by Kate Hewitt
Rachel had shrugged. “We manage.”
Esther glanced at her sister curiously, noting the deliberately bland expression.
“Shall we put them up in both pubs?” Rachel suggested, the wind tangling her dark hair around her face. “And what about on the noticeboard up by the new estate, and in front of the primary school?”
“Yes and yes,” Esther answered. She decided not to ask any more about Dan. She didn’t particularly like people prying into her business, and so she wouldn’t do it to anyone else.
Despite all the posters they’d put up, as well as the twenty signatures on the coffee morning sheet, Esther had serious doubts as to whether anyone would turn up. It was now ten to seven and the platter of cupcakes she’d bought from Morrisons was looking decidedly forlorn, as well as luridly coloured. She glanced down at the remarks she’d written down, bullet points that seemed laughable in an empty room. Welcome everyone and thank them for coming. Right.
Her mind, as it usually did during these moments, cast back to Will. She’d been trying to work up the courage to see him, talk to him, but it would already be four weeks since their separation on Wednesday—nearly an entire month. It had gone by horribly slowly, at least at first, although since she’d been able to focus on the garden idea the days had sped up faster. The nights were long, though, and really, what was she measuring? Was life simply something to be got through?
The protesting creak of the front door had Esther looking up in surprise. A woman about her own age with a head of curly blond hair and wind-reddened cheeks was coming in, unwinding a long, multi-coloured scarf from around her neck. It might be early April now, but it was still nippy at night, and would be all the way through the summer.
“Hi,” Esther blurted, feeling unaccountably nervous. She didn’t do nervous, at least she hadn’t used to, but now she felt as if everything gave her a wobbly. She tried to smile. “Are you here for the community garden meeting?” Just her luck if the woman thought she was walking into a Zumba class.
“Yes, I am. You’re leading it, aren’t you? Esther?”
“Yes…”
“I’m Sophie West.” She held out a hand which Esther shook.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I think I was the year below you in school,” Sophie answered with a little laugh. “But you probably don’t remember me.”
“Oh, well…” Esther wracked her memory but primary school felt like a lifetime ago.
“Never mind. You never know the children in the year below you, do you? You’re always looking up.”
“Yes, I suppose…” Small talk had never been her forte, and they were both made aware of it now. Still Esther tried, because what else could she do? It looked like it was going to be her and Sophie for the evening. “So you’ve lived in the village a long time?”
“I went away for a while. First to uni, then to London to make my fortune.” She grimaced good-naturedly. “It didn’t happen, but I met my husband and we moved back here when we had kids—I’ve got two—and he managed to land a job working for the council. What about you? You’re married, I think…?” She wrinkled her nose, waiting for Esther to trot out the potted version of her history.
“Um, yes. I am… married.” That came out in jerks that no doubt made Sophie wonder about the state of her marital bliss.
“Kids…?”
“Nope.” She’d meant to sound light but somehow she made even ‘nope’ sound terse and unfriendly. Esther looked down at her papers again and gave them a needless shuffle. “Will anyone else come, do you reckon? Have a cupcake.”
“Thanks, I will.” While Sophie helped herself to a cupcake iced in bright green, Esther willed another person to come through the door.
And then someone did—an old codger from coffee morning, and then another young woman who knew Sophie and soon they were nattering away about something at the school, and then a couple more from the coffee morning, and then an urbane-looking man in his fifties who was almost certainly a weekender, and soon the hall was filling up.
Esther felt both thrilled and terrified. The cupcakes were going and the hall was filled with exuberant chatter, and just as she was about to attempt to call the meeting to order, Will walked through the door.
The sight of him literally turned her breathless. She felt it catch in her chest and she froze to the spot, her gaze sweeping over him, remembering him even as she searched for changes. It had only been a week since she’d last seen him, but it felt like a lifetime.
He looked the same, and that was a relief. His hair was ruffled and messy, his face wind-reddened and weather-beaten, his eyes as bright a blue as ever—and they fastened on her as she gazed at him avidly and Esther felt something inside her clang. Hard.
The look went on for another taut few seconds, and she couldn’t tell a thing from the look on Will’s inscrutable face. He was poker-faced most of the time, but over seven years of marriage she’d learn to decipher the faintest twitch of an eyebrow or quirk of a lip. Now she couldn’t tell anything. It was if the map of their shared life had already faded, so the shared landmarks were no longer recognizable.
Will looked away, and people started taking their seats, the chatter dying down even though Esther hadn’t said anything. Almost as if on cue they all fell silent and turned to her, waiting for her to speak.
“Er…” Not the best start. She looked at the crowd of expectant faces, all, or at least most, of them friendly, and swallowed. Why was she so nervous? What had happened to her brisk take-charge attitude?
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Will and he gave her the faintest quirk of his mouth—so small perhaps he didn’t even realize—and yet it heartened her. It was as good as a smile, or even a big, cheesy grin. She took a breath and started talking.
Later, when people were milling around, gathering coats, chatting, and scoffing the last few cupcakes, Esther saw Will slip out before she could speak to him, and her heart, which had been buoyed by the meeting’s success, started to plummet. She didn’t even know what she wanted—Will to sweep her up in his arms? It would be so unlike him she almost wanted to laugh. And yet she still wished he hadn’t gone. Maybe she would have worked up the courage to talk to him, even ask him to talk properly, whatever that meant.
“So, when do you think we’ll be able to organize the work party?” Sophie, the woman who had entered first, looked at her with an expectant smile.
“Why not this weekend?” Esther suggested, resolutely turning her gaze from the door of the hall which had just banged shut. “The sooner we get going, the better, and I’m away in Manchester the weekend after. It is April, after all.” Although the amount of organization to get things sorted for this weekend was staggering. She’d have to rent a tiller, and organize coffee and sandwiches, and maybe a rota. All of it felt daunting, yet also invigorating.
Soon everyone was trickling away, and Esther turned off the lights and space heaters and locked the door to the hall, to return to the post office shop the next morning. Such was village life.
She was starting to walk back to the vicarage, the night dark and starless all around as clouds shifted across the moon, when a shadow peeled itself off the wall and fell in step beside her.
“Hello, Esther.”
“Will.” She came to a shocked halt, blinking in the dark to try to make out his face, and more importantly, his expression. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
“I know.” Somehow that hurt, although she knew it shouldn’t. Her mind felt emptied out, her tongue thick in her mouth. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. “Seems like a good idea, anyway,” Will said. “This garden thing.”
“It was my father’s idea.”
He nodded, and the conversation petered out. Why couldn’t she say something important and real? Because you never do. Frustrated with herself, Esther stared at him mutely. She really was no good at this.
“I’m glad you came,” she blurted, shifting where she stood as she fidgeted w
ith the strap of her bag. “I mean, it was good of you. Kind. Considering…” She trailed away, and still Will didn’t speak.
“Considering,” he repeated after what felt like an endless moment. “Considering what?”
He certainly wasn’t making this easy for her, but then, why should he? “Look, Will,” Esther said, her tone coming out too loud, too strident. “I’m no good at this. What I’m trying to say is…” She took a deep breath. What was she trying to say? “I was hoping we could maybe, you know, talk.”
Will stared. And stared. “Talk,” he finally repeated, once again his tone terribly neutral, giving nothing away. Giving nothing good away, anyway, and Esther would have appreciate being thrown a bone.
“Yes, talk.”
“About?”
Jeez. Esther took another deep breath. Soon she’d be hyperventilating. “Well, I mean, I just feel that we could maybe, you know, one day find something to…” She was officially babbling, and about nothing. This was so hard. She and Will didn’t do this kind of thing. How did they start? And when they did talk, if they did talk, what on earth would she say? “I don’t know,” she finished miserably.
Will let out a long, low rush of breath as he nodded slowly. “Well,” he said. “You know where I am.”
She nodded, still miserable. “Right.”
Will nodded again and started walking down the street. Well, that had gone swimmingly. Not. Yet, considering everything, considering them, she couldn’t have really expected anything else.
*
Will drove home with his hands clenched on the steering wheel and his jaw clenched tight. He was angry, and he didn’t even know why. Esther wanted to talk. That was something. But she’d looked miserable, and Will was getting tired of feeling like a whipped dog cringing for another kick. He was tiring of all this feeling, full stop. He wanted things back the way they were, except the trouble was, that clearly hadn’t worked. So what did? How could he and Esther move on, together? Especially when she was, as he’d learned yesterday when he’d stopped by the post office, going out for drinks with another man?
That had felt like a punch to the gut, leaving him winded. He’d given the man in the post office a flat stare and said nothing, but he’d felt like punching a wall. He was angry, and he didn’t do angry. Not anymore. Not since David. But Esther’s unhappiness had brought back the feelings that his brother’s rebellion had—the hopeless churning, the despair that he just couldn’t get it right, and so he ended up feeling frozen, acting numb, because he didn’t know what else to do.
He wanted to go back to the beginning, start over somehow, but after seven years how did he manage that?
The idea that had been dancing around the fringes of his mind, an idea he really didn’t like, was that maybe they just couldn’t. Maybe they didn’t work anymore, even after ten years together. Maybe they both had to move on. It was a horrible thought.
Will opened the door to the farmhouse, surprised that Toby didn’t come whining for his dinner. It was later than usual, and he’d forgotten to feed him before he’d left for the community garden meeting, so he’d expected his dog to be waiting eagerly by the door.
“Tobes?” he called, unthinkingly using the nickname Esther had given the dog when he was little more than a pup. Toby whined, and Will heard the familiar brush of his tail against the stone-flagged floor.
“Oh, Tobes,” he said, his heart twisting when he saw his dog, his faithful companion for eleven years, lying curled up next to the Aga, looking wretched. He crouched down and stroked his head, noting the way Toby barely moved.
He’d seen enough animals in pain over the years to know what was happening. His dog was old and arthritic and definitely slowing down; he’d known that, but he hadn’t realized how tired Toby had become. There had been signs, Will realized, over the last few days; Toby had left his food, and he hadn’t wanted to go outside. Will had noticed, but he’d been too full of other thoughts to make much of it. Now he saw the truth plainly, and it just about felled him. His dog was dying.
Toby lay his head on his paws and whined again.
“I’m sorry, bud,” Will whispered. After all his big talk about how Esther could find him if she wanted, he’d have to call her. She needed to know about Toby. Right then it felt like one more loss on top of too many already. Will wasn’t sure he had it in him to take much more.
Chapter Twelve
Esther’s mobile rang just as she stepped into the vicarage’s porch, and her heart turned over when she saw it was Will. Had he changed his mind…
“Will?”
“Esther, it’s Toby.” His voice was brusque and Esther’s heart lurched.
“Toby…”
“He’s an old boy, you know, and I came home tonight and he didn’t get up.”
Esther felt a strange panicky feeling sweep through her. “Maybe he’s tired.”
“No, Esther,” Will said gently. “That’s not it. I’m sorry, but I know a dying animal when I see one.”
Esther let out a small, soft cry, panic replaced by pain. Not Toby. Not their sweet, gentle dog, not on top of everything else. “No…”
“Why don’t you come over?” Will said gruffly. “He’ll want to see you.”
Esther’s chest was so tight it hurt to breathe. “Can’t you take him to the vet… Dan…”
“It’s too late for that. Trust me, I know.”
It hurt to speak, to breathe. “Okay,” she managed after a moment. “I’ll come over now.” She grabbed her car keys and went right back out, without even telling her parents where she was. They’d worry, but she couldn’t take their concern, not now. Not when, after all this time, she was so very close to completely falling apart, the final turn of the screws and loosening of the bolts.
The drive through the dark felt cold and lonely, the fields on either side of the narrow track falling away to blackness. When she pulled into the farmyard, the lights of the long, low farmhouse winking in the darkness, she felt a pang of both longing and relief. She was home.
Inside, the kitchen was lit only by a lamp by the old, fraying armchair by the fireplace, and Will was sat down by the Aga, Toby’s dear old greying head in his lap. Esther let out a choking sound of grief.
“How did this happen?” she gasped out as she came towards them.
“He’s old,” Will said gently as he stroked Toby’s head, “and he has been slowing down a lot, sleeping more and more. He hasn’t gone up the stairs for years.”
“But I thought that was just arthritis.”
“It’s all part of it, isn’t it?” He gave her a tired, sad smile. “For the last few days he’s been off his food, not wanting to go out. I should have realized… but this is natural, Esther. A natural part of life.”
But it didn’t feel natural. Esther shed her jacket and bag and then sat on the other side of Toby, running a hand along his back. “Is he… is he in pain?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
“He doesn’t seem to be too bad. If he seems like he’s still struggling in the morning, I’ll take him to Dan.”
“You mean to…”
“Yes.” Despite the incredible sadness of the scene, there was something strangely and wonderfully steady and reassuring about Will in this moment. He was a rock to lean on, a comforting presence in a way he hadn’t been during her miscarriage. Maybe because she hadn’t let him.
It was too much to think of now, to wonder and regret. Esther scooted closer to Toby and stroked his head, his fur silky under her fingers. “Poor old Toby,” she whispered. “He was only a year old when we started dating—do you remember?”
“I remember.”
Esther gazed down at the dog, the pressure in her chest growing tighter, making it harder and harder to breathe. “The first time I came over for dinner…” she began, and then had to stop.
“He climbed up on my chair and ate most of the pot of bolognaise sauce.”
“And was horribly sick afterwards, poor thing.”
“I thought you’d never come back.”
His words were a thrum in his chest, an ache of poignancy in his voice.
“It takes more than a mischievous puppy to scare me off,” Esther said, and then fell silent. They were skating dangerously close to the thin ice of their relationship, the black waters of untried emotion swirling all around them.
“What does scare you off then?” Will asked quietly.
Esther kept her gaze on Toby as she continued to stroke his head. The kitchen was quiet and dim, warm and cosy. It even smelled familiar—like coal fires and wet wool, a hint of coffee and well-worn leather. The smell of home, of Will. “I scared myself off,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry I didn’t… I couldn’t…” She wasn’t going to be able to say anymore. The tears that she’d been suppressing for so long—years, decades—were finally going to fall, and Esther feared there was nothing she could do about it.
Losing Toby on top of everything else was going to be too much. She’d been trying to move on, to get a start on a new life, but it all felt like so much pointless, ceaseless striving now. She hadn’t moved on. She wasn’t any better. She was still hurting inside, still wretched and guilty, and worse, she was now crying. Quite a lot.
The first sob came out sounding like a burp, a little bubble of sound that she tried to suppress as she clapped her hand over her mouth. It was no good. Another sob escaped her, and then another, and then tears were streaming from her eyes and her shoulders were shaking and she felt as if she were falling apart. Literally falling apart right there on the kitchen floor, bits and pieces breaking off until there would be nothing left.
“Esther.” Will leaned across Toby and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Esther.”
She couldn’t see him through the haze of her tears, but she felt his strong arms come around her, and somehow he’d managed to draw her gently around Toby and onto his lap, as if she were a child, or perhaps a treasure. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he stroked her hair and she cried like she never had before.
It felt both good and painful and somewhat humiliating to let it all out; it was as if a dam had broken inside her and everything, absolutely everything, came rushing at him. Her shoulders shook, her eyes streamed, and the sounds coming out of her mouth were… well, they were making her cringe, because they sounded so guttural and awful. She was full on ugly crying, and that was so not her.