Page 23 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
“It was a complicated situation,” she told her daughter carefully. “And I’m prone to depression anyway, I’ve come to realise. But…your father’s and my marriage was difficult. Very difficult. Not just because he could be a stubborn sort of man, as you very well know, but because…” She blew out a breath.Should she do this?“Because he loved someone else,” she finished. “And I think that’s all I’ll say about it now, because this is probably a conversation we should have with Harriet here.” And Rachel was already looking blindsided, without Anna having told her the half of it.
“Someone else…” she repeated wonderingly. “Who?”
“No one you knew,” Anna replied swiftly. “And no one I knew, either. No one from Mathering.”
“Whothen…”
“It doesn’t matter, and that’s not even the point.” Anna was starting to regret having been this honest. “Let’s talk about this with Harriet, Rachel, please. I wanted to give you an answer, but it’s not fair on your sister to go through all this without her.”
“Okay,” Rachel conceded, very much sounding like she wanted to press. “Okay. But…are you sure? That he did, I mean? Love someone else?”
For a second, Anna pictured the obdurate look on Peter’s face when she’d found out about his other woman, just after Rachel had been born. And much later, the icy shock that had trickled through her, when she realised the affair had never stopped. And later still, when Peter had admitted, truculently, just how far it had gone. “Yes,” she told Rachel wearily. “I’m sure.”
*
Half an hourlater, Rachel was back at work in the dining room and Anna was driving back to her rental house, feeling all churned up inside from the conversation. She still didn’t know whether she should have said anything, if it was fair on Peter. Would the girls view him differently now? Should that even be her concern? And did his affair, long as it had lasted, even justify her own behaviour—walking out on her children the way she had? Admittedly her adult, or at least almost adult, children, but still…
A groan escaped her as she swung into the car park of the Tesco on the outside of Mathering. She was tired of thinking about these things, the thoughts going round and round in her head, achieving nothing. She was going to stop the endless circling, buy something delicious to make for dinner, and watch something absolutely brainless on TV tonight.
She took a basket from the entrance of the shop and started perusing the aisles, chucking things in at random, depending on what she fancied. Despite her determination not to think about all those past things, the memories were still there, looming like a dark cloud on the horizon.
What she really needed, Anna decided, was chocolate. A positive slab of it. She made her way to the confectionary aisle and surveyed the offerings, taking her time to decide between salted caramel and hazelnut.
A movement out of the corner of her eye, as well as some sort of sixth spidey sense, had her turning her head. She saw a flash of white hair before a man passed the aisle, and a ripple of awareness went through her. Was it the guy from the quiz evening? How could she find out?
Recklessly she grabbed a bar of salted caramel and chucked it into her basket before walking, rather quickly, down the aisle and around the corner, where she’d seen the flash of white hair. It was probably some octogenarian pensioner she’d never seen before, she told herself crossly. She was behaving in a rather ridiculous manner, chasing after him.
She’d just rounded the corner of the next aisle when she saw him again—this time a flash of checked shirt and navy gilet before he rounded the corner at the far end of the aisle. Itwashim…wasn’t it? She sped up, practically trotting down the aisle even as she told herself she was acting as if she were positively unhinged. What would she even say to the man if she caught up with him? And what if he saw her running after him like a madwoman?
Anna took a stumbling step back as she rounded the corner of the next aisle, for she was in the produce section now, and the low bins made her feel like she’d just stumbled on a battlefield, totally exposed, no towering shelves of cereal boxes to hide behind. And there he was, browsing by the bananas.What should she do?
Slink away was the obvious answer, yet Anna found herself dithering. He’d moved past the bananas in a relaxed stroll before taking a pack of fresh basil from the herbs section and putting it into his trolley. He must cook, Anna thought, to be picking up fresh basil. Or was he shopping for his wife? She could picture the woman already—elegantly coiffed, understated make-up, tailored trousers with an expensive fleece, a faint smile, glasses perched on her nose…
Ugh, what was shedoing? Suddenly sickened by herself—and she was self-aware enough to acknowledge that the memories of Peter’s affair probably had something to do with all this—she turned away from the man and went to finish her shopping.
Resolutely Anna chucked a dozen different things into her basket, barely aware of what she was selecting, although shedidinclude quite a large bottle of gin. Why not? Then she moved to the check-out, unloading her stuff, and paying for it without seeing so much as another glimpse of the man. Just as well, really.
Back at the rental, she was just fumbling with her keys at the door when she heard Henry next door, wailing like his life depended on it. She hesitated, concerned because she’d never heard him cry quite that much. Was something wrong? She glanced down at her two carrier bags, the bottle of gin clinking against a jar of spaghetti sauce. Henry’s screams ratcheted up a notch.
Anna put the bags down and headed next door. She tapped twice on the door with no answer, save for Henry’s continued cries. Deliberating only for a second, Anna turned the knob—the door was unlocked—and then pushed it open.
“Jane?” she called. “Hello? Is everything all right?”
No answer, but she found Henry strapped into his high chair, his face red and snot-smeared from crying.
“Sweetheart…” Anna murmured as she went to him and wiped his blotched face with a cloth. He snuffled, taking a few gulping breaths, but he calmed down as Anna unstrapped him and hoisted him onto her hip. Where on earth was Jane? She glanced around the kitchen—the sink was piled with dirty dishes, there were crumbs all over the floor, and a pile of dirty washing by the machine that stank of dirty nappies. Oh, dear. What should she do?
In her arms, Henry snuffled again and then buried his face in her shoulder. Anna patted his back. She was reluctant to go through the house looking for Jane, as it felt invasive, but what if she’d done something to herself? Slipped in the shower, or…but, Anna thought reasonably, she wouldn’t be in the shower, with Henry down here, surely?
Just then the French doors opened, and Jane stepped into the kitchen, a look of surprise flashing across her face before it was replaced by one of guilt.
“Anna…oh, no. Sorry.” She bit her lip. “You must think I’m the worst mother in the world.”
“No, of course not,” Anna assured her quickly. She could understand the sentiment all too well, though. “But, Jane,” she asked, taking in the other woman’s dishevelled clothes and greasy hair, “what’s going on?”
Chapter Ten
Jane opened hermouth to reply, stood there completely still for a second, and then, to seeming both her and Anna’s shock, burst into noisy tears.
