Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Europe is burning. Wildfires are tearing through France, Spain and Portugal, and smoke from the latter can be seen in Lisbon and smelled hundreds of miles away in Madrid.
At Berkeley Hall our lawn is crisp and brown and the fields are yellow. I arrived in paradise in May, but now, in August, there’s an end-of-the-world feel about the place.
Our garden beds are hanging on, though, and some of our plants are thriving. While everyone else has to deal with hosepipe bans, we draw water from the lake and irrigate at dawn, trying to be mindful of visitors who aren’t so lucky.
I’ve applied for three new jobs and I’ve interviewed for two. I tried to keep them to a one-hour driving distance, but when I saw that the National Trust had an assistant head gardener position going at Hidcote Manor Garden in Gloucestershire, in the North Cotswolds, I couldn’t resist giving it a shot.
Ash has retreated into himself, so wracked with guilt over his father’s threats that he’s driven himself sick with worry. I’ve been carrying a horrible sense of dread in my stomach, too, my heart pounding at the thought of running into Peter Berkeley again.
An estate agent came to view the cottages a few days ago and word has spread amongst my colleagues. Every time I walk into a room, people stop talking.
And while I’ve been quaking in my boots, Beca has been Ash’s pillar of strength. Yesterday I arrived at the cabin to see a car parked in the woods and when I approached the front door, I could hear Ash laughing.
He stopped when I knocked, of course, and Beca left immediately, looking uncomfortable, but I could see how much lighter he seemed, the way the heaviness had lifted from him, if only for a short while.
It’s hard to console each other when we’re both consumed with the dark cloud looming over us. We haven’t had sex in three days, and the last time we did, I could tell Ash had other things on his mind. We can no longer lose ourselves in each other. We’re too caught up in the outside world.
In the middle of August, Owain comes to see me, bringing news that has felt imminent.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says gruffly as he sits across from me at my kitchen table. ‘I’ve been told we have to make cutbacks and I need to lose one of my crew. It’s likely to be a case of last one in, first one out, so it’ll be nothing personal if you’re the one to go.’
Of course it’s personal. Ash mentioned that he’d been looking into making cutbacks, but I know he was determined that no staff would lose their jobs.
This is not his doing. I bet he has no idea, but it’s obvious what’s happening here.
I stare down at the letter Owain has just given me. The rest of the day’s mail is on the table, but only the envelope with the oak leaf and acorn emblem has been opened. It feels so twisted that one of my proudest moments is coinciding with one of my lowest.
‘It’s a good voluntary redundancy package if you choose to take it,’ Owain says. ‘Saves the faff of official proceedings.’ He sounds a little brighter as he nods at the piece of paper in my hands. ‘Best I’ve seen, actually. That lump sum should see you right until you find another position. But it’s dependent on you agreeing to accept redundancy without delay.’
Effective immediately. I’m being paid off. Peter Berkeley wants me out of here and his power is absolute.
But I have one way of keeping some semblance of control over my own fate.
‘I’ve actually found another job,’ I reply, nodding at the envelope on the table.
‘At the National Trust?’ Owain asks with amazement, recognising the logo.
I nod.
‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ he says with relief. ‘You’ll be able to use the redundancy package to set yourself up in a new place before you start!’
‘Will you give me a reference?’
‘Of course I will!’
I have to see Ash.
Ash is sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. ‘I’m not ready for this.’
‘I’ve emailed to accept, and booked myself into a B & B until I find somewhere to live near work. I leave tomorrow,’ I tell him robotically.
He lifts his head to look at me, shell-shocked. ‘How could you do that without speaking to me first?’
‘There’s no other choice!’ I snap, softening my tone as I add, ‘I can’t stay here.’
‘You could. I’d support you—’
‘Ash.’ I cut him off sharply.
He stares at me. ‘Then I’ll come with you.’
‘Stop it,’ I say wearily, running my hand through my hair.
I’m sitting on the armchair just across from him, but I feel a million miles away. I’ve been taking these small steps to distance myself and I’m so tired. I don’t have the strength to fight for what I want any more.
‘This is where you belong,’ I say. ‘It’s ingrained in you. You know it.’
‘I don’t want it. My father can go fuck himself.’
‘You sound delusional.’ I let out a long breath.
‘He’ll die one day,’ he states. ‘When he’s gone, I can do what I want.’
‘But he will have already sold off the sawmill, cottages and this cabin,’ I point out. ‘If I leave quietly, maybe it’ll be enough to convince him not to do that.’
I don’t know how my eyes remain dry. Perhaps reality hasn’t sunk in yet.
Ash’s expression is haunted. ‘There must be another way,’ he says.
And then he gets up and stalks out the front door.
I follow him in time to see him climbing onto his bike. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To see my father.’
‘I can’t believe you’re leaving,’ Sian says, stunned. ‘Just like that.’
She came back to the cottage at lunchtime and found me packing.
‘There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.’
‘What about Ash?’
‘Don’t talk to me about Ash,’ I say.
‘But I thought you loved him. He gave up Beca for you.’
Sian has always spoken her mind, but I can’t handle her accusatory tone today.
‘Can you please leave?’ I raise my voice.
She exits my room without another word.
I walk to the cabin via the farm track to wait for Ash. I have no idea why I haven’t broken down yet – there’s a numbness that has spread the length of my torso, and my limbs feel strange, as though they’re not fully connected to the rest of my body. My head feels foggy, hazy. It’s like I’m not entirely here.
But somehow, I’m moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other, knowing what needs to be done.
Beca’s car and Ash’s motorbike are parked up outside the cabin. I realise that they’re both inside, and yet I don’t feel a thing.
As I’m approaching the door, I hear the sound of Beca’s voice coming through the window.
‘It’s okay. It’s okay. Shh. It’s going to be okay.’
She’s sitting with Ash on the sofa and they have their backs to me. Her arms are looped around his shaking upper body, her chin resting on his shoulder. I realise he’s sobbing and I feel a jarring motion inside my chest, but the sensation is muted and I’m too dazed to react.
‘It’s for the best, Ash,’ Beca says. ‘You know it deep down. She doesn’t want this life. She’s told you so many times. You have to listen to her, respect her wishes. You have to let her go.’
He lets out a yelp and my foot jerks towards the door just as he turns and buries his face against her neck, his arms coming around her shoulders.
‘Shh, it’s okay,’ she coos, kissing his temple. ‘It’s okay, Ash. Aw, baby.’
Her voice has grown thick with emotion, and I watch as her own shoulders begin to shake as he sobs against her skin. They’re clutching each other tightly and she’s cradling his head with her hand, her fingers half buried in his dark gold hair.
I feel anaesthetised as I back away.
Suddenly the thought of spending one more minute here, in the Berkeleys’ vicinity, is inconceivable.
If I leave now, I could be in Evesham by tonight – the journey will take three and a half hours and I know there was availability at the B & B I’ve booked.
I call a taxi on my way back to the cottage, as soon as my phone picks up reception.
Sian has returned to the kitchen for the afternoon shift and Bethan, Harri, Evan and Owain are all still at work. There’s noise coming from the workshop – men shouting over the sound of machinery – but no one sees me as I walk round the back of the building, return to the cottage and take my bags out the front door.
I stand there in the late-afternoon sunshine, listening to the sounds of bees buzzing around the climbing roses, children playing in the walled garden, the low hum of cars coming and going to and from the car park, and I feel empty.
Ash calls me when I’m on the train. I think about not answering, but he’ll only call again. And suddenly the hopelessness of us is unbearable.
‘Where are you?’ His voice sounds raw.
‘I’ve left,’ I reply dully.
‘You’ve what ?’ he asks with shock.
‘I had to go.’
‘You’ve left ?’
I’m staring out the window, looking, not seeing, unable to find the right words.
Because there aren’t any.
‘What the fuck ?’ He’s baffled, wounded, angry.
‘It’s for the best,’ I murmur, resorting to Beca’s words, seeing as I can’t find my own.
‘But you— You—’ Now he’s the one who’s speechless. ‘I can’t believe you’d just go,’ he says, stunned. ‘That you’d leave me when I need you most.’
This comment pierces through the numbness for the briefest, brightest of seconds. And then my head detaches from my heart and delivers the words I need to say to make it stop.
‘After what you and your family have put me through? I’m done. It’s over. Give Beca a call, I’m sure she’ll console you. I never want to see any of you ever again.’
I end the call and a trembling begins in my hands and moves to my chest and suddenly I’m shaking so violently that I feel as though my body is about to shut down.
With the greatest will in the world, I harness my emotions and wrestle them under control, tamping them down, down, down, until they’re buried deep under six feet of soil.
I move through the week in a daze, buying a cheap car for commuting to and from my new job, hunting out somewhere to live and eventually settling on a tiny apartment in Evesham, about twenty-five minutes from Hidcote. My new boss, Lottie, is pleased to hear that I can start work earlier than expected, but it takes every ounce of strength I have left to put my best foot forward and make a good first impression.
After all these years, I’m finally living on my own, but the solitude is both a blessing and a curse, giving me too much time to think.
When thoughts of Ash surface, I choke them to death so I can get through another day.
But at night, my mind is left unbound and my nightmares are maddening, unhinged, causing me to wake in a cold sweat with a pounding heart.
Eventually the walls holding back the dam of emotions begin to crack, and when they finally break apart in a deafening roar, I go to another place entirely. I have never felt more alone.
I don’t hear from Ash, and I don’t reach out to him either. But one night, when I’ve been drinking too much and I’m raw with pain and longing, I look him up online. The headline that greets me chills me to my bones.
The Honourable Ashton Berkeley and the Honourable Rebecca Brampton announce their engagement.
I’m too shocked and breathless to cry. I’ve only been gone a few weeks.
But it’s what I need to accept that I must close the book on our final chapter.
Over the next few months, stone by stone, I build back those walls, wrestle my mind under control, even at night, and begin to make Evesham my home. I find solace within the stunning Arts and Crafts-inspired gardens of Hidcote, and after another quiet Christmas on my own, I decide to take control of my loneliness and make it a choice, rather than something that has happened to me.
Swapping out my smartphone for a cheap Nokia that I’ll use only for emergencies, I pledge to living a simpler life. I listen to the radio and read more books. I give up social media and watching the news. I commit to moving onwards and upwards and embracing the chance I’ve been given.
Eventually I begin to feel better. I still avoid thinking about Ash and the way I left – I’m not sure I’ll ever find peace where he and Berkeley Hall are concerned – but that’s a problem for another day, and maybe even another counsellor. Whether or not he was coerced into marrying Beca to save the sawmill, cottages and cabin, or whether he chose to marry his best friend of his own accord, I don’t know. And at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter. He’s where he needs to be, doing his own thing. And I’m here, doing mine.