Her almost perfect husba.., p.31
Her Almost Perfect Husband, page 31
* * *
Emma had no idea how long she had been sitting on Adam’s rustic bench, but the winter sunshine had now faded.
She had been right to come; the allotment had always been a good place for thinking. Putting into practice the mindfulness exercises that Jacob had shown her, she had sat upright, gently breathing in and out. It had been an effort, concentrating only on the rhythm of her breathing, not allowing her mind to stray to the myriad of thoughts bombarding it.
Her heart rate slowed and her tense shoulder muscles relaxed; she began to feel calmer. Perhaps now she could think logically again. Jacob was right, she needed to get away … from Pengate, from Bernie, from Andrew; from all that had happened in the past couple of months … and before.
Would time and distance heal the wound that Andrew had inflicted upon her? She had loved him once, deeply, but what she felt now was both sadness – was this how his dream ended, being shunned by his wife and son? – and anger. Paying back that money had not really made things better: had Andrew seen it as the equivalent of serving a jail sentence? Should he still be punished for his crime? Emma shuddered at the thought of Andrew in gaol: no, she could never do that to him. Could she forgive him? Could she live with him again? And then there was Bernie: she did love him, but could she - did she want to? - start a new life with him? Throw away all those years that she and Andrew had had together. Could she do that? They were about to become grandparents, for goodness sake!
It wouldn’t be easy but away from everything here, and with Jacob and Naledi’s help, she began to feel that she might find the answers.
And in Pengate … Constance would take charge. As she had always done, to an extent that Emma had not fully appreciated until today.
As for anything else …
She hoped Garry Wade would use that money wisely; it had cost them all so much pain. She never did discover exactly how much it was; not that it mattered now, but he did have a right to know that his grandfather was not a blackmailer. Should they keep in touch with him? She had a feeling that Trev might. Would Trev go on working with Bernie?
‘Stop, Emma, stop,’ she said aloud, her fingers spread, keeping the questions at bay; she had thought enough, more than enough, for today.
‘Live in the moment, Mum,’ Jacob had said.
She brushed off the few leaves that had landed on her lap, stood up, relaxed her shoulders, took in one more deep breath and slowly let it out. A chilly wind began to skitter the dry leaves at her feet. She pulled her coat tighter around herself.
If she didn’t go back to the house soon Connie would begin to worry. Any minute now she would be sending Jacob down here to bring her home.
By the gate to the allotments there was a tiny clump of late snowdrops, half-covered in fallen oak leaves. The flower of hope, Connie called them. A line in a song came to her, about having ‘hope in your heart’ and not walking alone. Sentimental slosh, Andrew had called it; yes, well, she wasn’t going to worry too much about what Andrew thought, or said; not now. Emma found the words comforting and suddenly, like a ray of sunshine bursting through grey clouds, she could see a new life opening out in a way she had not thought possible in these past dark months: South Africa, Naledi, a grandchild: she might even be there when the baby was born!
She locked the gate and walked slowly up the lane.
* * *
‘She’ll be in the air now.’
‘Yes.’ Constance put the cup of tea down on the table beside Andrew’s chair.
‘Will she come back, do you think?’
‘She will,’ Constance said.
Andrew lifted the cup, put it back on the saucer. ‘I do love her, you know,’ he said.
‘And she loves you.’
‘Does she?’ He looked up at her; she was standing close to his chair.
Constance nodded. ‘Yes, she does, but ...’
He kept his eyes fixed on hers. ‘But if we are to make it work ... I shall have to change the way I ...’
‘Dear Andrew.’ She smiled at him. ‘We shall all have to change.’
‘All of us, Connie?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Drink your tea before it gets cold.’
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I read a novel I always want to know which places in the story are real and which are not, so, for those of you who also like to know, Pengate, Brockwood and Hewers Hill are fictional, as is The Oaks. There is, at the time of writing, no That Music Place in Almeida Street, Islington, but, in Upper Street, there is of course the Kings Head, a well-known pub and theatre, where I have spent many happy hours (and had plays produced by the legendary Sydney Golder). The Lunchtime Theatre play in the book is, however, fictional, and I have taken liberties with the food and the seating there, as I have with the café furniture at the hospital in Stevenage.
This book was, for the most part, written pre-Covid. It seems strange that in 2015, when the book is set, our everyday conduct was so different. I find myself wondering how Emma and Bernie and Andrew - and Garry. too - would behave if their story was happening now.
Table of Contents
HER ALMOST PERFECT HUSBAND
Also By Mary Rensten
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Mary Rensten, Her Almost Perfect Husband
