But entangled with that is uneasiness over what happens next, and the heaviness of guilt that clings hold of me like a cloying, unpleasant smell. This morning, I asked Jude if he wanted to take back the breakup, and he didn’t give a resounding yes, but he didn’t say no either. Clearly, he needs time to think about what he wants, and Beth said the same.
She made it clear that things haven’t been right between them for a while, but I don’t know what she’ll do if he asks her to give the relationship another try. She’s invested a lot of time and energy in it. They rent a house together. They work together. It’s got to be easier to stay than to leave.
I know she enjoyed last night, and she would never hurt me on purpose. But I can’t expect her to drop a two-and-a-half-year relationship for a one-night stand.
I stop at the gate to the farmhouse we’re going to convert into offices for the new PAWS Center and lean on the fence. It’s Sunday, and I often advocate against overworking with my clients, as our bodies need an opportunity to rest and recharge. But if I go home I’m just going to stew, and I know I’ll be better if I do something physical. The rain’s easing up, too. So I go through the gate and fasten it behind me, and walk down the short drive to theold farmhouse.
Last Friday, the sale finally went through. It only took six weeks because the previous owner had died and his kids were keen to get the money from the place and have someone else take it off their hands. Yesterday we were busy up at the Ark for the Valentine’s Day fundraiser, so today is the first day I’ve been here as the owner of the PAWS Animal-Assisted Therapy Center. Cullen will be working with me as joint CEO in an operational capacity, but the property is in my name until PAWS is up and running. We’re still waiting for the company paperwork to come through, but I needed to secure the property, and I didn’t want anyone else to have the burden of a financial risk.
I stop before the house and purse my lips. To be honest, it doesn’t look like the purchase of a lifetime. The building is run down and needs a lot of TLC. It’s intact—there aren’t any roof leaks or broken windows—but the outside needs some repairs and a good repaint, while inside we probably need to do some restructuring. A friend of mine, Isaac, owns a local building firm, and Cullen and I are meeting him here tomorrow to talk about what needs to be done. I’m happy to hand over most of the construction to Isaac, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get stuck in today.
The house sits in the middle of a large garden with a couple of attached paddocks. We’re going to look into what to do with them later, but for now the garden is a mess, especially close to the house. An old car shelter has collapsed, leaving broken planks and sheets of corrugated iron all over the place, and piles of loose bricks and mounds of debris mean it’s impossible to mow the thick grass that grows knee-high everywhere.
My first task is to clean the place up so the builders can move easily around the site. So I metaphorically roll up my sleeves, start a Spotify music playlist going on my phone, turn it up to max volume, and get to work.
I’ve organized for a skip to be delivered tomorrow, but I start moving bricks, wood, and other debris into a large pile to one side of the drive. I find an old wheelbarrow buried beneath the collapsed shelter, and that makes it easier to cart the smaller bricks and pieces of wood over to the pile.
After an hour’s hard work, I decide to take a break and let myself into the house. Yesterday morning, before I headed over to the fundraiser, I called in briefly just to walk around the new premises, andI made the very intelligent decision to drop off a box of cereal bars and a tray of twenty-four small water bottles in the kitchen. The taps are working, but—like many Northland houses—the water comes from two large water tanks outside that are fed by rainwater collected by the house’s gutters. The water has been standing for a long time, so I want to get the tanks emptied, cleaned, and refilled before we start drinking from them.
I open one of the bottles and drink half of it in one go. Then, carrying the bottle and extracting a cereal bar from the box, and humming along to the music, I wander through the house, trying to see it as it will be, rather than it is now. Not a living room and dining room. Not bedrooms and a study. But six bright, clean therapy rooms, a large open-plan welcome area, a row of offices, and a reception desk at the front to greet visitors. A break room over there. A fenced garden outside for the animals. A fully renovated kitchen. Beth suggested we could bake cakes there for open mornings to encourage people to come in and look around, so it needs to look clean and smart.
I stop walking, my gaze drifting into the distance. I’ve been trying not to think about what happened last night. My analytical mind wants to study the event the way a photographer looks at a subject he wants to capture—from every angle, in every light, to catch every nuance. But I’d drive myself mad by doing that, and so I’ve practiced present-moment awareness while I’ve been working and concentrated on singing along to the music.
But thinking about her now brings back memories of her in my arms. Of kissing her, touching her, tasting her. I close my eyes for a moment and give an audible groan. It was amazing… but it wasn’t enough. I want her again, but she’s not mine to have.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. I take it out, and my heart leaps as I see the notification of a text from Beth, as if I’ve somehow conjured her up.
I pull it up hurriedly. It says,Hey you. Just wanted to say thank you for last night, and I’m so sorry I left in such a rush.
I open the sliding doors out onto the patio and walk outside. An old plastic chair lies upside down on the tiles, and I turn it the right way up and perch on the edge, my elbows on my knees as I study the phone. My heart is racing, and I can’t ignore the feeling of joy that overwhelms me at the thought that she contacted me.
It doesn’t mean anything, I scold myself. But even so, those few small sentences give me an unmistakable glow.
Oh boy, you’ve got it bad.
Me:Hey. Yeah, it was a great night, wasn’t it? I loved every minute. And don’t worry about this morning. One of those things <3
I send it, opening the cereal bar and having a bite while I wait to see if she replies.
She does, in less than twenty seconds.
Beth:I’m so glad you’re not mad at me
Me:Of course not! You’ve done nothing wrong
Beth:I just couldn’t face a long conversation with J. I need time to think
My stomach twists. To think about staying? I run a hand through my hair before I reply as graciously as I can.
Me:I understand
Beth:Thank you
I wait a moment. I don’t want to pressure her, but I don’t want to stop talking to her, either. I think of a question to ask that isn’t too intimate.
Me:Where did you go in the end?
Beth:I’m at Kim’s. She’s happy for me to stay here a few nights until I sort myself out
