by Ruth Heald
And besides, if there was something going on between them, what could I do? I no longer have my job or my friends or my life. Everything is tied to Matt and his mother and the cottage. I’m completely dependent on them.
‘It’s nice to be out in the fresh air,’ I say, my words lacking conviction. It's like escaping a cell only to find you're still in a prison. The countryside stretches out before me, roads unwinding, unknown, treacherous. At least in the cottage the unease is contained within four walls. At least there's the illusion of outside, another world, an escape.
Here, amongst the fields, with my loving husband and daughter, reality hits. There is no outside. There is no escape. The endless sky and fields contain me as much as the walls of the house. I'm trapped.
Matt hasn't replied to my comment. He seems as lost in thought as I am. We walk on, hand in hand, but worlds apart.
Who is this man whose hand I'm holding? What secrets is he keeping?
A bramble nicks my jeans and I’m jarred backwards. I turn and remove the thorn, seeing the small patch of blood spreading in the dark denim. I'm glad Olivia is enclosed tightly next to Matt in the sling, away from the brambles. I don't want her legs to be caught, rivulets of blood forming on pale skin and seeping through her fleecy white snowsuit.
The wet snow creeps through the fabric of my trainers and my socks cling to my feet. I look at my phone to see where we are, but there’s no GPS connection here. Instead I try to estimate it by the time. We’ve only been walking fifteen minutes. There’s a long way to go.
* * *
We must have walked over a mile without speaking, when we stumble upon a farm. It announces itself before we arrive, in a scattering of abandoned machinery, covered in snow. The main house is in a state of disrepair, the stone walls crumbling and letting in the light.
Matt stops suddenly.
I stand beside him and take his hand.
‘It’s so…’ I struggle to put into words the feelings the farm evokes. ‘It’s so desolate.’
‘It belonged to Sarah’s parents. They left years ago.’
‘Did they live here when you were growing up?’
‘Yeah. We spent our childhood playing in these fields. We only had each other. Sarah’s parents… well her dad was violent, her mum was timid. The usual story. And you know what my mother’s like…’
I remember how Sarah warned me about Ruth. ‘Did your mother like her?’
Matt laughs. ‘At first she did. When I was younger, she was someone I could play with. It got me out of the house, stopped me messing up her things, I suppose. When we got older and started dating, she was pleased. She thought Sarah was a good influence, studious and kind. But then she turned against her…’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose she thought Sarah would hold me back. And once she’d decided that, she made her life difficult.’
‘How?’
‘Just simple stuff really. She always used to give Sarah a lift to school in the car. But when we split up, she stopped. Sarah used to have to walk for an hour each way. My mother didn’t care. Other things too… she just wasn’t nice to her.’
Matt sniffs and removes his hand from mine, raising it to his face and rubbing at his eyes.
‘Matt?’
I see the tears on his cheeks.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I… can’t explain.’ His words are an effort through sobs.
I take his other hand, grip it tighter.
In all our time together, I’ve never seen Matt cry. What could it be? What is it he isn’t telling me?
Matt breaks away from me, walks off the path, towards a dilapidated cow shed. The corrugated iron roof sags under the weight of the snow and hangs loose at the corner.
I follow. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask. I reach out and touch his shoulder. He turns away from me and leans into the wall, his face resting against his folded arms, Olivia hanging between him and the bricks.
I hesitate before I walk over, unsure. It’s always been him comforting me. Never the other way around.
‘What’s wrong?’ I whisper. ‘Matt, what’s wrong?’ I feel a rising panic. Matt’s always so strong. I don’t know what I’d do if he fell apart.
‘I should never have come back,’ he says and I’m not sure if he means the village, or to this place, this farmhouse.
‘It’s OK.’ I try to soothe him. I desperately want to make things better.
‘I just have so many memories, Claire. They haunt me.’
‘What happened?’
He sighs and looks away towards the rest of the farm’s outbuildings.
‘You see that building there?’ He points to a large wooden barn, the roof partially caved in.
I nod, holding my breath, unsure what’s coming next.
‘It happened there. The accident.’ Matt stares at the barn, completely lost in his memories.
‘What accident?’
‘It was Sarah’s sister. She fell out of the hayloft. Banged her head.’
‘Did she…?’ I don’t want to say the word.
‘No, she didn’t die. At least not at first. She was left paralysed. But she did die eventually. Years later. She never recovered from her injuries.’
‘That must have been so hard.’
‘Yes. You know, I’ve never been back here. I’ve been to the farmhouse since, but not to this building. I didn’t realise it would still affect me so much.’
He starts to walk slowly towards the barn, as if he’s drawn to it.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, falling into step beside him and reaching out to hold onto his arm.
‘It affected the whole village. It was that kind of tragedy. Young girl brain-damaged. Never fulfils her potential. Whole community in shock. You know the kind of story. Of course you do. It was the kind of story you were looking for when you worked at the newspaper.’
I wince at the slight, but let it lie. ‘I had no idea. You never mentioned it.’
‘I moved on. Moved to London. I escaped it all.’
‘How did the family cope?’
‘They didn’t. Sarah’s parents never got over it. They left shortly afterwards. Abandoned the farm. Abandoned their livelihood. Sarah was eighteen by then. She stayed and cared for her sister.’
‘Sarah was left on her own?’
‘Yeah, she cared for her sister until she died. She gave up everything. She wanted to be a vet too, had a place at Cambridge. But she never took it up. She wasn’t the same again. She lost her ambition, her drive. She stayed in the village, taking any job going. She seems completely lost now, she’s never got over it. It was the anniversary of the death on Thursday.’
‘Oh.’ Thursday was the day I saw them together in the pub. ‘Is that why you were in the pub with her?’
‘Yeah. Sarah was upset at work. She didn’t want to be alone.’
‘Poor Sarah.’ I regret being so suspicious of them. All Matt was doing was trying to help. ‘It must have been a tough day for her. I just wish you’d told me why you were there.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d want to talk to you about it. And I could see you were already angry. It didn’t feel like the right time.’
We’re in the shadow of the building now. ‘It’s OK, I understand.’
Matt nudges the rotten door open and steps inside, his face still tear-streaked. I follow.
Inside the cold shell, I put my arm around him. He pulls away and kicks a stone on the floor of the barn.
‘I just have a lot of regrets. I wish I’d done things differently. I didn’t treat Sarah well. I just left her here to pick up the pieces, while I went to university.’
‘You couldn’t let an accident change the course of your life.’ But my words don’t ring true, even to me. Doesn’t that happen all the time? Something tragic happens and the ground beneath you shifts. Your life is never the same again.
‘I promised myself I’d never return here,’ Matt says. ‘I thought I’d escaped.�
�
‘I’m sorry I brought you back,’ I reply. And I mean it. I’m sorry we ever came here.
‘Another one,’ my husband says angrily, slamming his fist into the table. ‘Another stupid girl.’
I don’t need to ask him what he’s talking about. I can guess. Someone else has accused him of sexually assaulting them. The same rumours have circled him for years. When we first met, I was always so certain he was innocent. He was attractive and charismatic and he had girls throwing themselves at him. He could have had anyone he wanted. I thought his accusers were making it up. But now I’m not so sure.
I know better than to say anything. Besides, I don’t want to hear about it. Don’t want to picture what he might have done to those girls. I think of how the volunteer at the helpline told me that our sex life wasn’t right, how it wasn’t consensual if I gave into it out of fear.
I dish up his food, placing each piece of broccoli carefully beside the lamb.
He starts digging in before I’ve laid out my own plate. I can see he’s furious.
‘Who do they think they are?’ he says. ‘They’re just after my money. Think they can accuse me and then take me for all I have. But they can’t! They won’t win.’
I listen to him rant as I pick at my food. I don’t want him to take this out on me.
Later, when we’re getting ready for bed, he comes into the bathroom while I’m brushing my teeth. I watch in the mirror as he reaches for the moisturiser he puts on before he sleeps. As he rubs it into his face, he looks so benign, so innocent. He’s calmer now, more relaxed.
In the mirror I see an image of married bliss, a comfortable couple, getting ready for bed side by side.
The words slip out of my mouth, unbidden.
‘You didn’t do it?’ I say tentatively. It’s the first time I’ve asked. Up to now, I’ve just blindly believed. But I need to hear him say it. ‘You didn’t do it, did you?’
I hold my breath.
He turns to me, rage in his eyes. ‘Of course not. You know me. You’re my wife. How can you think that of me?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, and mean it. He isn’t that type of man. He may have a temper, but he’s a loving father, a family man.
I deserve what comes next. I shouldn’t have questioned him.
He pulls back his right arm and I brace myself for the impact. But instead, he turns and punches the mirror. And then he punches again and again and again, until the crack at the centre bursts outwards towards the edges of the glass, and blood from his knuckles runs down our reflections.
Twenty
I open the door with a forced smile and Ruth comes bustling in, bundles of old plastic bags and bin bags in her hands. She’s here, ready to start clearing her mother’s things. I can’t believe I’ve finally got through to her.
She marches in and pecks Olivia on the cheek. Olivia moans. Ruth frowns. ‘Why’s she grumbling? Don’t tell me you’ve been turning her against me?’
‘No,’ I say, laughing nervously. ‘She’s just tired. No sleep last night. She kept waking up.’ I smile, hoping she will take my cue and realise how exhausted I am too, and maybe offer to watch Olivia for a bit. But she ignores me as I shift Olivia’s weight in my arms.
Ruth looks uncertainly at the specks of dirt in the hallway and then takes off her shoes reluctantly. I sigh. I only hoovered two days ago, but the house seems to breed dirt.
‘Thanks so much for coming round,’ I say. ‘It will be great to have a bit more space for our things.’ I know it will be a long process but at least she’s willing to start.
‘It’s fine,’ she replies. ‘It needs doing. I’ll never sell the house with all this clutter in.’
I bite my tongue. I know she’s simply keeping me in my place, making it clear that I can’t outstay my welcome. Matt has told me she has no plans to sell the house until we’ve saved up for a place of our own. She’s just asserting her authority.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I ask.
‘Yes, please. I thought I’d start upstairs.’
I feel my stomach start to knot. There are still bin bags of Pamela’s toiletries piled high in the study. I hope she doesn’t see them. I never told her I’d cleared out the bathroom and thrown some of Pamela’s things away. Surely she can’t be angry about me throwing away old make-up and tights?
Ruth is halfway up the stairs and I abandon thoughts of the tea and follow her.
She’s already in our bedroom, opening up the cupboards. It makes me feel uncomfortable, even though I know that this is one of the most useful areas she can clear out.
‘Do you need any help?’ I ask.
She turns to me and I see the tears in her eyes as she touches the material of one of Pamela’s coats.
‘Just that tea, please,’ she says and I scoot out of the room with Olivia.
I pace around the kitchen anxiously as I wait for the kettle to boil. I can hear Ruth moving about upstairs.
When I leave the room to take the tea up, Olivia starts to cry. She needs another nappy change.
Upstairs, Ruth is now taking the clothes out of the cupboard one by one and shoving them unceremoniously in the bin bag.
I hand her the tea.
‘Thanks,’ she says, putting it down on the mantelpiece above the old fireplace.
Olivia wails downstairs.
‘I’d better go. I’ll be back up soon.’
After I’ve changed the nappy, I tidy up the living room and kitchen, afraid of Ruth’s judgement. Then I carry Olivia upstairs to see how Ruth’s getting on. She’s still going through the cupboards. I put Olivia in her bouncy chair in the bedroom and start to tidy some of my things on the bedside table. I long to start moving the clothes from our flimsy temporary cupboards into the gaps appearing on the rails that Ruth is clearing, but it seems rude to start while she’s still here.
I remember the way Ruth looked at the hall floor when she came in and I decide to get the hoover out and clean the bedroom. That way I can keep an eye on Ruth and show her I’m looking after her house.
Olivia watches me plug the vacuum cleaner in and Ruth turns as she hears the click of the plug being turned on at the socket.
‘It needs a clean in here,’ I say, to justify my presence.
She nods distractedly, one of Pamela’s dresses in her hands.
The whir of the vacuum alarms Olivia and at first she screams. Then she gets used to it and watches me curiously. I feel calmer as I clean, all my worries of the last few weeks fading away. I’d been so concerned about Matt’s relationship with Sarah, but seeing the farmhouse the other day and hearing from Matt how hard Sarah’s life has been has made me see things differently. They are bonded by grief from the loss of Sarah’s sister. Matt’s only been trying to help her out of a sense of loyalty. It’s me he married, not her.
And now even Ruth’s being nice, clearing out the house. I have a feeling everything will work out after all. Matt and I will be able to start our lives here properly, make the cottage our own. I remember all the ideas I had about village life before I moved here. I longed for close family nearby, Olivia playing outside in the fresh country air in a house of our own. All that’s starting to feel possible again.
As I clean round Olivia’s baby seat, I start to hum to myself. Olivia reaches out ineffectively to grab the cord. I lean down to pull it away from her and catch sight of a flash of orange behind the bed. I can’t think what it could be.
I peer closer. It looks like material. Orange is such an unusual colour, a colour I never wear. I pause and reach down, find an end and pull at it.
It’s a silk scarf.
I examine the pattern. Yellow squares dot the orange material.
‘That’s nice,’ Ruth says, from the other side of the room.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
I wrack my brain for where I’ve seen it before. I know I’ve seen it somewhere.
Sarah. She was wearing it when we cleared out the pond.
Sarah has been in my
room.
In my bed.
With my husband.
My world comes crashing down around me.
Twenty-One
I stare at the scarf in my hands. My mind whirs with possibilities, trying to find an alternative explanation. An explanation that doesn’t involve my husband cheating on me.
Perhaps Sarah dropped it when she was in the house on the day we cleared out the pond. Perhaps it got dirty at work and Matt offered to take it home and wash it for her. Perhaps it’s not Sarah’s at all. Perhaps Pamela had a similar one. Perhaps it’s a local design that everyone has round here.
Without thinking I lift the scarf to my nose and sniff it. Sarah’s perfume.
A strangled cry escapes me and I drop it.
I look up and realise that both Olivia and Ruth are watching me. I wonder if Ruth knows the significance of what’s just happened. Sarah must have been here with Matt, in my bed. But when?
I feel sick as it dawns on me. It must have been the day I found my hairbrush wedged down the side of the bed. I thought it had been Ruth who’d been in our bedroom. It must have been Sarah. With Matt.
Everything fits together. All the time they spend together at work. Their cosy drink at the pub.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ruth asks. If she does know the scarf belongs to Sarah then she’s very good at hiding it.
For a moment, I feel illogically embarrassed. I don’t want Ruth to know I’ve been humiliated, to know what’s been going on behind my back.
‘Nothing,’ I reply, trying to stop my face flushing. ‘Just something else for the charity shop.’ I stuff the scarf into one of Ruth’s bin bags. ‘Can you watch Olivia for a moment?’ I say quickly, and leave the room before my tears start rolling.