Page 7 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
Anna tried not to wince at the implication that she hadn’t been entirely deserving of being kept in the loop. “Yes, it was,” she replied dutifully, and broke off a piece of banana bread only to crumble it between her fingers. As comforting as this kitchen was, and as delicious as she knew Diana’s baking to be, she didn’t have any appetite.
“Well,” Diana said again, and then a lengthy pause ensued that started to feel uncomfortable until Diana put her cup down and leaned forward, one hand outstretched towards Anna. “How are you, Anna love?” she asked, her face wreathed in kindly concern. “Really?”
“Oh…” Anna tried to summon some milquetoast response, only to feel her face crumple. She’d shed a few tears back by the river, but now she feared she might out and out sob. She drew a shuddering breath and willed it all back. She only partially succeeded. “Honestly, I’ve been better,” she managed in a clogged voice.
“Of course you have,” Diana murmured and patted her hand. “Of course you have.”
“I knew they’d both be angry with me,” Anna continued, the words coming in stilted, protracted gasps because she was that close to breaking down. “I thought I was prepared for it. But I’ve been here two weeks and there’s been no change at all.” She wiped her eyes and took a calming breath that worked only a little. “Back before Christmas, at the party at the hotel, I thought Harriet was thawing towards me, a bit. She smiled at me, anyway, but she’s changed her mind since then because now she’s acting like she can’t stand me. As usual.”
“It’s complicated,” Diana murmured, taking up her tea again, and Anna shot her a suddenly fierce look.
“Trust me, Diana,” she said, her voice turning surprisingly sharp, “I, of all people, know just how complicated it is.”
The silence that followed felt heavy with too many unspoken things. Anna didn’t actually know how much Diana knew about the difficulties in her and Peter’s marriage, or how much she suspected. She thought it must be something, at least, but Diana had never said and neither had Anna. She wasn’t about to say now, not after all this time. She’d maintained her silence for a reason—to protect her daughters.
A sigh escaped Diana, long and sorrowful. “Peter was a difficult man to live with, I know,” she said at last.
“It wasn’t that,” Anna replied, although heaven knew he had been difficult, extremely so, to live with. “I mean, that’s not why I left.”
Diana glanced at her sharply, her kindly eyes narrowing as she leaned forward. “He wasn’t…” she began, and then stopped, clearly not wanting to put it into words.
“Abusive?” Anna filled in shrewdly. “No. He never was.” Not like that, anyway. She thought of how he’d batted her hand away earlier that morning. It had been the closest he’d ever come to physically hurting her. Emotionally, however…
That was a very different story.
“I didn’t think he would be,” Diana said, almost in apology, as she resettled herself in her seat. “I know he’s a quiet man, and he’s not one to show his emotions, but…”
Anna shook her head, weary now. “It wasn’t anything like that,” she said, and she hoped her tone did not encourage any more questions. She didn’t want Diana asking what was it, then, because she wasn’t about to tell her, or anyone. Not, at least, without telling her daughters first, and she hadn’t told them because she’d wanted them to be able to have a relationship with their father, although how well that had worked out was debatable in the extreme. Still, underneath all the aggro and tension, she knew they both adored him, in their own ways, and longed for his returned affection. She didn’t want to take that from them, especially not now, when Peter’s life was coming to its close. Still, she acknowledged ruefully, it was hard to make a self-sacrificing choice and not feel—and, unfortunately, act—like a martyr.
“So, what are you going to do?” Diana asked as she poured them both more tea, even though Anna had barely drunk any of hers.
She looked at her old friend in surprise. “Do…?”
“About your girls?” Diana gave a knowing nod. “You said being here is making things worse, so let’s think of a way to make things better. Those girls might be adults, but they still need a mother, and you’re here to be one…aren’t you?” The last bit was said gently enough, but still clearly a challenge.
“Yes, I am,” Anna replied. “I want to be, anyway. But I don’t think they do. And I can’t force it. I know I can’t.”
“Girls always need their mothers,” Diana replied as she sipped her tea. “And you’re here, which shows you care.”
“I’ve always cared,” Anna replied quietly, just in case Diana was implying this was some sort of new development. “I know I haven’t always tried as much as I should have, because it was so hard, but I’vecared, Diana—”
“I know you have.” Diana reached over to pat her hand, her smile kindly enough although Anna thought she saw confusion or maybe even doubt in her old friend’s eyes.What kind of caring mother abandons her children for twelve years?Diana might as well have spoken aloud. “It’s just that Harriet and Rachel are both angry,” she continued as she withdrew her hand. “And sometimes it can feel stronger as well as safer to stay angry. Much easier than actually having to deal with all the other emotions.”
“Yes, I understand that,” Anna said after a moment. “But they’re both adults, and they’re behaving like little children in a strop.” Until she said the words, she hadn’t realised how much she meant them. She’d felt she hadn’t had the right to think that way, and yet…maybe she did.
“Adult children often revert to acting like toddlers when they’re with their parents,” Diana replied bemusedly. “That must be why Ben still leaves his wet towel on the bathroom floor.”
Anna smiled faintly in acknowledgement; it wasn’t, she thought, remotely the same kind of thing.
“They might be acting like children,” Diana continued more seriously, “but you need to act like their mother. You may feel as if you’ve forfeited that right, Anna, but you haven’t. You’re still their mother. You raised them to adulthood—yes, youdid—and I saw how hard you worked all those long years—cooking, cleaning, ironing their uniforms, baking them birthday cakes, all of it. You did all the hard work, the endless slog, and they can’t pretend now as if you hadn’t. And you shouldn’t have to, either.”
Anna blinked, amazed and incredibly gratified by this unexpectedly impassioned response. It was, she realised, exactly how she’d felt, but she’d never given herself permission to acknowledge it, even to herself, never mind to her own daughters. And yet Diana saying it validated it somehow, made her realise she’d been right all along. She just had to explain that to Harriet and Rachel…a thought that filled her with complete dread.
And yet…what if she could? What if shedid?
“Thank you,” she told Diana, meaning it utterly. “I think I needed to hear all that.”
“I think you did, as well,” Diana replied. “And your daughters do, too.” She eyed her beadily. “So, the question is, Anna love, are you going to tell them?”
