by Beth Miller
‘But none of this matters, chick,’ Rose said quietly, as if to compensate for my volume. ‘The only thing that counts is, are you unhappy with Richard?’
No one had ever asked me that before. I sat down abruptly, trying to stop the damn tears spilling out. ‘Yes.’ The gasping breaths came back. ‘I – gasp – am – gasp – unhappy.’
‘I’d no idea things were so rough between you,’ Rose said. ‘Clearly, leaving is the right thing to do. You don’t need a to-do list as a cover story. If you’re unhappy, you can leave your marriage. You don’t have to climb Snowdon to justify it.’
‘Thank you.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘Christ! What have I done? I have literally no idea what I’m going to do.’ I jumped up. I didn’t seem to have control over my actions. ‘What! Am! I! Going! To! Fucking! Well! Do!’
‘Right, miss.’ Rose stood up. ‘You’re spiralling. Anxiety, hysteria, loud swearing. I recognise the signs. I was the same when Tim left. You need to do something to completely shift your focus. Get out of your head.’
‘Drugs?’ I said hopefully.
‘I only have ibuprofen gel with me. Go and put on a jacket.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ll go for a little walk.’
‘Rose, you have literally just got off a train from France! Do you not want a nice sit-down?’
‘Get your jacket! Stop shilly-shallying!’
And in the absence of a better plan, or indeed, any plan, I did as I was told.
‘I’d forgotten how beautiful this place is,’ Rose said, as we stepped outside into the late afternoon sunshine. ‘What was that walk we did last time I was here? It ended at a convenient pub.’
‘Oh, that’s a very short walk,’ I said, relieved. ‘We cut across two fields and we’re there.’ I pushed open the gate at the edge of the garden, and we set off across a somewhat neglected meadow that was being decimated still further by sheep. They scattered as we passed, in their usual terrified fashion. At least I wasn’t as timid as a sheep, I thought, randomly. The wine had gone to my head. I ought to eat something.
‘So chick,’ Rose said, ‘what’s happening with the shop?’
‘I’ve decided it’s not my problem.’ How long had I secretly wanted to say that? It felt alarmingly good, as well as plain alarming, to be able to say it.
Rose gasped and put her hand on my forehead. ‘Nope, no fever. Bloody hell, Kay, I have never heard you say that before.’
‘You’re more shocked by that than by me leaving my marriage? I think I’ve been worrying about the shop for too long.’
‘Darn tooting! Well, look. I know it’s not your problem, darling, and I applaud that. But I promised Edward I would mention one teensy thing. Have you, by any chance, heard from Anthony?’
‘My sales assistant?’ Oh hell, I was so thoughtless. It hadn’t occurred to me till now that, of course, Anthony would be horribly upset I’d left without telling him. We’d worked together for years. I looked at my phone. ‘Damn, there are some missed calls from him. I’ll ring him soon as we get back.’
‘Er, before you ring,’ Rose said, looking embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news, but, er…’
I stopped walking. ‘Oh God, what, Rose? Tell me!’
‘Richard sacked him yesterday.’
I gaped at her. ‘He what?! Why?’
‘He thought you and Anthony were having an affair.’
‘Are you joking, Rose?’
‘Wish I was. Anthony’s threatening industrial tribunals and lawsuits.’
‘Good God!’
‘Isn’t Anthony gay?’ Rose said.
‘Yes! He has a boyfriend! We’re not having an affair!’ I spluttered. ‘Bloody hell, what’s Richard thinking of?’
‘He’s in a state, darling. Lashing out, trying to make sense of things. The kids think it would help smooth things out if you spoke to Anthony.’
‘Of course.’ I glanced at my phone. ‘No bloody signal!’
‘Try him after the pub. A couple of hours won’t make much difference.’
We set off again, climbing over a stile into the next field.
‘Who’s running the shop, then?’ I said. ‘Is Richard trying to do it? Has it’ – I could scarcely say the words – ‘been closed?’ It was unbelievably ridiculous of Richard to get rid of my assistant at the exact moment he most needed his help! Anthony knew Quiller Queen inside out.
‘Stella’s taken it on.’
‘Oh no! I so didn’t want her to get dragged in.’
The novelty of playing shop had worn off for both Stella and Edward when they were very little. The shops were Richard’s life, and it was a matter of personal pride to him that a customer could deal with an emergency paperclip shortage or pressing need for Post-it notes as easily on New Year’s Eve as on a random Thursday morning. Consequently, the shops were open ten hours a day, every day, except Sundays and Christmas Day, and our family holidays were always brief and meticulously planned, with folders full of instructions for temporary staff, and Richard very stressed and often backing out of the trip at the last minute. ‘Shop’ to the kids meant parental absences, and a grumpy, tired father.
‘She’s managing fine, for now,’ Rose said, ‘but I agree, it would be good to get Anthony back in there if at all possible.’
‘I’ll see if I can persuade him,’ I said.
‘Sorry to give you this to worry about,’ Rose said. ‘But you do seem a little calmer.’
‘You were right about getting out. My head feels clearer.’
‘Good, because tomorrow we’re going to do a massive head-clearing excursion.’
‘Oh dear, are we?’ I unlatched the gate at the end of the field, remembering how Edward, aged about eleven, had tried to vault it and landed on his chin, requiring a visit to the hospital in Bangor.
‘Yep. Tomorrow we tackle Snowdon.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ I stopped dead.
‘I’m very not kidding. Is the pub this way?’
‘Yes,’ I said, distractedly, following her along the lane. ‘But, we haven’t prepared! Or got a map! Or anything.’
‘What’s your name, Richard? Look, I’ve been up a couple of mountains with, er, Graham.’
‘Ding ding!’ I hit an imaginary bell. ‘Time out! Second mention of Graham!’
‘Fine. Tell you what. I’ll reveal all about him when we’re up the mountain tomorrow. Is that motivation enough? Fresh air and a physical challenge, that’s what you need.’
‘I can’t. I’ve never been up anything higher than Hampstead Heath.’
‘This is what you want, right? Adventure and wild times.’ Rose looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Or at least, it’s what you need.’
In the pub we ordered more wine, and two rounds of lasagne and chips, and talked about inconsequential things, the way people who’ve been friends for a long time do. Rose always knew when to change the subject, and I was grateful to not have to talk about Richard for a bit. I tried to trick her into telling me about Graham, but she wasn’t falling for it.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said, ‘when we’re up that big ol’ hill.’
We walked back to Bryn Glas, both a little tipsy, and after she’d gone up to bed I gritted my teeth and dialled Anthony’s number. It was clearly a week for doing scary things.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Ant, it’s me, Kay.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m in North Wales.’
‘Well, whoop-di-whoop, I’m at the bottom of the deep blue sea.’
Oh dear. ‘I’m so sorry about Richard going mad. Don’t worry, we can sort this out. What exactly did he say?’
‘I left you enough messages telling you, Kay. What the hell is going on with you?’ Anthony’s voice sounded shaky. ‘I thought everything was fine. I thought you loved working with me.’
‘I did.’
‘Then it’s, oh Kay’s buggered off and by the way you’re having an affair with her, so you’re sacke
d.’
‘God, I can’t imagine how—’
‘Too right you can’t imagine! I’ve been a loyal employee for twelve years.’ There was a charged pause. ‘I went in this afternoon and told Stella I’m taking legal advice.’
Poor Stella. How would I ever make up for this? ‘I don’t blame you,’ I said. ‘I’d do the same. It’s an appalling thing to do to you, our best-ever assistant manager.’
There was a silence. Had I overdone the flattery? I went on. ‘And even though Richard is clearly in mental turmoil, it is still absolutely inexcusable. If I was you, I’d take us to the cleaners.’ I’d been a parent long enough to earn a PhD in reverse psychology.
‘Oh, Kay. I don’t want to take you to the cleaners. You know how I love that shop. But Richard can’t fling false accusations around like that.’
‘Too right he can’t!’ Forgive me, Richard, for the lie I was about to tell. ‘In fact, he told me that if you would be willing to forgive and forget, he’d make you shop manager.’ I knew how much Anthony would love to be in charge.
‘I thought you had left him,’ Anthony said suspiciously.
‘Yes, I, er, heard that from Stella.’ Oh God, it was a tangled weave.
‘Manager, really?’
Bingo.
‘On the same pay as me,’ I said. ‘More holidays, better pension, your own assistant.’ Richard would kill me. But Anthony was more than capable. ‘Make all the decisions about layout and stock…’
‘I’ll do it.’ Anthony whooped, then said, ‘I’ll miss you, though, Kay.’
Not as much as you’ll like being manager, Ant. ‘I’ll miss you too.’
‘I’d better apologise to Stella. I was a teensy bit rude earlier. I told her where Richard could put a glue stick.’
I stifled a laugh. ‘She’ll understand. When do you want to start?’
‘How about after a fortnight’s paid leave?’ he said, so quickly I realised he’d been prepared for this offer, the swine. Maybe he too had a PhD in something sneaky.
Sorry again, Richard. But for Stella and Edward’s sakes, and for the sake of the business, I agreed. I’d be happy never to see Quiller Queen again, but it was where I’d spent most of my working life. It would be good to leave it in Anthony’s safe hands.
He asked a couple of cursory questions about how I was, and my plans, but he was clearly desperate to get off the phone, presumably to tell his partner the good news. After we hung up I sent Edward and Stella an email explaining what I’d promised. Then I went to bed. I knew I’d never sleep, not after my huge nap. But somehow, seemingly moments later, it was morning, and the light was flooding into the room, and I was mildly hungover. I could hear Rose singing in the bathroom. The song was, ‘Climb Every Mountain’.
Oh God.
Four
Kay
A quick breakfast, a lecture from Rose about wearing layers, and a short drive later, we were standing in the foothills of the tallest mountain I had ever seen up close. I was in utter shock, but Rose nonchalantly opened up a map.
‘Don’t people use phone apps these days?’ I said, hiding how impressed I was that she seemed to know how to use it.
‘Old school, darling,’ she said, lining up a compass.
‘Do you always carry a compass, Rose?’
‘Yeah, I’m Dora the Explorer. No, it was in the drawer with the map, back at your cottage.’
The wind whipped round my ears worryingly, and I felt ill-equipped in a cheap waterproof, M&S leggings and old trainers. Mind you, Rose wasn’t much better dressed in ancient yoga clothes and walking boots caked with dried mud.
We walked for about fifteen minutes, and I started to feel less manic. Hey, we were doing it: something I’d wanted to do for years. It felt good.
‘This isn’t so hard after all,’ I said.
‘It may get a little harder,’ Rose said in a parental voice.
‘It’s not even very steep.’
‘It’s not even very steep, yet.’ She glanced at me. ‘How’s your head? Do you feel a little less clogged up?’
‘You know, I do. Hungover, but less clogged.’ I smiled at her, and it felt like my first real smile since I’d left home. ‘You should be a therapist, Rose.’
‘Too right. Pull your socks up! Go climb a mountain!’
‘It’s great out here.’ I breathed in a lungful of mountain air, and noticed with pleasure that the breath filled my lungs properly. No more gasping. ‘Normally at this time I’d be opening up the shop and counting the hours till 6 p.m.’
‘So, Kay,’ Rose said, putting the map into a nerdy pouch hanging round her neck. ‘Are you up for a brief interrogation?’
‘Go on, then,’ I said. ‘I guess I can’t just leave my husband of a hundred years and not expect a few questions.’
‘Is there someone else?’
‘Apart from Anthony, you mean?’ I laughed. ‘No. Definitely not.’
‘And Richard’s not having an affair?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
We reached a small kissing gate, after which the path got noticeably steeper. I slowed down and, to my relief, so did Rose. I’d been worried she would go marching off and expect me to keep up.
‘So, was it violence?’ She gazed at me with her steady Rose eyes. ‘Was he hitting you?’
‘Good gracious, of course not!’
‘Heavens, I’m glad to hear that! Were you hitting him?’
‘I certainly wanted to sometimes. But no.’
‘Was he doing that new thing? That gaslighting business, what’s it called? It was on The Archers.’
‘Coercive control? No, he wasn’t, and before you ask, neither was I.’
‘So, darling, we’ve established you were unhappy, but what was going on? Was it “irreconcilable differences”, which is what that shit Tim said were our reasons, apparently, for divorcing?’
‘Not really. I know it’s difficult to understand…’
It was hard not having a single proper reason to leave Richard. None of the little reasons on its own was enough for someone to consider leaving a marriage. None of them on its own looked like anything at all. It was the cumulative effect that did for you. I toyed briefly with inventing a vice for Rich – he gambles! He drinks! He’s a philanderer! – but my oldest friend deserved a truthful answer. Though how could I explain it to her, if I could barely explain it to myself?
‘You’ve been married forever,’ she said, saving me from having to try and unpack it.
‘Twenty-nine years.’
‘Twenty-nine years! I came to your silver anniversary party. I made a speech!’
‘It was a beautiful speech.’
‘I was a bit squiffy. I cried all through Richard’s speech.’
Twenty-nine years of little things was what got you in the end. I don’t mean twenty-nine years of Richard doing things wrong. Not at all. He was a great husband in so many ways. Kind, generous, funny, very hard-working. A good father. He’d make someone else a lovely husband now, if I hadn’t used up all his husbanding.
‘We need a water stop,’ Rose said. She braced her feet against two ridges on the path and we took out our bottles.
‘So, Rose. I’m up this crazy mountain…’
‘We’re not all that up yet.’
‘And you promised you’d tell me about Graham.’
Rose mumbled something.
‘What was that, chick? Sounded like “boyfriend”.’ I glugged down some water, surprised by how thirsty I was.
‘The kids made me a dating profile.’
‘Wow, go you!’
Rose made a face. ‘It was so embarrassing. I had three horrific dates before Graham. I will take the details of those to my grave. But he’s really nice.’
‘How long have you been seeing him?’
‘A few months. Four or five.’
‘Gosh, why didn’t I know about this?’
‘Ah, Kay, when the boys forced me onto the website last year, it was not long
after your mum… I didn’t think it appropriate to talk about my dating travails when you had all that going on.’
Richard, of course, hadn’t been much help during Mum’s last illness. But Rose had been an absolute angel. For weeks before Mum died, I rang her nearly every day to offload.
‘Come on then, tell me about Our Graham.’
‘He’s sixty-two—’
‘Ooh! An older man.’
‘At fifty-one we are hardly spring chickies ourselves. He’s divorced. Two grown-up sons, like me, and a two-year-old granddaughter. He teaches English at a posh private school in Winchester. Very fit. Plays cricket. Goes up mountains.’
‘And you like him?’
‘I really do.’
‘That is wonderful, Rose.’
‘I’m sorry to bring tidings of my romantic door opening as yours seems to be closing.’
‘Good Lord, Rose, no one deserves to be with someone nice as much as you.’ Since Rose and Tim split up ten years ago, she’d devoted her time to her boys, and her part-time job and voluntary work. Tim had remarried quickly and started a new family in his mid-forties with the clichéd younger woman. ‘He looks absurdly knackered, thanks,’ was Rose’s habitual response to being asked how Tim was doing.
‘An English teacher too,’ I said. ‘A perfect match for your fine bookish ways.’
‘Ah, he’s the outdoors type, more Wordsworth than Proust. Thanks to him I have a rough grasp on the whole getting up a mountain thing. Talking of which, onwards.’
We started walking again. Climbing, really, as each step was a little higher than the one before. Minutes later, it became abruptly steeper and about ten times more challenging than the previous terrain, and I knew I would have to go slowly to avoid dying. An expression of Stella’s crossed my mind – Is this the hill you want to die on? No, Stell, it’s not. I had a sudden pang to see her pretty face.
‘So,’ Rose said, puffing slightly, ‘another indelicate question: what will you do for money?’