‘I get that,’ he said quietly. ‘And I don’t want them to think of me like that, either. I’m trying to think of each day as another small victory. But it’s just so fricking hard.’
‘Yes.’ For Ryan, it obviously was. ‘I suppose being here makes it harder.’ I was thinking of the local wine that was so widely available in every shop we went to; of the vineyard we passed every time we went out.
‘In some ways. There’s no avoiding wine, is there?’ he said.
‘Yes. But it’s more social here.’ I wasn’t sure so many people drank purely to escape.
Ryan was silent for a moment. ‘You never really know, do you? What goes on in people’s minds?’
‘No.’ I wondered if it was himself he was alluding to. It occurred to me to ask him, but when he was already low, I didn’t want to make it harder for him. ‘Was it a mistake coming away?’ I asked.
‘No.’ He paused. ‘I don’t think it would matter where I was. There are some days I just crave a drink.’ Sitting up, he stretched his arms up. ‘Most of the time, I am enjoying being here.’
‘Good.’ Relief filled me that he’d said that; it was getting harder and harder to read Ryan.
‘Everything’s different, isn’t it?’ he went on. ‘Not just because we’re in France, but being away from our lives.’
‘Isn’t that what holidays are for?’ I said.
‘I guess so. I suppose I’m noticing how peaceful it is. There’s no pressure here. No noise.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Probably because I’m sober,’ he joked.
‘Is that how you feel, at home?’ I asked. ‘Pressured?’
‘Sometimes.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘It can feel like a treadmill, I suppose, the routine of it all.’
I should have pushed him for more. But Ryan and I weren’t like that; didn’t share our deepest, innermost thoughts. ‘It makes you think, doesn’t it?’ I said quietly. ‘How different life can feel when your every minute isn’t mapped out in advance.’ I reached across for his hand. ‘Maybe we should try and build a little more time like this into our lives.’ I paused. ‘Even just to talk like this. It’s important.’
‘At home, we’re always so busy,’ he said softly. ‘With work, school, weekends…’
He was right. This was what holidays were about. But clearly it was part of the problem for Ryan, that life was so fast paced. I felt a pang of yearning. If only we could take even a little of this home with us. ‘Couldn’t we be less busy? Even the kids are feeling it. Lexie said something before she went to sleep – about you being different. In a good way,’ I added.
‘Is it good?’ Ryan sounded unsure. ‘Sometimes, I think I’m insufferably dull.’
‘Oh no.’ I sat up on my sunbed. ‘Ryan, for the children, it’s the first time they’ve known you happy like this. Your relationship with them is changing – you must have noticed that?’
‘I was always there for them,’ he said quickly.
‘Not in the way you are now.’ I was trying to be diplomatic, to find a balance between honest and brutal, when emotionally, Ryan hadn’t been there for any of us.
‘It looks as though I didn’t notice a lot of things.’ His eyes searched mine for a moment. ‘How about you?’ He paused. ‘I have no right to ask, but do you feel like you have your husband back?’
I felt another pang as I looked at him. We came so close to losing each other. ‘I feel like I’m starting to find him again,’ I whispered. Leaning forward, I kissed him.
They were precious, these moments of connection between us. More, for being absent for so long. And as time passed, slowly I was learning to trust again. So were you and Ollie.
‘Remember we talked about getting a dog?’ I said to Ryan one evening. ‘Ollie and Lexie would love it. We could go for walks together. It would be good – for all of us.’ I believed it would be.
Ryan frowned. ‘I’m not sure. What about when we’re at work?’
‘I could take it with me.’ I looked at him, wondering why, when before he’d liked the idea, now he was reticent. ‘Can we at least think about it?’
‘I guess.’ He sounded less than enthusiastic. Maybe I should have seen it as a warning sign, this sense that Ryan’s mind was on other things.
His sobriety lasted almost a year. But it took one bottle, hidden where he thought I wouldn’t find it. Out of the blue, our peace was shattered.
I held myself together until I found myself alone. Only then did my tears start. Why? I asked myself. Why did Ryan have to do this? What would it take for him to stop? And it was selfish of me to think this way, but why couldn’t he put us first, just for once?
I was foolish, I told myself, to imagine it would ever change. In the end, when I confronted him, he denied, deflected, lied, before throwing his hands up and telling me what I already knew:
