His insight was quite alarming, but her answer was immediate, automatic. ‘Of course I will, Tom.’
‘Righto. Well, that’s good news.’ She could tell by his tone that his relief was superficial. ‘I guess I’ll see you then.’
‘Yes, I’ll see you then.’
It was as if she was talking to a stranger – how had this happened to them? They had both consciously avoided mentioning Chloe, unable to talk about their little girl. She had always been central to every conversation they had, every decision they made. ‘Is she still up? Has she eaten? Would Chloe like it? Kiss her for me…’
‘Oh, and Grace…’
‘Yes, Tom?’ She had been keen to end the call, dreading and predicting what was going to come next.
‘Love love.’
She didn’t want to reply, but she felt backed into a corner. It was a test, a test that she was too afraid to fail. The simple words that held so much meaning and seemed to belong to another lifetime.
‘Yes, Tom. Love love.’
With a click he was gone.
Grace sat in her smart, shiny car and shivered at the prospect of going home and at the thought that she would have to say goodbye to Huw. It was ridiculous, really, how she had latched on to this stranger and how she felt better knowing he was around.
She pictured Tom holding the phone for some time after their call had finished, in the way she had seen him do after speaking to his parents, feeling crestfallen and unsettled; only this time she wasn’t smiling at him from the kitchen, trying to make everything better, supplying him with a cup of tea or a glass of wine and telling him that it didn’t matter, he had to ignore his mum and dad, they didn’t know him and what counted was the three of them, safe and snug inside their lovely home. She heard his thoughts, drifting to her like soundwaves across the miles. My Grace, where are you? How could this have happened to us? It was as if they were on opposite sides of a chasm with neither knowing how to reach the other, and even if they could, the task felt too huge to undertake with the sparse reserves they had left. She hadn’t recognised the timbre to his voice; his words had sounded forced and unnatural.
While she had a strong phone signal, Grace took the opportunity to send her mum, dad and Alice a text. Staying in peaceful, peaceful Wales and loving the solitude. Here I can think. Sending love. X She knew they would appreciate this contact, which carried more than a whiff of positivity. She started the engine, switched on her lights and made her way along the lanes to The Old Sheep Shed.
The conversation with Tom had left her spent. She fed Bertha and, still in her jeans and sweatshirt, flopped face down on the bed, pulling the duvet over her legs and feet. She let her thoughts meander and began wondering about Leanne, what she’d been like; she felt a punch of envy that Huw would fight to keep her, make her happy. Not that she wanted Huw, of course not, but had she and Tom ever felt that way? They must have.
She closed her eyes and remembered a time when they were newly married and on holiday in Spain. Sitting hand in hand by the edge of the pool in a budget hotel as the hot sun dipped, they’d sipped at their sangria, smarting from their sunburn and making plans for the house they wanted to buy. Tom had suddenly rolled his top lip up to his gum, where it stuck, exposing his teeth. ‘Look, Grace, I’m Wallace from Wallace and Gromit!’ He then proceeded to wave and say hello to everyone that passed, even attempting to drink sangria, which spilled down his shirt. Grace had giggled like a teen, screwing her eyes shut and begging him to stop. ‘Please, Tom, don’t! I’m literally going to wet myself!’ she’d wheezed. But he hadn’t. Couples and families sauntered past on their way to the dining room and Tom greeted them all with his top lip tucked away and the point of his tongue sticking through his teeth. He then stood and with his arms spread wide shouted ‘Cheese!’ in his best Wallace voice. Grace had felt her bladder constrict. ‘Tom! Tom! Oh my God, I’m going to pee!’ She’d laughed until she’d almost cried, barely able to get the words out. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and sprinted with her towards the pool. They had jumped together, hand in hand and fully clothed, landing with a loud splash and shrieks of laughter, free to pee without detection. With her floaty white skirt billowing around her, she had trod water, hand in hand with the man who knew how to fix things.
Apart from this, he couldn’t fix this. No one could.
A small bark made her heart jump as Monty alerted her to the fact that he was on the floor on the other side of the bed.
‘Jesus, Monty! You scared me! I didn’t know you were there.’
He whined and breathed out through his nose. It sounded like an exasperated sigh.
‘It’s okay. Go back to sleep.’
She closed her eyes and spoke to the dog, whose company was reassuring. ‘Chloe would love you,’ she murmured, picturing her little girl petting the placid animal. This was quickly replaced by the memory of her daughter’s podgy bare feet poking from beneath her nightdress on the hall floor. It was this image that replayed in her mind, on a loop, over and over. She wished it would stop.
Grace pulled the spare pillow down into her chest as she rolled onto her side, hugging it close. Her tears came thick and fast, filling her throat and nose. She cried silently and deeply, swallowing the saltiness. ‘I miss you, darling. I miss your little hand in mine, I miss your voice and I miss the way I could hug you into me and smell your hair. Chloe… My little Chloe…’
The sleep that followed these tearful episodes was always deep if short. Sometime later, she let her eyes flicker open at the sound of creaking.
‘Sorry, Grace,’ Huw whispered as he tentatively pushed the door wide. ‘Is Monty in here?’
She nodded her cheek against the pillow. As if on cue, Monty whined.
‘There you are.’ Huw’s voice was hushed, his tone a mixture of relief and amusement.
‘Stay with me,’ she whispered in her half-sleeping state.
‘What?’ He needed it repeating; the awkwardness that would ensue if he’d misheard would be devastating.
She raised her head slightly. ‘I said, stay with me. Please.’
Huw shut the door behind him, crept towards the bed and sat on his fishing stool beside her.
Grace closed her eyes, happy to know he was there. She heard the groan of the fabric against the wooden frame as he leant forward and gently placed his hand on her back. Her skin pulsed beneath the weight of his touch.
‘Do you think… do you think you might hold me, Huw?’ she whispered into the darkness.
Slowly, hesitantly, he rose from the stool, walked to the other side of the bed and stepped over the snoring Monty. Grace heard him pull off his heavy work boots and remove his thick, plaid shirt before folding back the duvet and easing his body into the bed. He edged closer to her and wrapped his muscled arms around her. The backs of her legs rested against his thighs and her head lay on his chest. She placed her palm on his forearm; her heart beat fast at the thrill of being close to another person, a man. A man that wasn’t Tom.
Huw tried to arrange the pillow and as his hand reached beneath it, he touched a small, soft item. Pulling it from the shadows, he saw it was a child’s nightdress. He tucked it under Grace’s hand. She was vaguely aware of the lightest kiss on her temple before she drifted off, unable to fight the sleep that pulled her under, into another world, her escape tunnel.
She floated away and, like an observer, saw herself standing in a beautiful garden, which she instinctively knew was Huw’s garden in full bloom. It was the way the light fell and the sound of the river burbling in the distance. She was wearing dungarees that were taut over her pregnant stomach. She stood in the garden, inhaling the intoxicating scent of a plant she couldn’t quite identify. She felt happy, light, as if the wearying yoke of grief had been lifted. Grace could sense that her mother was not very far away; her reading glasses and an open novel lay abandoned on a table behind her, but where was Mac? She couldn’t see him. Try as she might, she could not locate her dad. Unaccustomed to see
ing Olive without Mac, and vice-versa, it felt most odd. Suddenly, her husband’s arms were around her. She knew with absolute certainty that this was her husband, could even feel her wedding band pressing against his, and yet she felt an overwhelming joy, a feeling that she hadn’t associated with Tom for a long time. She smiled, relishing the happiness, the contentment. It felt wonderful. Maybe there was hope for her and Tom after all. She tried to turn around but was stuck fast, unable to look into the face of the man who held her.
She awoke with a start and found herself anchored by the duvet, which had twisted around her form. No wonder she hadn’t been able to turn around. Huw had gone, and Monty too. The dull light meant that dawn was but a breath away; even so, there was time for more sleep, thankfully. Repositioning her body in the middle of the bed, she quickly slipped into a deeper sleep – without the dreams but just as blissful.
A while later she woke again, to find Huw standing at the foot of the bed. Rather than feel alarmed, she welcomed his presence, not least because he was bearing coffee and several huge, warm, plump, almond croissants.
‘Good morning, Grace.’
She smiled; she liked the way he spoke her name. ‘Good morning, Huw.’
‘You slept well?’
‘Yes, yes I did. Thank you for holding me last night. It felt so lovely. It’s been a long time since someone did something so wonderful just for me.’ She was sincere in her gratitude; there was none of the anticipated awkwardness.
‘You are very welcome. It was good for me too. It’s been a long time since I felt another person so close. I liked it very much.’ He smiled.
They were both quiet as they recollected the previous evening. To have described it to an outsider would have made it sound tawdry, wanton, but it had been neither of those things. It was as if they had transcended the physical and formed a strong spiritual bond; in the short space of a couple of weeks, they’d built trust and deep mutual affection.
Huw placed the coffee and croissants on the breakfast bar. Grace clambered out of bed and ambled over, taking a large gulp of the restorative liquid and a bite of one of the croissants.
‘Ooh, delicious, thank you!’
She had done it without thinking – welcomed the sweet, sugary pastry into her mouth and let her tastebuds feel the joy! She stood still for a second, chewing slowly and trying to gauge the significance of this small thing, which felt like a very big thing, a step towards recovery. But it was laced with guilt. She had enjoyed food in a world where her little girl would never eat again.
Huw had noted her expression. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded and gave a small, cautious smile. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ She spoke through her mouthful.
‘Yes, of course. You can ask me anything.’
‘Did you ever want children?’
Huw took a bite from his croissant and looked at her. ‘I did. We did. I guess we were waiting for the right time. And then…’ He shrugged.
‘I think you’d have been a great dad.’ She spoke softly and considered his gentle, patient, caring nature, applying sutures and swabbing her cut in her hour of need. She pressed croissant crumbs into the pad of her index finger and transferred them to her mouth. When she looked up, she was aghast to see Huw’s face contorted with tears. ‘Oh God! Huw, I’m so sorry! I should never have asked.’
‘I thought I would be a dad and I know she would have made the best mum. She’d have taught our little one about the plants and they’d have grown vegetables together. Our plan was to end up here eventually. It would have been perfect.’ He exhaled, wiped his nose and eyes on the long sleeve of his shirt and faked a smile.
‘It would have been.’ She squeezed his hand.
‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books, eh?’ He laughed. ‘Me falling apart and you keeping strong.’
Grace nodded. ‘Reckon that bump on the head did me a bit of good.’ Monty barked from the deck as if in agreement.
‘Right – come on, I’m taking you out to lunch!’ He slapped the countertop and sniffed, taking deep breaths.
‘We’re only just having breakfast,’ she pointed out.
‘No matter. You need feeding up and I can eat any time. Be ready to go in ten minutes.’ He jumped from the bar stool and left, whistling for Monty as he went.
Ten minutes later, Huw was standing at the door of The Old Sheep Shed dressed in clean dark jeans and a pale blue denim shirt.
‘You look smart,’ she commented as she grabbed her rucksack.
‘Hardly.’ Huw blushed, rubbing his beard. ‘But smarter, possibly. In fact, probably just clean.’
‘Have you always had a beard?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No. I couldn’t be bothered to shave when I first lost Leanne and this just grew.’ He tugged at his chin. ‘I trim it occasionally, but I’ve kind of made a pact that I will only be clean-shaven when I feel I’m ready to face the world properly, when I make a fresh start. I guess then I’ll feel able to remove my mask.’
Grace shut the door and hiked up the field towards the workshop. ‘Oh my word!’ Huw had parked the car outside the cottage: a vintage Mercedes 230SL. Its paintwork was the original colour, a glorious burnished gold.
‘Oh, Huw, she is really beautiful.’
‘Yes, she is.’ He looked at the car with pride. ‘It was my grandad’s. He loved her very much and I told him I would look after her.’
‘Well, you’ve kept your word.’
Huw opened the passenger door and she slid onto the cracked leather seat, its scent evocative of a bygone era, cigar smoke and musky aftershave.
‘It’ll do her good to have a run,’ Huw said as the engine purred.
‘Where are we going?’ Grace asked, only mildly curious.
‘The Saracens Head at Symonds Yat.’ Huw pumped the accelerator and smiled at the sound. ‘Best lunch in a top spot – you’ll love it. It’ll make a change from bread and cheese.’
They navigated the winding lanes, which quickly gave way to wider country roads, passing signs for enticing-sounding villages like Mansell Gamage and Stretton Sugwas. Broad, sweeping fields bordered the meandering river and every so often they’d see a clearing peppered with a cluster of huge trees and a deer or two grazing nearby.
They drove in amiable silence with the windows rolled down and the radio dipping in and out of various different music channels. Grace thought about her drive home from the train station that Friday evening not so long ago, before her whole world had unravelled. She saw herself zipping down the high-hedged lanes to Nettlecombe, singing along to Ryan Adams and then arriving home, dipping the headlights and watching Chloe and Tom together in the kitchen for a bit. She hadn’t realised that she had it all, had not fully appreciated that she was staring at perfection.
She took a deep breath. ‘You know, Huw, I keep thinking that if I’d read up properly about all the possible complications, or if I’d known what to look out for, things might have turned out differently. Tom blames me. He kind of said so.’ She toyed with the hem of her sweatshirt. ‘And I keep thinking that perhaps he’s right. It was me that assured everyone that the procedure was nothing – I even told Chloe it’d make her better. We used to joke about her terrible snoring. I understand that he blames me.’
‘He doesn’t blame you, Grace, he blames himself.’
She sighed. ‘Oh, I’m not so sure, I think he does blame me. I didn’t know about sepsis. I didn’t know what to look for, but the signs were there: her confusion, diarrhoea, slurred speech and flu-like symptoms, and she hadn’t done a wee in a long while. All the things you should be looking out for, especially if there’s a risk of infection.’
Huw worked his way down the gears, slowing the car as he looked at her. ‘I think a lot of people would struggle to identify it.’
‘Well they should be bloody taught. Everyone should know what to look for – it kills over thirty-five thousand people a year in this country alone! That’s about a hundred a day, every day
! Why didn’t I know about it? No wonder he blames me…’
‘Trust me, no matter what he says, he blames himself. It was the same for me, when Leanne was killed.’ He paused, struggling to find the vocabulary. ‘I kept thinking that if only I’d met her from town like I used to sometimes, walked her home, then that car might have seen me walking by her side and swerved, or it would have hit me and that would have been preferable. Why didn’t I make her wear a high-vis vest? Why didn’t I insist on her getting a cab in the rain? Why didn’t I go and pick her up? I have a million questions that all lead back to me and things I could have or should have done.’
‘It doesn’t work like that though, does it?’ She stared ahead as her eyes blurred behind a curtain of tears, a sensation that was now as familiar to her as breathing.
Huw hadn’t finished. ‘You know, Grace, I have a head-start on you. I’ve had a long time to think about everything and ponder the reasons why. And I’m sure these terrible things that almost destroy us, they are decisions made by something or someone bigger than us, and we can’t understand it, and we are certainly not meant to change it…’
‘Decisions made by who or what, Huw? Do you mean a god?’ Her tone was a little sharper than intended.
‘If you like.’ He focused on the lane ahead.
Grace could see the comfort in the abdication of responsibility and blame, in acting as if there were some omnipotent being playing chess with her life so that no matter what she did, said or thought, it was all scripted and decided. That might work for some people, might even work for Huw, but it wasn’t how she saw the world.
They continued the drive in silence, each playing out the scenario in which things had happened differently. Then the car rounded a bend and an owl swooped overhead.
‘Wow!’ Huw yelled. ‘Did you see that?’
Grace nodded. ‘Beautiful.’
‘Is it one of yours, sent from Hogwarts with your post?’
Grace touched her fingers to the scar on her forehead and let out a burst of laughter. She immediately felt a pang of guilt – how could she be laughing? How could she be feeling a moment of happiness? It was wrong and it was too soon. She had a very real fear that it would always be ‘too soon’. The image of Chloe’s coffin being carried into the church instantly filled her mind. She shook her head and placed her hand over her eyes.
Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats Page 16