Five Winters(68)
“In the hope of resurrection unto eternal life, through the promise of Our Lord Jesus Christ, we faithfully and victoriously give him over to your blessed care. Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Amen.”
Suddenly Mark began to cry—loudly, shockingly, his whole body shuddering as his self-imposed restraint failed him. Sylvia—who was sobbing herself—reached out to him across the grave. Rosie placed a comforting hand on his arm. I sensed Grace stepping forward from her place next to Jaimie, but I was there first, opening my arms to hold Mark close. He clung to me, sobbing, and I clung back, feeling every shudder of his body against my own, sobbing right along with him.
“Oh, Beth,” he said.
“I know,” I soothed. “I know.”
“Those guys,” he said brokenly into my hair. “Those ridiculous guys. I thought . . . they were going to drop him.”
“Your dad would have laughed,” I said, because it was true. Richard would have thought it was absolutely hilarious.
Mark drew back slightly and nodded, though he didn’t smile. “He would.”
He drew back fully then, wiping his face on his suit sleeve. Grace joined him, squeezing his arm. Jaimie joined us and did the same to me. And then it was time to take a handful of soil to throw into the grave.
While I waited for my turn, I felt as if I were outside the scene, looking in. As if I weren’t quite part of what was happening. My mind, however, was totally clear. The thunderbolt I’d experienced when I’d held Mark in my arms had completely lifted the fog I’d been living in all year, causing me to see everything in the sharpest focus. Everything I’d done in the past twelve months—giving up my job, my friends, the city I loved—had been an elaborate distraction. A displacement activity.
I wasn’t in love with Jaimie. I had never been in love with Jaimie. Because I was still head over heels in love with Mark.
My handful of earth fell onto the polished wood of Richard’s coffin with a soft thud. As I passed the box on to Rosie, Jaimie stepped forward to take my arm—there for me. But I had never really been there for him, and I was so sorry I was going to have to hurt him.
Back in Dalston, Clare was still waiting for me to answer her question. If I didn’t do it soon, she would think I was trying to hide something. I was trying to hide something.
My mind flitted through the list of reasons for my split with Jaimie, deciding which one to select. For although the realisation that I was still in love with Mark came firmly at the top of the list, there had been many other things I hadn’t been happy with in our relationship. Although without my graveside epiphany, Jaimie and I probably would have stumbled along together for a while longer.
Could I tell Clare how tired I’d felt of having to constantly struggle to fit in? How displaced and overlooked I’d felt, living in Ely? That I couldn’t really be me living there with Jaimie?
“Richard’s death made me realise how much I missed my family and friends in London. I’m not a country girl, not really. I tried to be, but . . . My tenants had recently left, so the flat was vacant, and then my old job at Dalston Vets became available again. I don’t know, everything seemed to be working to make me move back here. It was sad to break up with Jaimie, but I suppose I just realised Ely and our relationship weren’t right for me.”
Clare looked up from writing in her notebook. My heart began to pound as I waited for her to say, What if you realise adoption isn’t right for you after a child has come to live with you? Or something like that.
But she didn’t. Instead, to my absolute horror, she said, “I’ll need to speak to Mr. Faulkner, if that’s all right? We always speak to ex-partners where there are children involved.”
Holy shit.
“Is that a problem for you?”
I did my very best to keep the dismay and blind panic from my face. She wanted to speak to Jaimie. Which meant she’d very likely discover I hadn’t been completely honest with her.
“No,” I said, “I’m sure that will be fine. When do you want to speak to him?”
“As soon as possible. Although, obviously, I know it might be difficult, as it’s almost Christmas. Perhaps you could let me know when you’ve had the chance to speak to Mr. Faulkner about it so I know when to call?”
I fiddled with the corner of the table. “What if . . . what if he doesn’t want to speak to you?”
“Is that likely?”
I thought back to that final conversation and the way Jaimie had humiliated himself, trying to get me to change my mind.
“I’ll speak to the girls, make sure they’re nicer to you. We can do the things you want to do instead of what the girls want to do all the time. We can drop the naturism. Whatever it takes, Beth. Please. Don’t do this. I know I could have tried harder. I will try harder. I promise. I love you; we’ve got something good together. We’ve had some happy times, haven’t we?”
We had, along the way. Just not consistently enough of them. Certainly not enough for me to feel my life away from the places and people I loved—from Mark—was enough.
“I know how much you miss London. We’ll make sure we go there more often. And I’ll do all I can to help you to find another vet nurse job. Limit the amount of time Olivia does her drumming.”