Chapter 30
THIRTY
Rita was dreaming of being on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury with a microphone in one hand and a red rose in the other singing a duet with a tall, dark-haired man wearing a red and black lumberjack shirt.
The audience were all cockerels who looked like Nigel, and she annoyingly couldn’t make out the face of who she was duetting with, as they had sunglasses that literally covered their whole face.
She was just about to pull off his disguise when her alarm pierced the fantasy like an out-of-tune bass guitar.
Remembering what had happened with Paul the night before, she groaned again and messaged Kelly ordering her to ring her as soon as she got her message. Then she made her way to the bathroom. Before Rita had even a chance to open the toothpaste, the sleepy voice of her best mate greeted her.
‘You all right, Reet?’
‘Fine, fine. But let’s just say, last night I gave one of the guests a bit more wellness than I probably should have done.’
Kelly laughed, then made an oof noise. ‘Oh my God, I know my Ron ain’t no oil painting, but I can’t imagine that big beer belly bashing against mine. Reet!’
Rita laughed. ‘Oh my God, it wasn’t Michael.’
‘Sunglasses Man? You lucky dog. He’s hot!’
Rita made a screeching noise. ‘On the beach, like a harlot. We didn’t like… go the whole way but it was enough to make me realise that I do miss it and I’ve still got it.’
‘I can’t even tell you how jealous I am. How was his cock?’
‘So weird touching a different one after all these years, but it was lovely; he was lovely… just gentle and considerate.’
‘Enough now. The envy is real but joking aside, how are you feeling, mate? That’s a big step.’
‘Is it too soon, do you think? I just worry people might judge… like I’m moving on too fast.’
‘No one knows but me, do they?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then keep it that way. People will always have opinions and probably those who’ve never been through what you’ve been through would be the most vocal. But at the end of the day, you’re the one living with this. If it brought you a moment of peace, then it was the right time.’
‘Aw, thanks, mate. I cried afterwards.’ Rita let out a low moan. ‘So embarrassing!’
‘I would have done, too, tears of complete joy after not having had it for so long.’ They both laughed. Kel softened. ‘Sorry, Reet. I’m not downplaying this. How did he react when you did that?’
‘Just hugged me tighter. He is so the perfect free spirit for this to have happened with.’
‘Good, I’m glad. So glad, in fact, I was worried that, in the words of the Mad Hatter, you were losing your muchness and it sounds very much like your muchness is well and truly on its way back.’
Rita’s mind flicked to Jago for a moment, but she quickly shoved the thought aside. Some things were better left unsaid, for now. Her loins had stirred at Paul’s attention, a guilty thrill she couldn’t quite shake. But in all its confusion, she feared her heart was yearning for Jago Jenken.
She checked her watch. ‘Shit, I need to get a move on, breakfasts to be delivered and all that. Thanks for being there, Kel.’
‘Always here with an ear.’
Kel hung up.
The air was cool, the sort of July morning that whispered promises of heat later. Pulling on her hoodie and wellies, because the dew soaked everything, Rita padded across the courtyard followed by an ambling Henry.
Bless Zenya, she must have gone up to the main gate earlier as the breakfast hampers were lined up by the front door, all ready to be delivered to the yurts. Loading them into the Jimny, she drove up next to the food store, grabbed a sack of grain, then parked up by the chickens.
‘Morning, your majesties,’ she called to the goats as she passed the pen.
Henry set about sniffing and doing his business.
‘I’ll just do the feathery ladies first.’ She made a mental note to ring the vet, just to check Camilla was still doing OK.
And really, she should have told Jago that his Cedric was almost certainly the father…
but ‘should’ was a funny old word, one she often disregarded until a ‘would’ or a ‘will’ finally pushed it out of the way.
The chickens were already chattering at the coop door. Rita scattered grain and smiled at their eagerness to run free. ‘There you go, ladies. Keep laying those golden eggs like you have been.’ Mavis gave a sassy cluck in reply.
As Rita approached the goat pen, she spotted Emily kneeling on the dewy grass, dressed in cut-off jeans and a plain grey jumper, watching Camilla graze.
At the sound of footsteps, Camilla lifted her head, and within seconds, the whole herd sprang to life, jostling and climbing over each other in a chaotic dash to be first in line for breakfast. Startled, Emily scrambled to her feet and brushed the damp patches from her knees.
‘I’m not overfeeding her. She’s due early to mid-August, I think.’ Rita nodded towards Camilla. ‘Stubborn as hell, this one, and loves to escape. This’ll be her third pregnancy.’
Emily smiled faintly, watching the white goat snuffle down some apple.
‘She looks so… calm,’ Emily murmured. ‘Like she knows she’s safe.’
‘She is.’ Rita felt a surge of pride. ‘My girls get the best of everything here.’
Emily was quiet for a minute, her eyes tracking the round rise and fall of the goat’s belly.
‘Did you enjoy last night? The moon and stars and all that malarkey.’ Rita filled the last of the goats’ tins.
‘Yes. It was lovely.’ Emily smiled. ‘It’s a funny old group. Like some weird dysfunctional family, but I fit in… so that’s OK.’
‘That’s good, then,’ Rita said plainly, not wanting to pass judgement on anyone.
‘I was pregnant once.’ Emily released a big freeing breath.
Rita didn’t move, just stayed still beside her, listening.
‘Last year. It was unexpected. I showed him the test and he just… blinked. Said, “That’s not part of the plan, Em.” And I knew.
I knew the way someone knows a storm’s coming before the clouds roll in.
You know.’ She swallowed. ‘I tried to be OK with it. Bought vitamins. Told myself he’d come around.
But I think the baby knew. Knew it wasn’t wanted. ’
Rita turned, eyes wet but unwavering. ‘No, Emily. Don’t you dare think that.’
Emily bit her lip. ‘I lost it at eleven weeks. Just… gone. And I couldn’t help thinking… maybe it was my fault. Maybe I wasn’t enough. Or maybe it didn’t want me, either.’
Rita took Emily’s hand in hers and squeezed it.
‘Listen to me.’ Her voice was low and steady. ‘They hang on if they want to stay. But sometimes they just don’t. Sometimes it’s not about us. It’s about timing. About their little soul not being ready yet.’
Emily let the tears fall now, unbothered by the mess of it. ‘But I wanted it. Even when I didn’t think I did. I did.’
‘He or she would have known that. That little spark, that flicker of love. It wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.’
They stood in silence until Camilla let out a long, irritated bleat.
Emily laughed through her tears. ‘She’s judging me, isn’t she?’
‘I think she’s saying you’re stronger than you think.’
Emily wiped her face with the sleeve of her jumper. ‘You always say the right thing, Rita; you’re so lovely.’
‘I just say what I needed someone to say to me once.’ Rita pushed down her own tears at remembering the miscarriage she had had, a year after the twins had been born.
She had had feelings of not knowing how she would cope with three under two, had blamed herself for that tiny flicker of doubt.
‘So, are you still with your partner, Emily?’
‘No, thankfully, and also I have no job, either. I quit two weeks ago. I lied the other day. Taking a sabbatical for “creative recharging” sounded far sexier than “completely unravelling emotionally”. Sorry, Rita, you must have a million things to do. I’m going to go back to my yurt.’
‘No, walk with me back to the farmhouse. Here, carry this if you don’t mind.’ Rita handed her the egg basket.
‘He never hit me. Not with fists. But the other kind, you know?’ Emily blurted. ‘The kind that makes you feel like you’re made of shells like these and everything you say is a mistake.’
‘Emily, I’m so sorry. You really have been through it, haven’t you?’
‘I think I forgot who I was… and then I came here. The quiet. The sea. The yoga with strangers. It’s like… layers are peeling off. And underneath, there’s still someone worth saving. I just need to pick up a paintbrush now.’
‘Well, there’s a few outbuildings that could do with whitewashing.’ Rita grinned, feeling a sense of peace herself that the retreat was not only helping her but others, too, just as she had hoped for.
Emily laughed. ‘I’d happily do that. But I meant messy, abstract stuff. I used to lose hours in it. It was like dreaming with my eyes open.’
‘What happened?’
‘He used to call it “my little hobby”. Said it was “cute”. Said it was a shame I never really had the “talent” to show it to others. I stopped.’
Rita’s face darkened. ‘He sounds like a proper arse.’
‘He was and I miss it.’ Emily sighed. ‘But every time I think about trying again, I freeze. Like I’m scared I’ve lost it.’
At that moment, with a crunch of gravel, Stan pulled up in front of them in his Land Rover and lowered his window. He smiled at Rita and acknowledged Emily with a nod. ‘Have you got a minute, Mrs Jory?’
‘I’m going to head back,’ Emily intuitively chipped in, placing the basket on the doorstep. ‘Thanks for listening, Rita.’ Looking lighter in her step, Emily walked towards the High Meadow.
‘You all right, Stan?’ It wasn’t like the farmhand to appear this early unannounced.
‘I’m good, thanks. Just wanted to say, him up there.
’ He nodded his head in the direction of Hawthorn Acre.
‘Well, he may have said I can’t be doing stuff for you when August turns, but what I do in my own time ain’t nobody’s business.
’ He produced a battered tin from the passenger seat.
‘Mrs Bodkin’s carrot cake, I know how much you love it. ’