Pippa who had been worried about his reaction. It had taken all her courage to ring Dan to tell him that Richard was coming for Christmas lunch, after her first aborted attempt. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind? I mean, I wouldn’t have had him over this Christmas, under normal circumstances, it’s a bit soon …’ her voice trailed off. How soon, was too soon, when your husband had rejected you?
Dan put the tray on the rack, and then turned to her, in such a familiar gesture it made her throat catch.
‘You had to move on sometime,’ he said. ‘I’ve been expecting it.’
‘Oh,’ said Pippa again. Her palms were sweating. Where was he going with this?
After a long and pregnant pause, Dan eventually said, ‘I think you should give it a go.’
‘But—’ Pippa wasn’t quite sure how to react. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t such calm acceptance of the situation. It really was over. She’d have to face it now.
‘We’re still married?’ said Dan. ‘I know. And I’ve been thinking. We can’t go on as we are, working the farm together as if nothing’s changed. Pip, I’m holding you back.’
Don’t say it, she begged him silently, please don’t say it. The words she’d been hoping never to hear, since he first suggested separating a year before. If he didn’t say them, there was still hope.
‘Pippa, I think it’s time we sorted this out properly,’ Dan said. ‘I think we should file for divorce.’
Marianne picked herself up reluctantly from the very comfortable spot where she had been sitting in Pippa’s cosy lounge. The twins, who had behaved impeccably well all day, were getting into hyper mode. It was only a matter of time before they lost the plot totally. She was so grateful Pippa had invited them for Christmas lunch, as December had been frantic this year, and she was glad to pass up the opportunity to cook on Christmas Day, particularly as her thirteen-year-old stepson, Steven, was going to spend Christmas with his mum, Eve. Gabriel was always moody the years when Steven wasn’t with them, as Eve had been a flaky mum at best, so it was good he had a distraction. Plus Marianne knew it would help Pippa (she and Gabe were closer as cousins than a lot of siblings, Marianne knew) to have more people there to minimise the awkwardness of the first post-separation Christmas together with Dan and his family. When they’d arrived and realised that Richard was there too, Marianne had worried the day was going to be more difficult than she’d imagined. But thanks to superhuman efforts from both Pippa and Dan, there had been no histrionics, and everyone had had a lovely day.
Marianne started to gather coats, bags and presents together with a sigh. It was so warm and mellow inside, she wasn’t looking forward to braving the east wind whistling off the hills.
‘Oi, lazybones,’ she said, gently giving Gabriel a kick. He was sitting sleepily by the fire, having uncharacteristically for him, tucked into the port after lunch. Gabriel’s parents, David and Jean, had opted for a quiet Christmas this year, and David had volunteered to do the evening shift on the farm, so for once Gabriel could relax. Marianne was pleased that he’d been able to enjoy himself, but he looked firmly ensconced where he was, and she had a feeling it was going to be hard work prising him out.
‘Come on, Gabe, it’s time to go,’ she said, as she’d had no response to her first foray.
‘Oh do we have to?’ said Gabriel, looking at his half full glass longingly. ‘It’s still early yet.’
‘The twins?’ said Marianne pointedly, trying not to feel irritated. Gabriel didn’t often do this to her, but she didn’t really want to go home on her own. ‘It’s nearly their bed time.’
‘Ten more minutes,’ pleaded Gabriel.
A further ten minutes elapsed, and Marianne was going to suggest they left again, particularly as Harry and Daisy erupted into a squabble, which was threatening to turn into all-out war. She glanced over to Gabriel, and saw he was deep in what looked like an important conversation with Dan, who’d emerged from the kitchen where he and Pippa had been closeted quite a while, looking rather gloomy. Marianne didn’t feel like she could disrupt them, and neither did she want to. Gabriel and Dan were good mates, and since his accident two years ago, she knew Dan needed to offload from time to time. Marianne hoped Pippa was all right. She’d followed Dan in five minutes later, looking a little bright-eyed, but, being Pippa, was now laughing and joking as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Marianne settled back to give it another half an hour, by which time the children were climbing the walls.
‘I really think I’d better take the twins home,’ said Marianne, hoping Gabriel would take the hint. Which he didn’t. I’m your wife, she wanted to say, and it’s Christmas. Was it too much to ask to cuddle up with her husband, while the children were in bed, and watch cosy Christmas telly, drinking wine and counting their blessings? Clearly Gabriel wasn’t even thinking about it.
So, with simmering resentment, Marianne took two overexcited and overfed three-year-olds home alone. They were so hyped up they refused either bath or bed for a whole fractious hour, before Harry shouted ‘I feel sick,’ and promptly threw up on the lounge floor. Followed five minutes later by a wail from his sister who had followed suit. Marianne had just about cleaned up and was about to pour herself a glass of wine, and sit down grumpily in front of the TV waiting for Gabriel to come home, when the phone rang. The instant she answered it, she heard Steven’s panic on the other end, and everything else was forgotten.
‘Marianne,’ he said. ‘It’s Mum. She’s really not very well. She’s locked herself in the bathroom and I don’t know what to do.’
Day One. 9pm
I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m not the sort to bare my soul. I’ve never ever written anything down about the way I feel. Except a letter to Pippa once, a long long time ago. This is just not me. But then I don’t know who me is anymore …
The old me was calm and patient, and easy going. The new me – is impatient, depressed and angry … So very angry at what’s happened to destroy my family, my life.
Which is why Jo said it might help to write stuff down.
(Jo’s my counsellor.) Christ. I can’t believe I wrote that. But then, I can’t believe I have a counsellor either.
Five minutes later
I keep sitting looking at the screen. What am I going to write? It’s not as if I have anything interesting to say. My life is pretty fucked up at present. That’s all I know.
I knew this wouldn’t help.
Half an hour later
I’ve had a cup of tea. Come back, sat here staring some more. I’d give up now, but Jo will want to know that I’ve written something down.
Where do I even begin?
Jo says, at the beginning … that sounds like some kind of lame story we had to write at school. I was never much good at that. I was never much good at anything apart from tending to animals, and ploughing the land. And now I’m not much good at that.
So … the beginning.
I used to be happy once. I had a family, a lovely wife, a farm we ran together. I didn’t know it then, but life was pretty damned perfect.
Then, two years ago, I had an horrific accident which caused me brain damage. And nothing’s been the same since …