The Difference a Day Makes by Carole Matthews

Scarsby in the first place. If he hadn’t sniffed Maya’s bottom maybe she wouldn’t have left us. If he hadn’t chewed up all our underwear then I wouldn’t have had to go into the town at all. I could have dropped Maya at the station and come straight back. If I’d done that, maybe I could have saved my husband’s life instead of it gently ebbing away while he was here on his own.
    ‘You’ll be okay,’ Serena tells me as I head back into the kitchen.
    ‘Yes,’ I say dully. People cope. Life goes on. Others depend on me. If it weren’t for the children, I’m sure I’d just want to lie down on the floor and die myself. Guilt kicks in. I can’t desert Will’s charges now. ‘I’d better go and feed the chickens and stuff.’
    ‘Need any help?’ My sister looks horrified at the thought. In fact, her expression looks exactly like mine.
    ‘No,’ I assure her. ‘I can manage.’ And, pulling on my newly acquired waterproof jacket and Wellingtons, I head out into the downpour.

Chapter Twenty-Three
     
     
     
    I ’m trying to wrestle antibiotics into Christopher’s beady chicken’s eyes and I’m wondering why I’m bothering. They’ll all be going soon. Will’s dream has died along with him and I don’t care if I never set eyes on another chicken again. Though now that the antibiotics are starting to work the hens have more of a chance of setting eyes on me before they go. It looks like I’m never going to have the joy of collecting my own eggs now. It’s probably another one of those country experiences that’s vastly overrated.
    The rain is pounding down on the henhouse and I cry gently as I work. Despite it being morning, the sky is as dark as night. Through the heart-shaped window and the gloom, I see the headlights of a vehicle as it pulls into the drive. I give it scant attention. Whatever it is, Serena is more than capable of dealing with it. I carry along the row of chickens. As they can’t see, they all sit on their perches facing the wall which, this morning, makes me feel interminably sad.
    Behind me, the door to the henhouse opens.‘Amy,’ a voice says.
    Looking up, I see Guy Burton standing in the doorway. He’s soaked to the skin, hair flattened to his head. ‘I just heard.’
    ‘Isn’t it supposed to be good news that travels fast?’ My voice catches in my throat.
    ‘I’m so sorry.’
    I stand, chicken in hand, and don’t know what to say. Neither does the vet. It looks like he might want to give me a hug, but I don’t think that I could bear it.
    ‘Let me finish that for you.’
    ‘I can manage,’ I say. ‘I’m just about done.’
    ‘The sheep should be brought inside while it’s raining like this,’ Guy tells me.
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Shall I take them into one of the barns? Have you got any hay?’
    Shaking my head, I say, ‘I don’t know.’ Will was supposed to look after the sheep. Even though they’re old ladies, I’m too frightened to go near them.
    ‘I’ll organise some,’ Guy says. ‘I’ll put the goats in with them. They don’t like the rain either.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Amy,’ he says, ‘if there’s anything you need, anything I can do - tell me. Don’t be alone in this. Will wouldn’t have wanted you to be isolated.’
    How does this man, this stranger, think he knows what Will wanted when I, his wife, was struggling to come to terms with it myself? I push away the thought before it makes me weep again.
    ‘I can’t stay here,’ I tell him. ‘Now that Will’s not here. The house will be going up for sale. As soon as I can, I’ll be taking the children back to London.’
    Now it’s Guy’s turn to look surprised. ‘Isn’t it a bit too soon to make a decision? I thought you were starting to like it here.’
    I think back to the afternoon we spent in the tea room together when I was laughing into those dark brown eyes while all the time Will was slipping quietly out of my life. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I hate it.’
    ‘That’s a shame,’