“It’s so sad,” Pippa said. News of Joan’s diagnosis had travelled fast around Hurst Bridge. Grantham was dedicated to his wife and from what she could remember, the pair of them were practically second parents to the Squires kids.
“That’s terrible,” Theo remarked politely.
“Anyway!” Frankie threw up his hands. “I’m sure Theo doesn’t want to hear about the misfortunes of people he doesn’t even know.”
“It’s okay.” Theo smiled and it was devastating. “I like hearing about your life.”
Frankie’s face turned molten red. His mouth flapped open then shut. “Umm.”
Mae clutched Frankie’s arm. “I think what Frankie wants to say is he’d love to tell you more about it some time.”
“Yes, any time.” Frankie gulped audibly. “But not now.” He gestured vaguely towards Pippa. “Crisis mode.”
“Oh, of course! Say no more.” Theo gracefully excused himself but not without one last affectionate glance at Frankie. The moment his bedroom door was closed, Frankie puddled into his kitchen chair as the girls made smacking kissy sounds.
“You two are a disgrace,” he snarled into his wine.
“He’s seriously hot,” Mae giggled.
“And so obviously into you,” Pippa said, enjoying the attention being diverted from her car-crash of a life.
“Because dating your flatmate is such a good idea, isn’t it?” Frankie snarked. “Anyway. Enough about me and the hottest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Pip, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Pippa replied. “And that’s what scares me.”
“Well, we’re here for you, whatever you decide.” Mae knocked back another mouthful of wine then winked. “But if you do end up moving to Kent, I’m disowning you.”
Several hours later, Pippa disembarked tipsily from her taxi, wincing at the forty quid fare. Her fault for staying at Frankie’s for longer than planned but spending time in the loving company of her cousin and best friend was like an embrace she never wanted to end. If anything, they were positive proof that she couldn’t leave Yorkshire. She trudged down the path to the farmhouse she and Alex had called home for almost ten years. How could the man who supposedly loved her ask her to leave them behind?
The house was dark as Pippa let herself in. She could hear Ted’s thunderous snoring coming from upstairs. Once the wave of relief that Alex had remembered to collect his father had passed, she checked the fridge for Ted’s medication. It was there but running low and she made a mental note to check the prescription. Then it hit her, wherewasAlex? Surely, he’d heard her come in? She flicked the kettle on and guzzled a pint of water but when she sat at the kitchen table with a mug of decaffeinated tea, he still hadn’t shown himself. She was wondering whether to check their bedroom when she saw the envelope on her laptop.
Pippa pushed the mug away and moved to the other end of the table to pick up the envelope. An encroaching numbness began to spread as, with shaking fingers, she pulled out a single sheaf of paper – Alex had insisted upon having his own letterheaded notepaper – and gazed uncomprehendingly at the achingly familiar spiky handwriting.
Pippa,
I’m staying in a hotel in the city tonight to give you space.
I’m sorry.
Best, Alex.
Pippa dropped to her knees and howled.
ChapterThree
The morning dawned grey and misty as Pippa wearily turned the kettle on for what felt like the hundredth time. Sleep had been elusive, her bed vast and cold without Alex’s reassuring bulk next to her. She’d even attempted to sleep on the couch but a broken heart and a fuzzy head from the red wine round Frankie’s left her wide-eyed all night long – something multiple camomile teas hadn’t changed.
With sunrise came the Head Labourers, Helen and Des, their chatter permeating through the windows with the morning light. Pippa roused herself from her daze, wondering if Alex would show up that day. His note had left no instruction as to any responsibilities he might need her to assume in his absence and so, like many mornings, Pippa did what needed to be done. She unlocked the milking shed for Helen, who started setting the equipment up, as Des readied to guide the herds in stages to be milked. Once the milking routine was underway, Pippa measured out Ted’s medication ready for when he woke up, then made a start on breakfast. Pancakes, she decided, with plenty of honey and fruit. She needed the sugar. But as she began to assemble the ingredients for the batter, she heard Ted shuffling around upstairs and realised it wasn’t fair to eat so lavishly in front of a diabetic. Sausages it was then, and she headed to the fridge. But there were none to be found – she’d bought an entire pack a few days ago. Had they all been eaten? She was investigating the depths of the fridge when she heard Alex’s voice.
“Hi.”
She turned to face him. In contrast to her sleep-deprived self, Alex looked relatively rested. “Hi,” she said dully.
“How are you?” His voice was polite, like a stranger’s.
“I’ve been better,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” He nodded to the kettle. “Shall I make us coffee?”
