The room felt too still.He used to love me; she thought.Perhaps he’s just staying for Elspeth. Maybe that’s his version of pragmatism.
Hamish set his fork down. ‘What are you so afraid will happen if you tell me what it is you want? What you need? Why you won’t ever stand up for yourself, even when they treat you like they did at that fiasco of a family conflab? What’s made you so sad and withdrawn?’
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The question was too large. Like trying to swallow broken glass. This kitchen had once held laughter. It had buzzed with the smell of ginger andcinnamon, Elspeth dancing in circles with a wooden spoon while Hamish read the names of Tudor courtiers in funny voices.
‘I think I’ve told you what I need,’ she said finally, quieter than she meant to. ‘I need a house that doesn’t make me feel like I’m in the wrong life all the time.’
Hamish looked at her for a long time. ‘You think ahousewill fix this? That’s what Wolsey tried to do, gifting Hampton Court to Henry.’
‘You think quotingTudor historyat me will fix it?’
A silence. The kind with teeth.
She rose and started clearing plates. The clink of ceramics and the splash of the tap filled the cottage. She felt him watching her but didn’t look back.
‘I think,’ he said eventually, ‘we’re both trying to rewrite the ending.’
Christina dried her hands slowly.The ending. He meant their marriage, didn’t he? ‘And we’re just arguing about whose version gets told?’
‘No.’ Hamish’s voice was gentler now. ‘I’m saying we should deal with what is actually going on.’
She turned then, half-hoping he might come to her. Touch her wrist, or just say something that didn’t come with conditions attached. But he didn’t. Instead, he picked up a book from the table, opened it, then put it down with a sigh. Finally, he stood and came towards her. Her heart skipped a beat, imagining him folding her in his arms and kissing her.
Hamish gave her a smile – too thin to be passionate, but it was a start.
‘You cooked, let me do the dishes. Why don’t you relax for a change. Sit down with a gardening magazine?’
Christina turned back to the sink. Outside, the wind moved through the trees like a sigh.
In the glass above the sink, she saw her reflection. Not tragic,not Anne Boleyn, but tired, and drawn, and with that sensible haircut she never had liked. What if there was no way back?
What if the kiss, the laughter, the warmth from a few years ago had already become part of history too?
Fifteen
The school hall buzzed with the restless energy of parents balancing programmes and boxes of chocolates while stealthily stashing mobile phones set to ‘video’ under their coats. Folding chairs creaked as latecomers tried to shuffle into already-full rows.
Cardboard reeds flanked the stage, painted a too-vibrant green, and crinkling every time someone backstage brushed against them.
Christina sat beside Hamish in the middle of the fourth row, her coat half-off, knees pressed together, her hands twisting in her lap. She could feel the heat of him beside her – familiar, frustrating. They had driven over in silence and had spoken little since arriving, just murmured acknowledgements about where to sit and who they’d spotted.
In front of them, Elspeth bounded onto the stage as Ratty the water vole, in a brown leotard, pipe-cleaner whiskers, and an enormous bright orange tail. Christina felt their shared parental pride like a current between them.
‘She’s ... orange,’ Hamish whispered, his eyes twinkling.
‘The brief was ‘make your own tail,’’ she replied, lips twitching into a smile. ‘Apparently the only fabric left in the drama cupboard was from a defunct fox costume.’
‘Ratty by way of a traffic cone.’
Christina laughed. The tension between them softened slightly,like steam escaping a kettle. On stage, a chorus of badger cubs began to sing ‘Messing About in a Boat’.Half were singing the wrong verse. The piano was a full two bars behind. It was dreadful. It was glorious.
Phones tilted. A baby gurgled. Parents beamed.
And then Elspeth stepped forward into the improvised spotlight – a teacher holding a lamp suspended from a broom handle – took a breath and launched into her solo.
It was sweet and clear, with only the faintest tremor in the high notes. Elspeth’s eyes searched for them in the audience. When they met Christina’s, something sharp and yearning stirred inside her. She smiled. Elspeth smiled back, brighter.
Beside her, Hamish gave a single, soft ‘huh,’ the sound he always made when moved and trying to pretend otherwise.
