In the middle of August, Owain comes to see me, bringing news that has felt imminent.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says gruffly as he sits across from me at my kitchen table. ‘I’ve been told we have to make cutbacks and I need to lose one of my crew. It’s likely to be a case of last one in, first one out, so it’ll be nothing personal if you’re the one to go.’
Ofcourseit’s personal. Ash mentioned that he’d been looking into making cutbacks, but I know he was determined that no staff would lose their jobs.
This is not his doing. I bet he has no idea, but it’s obvious what’s happening here.
I stare down at the letter Owain has just given me. Therest of the day’s mail is on the table, but only the envelope with the oak leaf and acorn emblem has been opened. It feels so twisted that one of my proudest moments is coinciding with one of my lowest.
‘It’s a good voluntary redundancy package if you choose to take it,’ Owain says. ‘Saves the faff of official proceedings.’ He sounds a little brighter as he nods at the piece of paper in my hands. ‘Best I’ve seen, actually. That lump sum should see you right until you find another position. But it’s dependent on you agreeing to accept redundancy without delay.’
Effective immediately. I’m being paid off. Peter Berkeley wants me out of here and his power is absolute.
But I have one way of keeping some semblance of control over my own fate.
‘I’ve actually found another job,’ I reply, nodding at the envelope on the table.
‘At the National Trust?’ Owain asks with amazement, recognising the logo.
I nod.
‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ he says with relief. ‘You’ll be able to use the redundancy package to set yourself up in a new place before you start!’
‘Will you give me a reference?’
‘Of course I will!’
I have to see Ash.
Ash is sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. ‘I’m not ready for this.’
‘I’ve emailed to accept, and booked myself into a B & B until I find somewhere to live near work. I leave tomorrow,’ I tell him robotically.
He lifts his head to look at me, shell-shocked. ‘How could you do that without speaking to me first?’
‘There’s no other choice!’ I snap, softening my tone as I add, ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘You could. I’d support you—’
‘Ash.’ I cut him off sharply.
He stares at me. ‘Then I’ll come with you.’
‘Stop it,’ I say wearily, running my hand through my hair.
I’m sitting on the armchair just across from him, but I feel a million miles away. I’ve been taking these small steps to distance myself and I’m so tired. I don’t have the strength to fight for what I want any more.
‘This is where you belong,’ I say. ‘It’s ingrained in you. You know it.’
‘I don’t want it. My father can go fuck himself.’
‘You sound delusional.’ I let out a long breath.
‘He’ll die one day,’ he states. ‘When he’s gone, I can do what I want.’
‘But he will have already sold off the sawmill, cottages and this cabin,’ I point out. ‘If I leave quietly, maybe it’ll be enough to convince him not to do that.’
I don’t know how my eyes remain dry. Perhaps reality hasn’t sunk in yet.
