‘Are you OK?’ she said at last, setting her mug down.
He did the same, before sitting up straight for the first time that evening and fixing his steady brown gaze on her.
Later she’d wonder if this was when she’d known. When she’d had that horrible lurch of dread that comes when you sense something is wrong. Perhaps. Still, even that anticipatory feeling hadn’t prepared her for what was to come.
Then he cleared his throat. ‘So, I mentioned that I wanted to talk to you about something…’
‘Uh huh.’ She nodded.
‘I love you, Bella, you know that.’
She swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. It wasn’t the kind of ‘I love you’ that happened in isolation. This was the kind of ‘I love you’ that happened before a revelation. ‘Of course,’ she managed to say.
‘But I just can’t do it any more.’
‘Can’t…?’
‘This isn’t working, is it. We can’t—We work so hard and it’s so difficult. I haven’t—I’m not happy, Bella. I haven’t been for a while. I think we have to stop.’ His eyes searched her face looking for something. ‘OrIdo at least.’
‘Stop?’
‘Stop pretending this is ever going to work.’
‘The B&B?’ She looked around at the carefully carved work surfaces, the cupboards they’d painstakingly renovated. Outside, now in darkness, was their acre of land, their newly dug allotment. The grass they’d spend days on end cutting once spring arrived. Everything she’d dreamed of.
Admittedly, dreams weren’t reality, and the life they had was more fraught, less idyllic than she’d imagined. But just because something is complicated doesn’t mean you love it any less.
‘Well, yes… and…’
‘But this is… I mean, it’s everything we’ve always wanted!’
‘Bella, listen.’ He reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘I know you had plans. They’re great plans in many ways. But… I’ve given it eight years of my life. I’ve just—I can’t. I want out.’
Something sank inside her: ‘Out of France altogether?’
His gaze shifted to the table, a finger moved to trace one of the splits in the worn wood. ‘Out of all of it. Out of us.’
‘Out ofus?’ She could hear a waver in her voice, an almost childlike quiver.
There was a pause; she could feel the hammer of her own heart against her chest.
At last, he spoke: ‘I love you. You know that. And I thought this was what I wanted. But…’ He made brief eye contact then looked around the room, holding out his arms as if illustrating his point. ‘It was never my dream, not really. You know that. And I miss England. I miss who I was in England.’
‘But you were…’
‘What? Just an apprentice living in a bedsit? Maybe. But I had prospects. Friends… Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to come. It was…hasbeen amazing. But I’m only thirty-four, I just can’t see myself spending the rest of my life here.’
Bella worked hard to steady her breathing. ‘I can’t go back. You know I can’t.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not asking you to.’
‘But I can’t stay here without you either! How would I cope?’
‘You’ll be fine. Come on, Bella. You’re stronger than you think.’ He reached and tried to take her hand again but she snatched it away.
Her breathing was erratic now, sweat beading on her forehead. Recognising the signs, Pete came around the table, sat next to her. Held her. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it. Shh. It’s OK.’
She nestled into him and for a moment let herself believe that the last few minutes had been in her imagination. Because he couldn’t be leaving, could he?
