Chapter 4
FOUR
A month later
The barn conversion really is beautiful.
Renovated to our exact specifications, from the hidden lighting to accentuate its different moods to the grand oak staircase with its balustrade looking down on the lounge and the aged-oak kitchen cupboards, everything is perfect.
I’d thought living here would be cosier, that I would feel less on my own.
As I stand in it now, though, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, surveying its soft curves and alcoves, the myriad of rich textiles and warm patterns I’d chosen to furnish the rooms with, I realise I’ve brought my ghosts with me.
Kai and Mark will always be a part of me, but overwhelmingly suddenly, I feel it acutely, the absolute loneliness of being alone.
Swallowing back an almost suffocating wave of raw grief, I go across to the sofa facing the log burner, where Lola, my faithful golden retriever, lies.
She has a big heart, the local vet had told me with a kind smile.
He was referring to the dilated cardiomyopathy she’d been diagnosed with.
It was true, though, she did have the biggest heart.
She was the most loyal, loving friend a person could have.
She’d been with Mark and me for four years before Kai had come along and she’d taken another ‘pup’ into her care.
She’s apparently already lived beyond her expectancy, and now, as she lies here lethargic, her breathing laboured, her huge chocolate eyes locked plaintively on mine, she’s breaking what’s left of my heart.
Sitting carefully down next to her I stroke her for a while.
As the tears rise, I ease myself up and go to the window.
I can’t let them fall. She’s seen too many tears already, and every time I’ve cried, she’s been there, her warm body nestled impossibly close to mine, bringing me the kind of comfort only a dog can.
I can’t bear to see the alarm and frustration in her eyes as she tries to raise herself to offer me that now. I can’t bear to say goodbye to her. What will I do?
Pushing the window open a fraction, I suck fragrant late-summer air deep into my lungs and squeeze the tears back.
As I try to compose myself, I’m taken by surprise as someone emerges from the farm entrance next to my drive.
Jack, I realise, relieved that it’s someone I know.
With no other house in sight, I’ve been getting the jitters, especially at night.
He seems agitated, I notice, walking back and forth along the lane, his phone pressed to his ear.
As I watch him, I wonder how he is. How does one deal with their spouse being presumed dead and never truly knowing what happened to them?
He and his teenage daughter must be bereft.
How could they grieve under such tragically uncertain circumstances?
I’ve only spoken to Jack briefly since moving here a few weeks ago, when I’d seen him outside a house he was working on in the village.
Or rather, heard him. I’d been stunned to find him yelling at a man I recall he’d employed at short notice.
‘No, Carl, you don’t get the cash you’re owed.
Just collect your stuff and go,’ he’d growled, clearly seething with anger.
The man had splayed his hands, said something back to him, but Jack was in no mood to listen. ‘Now!’ he barked. ‘Piss off before I call the police.’
As the man had grabbed his jacket and tools from the back of the truck and stalked off, Jack had turned to watch him go. His face had paled when he saw me.
Obviously noticing my shocked expression, he walked towards me. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said with an embarrassed smile.
‘Is there a problem?’ I asked warily.
‘He’s been stealing stuff from the property.
’ His expression a mixture of disgust and despair, he glanced past me to where Carl was disappearing down the lane.
‘He made some lame excuse about being in debt and he’s given it back, but…
The owner of the property is elderly, you know?
The jewellery Carl took has sentimental value, so…
’ He drew in a breath. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry you had to overhear that. You too, Lola.’
Smiling tiredly, he crouched down to pet Lola, who, even as poorly as she was, had wagged her tail, loving the attention.
I understood why he would have been so furious.
With a reputation as trustworthy, hard-working and reliable, Jack is the local go-to guy for plumbing and general building work.
He had his reputation to consider. Plus, he was obviously concerned for the elderly owner of the property, which was commendable, but still I was taken aback.
Up until then, I’d only known him as considered and quietly spoken.
Out of curiosity, I continue to watch him now as he stops pacing.
I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I can’t help myself when I hear him say, ‘Look, Dan, just give me a few more weeks, will you? I have some outstanding invoices. Things have been difficult, but I have two firm promises of payment by the end of next week. The customers are good for it, and the last thing I need is for you to cut my supplies.’
He pauses while whoever it is – his supplier, I gather – answers.
Then, ‘Right,’ he says, and kneads his forehead.
‘Could you at least think of my daughter? She’s fifteen years old.
Traumatised after all that’s happened. I’ve had to take time off for her.
She really doesn’t need me stressed out right now. ’
He sucks in a breath while he waits for a reply. ‘Okay, right. Thanks. I’ll get it sorted,’ he says tightly, and ends the call.
He’s obviously struggling to juggle everything, I realise, which might explain why he’d been so furious with an employee who would steal from one of his clients.
My heart wrenching as I realise just how difficult things must be for him, particularly with a teenage daughter, I head for the front door.
‘Jack,’ I call as he turns back to the farm gate where his Land Rover is parked, ‘have you got a minute?’
‘Can do.’ He turns back, checking his watch. ‘Did you need me to take a look at something?’
‘No. The work you did is brilliant,’ I assure him. ‘Everything’s functioning beautifully. I just wondered whether you fancied a coffee, assuming you don’t have somewhere you need to be.’
‘I’m finished for the day and I don’t have anywhere I need to be. I’m actually waiting for the car rescue service. Land Rover’s packed up again.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘So yes, I would love a coffee.’
A minute later, he’s following me through to the lounge. ‘Wow,’ he says as he steps in. I glance back to see him taking in the many alcoves, some of which I’ve decorated with stained glass, the grand staircase and the floor-to-ceiling wooden beams we’d kept to form partitions between rooms.
‘You approve?’ I ask, recalling that he hasn’t been inside the house since he’d fitted the kitchen and bathrooms. It was just a shell then, the rest of the building stripped back to bare brick and beams.
‘Definitely.’ He nods, stepping forward to glide his hand almost reverently over the roughly hewn finish of one of the beams. ‘You’ve done an amazing job. It’s homey but opulent. That’s some achievement. I love that you’ve kept the original footprint of the place.’
‘Thank you. That was the idea.’ I manage a smile, but a painful wave of sadness sweeps through me as I recall Mark using those very words when we first discussed converting the house to sell on with Jack. I can’t help wondering whether Jack remembers him saying it.
‘Ah, there she is.’ Seeing Lola on the sofa and aware of how poorly she is, Jack goes across to her. ‘How’re you doing, sweet girl? Tired, hey, I bet?’
Watching her tail wag as she attempts to sit up and greet him, I realise how weak she’s becoming, and I feel another piece of my heart fracture.
‘There now, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, sitting carefully down next to her, stroking her head and flank so tenderly that I feel the tears welling up again.
‘Tell you what, why don’t you stay right here and keep Uncle Jack warm while Mummy goes and makes us a coffee, hey?
’ He’s talking to her as if she’s a human, just as I tend to.
Once she settles, he glances up at me, giving me a reassuring wink. ‘She’s fine, aren’t you, girl?’ he says, focusing his attention back on her.
As Lola rests her head trustingly in his lap, I swallow hard and spin around to hurry to the kitchen, where the tears come, hot, fat tears of fear, spilling silently down my face.
Eventually, slightly more in control, I make the coffee and return to the lounge, only to find that Jack and Lola are both fast asleep, Lola with her head still in his lap, Jack with his hand resting gently on her back.
In this moment, with him, I sense that she feels content and safe.
She’s always been a man’s dog, snuggling up with Mark or Kai wherever they sat.
Some say dogs don’t have feelings. It always astounds me.
Lola feels the absence of their loss acutely.
I place the mugs on the coffee table. ‘Jack,’ I whisper, and shake his arm gently.
He wakes with a start. ‘Sorry. Must have drifted off.’ He attempts to straighten up, then stops, dropping his gaze to Lola, who doesn’t move.
‘Christ.’ He looks sharply up at me, then back to her.
‘Lola?’ he says, his hand travelling to her flank, where he rests it for a moment.
When his eyes meet mine, his obvious grief unspoken, my heart stops dead.