Chapter 17 Freya
FREYA
Even though I’m ten miles away from home, I still feel on edge as I wait for Tess, choosing a well-hidden table in the corner of the pub, just in case.
I snatch a quick look at my phone, to make sure Charlie’s not after me, but he should be knee-deep in service by now, with little time to consider that I might have gone against his wishes.
“What would you like to drink?” asks the waiter, as he approaches with a notepad.
I smile tightly. “I’ll have a soda water and lime please.”
He smiles. “Sensible choice. You don’t want to peak too soon.”
I laugh falsely, to stop myself from saying what’s on the tip of my tongue. Knowing that if Charlie was here, he’d take him to task for the clumsy comment.
“Need to pace myself,” I say instead, grateful to see Tess coming toward me.
“So sorry I’m late,” she says, looking flustered. “I got held up at work.”
It feels natural to offer a hug, but she instinctively backs away before allowing herself to fall into my embrace.
“I’ve been rushing so I’m a bit hot and sweaty,” she offers, by way of an excuse.
“Here, sit down and get your breath back. What can I get you to drink?”
“Oh, I’ll just have a white wine, please,” she says casually, as she pulls herself out of her coat sleeves.
I snatch a breath, waiting for her to follow it up with a sardonic quip.
“You’re kidding, right?” I say, when she doesn’t.
Her eyes widen as she looks at me, before creasing up. “Of course I am,” she laughs. “Sorry, it’s my sick sense of humor. I find these situations easier to deal with that way.”
I smile, but I wonder if I’ve been insensitive to suggest we meet here. But where else would we go at this time of night?
“Can I get a Diet Coke, please?” she asks the same waiter. I pray he doesn’t offer another dumb retort.
Instead, he eyes us with suspicion, as if the chances of two adults ordering a nonalcoholic beverage is so bizarre that it’s worth making a note of. “Sure thing,” he says, walking away with a furrowed brow.
“So what is it you do?” I ask, in an effort to get over that initial getting-to-know-each-other awkwardness. Though when I remember what has already been discussed at the meeting, I realize she already knows me better than most.
Which is precisely why you shouldn’t be here, I imagine Charlie saying in my ear.
“Oh, I only work part-time,” she says, as if it doesn’t count.
“Bookkeeping for a local construction firm. It’s not exactly rocket science, but it keeps the wolf from the door.
And besides”—she looks around, blinking away the tears that have sprung to her eyes—“I’m not able to do much more, as I look after my mum. ”
It feels impertinent to ask more, yet rude not to. “I’m sorry, is she not well?”
The waiter goes to say something as he serves our drinks and I glare at him in warning not to.
“She’s not been well for a long time,” says Tess.
“She had a nervous breakdown after my dad died and has been in and out of hospitals with her mental health ever since.” She laughs acerbically.
“Except now, in a cruel twist of irony, she has early-onset dementia, and they don’t know what to do with her. That’s why I moved up here.”
“That must be tough,” I sympathize. “Is that what you were doing at the hospital?”
As soon as it’s out, I want to suck it back in, knowing I’ve crossed a boundary I’d set myself, leaving me wide open for the question to be reciprocated—with an answer I’ve not yet formulated.
She nods. “She had a fall when she was staying with her sister and broke her collarbone. But aside from managing the pain, there’s not a lot they can do, so they sent her home after three days.”
“Do you have any siblings to share the burden?” I ask.
She attempts to smile. “One brother, but he’s about as much use as a chocolate teapot.”
I roll my eyes. “Boys, eh?”
“In his defense, if he was here, he’d probably help out a bit, but being in Australia makes it a little tricky.”
“Ah…”
“Anyway, enough of the doom and gloom,” she says, her smile brightening her face in an instant. “Tell me about you. Do you work?”
I nod. “I’ve not long been with a children’s charity based in Swindon.
It’s relatively new—only five years old—but it’s beginning to make waves.
I’m across the fundraising, investment, deployment of funds.
There’s only four of us, so I’m just trying to lend my expertise in whichever direction I can. ”
“Well, it doesn’t get any more worthwhile than that,” says Tess, almost in awe. “I imagine you have to deal with some impossible situations.”
I blow my cheeks out. “You toughen up pretty quick in this line of work. You have to, otherwise you’d be falling apart every five minutes.
These families are waiting on a miracle and, in most cases, looking to you to deliver it.
But no matter how groundbreaking the research is, and how far medical interventions have advanced, the fact remains that there is simply not enough money to get these life-saving treatments to the people who need them. ”
“So what do you do?” asks Tess. “How do you decide where the money’s best placed?”
That’s quite literally the million-dollar question. “We just have to make decisions on a case-by-case basis, which is heartbreakingly hard to do because so many children need help.”
“So it’s individuals, not just organizations, that you offer financial assistance to?”
I nod. “In rare circumstances, we’ll take a view, if we think there’s a very real chance of a child’s prognosis being turned around.
For example, there’s this gorgeous little boy called Harry who’s currently receiving respite care at Unicorn House.
He has a life-limiting genetic condition that doctors in America have been researching, and his mum, Maria, is desperate for him to take part in the medical trial. ”
“But it costs money?”
“Exactly.” I sigh. “Money that they just don’t have. I mean, imagine how that must feel. To know that there might be a cure that could save your child’s life, and money is the only thing that stands in the way.”
“So there’s no council or government funding available?” asks Tess, aghast.
I shake my head. “Especially not for treatment overseas.”
“That’s shocking.”
“We’re just trying to work out if we can help them, and if so, by how much.”
Tess’s eyes fill with tears again. “That must be so incredibly rewarding. Charlie must be so proud of the work you do.”
I pull myself up, having momentarily forgotten where I was. “We’re proud of each other,” I say, the mere mention of his name bringing my guilt-ridden anxiety to the fore.
“How’s he doing?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. “This is all still a relatively new experience for him, isn’t it?”
I force a smile. “He makes out that he’s finding it easy, but in reality, he’s struggling.” I swallow away the feeling that I’m talking out of place, telling myself that she knows this much already.
“It will get easier. For him and for you. But it takes time, and you have to be patient.” She offers a sympathetic smile.
Never a truer word has been spoken and I can’t help but smart, knowing we’ve still got a long way to go.
She smiles, while looking like she’s considering whether she should say what she’s about to say. “Might I suggest something…?”
“Of course,” I say, feeling more and more at ease with every passing second. Not knowing this was what I needed until now.
“Take yourself off for a couple of days. Remove yourself from all the angst and madness for just a beat, so you remember who you were before all this: before Charlie, before whatever happened to bring you to this point.” She looks at me, and I feel seen. “Because there’s almost always a catalyst.”
There’s a pull at the back of my throat as I battle against telling her about that night, and the vow we made to help each other get through it. Acknowledging the problem and attending meetings being the first in many steps that had to be undertaken if our marriage was to survive its impact.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get away with that,” I say, laughing. “We don’t really have the surplus funds for a week away.”
“It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy,” she says. “Just somewhere to give you a break from routine. I’m taking myself off to a hotel for a couple of nights next weekend and I’m entirely unapologetic about it. I need time away from the pressures of being at home and it’s good for my recovery.”
“I’d love to do something like that,” I muse, finding it all too easy to imagine two whole days and nights of not having to deal with Charlie’s unpredictable moods—of only having myself to please in whichever way I saw fit.
The thought of being free makes me feel guilty and giddy in equal measure—the simple joy of being able to do what I want, when I want, is intoxicating to think about.
But then I pull myself up—as my cheeks burn with self-reproach, hating myself for being so preoccupied with what I stand to benefit, when Charlie is at home, struggling to stay on the spinning hamster wheel that only seems to be getting faster and faster.
Doesn’t he deserve to jump off and leave the real world behind for a few days?
Shouldn’t we be hiding ourselves away in a romantic hotel together, plastering over the cracks in our relationship that will only widen the longer we leave them?
“Why don’t you come with me?” says Tess, looking at me as if she means it.
“Are you serious?”
“Why not? There’s a spa, stables.… You can do your thing and I’ll do mine.”
She had me at stables. I’ve not ridden a horse in as long as I can remember. Certainly not since having my pony, Kelsey, when I was what? Thirteen?
“I’d love to,” I say. But how can I? What would I tell Charlie? He’s expressly asked me not to see Tess, let alone go away with her for a weekend. But then I backtrack, reminding myself that he doesn’t get to tell me whom I see or spend time with.
My phone rings and I already know it’s him, with his innate ability to remind me that whatever I’m thinking, he’s already two steps ahead. I turn it to silent and force away the sense that I’ve already been caught out.