«Emily, you can’t leave me! What will I do without you?»
«The same thing you always dodrink from dawn till dusk!»
I slammed the front door behind me, collapsing into the drivers seat, tears streaming down my face. How had it come to this? A year ago, our family had been the picture of happinessenvied, of course, because thats how the world works. Others good fortune always stirs jealousy.
****
«Emily, hurry up, get William ready! Ive got a surprise for you both. And dont forget warm clothes.»
My husband, Nicholaswhom I fondly called «Nick» when he was in one of his whimsical moodsloved surprises. This time, he took us out of London to the countryside for a day of snowmarching. His colleague had recently bought a cottage about sixty miles from the city. Though «cottage» wasnt the right wordit was more like a medieval castle, complete with turrets and a stone wall that bordered the property. Calling it a fence wouldve been an insult.
«Well, what do you think?» he asked, grinning at my stunned expression.
«Theres something about this place it gives me chills.»
«Youre just cold. Come insideyou havent seen the fireplace yet.»
The interior was even more unsettling than the exterior. But the men seemed enchanted, and I didnt arguetastes differ, after all.
I couldnt stand the taxidermy lining the hastily plastered walls. Nick insisted they were replicas, but that didnt make them any less grotesque. Yet the men happily devoured roasted meat right beneath the gaping jaws of a boars head. William, ever the little warrior, dashed through the rooms, brandishing a toy sword against imaginary monsters. I kept my eyes fixed on the fire, trying to ignore the creeping dread.
Perhaps that day felt so dark in my memory because it was the last of my old life. Soon after, the owner would wheel out two snowmobiles, and one of them would steal my sons life. Nick, at the helm, would never escape the hell of his own guilt, drowning himself in whisky.
I dont know why I was the stronger one. The pain I carried daily for nearly a year was indescribable, but I refused to let it spill out. It stayed with me, part of my very being. No one around me suffered as I did. They had no idea what it was like to face their cheerful faces every morning.
Sometimes I wanted to join Nick, to numb the agony with drink. But I knew it would only make things worse. Drunkenness amplifies emotion, and feeling too much was our greatest enemyit bred anger, resentment, bitterness. Nick hid behind those emotions like a tortoise in its shell, refusing to come out no matter how I pleaded.
I hadnt meant to leave himjust to escape for a while. I started the car and drove, snowflakes drifting onto the windscreen like pixels in a digital dream. I stopped at petrol stations, drank coffee in roadside cafés, even checked into a hotel to sleep. My mind was blank. I wasnt driving toward anythingjust away.
I dont remember turning off the motorway, but the road led me to a drowsy little town. I parked near a square and sat motionless for what felt like hours.
«Miss, youll freeze out here,» came a tap at the window.
A group of teenagers passed by, and I was briefly surprised at their concernuntil I spotted the elderly woman walking her dog, a small white poodle as pristine as the snow. For some reason, I stepped out to meet them.
«Youve been sitting here so long, engine offI worried something was wrong.»
«Something is,» I whispered.
Why is it easier to bare your soul to a stranger? Maybe because they dont dig through your past for faults or offer empty platitudes. My mother wouldve said Nick drank because of some distant great-uncles legacy. A stranger just listens.
Before I knew it, I was sitting in a cosy kitchen with blue-checked curtains, clutching a steaming cup of chamomile tea, tears staining a crumpled tissue. I thought Id cried myself dry months agoapparently not.
«Emily, Ive made up the sofa for you. Rest, then carry on to your nowhere.»
«Fine,» I sighed, knowing I wouldnt make it to the car.
That morning, I woke smiling. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains, a clock ticked on the wall, and a rough tongue licked my nose.
«Charlie,» I remembered the poodles name. His face seemed to grin at me. I giggled at the absurdity.
«Charlie, leave the poor girl alone. She must be starving.»
Aunt Rose entered with a traythe scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon buns filled the room.
«Dont be surprised,» she said. «When I cant sleep, I bake. These buns prefer silent praise, by the way.»
«Silent?»
«Roll your eyes or sigh happily. Theyre fussy like that.»
One bite, and I understoodthese buns could demand anything they pleased.
Nick used to bring me breakfast in bed too, joking that a hungry wife terrified him. His offerings ranged from toast to sardineshardly romantic. Yet the memory made me smile now, without the usual stab of grief.
I dozed off again, waking at dusk. Charlie snored beside me, radiating warmth. The house was quiet, half-dark. Panicked, I dressed and examined the roomposters on the walls, dumbbells by the window, a desk cluttered with boyish treasures. A photo frame held two young men in uniform.
The front door creaked open.
«Sleepyheads! Its nearly supper time!»
I apologised profusely, but Aunt Rose waved it off.
«Good sleep heals. Hungry? I bought cakeswe deserve a little celebration.»
We ate rabbit stew (a gift from her admirer, a farmer with 135 named rabbits).
«Aunt Rose, how long have you lived alone?»
«Thirty years. My storys like yoursI lost my son. Older than yours, though. He died in servicea training accident. After the funeral, my husband and I became strangers. He drank himself to death in his village. I wanted to end it too, until an old woman told me I had to live if I ever wanted to see my boy again. The pain changesbecomes softer, almost sweet.»
For the first time, I didnt want to leave. This place felt like home.
The next morning, a knock startled us. Nick stood at the door, scowling.
«No lover, then?»
«What lover?»
«Any. This towns hardly lover material.»
«Whats it called?»
«You dont even know?»
Aunt Rose laughed.
«Ill make pancakes. Do you like wild mushrooms?»
Nick devoured fifteen pancakes while I explained. He admitted hed smashed a whisky bottle after I left, then woke terrified.
«If I lost you too, Id be damned forever.» Hed tracked my car to this «backwater,» convinced Id taken up with some muscle-bound rogue. The caretaker had directed him to Aunt Roses flat.
We stayed two more days, strolling through the townnot the «backwater» Nick had imagined, but a charming place called Hemsbury. We held hands, feeding pigeons crusty rolls from a bakery near the station. To outsiders, we mightve looked like any happy couple.
Returning home, I feared the dream would end. But Nicks steady grip kept me grounded.
«Well need a new rug,» he said, eyeing the whisky stain.
«Or keep it as a reminder. Like the dumbbells in Aunt Roses spare room.»
For the first time, we sorted through Williams belongingsdonating toys, saving keepsakes. We even laughed, remembering the gorilla mask Nick let him wear to the zoo.
That night, we talked honestly about the accident. Nick finally accepted it wasnt his faultno one couldve avoided that fall.
I fell asleep in his arms, waking to coffee hed brought me.
«Wheres mine?» I grumbled.
«Half each,» he smiled.
***
Nine months later, Williams sister was bornlikely conceived that night. Id been terrified to tell Nick, but Aunt Rose advised courage.
«Nick, Im pregnant.»
«What?»
«Were having a baby.»
He kissed me, hands warm against my belly.
We skipped our seaside holiday that year, visiting Hemsbury instead. Aunt Rose had finally accepted her rabbit farmers proposal. Their August wedding guest list included us.
Life, it seemed, had room for joy again.
