His lukewarm tone and mild justification was alarming. There was none of the unbridled joy or eagerness for this shared future that she believed was an entry-level requirement for such a step, only confirming the doubts she’d felt when she’d heard the news a month or so ago. Petra had squealed her joy, while Bear, his face pale, stared at his fiancée as if in shock.
‘And Petra was so happy and that made me happy and I thought it was enough.’
‘Your happiness is just as important, more important to me because you’re my son.’
He gave a brief nod. ‘And then I started to feel the most overwhelming sense of burden, like this huge weight crushing me from the inside out. I could hardly breathe!’ He placed his hand on his heart, in the way she’d seen Hugo do. Was this how he had felt? ‘I didn’t want to go to work, I didn’t want to go home, the flat felt like a prison and so I quit my job. Told Petra I needed to go and get my head straight, and she was great, supportive.’
‘Yes.’ Harriet was glad of this; Petra was a lovely girl.
‘As you know, I went to Ilfracombe and then ...’ He looked up towards the ceiling and his shoulders slumped, as a smile formed on his mouth, this followed by the trickle of more tears.
‘Then what, Bear?’
‘Then I met someone, a woman, who has smashed my world into a million pieces. Everything I thought I knew and everything I thought I wanted is on the floor in fragments and I know the only way to build back up again, to construct my future happiness, is to do it with her.’
‘Wow! That’s ...’ She had so many questions it was hard to know which one to lead with. ‘That’s quite the statement!’ She was torn, knowing all too well what it felt like to be the one discarded for something new and shiny.
‘It is, but it’s the truth. Not that it matters; she doesn’t want me. Not now. Petra turned up and told her we were engaged and at the very least I now know I can’t marry Petra, can’t be with Petra, and yet I’ve lost the woman I love. And that’s the bones of it, Mum. As I said, a bloody mess.’
It was a lot to take in. He sounded romantic, fanciful, and yet Bear had always known his own mind and she either trusted his judgement or she didn’t – there were, in her view, no degrees of trust.
‘Does Petra know?’ she asked softly.
‘She knows I can’t marry her.’ His lip wobbled again as a precursor to tears. ‘I haven’t told her the full story; I don’t want to be cruel and I figured it best to go one step at a time.’
‘Oh, love.’ She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Is she with her family or her friends?’ She couldn’t stand to think of the girl heartbroken and alone, knowing very well what that felt like, able even now to recall the desperate, hollow ache of rejection that still had the power to jump up out of nowhere and jab her in the chest.
‘Her mum’s on the way and Fi is with her right now – they’ve been close since uni. We drove back earlier and I dropped her at the flat and I told her as gently as possible that I couldn’t marry her and she was obviously upset and it’s so shitty to know I’ve made her feel that way.’
‘Regardless of what else or who else is involved or what happens next, you’ve done the right thing in telling her. She deserves your honesty.’
Reflection over the years had taught her that one of the hardest aspects of her marriage collapse had been Hugo’s lack of transparency, having to peel layers away until the truth was exposed. How much easier, kinder on them all, if he had had the courage to be open, truthful, allowing her to see the full picture and make decisions accordingly. She wanted Bear to be different, would guide him to be different.
‘I know that, Mum. And then I just wanted to come and see you.’
This the biggest, best compliment that made joy bloom in her chest. Their closeness hard won after her and Hugo’s separation. Long after the ink had dried on their divorce papers, Hugo’s spontaneity and lack of strategy meant she often had to step in and reassure her kids that all was going to be well. It irritated her at thetime, but she could see the result sitting in front of her – the trust of her son – and it was worth every second when she’d cursed her ex-husband as a new crisis loomed. Her words had always been conciliatory, reassuring – keeping things as positive as possible for the children’s sake, as they’d long ago agreed.
‘Wendy’s moving in? It’ll be fine!’
‘Sherry’s having a baby, well isn’t that exciting!’
‘Ramona means well, she’s fun!’
And every time her reassurance was needed, her kids looked little again, sitting on the sofa in Corner Cottage while she told them things were going to change. How she hated that these moments were so clear in her memory – jagged things with which she tried to grapple, but still had the power to send ripples of sadness right through her.
Harriet twisted now and came closer to her boy. Again she held him close and let him weep.
‘Bear!’ Rafe came crashing into the room and stopped short at the sight of his big brother sobbing in his mother’s arms. ‘Oh shit! Has someone died?’
‘No, darling.’ Harriet released Ed, who sat up straight and wiped his face. ‘No one died. Bear’s just going through something a little tricky and he needs our love, our support.’
‘Have you got cancer?’
‘Rafe, no!’ she tutted. ‘People can be upset without it being death or cancer! Although of course those would be two very good reasons to be upset.’
They shared a moment of understanding at the blunderbuss that was Rafe Wentworth.
‘Do you want a beer?’
