It’s like me, she thought. Blundering through life looking ridiculous, doing the only thing it knows how.
She and Brett were both trying. A few days ago, Brett had brought her flowers, unsolicited. Later that same evening, he’d suggested they play cards, something they used to do a lot when they were first married but had given up once the children were born. Aware that Brett was making a huge effort, Angie tried to respond in kind, cooking him his favourite meals – beef Wellington and French onion soup – and agreeing to do things together as a couple, from walking down to the village shop to watching television programmes together in the evening. Simple things, obvious things. Things they hadn’t done for one another in many, many years.
Perhaps, Angie thought now, her eyes following the bee as it buzzed noisily away towards the hollyhocks, perhaps that’s the problem? Perhaps we feel so stiff and awkward and stilted because we’re out of practice?
Because it was awkward. Painfully so at times. All the ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ and ‘would you mind awfullys?’ were choking her, choking them both. Intimacy, it seemed, could not be switched back on like a light after such a long time. Even if both parties really, really wanted it.
As for sex, Angie was seriously starting to wonder if there might be something physically wrong with her. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to let Brett near her. It was almost like an allergy. Whenever Brett touched her, she froze. Her entire body stiffened from toes to neck, like a corpse going into rigor mortis. Brett had been unusually patient and kind about it, but she knew it hurt his feelings and made him anxious. This in turn made him try even harder with the romantic gestures, and so the dance of forced affection and excruciating awkwardness went on.
The one subject they had been able to discuss more normally was Logan – a good thing, as term time was looming. Brett had yanked her out of St Xavier’s, but she still had nowhere to go in September. Brett still wanted her back home. ‘She can damn well go to the local comp and like it.’
But for once, he listened to Angela when she told him this was impractical.
‘I wouldn’t mind her going to a state school. Brockhurt Comprehensive is actually fine academically. It’s her living back here that’s the problem. She won’t do it.’
‘She’ll do what she’s bloody well told,’ said Brett.
‘It’s all very well saying that,’ Angie sighed. ‘But the fact is, she won’t. She went to Jason and Tatiana’s because she was miserable here after the fire. She can’t face Gabe and Laura, or Seb, or all the whispering in the village. She’s mortified.’
‘As she bloody should be.’
‘I agree,’ said Angela patiently. ‘But if we drag her back, she’ll only do another runner.’
‘Maybe,’ Brett admitted grudgingly. ‘But I don’t like her under that woman’s roof. I don’t like it one bit.’
As ever when Tatiana was mentioned in a conversation, however tangentially, Brett’s temperature started rising. Only by using every ounce of her tact and diplomacy had Angie been able to persuade Brett to allow Logan to stay on at Eaton Gate for now. By shamelessly dropping the Hamilton Hall name, Jason had managed to secure Logan a place at MPW, the famous sixth-form college on Queensgate. It wasn’t a perfect scenario. Privately Angela shared some of Brett’s fears about Logan living with Tati and Jason. What if they let her run wild? If the fire had proven anything, it was that Logan needed boundaries. Jason was depressed, and Tati was always working, which made them far from ideal as parental substitutes to a troubled teenage girl. Plus, if her own teenage years were anything to go by, Tatiana was hardly the best role model for Logan.
Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Jason was convinced Logie had learned her lesson after the accident at Wraggsbottom and turned over a new leaf. And maybe some time alone together at Furlings would help her and Brett to resolve the problems in their marriage?
At five o’clock, tired of gardening and with a sore lower back from so much bending down – I’m getting old – Angela decided to take Gringo for a walk. Grabbing the lead from a hook in the kitchen, she waited for the elderly, arthritic basset to waddle over to her, tail wagging excitedly.