by Bee Lewis
From: Sophie J
Find a way to tell her. It’s not fair, Dan.
Esther puzzled over the messages. What did they mean? What did Sophie want her to know? What was Dan keeping from her? She cursed herself for being stupid enough to go through his phone. She could hear her mother’s voice, telling her no good would come from snooping. Now she was stuck, unable to admit to Dan that she’d hacked into his phone and read his messages, but the thought that there was another secret, so tantalisingly close, would not let her rest. She pondered all the different scenarios where she could raise it with Dan, and rejected every one. Reaching for her tea, she found it was cold. How long had she been sitting there, turning the phone over and over in her hands while she thought?
Hearing footsteps along the platform, she swiped across the screen to lock the phone again and put it on the table in front of her, willing the screen to switch off before he guessed what she’d done, and readying her excuses.
The cottage door opened, bringing with it a glimpse of the freezing fog. Dan stepped inside, looking sheepish and holding something behind his back.
Her first instinct was to berate him, to ask him where he’d been, but she didn’t want a repetition of the previous day and, mindful of her promise and the need to keep him on side if she was ever to find out what Sophie had been talking about, smiled at him instead.
‘Morning.’
‘Hi. I didn’t think you’d be up yet.’
‘I wouldn’t have been, but the alarm went off on your phone.’ She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, at the mention of the phone and hoped he didn’t notice.
‘Really? Odd. I don’t remember setting it.’ He picked it up from the table and glanced at Esther. He looked as though he was about to say something, but stopped.
‘Is it any clearer out there?’ It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, but she had to break the silence between them.
‘A little. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and went for a walk. I saw these and thought you’d like them.’ He pulled his arm from behind his back and offered her a bunch of daffodils. ‘I hoped you’d still be asleep, so I could bring them up to you. I thought they’d look pretty on the dressing table.’
She felt tears forming in her eyes. ‘First daffodils. They’re lovely.’ She breathed them in deeply, smelling their soapy scent.
Dan smiled and pulled a mug out of the cupboard, half-filling it with water. He arranged the flowers and took them upstairs.
A few moments later, the cottage door opened again and Mike entered, carrying a plastic bag and a large Tupperware container. Esther stared at him, wrong-footed that he’d be so forward to just come in without knocking. Modesty made her pull the lapels of her dressing gown tighter across her chest, even though she was wearing her nightshirt underneath.
Again, the difference between their new home and their old was brought into stark relief for her. Friends didn’t just drop by in Bristol. They phoned in advance, made plans, met for coffee. Calling in unannounced wasn’t something she was used to at all. In Bristol, they’d had an entry phone with CCTV, and the 4th floor apartment gave them an extra degree of separation from all the lives playing out at ground level. When she thought about it though, she’d have preferred a townhouse in Redlands, with its rows of terraced houses teeming with life. The kind of place where people felt comfortable dropping in. She realised it was the flat that made them inaccessible to others, she was a princess sealed away in a tower. She’d wanted to hear children’s feet running on pavements, car doors slamming, and pizza delivery drivers working late into the night. Their apartment, with its triple glazing, was sealed off from noise and disturbance. A huge glass box from which to view the world. A place where she could observe life and join in, on her terms.
‘I brought you some bread.’ He held out the container to her.
The loaf was still warm and he offered it so tenderly, as though he was giving her a sleeping animal to look after. She took the bread and put the kettle on. He pulled a carton of milk from the plastic bag he was holding and put it in the fridge.
‘I thought you might want some fresh milk. Healthy teeth and bones, you know?’ He nodded towards her stomach.
‘Thanks, that’s very thoughtful. I’m not sure I have any change in my purse. One sec . . .’
He held his hand up. ‘Come away, now. None of that.’
An uneasy silence fell over them.
‘So, how are you settling in?’
From out of nowhere and to her dismay, Esther started crying and the more she tried to hold back the tears, the faster and thicker they came.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘Just give me a minute, will you?’ She dried her eyes on the tea towel. She could hear Dan’s footsteps overhead in the bathroom and willed him to come down so she wouldn’t have to explain herself. She heard the shower door sliding across.
Wordlessly, Mike took her hand and sat her down at the table. He fished in the cupboards for two mugs and a jar of coffee.
She watched him as he finished making the drinks, trying to work out why she felt so agitated around him. She thought it might have something to do with the way he moved. Each movement flowed one into the other, but there was a precision – a deliberateness – to each one. She was reminded of the way a cat places its paws, silent and delicate, ready to spring away at the slightest hint of danger. When she moved, she was also deliberate and precise, but her movements didn’t flow. There was a vague mechanical edge to her walk, though over the years she’d incorporated the motion as best she could. She didn’t have the range of movements, or degree of agility she needed to move with the kind of gracefulness Mike possessed.
‘So, let’s try that again.’ He smiled as he put the coffee in front of her. ‘How are you settling in?’
Her tears threatened to reappear, but she was in control of them this time. There were so many answers to the question. She wanted to say that things were going well, she loved Rosgill and was excited about opening it up to visitors. It was true, on some level, she did feel all of those things and yet, when she opened her mouth to speak, it all eluded her.
‘I feel a bit lost.’ It felt good to her to admit it.
‘Well, now. That’s hardly a surprise. It’s such a big change for you. Once this fog lifts and we are over the threat of snow, you’ll get to meet the folks that live around here. Maybe you’ll feel less isolated then.’
He’s right. The fog is making things much harder and we’re both bubbling around in a pressure cooker. No wonder we’ve been at each other’s throats.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And when will that be?’
‘Oh, August, I’d reckon.’
For a split second, panic clawed at her, then he winked at her and she relaxed enough to laugh at his teasing.
‘I don’t think I realised quite how far from everything we’d be. Or how dependent we’d be on the weather and basic communication.’
‘This weather isn’t really typical, but when we get a fog like this, it can take days to lift. Higher up in the glen, the air is quite clear. It’s like looking down onto a blanket of cotton wool.’
He gulped his coffee down. Esther brought her mug to her lips and flinched as she touched the scalding liquid.
‘You’ve missed the worst of the winter. We’ve had some heavy snows and you’ll need to be prepared for it next year. I can give Dan a hand cutting enough wood to see you through the rest of the winter, so you’ll have heat at least. They usually clear the top road with the snow plough, but Dan’ll need to clear up to the road from the station. Even then, it can sometimes take a couple of days for them to clear the top road if the snow has been particularly heavy.’
‘I bet it’s beautiful when it snows.’
‘It’s enchanting, right enough.’ He sipped his coffee, eyes focused on Esther over the rim of the mug. ‘We may get some more before spring finally takes
hold.’
They sat in silence for a few moments and Esther heard the shower door sliding back across. She felt like she’d stolen this time with Mike and was about to be found out. She tried to think of something to say, something to prolong the conversation which would keep his focus on her, but she couldn’t think of anything interesting enough. He made her feel gauche and unworldly. When he’d been talking the other evening about his antics, she’d had to listen to the detail carefully to follow the drift of the conversation. He was so open about drugs and petty crime and it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, given her work at the refuge. Yet there was still a part of Esther that believed people were basically good; that the local bobby was a paragon of virtue and trust; and that drugs, alcohol addiction, and crime happened to other people. She refused to accept that she had more in common with the women at Helen House than she liked to admit. Patrick’s drunkenness was not the same at all. Definitely not the same.
‘Dan will be down in a few minutes,’ she said, finally.
‘How far can you walk?’
His question seemed to come from nowhere and she was unsure of the intent behind it.
‘It depends on the ground conditions. If it’s reasonably flat, I can manage a couple of miles. Hills are okay too if I can set the pace. I struggle with mud and off-road. Why?’
‘Maybe we’ll go for a walk, me and you. You might feel better if you can make sense of your surroundings.’
Esther didn’t get chance to answer him as Dan jogged down the stairs.
‘Mikey! Hey – good to see you.’ Dan clasped Mike’s shoulder in welcome. ‘Any coffee left?’
‘Sorry, no. I made instant.’
Esther watched the two men as their conversation went back and forth and she was reduced to playing a bit part again. There was an easiness between the two of them that felt both natural and, at the same time, at odds with what she knew about Dan. Perhaps this was how it had been with Sophie, except Dan was the one on the periphery. Their burgeoning friendship underlined what she’d lost, scoring red marks through her grief. She recognised the signs of jealousy that she harboured but, with a stab of bewilderment, realised she didn’t know whether she was jealous that Dan had a new friend, or because his new friend was Mike.
Neither man seemed to notice when she got up from the table.
‘I’m going for a bath.’
Dan raised a hand in acknowledgement and Mike inclined his head in her direction. She stood for a moment, waiting for one of them to say something else, and when they didn’t, she turned away and climbed the stairs.
Esther added a few drops of the neroli perfume oil she kept for best to the bath. The flowers from Dan had chased away the remnants of any bad feeling and she felt more relaxed than she had when they’d arrived at Rosgill, just five days ago. She smoothed her hands over her stomach. It was lovely to be pregnant in the springtime, with the promise of new life burgeoning all around her. She thought about what Mike had said about the weather and hoped the hard winter was behind them. Snow, so treacherous underfoot, would hold her to ransom just as much as the fog. She had to find a way of coming to terms with her new environment; to find a way of making peace with it.
His words could apply equally to her marriage. It had felt like the longest of winters, with not even a glimpse of the sun. Although things weren’t quite how they used to be, perhaps it was no bad thing. They’d come through together and now had to learn to adjust to their new life and new understanding of each other. She loved Dan, she was as sure of that as she could be, but now she felt secure enough within her own thoughts to allow herself to admit that she didn’t always like him.
The scars of the previous year ran deep. They were always there, puckering and pinching her thoughts. The long-suppressed resentments she harboured were never very far from the surface. Dan was always so difficult to read. Part of her suspected he enjoyed being unreasonable, that it was a way for him to categorise the people who would make the effort to get to know him. A year ago, she’d have overlooked these aggravations, but not now. She’d expected marriage, while not necessarily the happy ending of a fairy tale, to be easier. How hard could it be if two people loved each other?
Perhaps she was being unfair. The first three years had been good. They’d done a lot of things together, pulled in the same direction. He pushed her to try new things. At first, she’d been sceptical when he wanted to buy a house so they could do it up and sell it on. But she’d given in to him and renovating the house together was more fun than she’d imagined. She’d been sad to see that little house go on the market, wanting to keep it to live in. A world they’d created. But Dan had his eye on bigger things and the profits from the house paid the deposit on the apartment. Life had been full of promise for them. They were unstoppable – with one exception. They were having difficulty conceiving.
Month after month, they faced the disappointment with just a little less stoicism each time. They tiptoed around each other, said a thousand words with a single glance. Dan broke first and suggested they consider IVF. She could have cried with relief. Initially Esther was concerned about the decision and the pressure it would put them under, but she needn’t have worried. Dan made it easy for her to relax and feel confident. He seemed to take it all in his stride, drawing up a list of pros and cons, estimating their chances of success. He was diligent about dispensing her medication and injections – in fact, he’d been more positive about it than she was, approaching it as an experiment. In the two-week period while they waited to see had the pregnancy taken, he’d arranged treats for her and Sophie, trips to the theatre, meals out, film nights in – all to keep her occupied and to take her mind off the slow crawl of the minute hand.
She’d rewarded him with the news that the pregnancy was viable, and he’d punched the air with happiness, before kneeling in front of her, his head in her lap. It was only when he stood up again that she realised he’d been crying and the moment was preserved forever in her memory. That’s the man she wanted, the caring man, the man who planned and thought about her and their future together. Even though he’d disappointed her when she needed him most, the memories of that golden time were strong enough for her to put her trust in this move. She’d been willing to follow him because she recognised that same spark of enthusiasm when he talked about starting again, in a new place, and it was seductive.
Esther inhaled deeply. With the memories of her first pregnancy came sadness and anger. As soon as she noticed the blood spots on her knickers, she knew what the outcome was going to be. The dragging pains in her stomach told their own story. She’d rung Sophie, then the clinic who told her to go straight in. Finally, she’d rung Dan, torn between wanting to put off telling him, and needing him by her side. After leaving several messages on his mobile, she tried his office number. There was no answer there, either.
The bleeding worsened and cramps wracked her body. Frightened, angry, and worried that she couldn’t reach Dan, she asked Sophie to take her phone and ring one of his colleagues.
“I think you need to hear this,” Sophie said, her face pale as she handed Esther the phone.
“Esther, is that you? Hi, yes, it’s Paul Lloyd,” he paused, a note of embarrassment in his voice. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but Dan doesn’t work here any more.”
‘What? What did you say?”
Esther couldn’t believe she’d heard him right and Sophie wouldn’t meet her eye.
“Sorry to have to break it to you, but he was made redundant about two months ago. We’ve not seen him since.”
“You’re sure you mean Dan? Daniel Carr?”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence while Esther came to terms that there was nothing else she wanted to say, not to Paul, not to Sophie, and not to Dan. After handing the phone back to Sophie, she rolled over on the hospital bed as her body rejected their baby, while her heart
started to reject her husband. Nothing would ever be the same again. She’d be Esther, who’d had a miscarriage. Dan would be the husband who’d lied to her. She had so many questions and when he did eventually turn up at the hospital, he evaded every single one, remaining quiet in the face of her despair. She hadn’t let him comfort her, not let him see how raw her grief was or how much he’d let her down, but it was always there, just under the surface.
Esther sighed to herself. She had too much time on her hands here and it led her to memories that hurt. Even though she’d felt a sense of relief at leaving her job, it had been a good displacement activity. She had to face the fact that this was her home now and she knew that the feeling of being in limbo would disappear, like the disorientation of the few days between Christmas and New Year when she didn’t have to set her alarm and every day dragged like the Sundays of her childhood.
I must find a way of asking him about the text messages. What did Sophie want me to know? Oh, God! Were they having an affair?
Her guts twisted in a mixture of grief and betrayal, but even as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. Sophie wouldn’t do that to me. Her breathing slowed again and another thought trickled through to taunt her, but her instincts told her to be silent and not raise the subject with Dan.
The temperature was cooling, so she drew some more water, feeling the heat diffusing as she lay there. She let her wet fingers trail over her body, enjoying the sensation as the warm water met the cooler air, leaving a trail of goose pimples on her skin. Her breasts were fuller, she could tell from the way they filled her palms as she cupped them, enjoying the intimacy of her own hands. With one hand below the waterline, she caressed her stomach, letting her fingers explore lower, lower, lower. Seeking. Searching. Probing. She shivered with pleasure and closed her eyes.
The door creaked open and Major Tom jumped up on the side of the bath. He walked the length of the tub, then turned and came back, settling on the widest part, near Esther’s head. He cast a haughty eye over the scene.