to need cutting.
She never had finished touring Europe. She had stayed in the little Bavarian village, not because of Jed, she didn’t think—not at first, or not consciously—but she had stayed, and fallen in love. But she had always known, or thought she had known, that she loved him more than he loved her.
And now? Now, she didn’t seem to know anything, and soon it would be dark. They would make a pretence at eating, and then she could go to bed. Another day she had got through. What a wretched way to live your life, just getting through it.
She heard the soft snick of the back door closing and panic flared in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to face him, not yet, not now. She would go for a walk, she suddenly decided. Without waiting to deliberate the matter, she turned abruptly away, snatched her raincoat off the hallstand and hurried out the front door. Descending the steep steps, she turned in the direction Jed had taken. The soft drizzle soaked her hair in seconds, darkened her raincoat as she walked blindly down to the shore. Waves lapped agitatedly at the pebbles, little slaps of sound that beat counterpoint to her pulse. She tired so quickly now. Not enough exercise, not enough air in her lungs. Feeling dizzy, she halted, looked around for somewhere to rest, and seated herself on a large rock.
With her mind empty, her eyes unfocused, she stared blindly at the loch. You’re being so silly, Sarah. All you have to do is talk to him, explain how you feel. Ask him how he feels…And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She was afraid to ask him how he felt; what he was thinking, because she had the awful, mind-numbing suspicion that he no longer loved her.
An RAF jet tore through the air above her from the nearby base and nearly frightened her to death. She didn’t think she would ever get used to that thunder of sound that seemed to rip the air apart. Hand to her racing heart, she vaguely heard the crunch of pebbles as someone ran along the shoreline, the laboured breathing, but it wasn’t until a satchel thudded onto the ground beside her that she bothered to turn her head. A young boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, was staring at her, all eyes and red face from his exertions. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They examined each other in silence for a few moments, and then he hunched down onto his school-bag and wrapped his arms round his knees.
‘They’ll go in a minute,’ he said with almost humorous resignation.
Who? Who would go in a minute? Glancing beyond him, she saw two young girls, just hovering, but she didn’t want to get involved in this, didn’t want the distraction.
Breath still labouring, he muttered. ‘They are driving me insane!’
‘Who are they?’ She hadn’t meant to ask.
‘From school.’ He shrugged. ‘They want to know where I live.’ Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began throwing them towards the water. ‘And you can imagine what will happen then, can’t you? It’s bad enough now.’ He gave a gloomy sigh. ‘Are you the lady who lives with Jed?’
‘Yes. You know him?’
He shook his head, glanced furtively sideways to see if the girls were still there. ‘What time is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘Just after half-past three, I think.’
‘Will his leg get better?’
‘Jed’s? Yes.’
‘Mum said he was in a car crash.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed quietly.
‘Is that why you’re sad? Mum said…’ Embarrassed, he broke off.
‘Mum said?’ she prompted.
‘That you cried a lot. Are you from London?’
‘No, Bavaria…Well,’ she qualified and wondered why on earth she was bothering, ‘from Surrey really, but I’ve been living in Bavaria.’
‘Where’s that?’ he asked without much interest.
‘Germany. I think they’re going.’
‘What? Oh, great.’ Scrambling to his feet, he hoisted his school-bag onto his shoulder. ‘See you.’
Yes, she thought almost blankly, see you, but it had been a start, hadn’t it? Talking to someone. With a gentle sigh, she got to her feet.
How had his mother known she cried a lot? Sarah wondered as she retraced her steps. Because Mrs Reeves had told her? Her, and everyone else in the small community? As she reached the road she saw that the street lamps had been lit, and now sparkled on the rain drifting silently across their yellow beams. The boy had gone, home to his own fireside, his mother. Had she ever followed a boy home from school? She couldn’t remember doing so; it had always been the other way around. Until Jed. Jed she would have followed to the ends of the earth. Still would. If he wanted her.
Grasping the rail, she hauled herself up the steep steps than ran parallel to the house. Opening the front door, she found Jed waiting for her.
‘You’re wet,’ he said quietly as she entered. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I met a boy—two girls were following him home from school.’
He gave a small smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘girls can be the very devil.’ Helping her off with her raincoat, he hung it on the rack.
Was she the very devil? she wondered as she followed him towards the kitchen. Perhaps that was what he had thought when she’d plagued him in Bavaria—no, not plagued, she hadn’t done that, but she hadn’t tried to hide the tension he’d generated in her.
She slowly sat at the kitchen table and watched her husband. His face was sad, his green eyes dull in this light. And the mouth that used to quirk in humour was straight now, uncommunicative. ‘Did it used to happen to you?’ she asked quietly. ‘Girls following you home from school?’
‘Sometimes. A long time ago. Are you really all right?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed and quickly changed the subject. ‘How far did you get? To the crossroads?’
‘Yes.’
She knew better than to ask how his leg was, if it was painful.
‘Shall we eat?’
She nodded, sat quietly and waited for him to dish up the meal that Mrs Reeves had left. She saw that he was trying very hard not to limp.
The accident should have brought them closer together, she thought sadly. The injury to his leg, the loss of their baby, she concluded in a little mental rush, should have strengthened their love, but it hadn’t. He’d closed himself off, whether from guilt, or anguish—or a realisation that he no longer loved her. Was that the reason? And she didn’t know, now, whether she had closed herself off because he had, or because she just couldn’t cope with thinking about it. He was such a strong man, so determined, so—self-willed. She wished she could be like that. Wished she could be like she used to be.
He looked after her, carefully tried to anticipate her needs, was kind and thoughtful, but not loving. Not once since the accident had he kissed her on the mouth. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, even her hand, but not her mouth. He trod around her as though she were made of glass, but he didn’t talk to her; didn’t—communicate. Only on a superficial level. But then, she didn’t communicate with him, did she?
Staring down at the stew and vegetables he placed in front of her, she felt the familiar lump form in her throat that always preceded a meal. It made it difficult to swallow. ‘Jed…’ she began with some half-formed idea that maybe now they would talk, but he quickly interrupted her, as though afraid of what she might say.
‘We’ve been invited to a party,’ he said quietly.
She looked up in panic.
‘I had a letter this morning. It’s a week on Friday. I’ll say we can’t go.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘But I suspect they won’t