solitude.
She had no farm visits to make, just eight hours of emails and spreadsheets awaiting her, but mind-numbing work could be a good thing. After Ruth’s honest conversation with Esther in Jamie’s old bedroom, her feelings were in a ferment. She’d come surprisingly close to spilling everything to her mum, had thought about it for a few heart-stopping seconds, but some thread of self-preservation had held her back. Will already looked at her differently. She couldn’t stand it if her parents did, as well.
And yet something had to change. The frank talk with her mum had made Esther realize that. She couldn’t go on like this, miserable and hurting, life feeling like a swamp she had to struggle through. Something had to change, only she didn’t know what. With a sigh and a sip of tea, she clicked on her inbox, only to frown at the email from the head office. Those were usually ominous.
And this one was, in a way—the head office was offering another round of redundancy packages to anyone who was willing to quit. Usually Esther would just delete it without a thought, and yet now, thinking of Helen, she paused. They won’t offer redundancy packages forever. No, at some point they’d just lay people off with nothing, maybe not even the knees-up Helen had scoffingly referenced.
It seemed they were always needing to reduce numbers, something Esther had always found frustrating because while the work increased, the people doing it always diminished, making a job she’d once loved turn into something impossible to do.
But now, sipping her tea, thinking of Helen, she started to wonder. Dream a little, which was something she hadn’t done in ages, if ever. Think outside this depressingly small box. So what if she took one of those redundancy packages? She needed a change; what if this was it?
And Helen had been right when she’d said their jobs weren’t what they once had been, back when they’d both been fresh-faced and optimistic.
Now the environmental schemes had a thousand hoops to jump through, and farmers were more and more reluctant to sign up. The amount of red tape to do anything meant that eighty percent of Esther’s job wasn’t out on a farm or field, but sitting in front of her laptop, squinting at a spreadsheet.
So what if she quit? It felt both liberating and terrifying even to think of it. To wonder. She didn’t have Will or the farm to think about anymore, as much as that pained her. For once in her life she was a free agent. She could do what she liked.
Of course, if she quit Natural England, she had no idea what she’d do. What she was qualified for, or what she even wanted. She’d never done anything else, ever. And it seemed to take away something that had defined her, when she already felt as if she were spinning in a void.
“Esther?” Ruth called as the front door opened, letting in a gust of cold wind that made it all the way to the kitchen. Charlie lifted his head briefly, sniffed the air, and then dropped his muzzle back onto his paws with a sigh.
“Do you need help?” Esther closed her laptop and rose from the table, leaving the warmth of the kitchen for the icy draughtiness of the front hall.
Fifteen minutes later she’d helped Ruth load all the bags into the kitchen, and was now putting away packets and tins in the walk-in pantry, one of two that the vicarage had.
“How are things?” Ruth asked as she folded up the bags and stuffed them in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. “Cracking on with work?”
“Not really.” Esther leaned against the door to the pantry, her arms folded. “Actually, I received a message from the head office offering decent redundancy packages to those who want to quit.” She paused as Ruth looked at her, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I thought I might take one.” Just saying the words sent a thrill through her, although of excitement or terror she didn’t know. Probably both.
“Really?” Ruth frowned. “But I thought you liked your job.”
“I did, but it’s changed so much over the years and now I spend most of my time doing data entry and answering emails.” Esther shrugged. “Plus I could do wit
h a change.” Maybe she was mad even to think about it.
“So what would you do instead?”
“I have no idea.” Esther sat back down at the table with a sigh. It was a mad idea. Of course it was. “I don’t know why I thought of it, really.”
“Life feels unsettled,” Ruth said, placing one hand on Esther’s shoulder. “I understand the desire and even the need to make some kind of change. I just want you to be sure this is the right one.”
“Well, if you think getting back with Will is the right one, you’re wrong,” Esther said, knowing she sounded querulous and childish, but unable to keep herself from it. She knew what her mother was thinking. Wanting. “Not that he even wants to get back together with me anymore.”
Ruth’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“Just that.” A wretched lump was forming in her throat again. “He’s woken up to the truth, just as I have.”
“Esther…”
“I should work,” Esther said, and opened her laptop. She didn’t want to talk about Will. She couldn’t. Ruth left her in peace a few minutes later, but Esther didn’t feel peaceful. She felt unsettled and unhappy and restless, and after a couple of hours of ploughing through spreadsheets she got up and whistled for Charlie, who lifted his greying head and blinked at her in sleepy shock.
“Come on,” she said as she reached for his lead. “You still like your walkies, don’t you, old boy?”
Charlie lumbered to his feet and Esther pulled on her coat and a pair of Wellies from the porch. A few minutes later she was heading down the church lane, the day brisk and chilly, with weak, watery sunlight filtering through the clouds and illuminating the fells in all their frost-covered glory. Spring was on the horizon, but it felt like no more than a breath in the air on a frosty day like today.