‘And so that’s it.’ She paused. ‘Daddy and I will never ever stop loving you, but we’re going to be friends instead of married. It will all be fine ...’
All she had wanted to do was scoop them up and hold them close. She had felt every part of her body tremble and did her best to keep her voice steady.
It had hurt her heart to be the bearer of such news, but this, she knew, was preferable to leaving it up to Hugo, who might let his anger, his defensiveness, colour his tone or choice of words. He stood just outside of her peripheral vision, but she could hear him breathing, feel his closeness and wondered if he was there to offer support or watch her suffer. Possibly a bit of both. Having known him since their university days, she knew he could carry agrudge when things didn’t quite go his way. One evening during Michaelmas term, when they were students, they’d stumbled across the labelled keys of Spencer, who rivalled Hugo for captaincy of the rugby team. He had picked them up, and before she could suggest handing them in at the porter’s lodge or taking them to Spencer’s study room, he’d launched them way into the distance, where they landed in a wooded area on the boundary of their halls. She had thought it a shitty thing to do then and still it rankled. Harriet wasn’t hypocritical enough not to recognise that she had suppressed her horror and readily married the man, but this vengeful streak didn’t exactly fill her with hope for a smooth transition into the next stage of their lives.
‘Where will, erm ...’ Dilly began, before running out of words and scratching at an invisible spot on her pyjama leg.
Harriet understood, knowing that with so many questions, so many worries, it was hard to make your mouth settle on one and ask plainly.
‘You don’t need to worry about a thing, Dills. I promise you.’ This the first lie. ‘Daddy and I will always work together to make sure that things are the best they can be.’ The second. ‘We know it’s a lot, it’s a lot for us too’ – this the truth – ‘but we will always be a team. It will all be okay.’ Lies three and four.
‘Can I go and finish my game?’ Bear asked, his face red, mouth thin, a recognised precursor to crying that made her heart twist, knowing he wanted to do so alone in his room.
‘Of course, love, and if you have any questions, in fact,whenyou have—’ He ran up the stairs before she had the chance to complete her sentence.
Dilly loped after him and Hugo followed. Her leather chair offered some comfort as she sank into it, running her hands over the arms that her mother had touched as she tried to order her thoughts. What did come next? Her shoulders shook – not fromthe cold but with fear at the prospect of packing up once more and heading out into the unknown. She ran her hand over her face; everything in that moment felt a little insurmountable and she wished she could curl up somewhere alone.
Suddenly, there were shouts and a scuffle of activity outside, a disruption of some sort, the detail of which evaded her and had ceased by the time she popped her head out and glanced down Fore Street and then Mill Head, as much to breathe fresh air as anything else. Probably pub-goers on their way home, making merry and living in the minute, now spirited away inside the closed doors of the neighbourhood. How she envied them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed the heady escape of a good night out. And just this idea was enough to cause a page to fall open in her memory, bookmarked for easy access.
Thank you, doll, I feel gorgeous!
Making her way outside, she sat on the wide top step and stared up at the inky night sky. Stars shone brightly and she closed her eyes, offering up a wish that whatever came next would not be too hard on her or her beloved children, and even on Hugo. A vicious emotional tussle was more than she could contemplate, knowing exhaustion would reveal her bravado to be just that if there were to be a war of words.
As she climbed the stairs to bed, she wondered for the first time about the sleeping arrangements. What would happen now they were no longer trying to patch things up? The thought of spending the night with Hugo under the same roof but in separate beds was jarring. The thought of being under the same duvet, worse. The only other times this had happened was when illness had made it prudent to do so or one of the kids had had a bad dream and she’d camped on their floor. She stood in front of the big mirror of the family bathroom looking in the direction of Capstone Hill with its zigzag paths leading up to the summit, and ran the tap, washingher face with foaming cleanser and cold water – part of her nightly ritual. How quickly the fracture in their marriage had fallen into a crevasse, on the edge of which she and her little family now teetered, staring down.
‘God, Harriet.’ Hugo came into the bathroom with urgency. ‘It’s awful, just—’ He looked distressed, and in truth she preferred it to the toxic combination of frustration and anger that had reared its head earlier.
‘It is awful,’ she agreed. ‘It’s new. Very raw and strange, but we’ll find a way to navigate it; we have no choice. I was just thinking that we need to do so calmly. We’ll come together and—’
‘No, no!’ He shook his head and walked forward, his breathing fast, his eyes dilated, his expression concerned. ‘Something terrible has happened. I’ve just got off the phone with Jack.’
‘Jack from the pub?’ She knew he liked to pop in for a swift half on his way back from a walk.
He nodded. ‘There’s been an accident.’
‘Oh no!’ Her gut jumped in anticipation. ‘What kind of accident?’
And as he told her what little news he had, she felt a weakness in her knees, aware more than ever of the frailty of life.
It had been a long and restless night. Her plans for sleep had been hijacked by the terrible events unfolding. Up early, she’d wandered down to the harbour, a pashmina wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
Now she sat at the kitchen table, the room bathed in dim lamplight as she sipped hot tea, hoping this might be the remedy to the shudder of her limbs. The quiet of the streets was eerie; it was like a ghost town. On this summer morning it seemed thatpeople had chosen to stay indoors, windows closed, TVs muted, the volume on their radios turned to low. There was no chatter, no dog bark, no engine roar, no horn toot, nothing. It was an odd phenomenon in this vibrant quarter, unnerving.
The only noise of which she was now aware was the collective heartbeat of grief, which echoed through the town and hovered like a cloud. As tangible as smog and just as oppressive. Having placed her diary on the seat next to her, Harriet sat at the table in the kitchen and laid her hand on its cool surface, taking solace from its solidity when it felt as if the world were spinning.
‘You okay?’
She looked up with a start; she hadn’t heard her husband come down the stairs. He looked tired, as she no doubt did as well; they had a lot to process.
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘The kids are sound asleep.’
‘Good.’ Only half listening, she did her best to engage, to be present.
‘It’s just awful, isn’t it?’ He shook his head.
‘Really is.’ Her tears gathered.
