Page 21 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 3
‘She did,’ Kirsty said. ‘But it doesn’t seem like that meant much to her, nor did the fact that Jamie was living with Maura. Evidently, she set her sights on him and spilled the beans about the affair when she ditched the boyfriend, presumably to force Jamie’s hand and get Maura out of the picture.’
Fraser swore. He’d never thought much of Jamie – had always felt Maura was far too good for him – but he’d known better than to air his views, even after Jamie’s drunken performance at the Witchery. She’d always been so forgiving – so understanding – of his poor behaviour and now he’d betrayed her in the worst way; Fraser couldn’t bear the idea that she’d been put through such hell. His hands curled into involuntary fists and he had to take several deep breaths to loosen them. ‘How’s Maura?’ He shook the question away, irritated by his own insensitivity. ‘Sorry, that’s stupid of me. She must be devastated.’
Kirsty paused to consider. ‘She was hurt, obviously. But it hasn’t been one of those long, drawn-out breakups. Jamie didn’t try to deny it, which I suppose he deserves a sliver of credit for – he packed a bag and left the same evening.’
An image of Maura swam into Fraser’s head, her eyes red from crying. Fury bubbled up inside him. He wanted to swear again. ‘Why didn’t she tell me? I could have helped or – or something.’
‘I don’t know,’ Kirsty said, and eyed him speculatively. ‘I assumed she had.’
‘Which is why you were furious with me for not offering her any support,’ Fraser observed grimly. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at her. ‘So now what? Obviously, I want her to take all the time she needs but I don’t know whether she’ll be happy that you’ve told me what’s going on.’
Kirsty shrugged. ‘As an older sister, there are times when you have to take matters into your own hands, regardless of what your sibling wants. You needed to know.’
Fraser took a breath, willing his indignation and anger to lessen so that he could think rationally. ‘I did. Thank you for telling me.’ He paused, remembering something else Kirsty had said. ‘Is she really on the verge of a breakdown? Because of me?’
‘Not solely because of you, you numpty,’ Kirsty said, eyeing him with no small amount of scorn. ‘Get over yourself. Obviously, the break-up is the biggest factor – that’s a life-changing event. But pressure from you to deliver the ghosts among all the other work she has going on isn’t helping. So maybe take a step back, let her know that pressure is off. That should ease things a bit.’
‘I can do that,’ Fraser said, relieved he’d told Tom and Rebecca he was changing the way they sold the ghosts. ‘No problem.’ He eyed Kirsty with some trepidation as another thought occurred to him. ‘Should I go and see her?’
‘That’s up to you,’ she said. ‘She needs friends right now, just as much as family. Can you be a friend to her, Fraser?’
‘I hope I already am,’ he said, remembering the conversation he and Maura had shared on Portobello Beach. But the fact remained that when she’d needed support, she hadn’t turned to him. ‘But maybe I need to try harder.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Kirsty said. ‘Just tread carefully. And be patient. I’m not sure she’s really dealt with the fallout from Jamie’s affair.’
He nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
She sighed as she turned to leave. ‘I can see you’ve got good intentions, Fraser. Just try not to make things worse.’
Fraser wasn’t surprised to observe a little thrum of anxiety dancing along his nerves as he waited outside Maura’s studio on Monday evening.
After his disconcerting conversation with Kirsty the previous week, he’d messaged Maura to ask if she needed more time to deliver the ghosts. She’d come back with a suggestion that he call round to collect them in the evening rather than the afternoon and, since Monday was his night off from Dead Famous, he’d been happy to agree. He didn’t like the idea that she was still working at seven o’clock but Kirsty had made it clear how much pressure her sister was under and Fraser was all too aware he wasn’t in a position to lecture anyone about working too hard. From what Kirsty had said, Maura might be using her work as a means to avoid facing up to the end of her relationship and Fraser had no idea what to expect when she opened the door. He’d been through a painful break-up or two of his own over the years and there had been days when he had struggled to get out of bed, let alone shower and take care of himself. He could only hope she wasn’t falling apart that badly.
‘Hello,’ she said, poking her head out of the smaller door that sat in the middle of the left-hand side of the garage doors. ‘Come on in.’
Fraser ducked inside. The studio was warm and brightly lit, much the same as it had been during his previous visits. The shelves were loaded with the usual assortment of pots, some more finished than others, but he thought he could easily pick out those made by Maura. Several boxes sat at the base of the shelves; he saw the edge of a wide plate poking out of the crumpled paper packaging of one. More plates covered the workbenches, white glaze on black clay in a striking pattern that he imagined would look great in a restaurant setting. An open tub of glaze stood at one end of the bench, a paintbrush submerged in its depths, suggesting he’d interrupted her in the midst of decorating something. There wasn’t much unused space. He had no idea how she fitted her students in.
‘You’re still hard at work,’ he said, nodding towards the telltale brush.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ she said, and as she turned round, Fraser was able to observe her properly for the first time.
The changes were subtle but unmistakeable. She was thinner, for a start, and it showed in her face. The delicate roses had gone from her cheeks, leaving her porcelain skin pallid against the faint bluish tinges beneath her eyes. Her hair was scraped back in a severe ponytail – no unruly curls escaped to soften the style. She looked exhausted, causing him wonder how well she’d been sleeping. Nowhere near enough if she’d been working eighteen-hour days, he thought, and had to battle a sudden urge to wrap her in a duvet.
Uncomfortably aware that he was scrutinising her, he forced the notion away and waved a hand at the crowded workbench. ‘No rest for the good, either, from the looks of things.’
She pulled a wry face. ‘I’m not sure about that. But it does mean I owe you an apology.’
‘You really don’t,’ he said. ‘I remember you told me at the start that pottery is never an exact science. A little delay hasn’t caused any problems.’
Maura appeared unconvinced. ‘Sorry, but I doubt that’s true – you have customers waiting and I let you down. I took on too much work and it all got on top of me.’ She took a breath, offering him a mechanical smile that flashed on and off like a light bulb, with no trace of its usual warmth. ‘It won’t happen again.’
She wrapped her arms around herself and Fraser was struck all over again by the desire to cocoon her in blankets.
‘Honestly, it’s all fine,’ he said gently. ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for, especially after everything you’ve been through.’ She glanced sharply at him then, her weary gaze suddenly questioning. He tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I know about Jamie.’
For a moment, she simply stared at him, then her shoulders slumped. ‘How?’
‘Your sister. She came to see me last week, mostly to shout at me for being a lousy business partner, I might add, but she also told me what had happened.’ He pressed his lips together in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, Maura. It sounds horrific.’
