“What? Aspen…”
She was heading for the exit, for the open fields with their perfectly picturesque donkeys providing photographs for the tourists watching the dancing from outside. The farm shop was just visible across the other side of the field, its freshly painted windows catching the setting sun. I chased Aspen down, calling to her.
“Aspen, please, talk to me.”
“Please, don’t. If you say a single word right now there is a major risk I’m going to crumble, and I’m doingsowell.”
“What do you think I’m going to say to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, that you’re never going to look at me the way you used to look at me now that you know? That you’re not interested in me anymore? It’s not so much about what exactly you say, it’s how much I fucking care, that’s why you can’t say it. I’m scared you’re going to change my mind.”
I shouted at her to slow down. She was heading for Windward Ridge. We were on the western edge of the farm, and it was only a few minutes’ walk away; we were almost there at Aspen’s pace, half running through the sunset. The ridge was shadowed in the low sunlight, its path looking narrower than ever.
“Why don’t you just wait and see what I actually say, and how it makes you feel?” I called.
“Nope! No thank you!” she yelled, powering on. “I like you way too much. And I can’t give you that power over me, not now, so we’re just going to have to…never have a conversation again, and just…avoid each other forever…”
She was slowing a little now as she approached the ridge path, reaching a hand out to steady herself on the balustrade.
“I know Charlie didn’t want kids.” Aspen still had her back to me. The wind picked up her plaits as we left the shelter of the cliffs, opening up to the sea breeze. “So I guess you probably don’t, either. But can you just…not say it?” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to hear you say it.”
“Aspen…Iknow,” I said. “And I love you. And I’m still here, chasing you down cliff edges to talk to you. Iknow. What does that tell you?”
She went still. Then she turned, very slowly, her eyes wide and wet with tears.
“Did you just say you love me?” she asked in a whisper.
I nodded, my heart suddenly pounding. I hadn’t meant to say it. It had just come out, because it was so obvious to me, I think—as though I’d almost forgotten she could possibly not know.
“Wait,” she said, eyes still wide. “What do you mean, you know? What do you know?”
“I know you’re pregnant.”
I was whispering, too, and for a moment I wondered if she’d not heard what I’d said. She was staring completely blankly at me, framed against the cliffs of Little Ormer. And then—
“Sorry, what?” she said, full volume.
So, yes. That was the barn dance. After that…we figured we should probably go home and talk.
Sunday October 5th 2025
We lit the fire and made peppermint tea. Have given up on chamomile—in the interests of being fully open and honest with each other at last, we both admitted it tastes like dust.
As we moved around each other in the stables, dark falling outside, I kept thinking of him standing there on Windward Ridge, his hair all scruffy in the wind, his gingham shirt billowing, as he saidI know. And I love you. It was warm and cozy in the stables, but I was still shivering.
Once he was settled on the sofa, I showed him the catalog of donors.
“I’ve had the first couple of meetings and tests. Tentatively chosen a donor. But that’s it.” My voice sounded all trembly. Was so scared to say it out loud to him, even now, even when he’d told me he loved me.
Stared down into my peppermint tea as Oliver looked at the catalog.
“I can’t believe you’re not pregnant,” he said hoarsely.
His reaction had been hard to figure out back on the ridge—he’d seemed completely floored by it as we walked home side by side, the sun sinking over the island. We’d talked about the logistics of how he “found out”—Galoshes, who I’m sure had delighted in letting that one slip—but we’d not gotten past the details to how he actuallyfelt.
“I’m so sorry,” Oliver said instantly, reaching forward to touch my knee. “What a thoughtless thing for me to say to you.”
His hand on my leg made me think of the night we kissed, and my tears threatened to spill over. Had to turn my eyes up to the ceiling, which hardly ever works as well as you think it will, then I was just crying in earnest, wet and exhausted andrelieved, in a way, because at least now it was all out there at last.
