‘I just say what I needed someone to say to me once.’ Rita pushed down her own tears at remembering the miscarriage she had had, a year after the twins had been born. She had had feelings of not knowing how she would cope with three under two, had blamed herself for that tiny flicker of doubt. ‘So, are you still with your partner, Emily?’
‘No, thankfully, and also I have no job, either. I quit two weeks ago. I lied the other day. Taking a sabbatical for “creative recharging” sounded far sexier than “completely unravelling emotionally”. Sorry, Rita, you must have a million things to do. I’m going to go back to my yurt.’
‘No, walk with me back to the farmhouse. Here, carry this if you don’t mind.’ Rita handed her the egg basket.
‘He never hit me. Not with fists. But the other kind, you know?’ Emily blurted. ‘The kind that makes you feel like you’re made of shells like these and everything you say is a mistake.’
‘Emily, I’m so sorry. You really have been through it, haven’t you?’
‘I think I forgot who I was… and then I came here. The quiet. The sea. The yoga with strangers. It’s like… layers are peeling off. And underneath, there’s still someone worth saving. I just need to pick up a paintbrush now.’
‘Well, there’s a few outbuildings that could do with whitewashing.’Rita grinned, feeling a sense of peace herself that the retreat was not only helping her but others, too, just as she had hoped for.
Emily laughed. ‘I’d happily do that. But I meant messy, abstract stuff. I used to lose hours in it. It was like dreaming with my eyes open.’
‘What happened?’
‘He used to call it “my little hobby”. Said it was “cute”. Said it was a shame I never really had the “talent” to show it to others. I stopped.’
Rita’s face darkened. ‘He sounds like a proper arse.’
‘He was and I miss it.’ Emily sighed. ‘But every time I think about trying again, I freeze. Like I’m scared I’ve lost it.’
At that moment, with a crunch of gravel, Stan pulled up in front of them in his Land Rover and lowered his window. He smiled at Rita and acknowledged Emily with a nod. ‘Have you got a minute, Mrs Jory?’
‘I’m going to head back,’ Emily intuitively chipped in, placing the basket on the doorstep. ‘Thanks for listening, Rita.’ Looking lighter in her step, Emily walked towards the High Meadow.
‘You all right, Stan?’ It wasn’t like the farmhand to appear this early unannounced.
‘I’m good, thanks. Just wanted to say, him up there.’ He nodded his head in the direction of Hawthorn Acre. ‘Well, he may have said I can’t be doing stuff for you when August turns, but what I do in my own time ain’t nobody’s business.’ He produced a battered tin from the passenger seat. ‘Mrs Bodkin’s carrot cake, I know how much you love it.’
‘Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it.’ Rita deposited the cake in the kitchen, then wandered back across the yard to the barn, key ready in hand. The yoga class wasn’t for another hour, but she liked to let the morning air freshen the place. The back doors groaned open. A shaft of sunlight cut through the gloom, catching the dust motes like glitter in a snow globe. And then that magnificent, breathtaking vista up and over the fields and down to the cliffs and beachesyonder.
How lovely that Emily felt she could confide in her; she had been so candid, and it made her realise that mums came in all guises. Rita’s thoughts then turned to Sennen, whom she realised she hadn’t spoken to in a while and made a mental note to call her.
Thinking back to last night, to her and Paul, making out like teenagers on the beach, she felt a fluttery feeling go through her, like a shiver. It wasn’t just the act itself; it was the way it made her forget, even if just for a few seconds, the mess that was Jago Jenken.
She’d never been this confused about anyone before. With Jago, everything felt tangled. But Paul? Paul was simple. Real. Like breathing fresh air after being underwater too long. Calm waters, to Jago’s stormy and tortured soul, who caused her to feel passion and tension with equal parts longing and frustration.
Whatever it was with the laid-back musician, it had been fun and maybe having a little bit of fun moving forward wasn’t such a terrible thing after all. She surprised herself with how relaxed she was being about it. For the first time, she had had sexual relations with a man who wasn’t Archie. She had thought that it would be a lot harder to do. That she would have felt a guilt or some kind of angst. But no, it had felt good. And guest or no guest, she wouldn’t be averse to doing it again.
Rita paused, took a huge breath as she looked down the barn and over the sea view. Peaceful. Then. Thump! She struggled to realise where the sound was coming from. Another thump, followed by an unmistakable rustle of hay. Looking up to the hay loft with its gaudy curtains pulled untidily across, she narrowed her eyes. A curtain twitched.
Rita walked over slowly. ‘Please don’t be a rat,’ she whispered. ‘Or worse, a big fox.’
A head popped out.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Rita nearly jumped out of her skin.
‘Tranquila, Rita, it is just me,’ Teo said croakily, his black hair sticking up at odd angles.
Rita blinked. ‘What are you doing up there? Please don’t say Hilda has chucked you out.’
Another groan, this one deeper toned, came from the hay loft.
Teo’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Don’t look! Don’t look, OK? I… I didn’t mean to… it just sort of happened.’
Rita began to laugh. ‘I’m not your mother. What you do in your private life is your business.’
