46. Sadness and regret
SADNESS AND REGRET
Something had set Esteban’s tail off. He let out a happy yelp and ran past Ursula to the source of his pleasure. Gareth knelt down and ruffled the dog’s fur. ‘You’ve made good progress there. Don’t suppose you know where Brett is, do you?’
Ursula took a breather from the potato crop. She’d been so lost in her memories that she hadn’t noticed she’d lifted quite a pile of them. ‘Somewhere in Frongoch, he said. Not sure where exactly.’
‘I know the place. I thought I’d go over and say hello, like.’
‘How did the funeral go?’
‘As well as you’d expect. Mam was well cut up. We all were really. She was lovely, Auntie Dilys. We just got back. Can’t stand London. Horrible place.’
Ursula smiled. ‘Too busy?’
‘Too everything. Give me Bala any day. Shall I take Esteban with me? Give him a run out.’
‘I don’t think you’ve got much choice. By the look of it, he’ll be gutted if you leave him behind. Do you think your mum might want some company?’
‘She’s not here. She’s coming back with the others tomorrow.’
‘Oh, I thought you said…’ But Gareth was already walking away and Esteban was on his heels, ready to go whether he was invited or not. Megan hadn’t come home with him then? She must have misheard him.
Ursula went back to the potatoes. Only a small area left and then she’d be done.
The sense of achievement that finishing the dress had given her was in her sights again and she worked quickly and methodically, thinking only of what she needed to do.
And then it was finished, and she could relax.
As much as it was possible to relax in this house anyway.
Back in the kitchen, she made a hot drink and took it out to the bench to watch the sun go down.
It was more like watching the night take hold because there wasn’t really any sun to speak of, but she sat there all the same and thought of those happy evenings with Samuel.
She pictured him sitting in that old wicker chair telling her so many things.
Like how every piece of earth was teeming with life.
How glorious the sun was in Jamaica. She pictured him asking if that Spanish fella had been bothering her again, his fists clenched.
Asking her if there was anything he could do to take her sadness from her.
Of course, there was something he could have done.
But she would never have asked him to do it.
Her phone rang in her pocket. It was Clyde: ‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘No, I’m having a cuppa on a damp bench after digging up a neglected vegetable garden.’
‘Sounds right up your street. The decision’s been made. We’re going to clear those allotments and put them back up to be let.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m going to do it. I’ve got a friend who’ll help me. We’ll be respectful.’
She felt she should say something but a searing pain was blasting through her, as if it were snapping her in two.
‘Samuel would have wanted it, Ursula.’
‘Yes, yes he would.’ She pressed her hand against the place where the pain was worst.
‘I know it means a lot to you.’
‘It’s only a bit of land, Clyde.’ But it wasn’t though, was it? The pain was still there, sharp and ferocious. ‘I have to go.’
‘I understand. Call me whenever you want.’
‘Thank you.’ She cut the call and told herself again, it’s only a bit of land. It was just that it was Samuel’s land, and she had so little left of him. This pain was crippling her. She pushed herself up and went inside.
The beginning of night had caught up with the house and it was in darkness.
Ursula switched on the lights as she went through the kitchen, the hall, and upstairs.
She needed to lie down. But as she reached the landing, she noticed the sewing room door was open.
She’d definitely locked it this morning.
She remembered doing it and putting the key on the bedside table while speaking to Clyde.
But afterwards, she’d been distracted by Esme on the landing and then Charlie.
She’d left the key there instead of putting it away.
Esme must have taken it. But why? And to leave the door open like that.
As if she wanted Ursula to know she’d been in there.
Just like Anton and his heavy hints about his women.
She didn’t want to go in there to see what fresh hell was waiting for her.
Because she was sure there would be some.
But she had no choice, she had to face it.
That was what you did with bullies. Her mum had told her that, back when the girls at her private school had turned on her after her father left.
They were bad enough, but the other bullies at her new school were worse.
They saw her posh manners and fancy clothes and tore her apart.
She hadn’t been able to deal with it back then.
But she was older and wiser now and if she’d learned anything from living with Anton, it was how to cope with bullies.
Because he was a bully, in his way. So was Pablo.
And so was Esme. They all saw her as an easy target and they swooped in. Just like those girls at school.
As soon as she pushed the door open, an earthy, pungent smell caught the back of her throat.
Ursula’s hand fumbled around the wall for the light switch and, when she found it, the hell she’d been expecting was revealed.
Her dress was no longer on the dummy. It had been laid out on the table and someone had scattered droppings across its beautiful, flowing silk skirt.
Some of the droppings had been left to sit on top of the fabric and some had been crushed into it.
Not only that, Esme had also crushed and smeared them across the bodice.
A scream came out of her. She reeled backwards, crashed against the door and stumbled out onto the landing, then flew downstairs and out of the house.
The dark shadow of the hill was in front of her.
She ran towards it, towards Anton. He was up there.
Waiting to reap his own revenge. Waiting to get her.
Just like Esme. The pain was all over her now.
Her chest. Her sides. Her gut. Her legs.
Everywhere hurt. She had to stop running before she got too far up, too far into the darkness, but she couldn’t go back into that house. She needed somewhere else to hide.
The ground around the bothy was muddy and she slipped and slid in her haste to get inside but somehow managed to remain upright.
It was empty. She’d been afraid Esme would be here and she’d have to face her in this state.
Ursula felt her way to the bench and sat down before her legs buckled.
And then came the unexpected tears. Not fierce and heavy but silent and steady. She was crying. My God, she was crying.
The rain started up again, a gentle patter at first that became faster and louder.
The door suddenly opened and the outline of a tall, broad man in a big coat filled the doorway.
For a heartbeat, she thought of Samuel and that rainy day in her shed when they’d swapped sorrow stories.
But then the outline switched on his phone’s torch and shone it on her.
‘Ursula.’ It wasn’t Samuel’s joyful melodic voice that she would have given anything to hear again.
It was sadder, more reserved. It was Howard.
He used his torch to find a battery operated light that gave the room a dull shadowy hue and left no place for Ursula to hide. ‘You’ve been crying. What’s happened?’
‘So many things,’ she said, the tears still falling.
He sat next to her and put his arm around her. ‘Is this okay?’
She nodded. Yes, it was okay. It was more than okay.
‘You wanna talk?’
‘No. This is enough.’ She rested her head on his shoulder.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him.
He had his own mountain of heartache to deal with.
All the same, she left it there and they sat in the semi-dark, the sound of rain shutting everything else out, until she felt his body trembling next to her.
He was sobbing. Ursula had never seen a man cry so uncontrollably.
It was heartbreaking. In spite of her inner voice screaming to keep away, she pulled him to her and held him.
‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I just…’
‘It’s all right.’ She brushed away his tears, saw his response and realised she should have listened to herself. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.’
His eyes met hers and his brow creased into deep furrows as he stroked the side of her face.
This was wrong, it was so wrong, but she didn’t want to stop him.
The softness of his touch, the tenderness of it, was too sweet.
Her lips moved towards his. He met them with his own, gentle and tentative.
And then there was no space between them as they embraced, tears splashing on one kiss after another.
They undressed each other, the cold air pricking their skin.
He sat on the edge of the bench. She settled on his lap, cradling his head in her hands, letting him caress her breasts and neck.
It had been so very long and yet it felt so natural, so wanted.
‘This isn’t right,’ he said.
No it wasn’t. He wasn’t Samuel and she wasn’t Dilys, but they both needed to feel something other than sadness and regret.