He stops in mid-swing and whips round, and for a terrible moment I think he’s going bring the axe down on me. Then confusion replaces the fury in his eyes and he looks at me in bewilderment, as if he can’t believe that it’s me standing there and not Marnie.
I reach out a hand. ‘It’s alright,’ I say gently. ‘It’s alright.’
He lowers his arm and the axe thuds to the ground. His face turns ashen. And then he sinks onto his knees, covers his face with his hands and begins to sob uncontrollably.
I kneel on the floor among the shards of black walnut, trying to take him in my arms. But he won’t let me in. Ashamed of his tears, he won’t let me move his hands from his face. Trapped in his own private hell, all I can do is hold him, tell him that I love him, that I’m sorry, that everything is going to be alright, that we’re going to get through it. All the things he said to me, all the things I couldn’t say to him, until now.
At some point I look up and see Josh standing in the doorway, his arms by his side, his face streaked with tears. When he starts to move towards us, I shake my head and give him a quick smile, letting him know that Adam wouldn’t want him to see him like this: broken, crushed, defeated. And understanding, he moves quietly away.
Eventually exhaustion overtakes him and I’m able to pull him to me, smooth his hair, kiss the tears from his eyes.
‘It’s going to be alright, I promise,’ I say softly. ‘It’s going to be alright.’
He doesn’t answer, because he can’t. But the sigh, from deep within him, is enough.