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He was leaving her again.
Harry had to earn a living, of course—his salary provided for them both now—but even so, Meg missed her husband whenever he returned to West Yorkshire and worked his office hours.
Or did she simply mean that she disliked being alone?
She was unable to decide; it was too soon to have acquired any perspective. Their move to the coast had been her idea, an attempt to flee so many raw memories. And so it would hardly be fair to complain about Harry’s frequent absence.
After he’d moved to the door with his overnight case, she gave him a quick kiss. It wasn’t as if he’d never been away working when they’d lived inland. His job had taken him all over the world, and often for longer than the few days he spent away now. At least she could trust him…or at any rate, she felt she could. After what had recently happened, he’d surely never be cruel enough to hurt her more.
“Have a nice time,” she said, tugging open the cottage door to allow him exit. Morning sunlight streamed through the gap, making her scrunch shut her newly awakened eyes.
Harry looked at her—a little awkwardly, Meg thought. “It is work I’m going to, you know. Pleasure isn’t really on the agenda.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
But he visibly relented. “Don’t worry, Meg. I’ll call you tonight. And I’ll be home tomorrow evening. We’ll watch a film, shall we? Share a bottle of red?”
He was often grouchy when he returned, a consequence of eight hours in the office and then the two-hour drive home. The wine would be as much about moderating discomfort as it had been when she’d resorted to it recently.
Nevertheless, she said, “Sure. That would be nice. I’ll look forward to it.”
After stepping outside into the cool autumn, Harry turned and held out his luggage-strewn arms. “And in the meanwhile, take advantage of all this .” Once he’d paced aside, revealing the glorious view along the northeast coast of England, his smile grew a little more authentic. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s…well, it’s why I’ve made the sacrifices I have.”
If he meant the additional effort it took him to reach his office, she could understand that, but his words had nonetheless sounded unkind in the crisp, clear morning. Sacrifices—what did he know about that? He’d only been the father…But then she realized she was being unfair.
She watched him climb inside his company car and strap on his seat belt before starting the engine. The sound filled all the quiet in the area, which, once the car had backed away and Meg had issued a mechanical wave, was broken only by a few children headed for school along a path leading toward the village. One of them, she noticed, had scooped up a handful of dirt to lob at his companions, which elicited infectious giggles from all three.
Meg stepped back and shut herself inside.
She was still getting used to the cottage, to all its facilities located on one level. Their city-based detached, sustained by two full-time salaries, had required a lot of upkeep, but Meg had found that more difficult here, because they could no longer afford a cleaner. She’d given up work to have a child, but had always harbored a wish to do so. There were other things she wanted to focus on, such as horticulture and English history, interests she’d placed on hold while toeing the profit-making line of a restless institution.
She had her freedom now, of course…but at what cost?
Meg refused to brood, however. Forcing herself to get on with life (as both Harry and a private counselor had insisted she must), she stepped into the pristine bathroom and showered until any negative feelings were rinsed inexorably down the drain. Something gurgled cantankerously in reply—a subterranean beast, ostensibly hungry for grief—but then she dried her aging figure, dressed quickly in casual gear, and returned to the rest of the
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