9½ miles

Theo

Theo woke up conscious that he had enjoyed a good eight hours’ sleep. Since Anna’s death his nights had all too often been fitful, interrupted by vivid dreams and night sweats. He was used to starting his days angrily wrenched into consciousness by the insistence of the alarm clock, apparently only moments after he had finally fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember when he had last slept through a night. As a result, his head felt clearer this morning than it had for months. The familiar dull ache behind his eyes was pleasantly absent. So too was the sick dread that always set in the moment he realized – all over again – that he was alone in bed.

Stretching out, he found himself even more surprised that he’d achieved a good night’s sleep: at six foot four, he was uncomfortably too tall for the single bed. Other than that, the Priory guesthouse was more than adequate. When Stephen had first proposed it, Theo had had his doubts about staying there, both because it was some distance from the route and also, if he was honest, because he rather dreaded the thought of staying in a religious community. He was afraid there would be hidden rules that he wouldn’t know how to obey, that they’d all have to be on their best behaviour. That it would be austere and uncomfortable.

But it hadn’t been like that at all. The complex was beautiful – medieval, at a guess – and the welcome unobtrusive yet warm. He’d been admiring the stunning wisteria that entirely covered one side of the pilgrim barn when one of the brothers approached and struck up conversation.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it? Our pride and joy at this time of year,’ he said. ‘If you’re interested in the glories of nature, you might like to have a wander round the Peace Garden.’

And the garden had been wonderful. A real oasis. It had been established a few years ago thanks to Lottery funding and a great deal of dedication by volunteers. It was made up of a series of smaller, themed gardens, all designed to foster tranquillity through a soothing colour palette combined with delicate floral scents and the gentle sound of running water.

‘Life seems to be so pressured these days that people often arrive here exhausted,’ said the brother, without judgement. ‘This place is designed to be restful. Somewhere we can allow ourselves to be human beings, instead of human doings for a change. Make yourself at home. Take as long as you like.’

And Theo had done just that, risking the ire of Mary Anne by deliberately losing track of time. Luckily she’d been distracted by the arrival of David with a large Tupperware of cupcakes, beautifully iced in an array of pastel shades. (‘A bit last year, I know, but such fun, don’t you think?’)

Meanwhile, Theo had simply enjoyed the sensory feast before him, taking time out from the burden of sadness to live for a few moments in the present. He sat on a pretty wrought-iron bench and closed his eyes. His limbs felt pleasantly tired after the day’s walk. He could feel the early evening sunshine on his face. He thought of Anna, his dear darling Anna. He felt the familiar tug of agony and longing. He had the sudden image of his grief as a rucksack full of rocks that he was heaving about everywhere he went. Heavy, uncomfortable. Digging awkwardly into his back. Exhausting. If only he could take it off, just for an hour or two!

While he couldn’t set aside his grief, could he at least set it down for a moment? Could he – what was Father Stephen’s expression? – lay it at the foot of the altar? Tentatively at first, as if he was probing a bruise to see how much it hurt, he pictured himself taking off the rucksack and putting it on the bench next to him. He consciously tried to move away from his instinctive thoughts of the loss of Anna to thoughts of love for her. He summoned her memory – oh, where to start! – and simply enjoyed it, without regret. Her laughter. Her freckled skin. Her perfect smell. Words of affection, daily small acts of love. That fundraising concert at All Saints last year, where she’d played with such passion. A wordless conversation at that awful Christmas party. Please rescue me. On my way. He’d been so fortunate to have her in his life. Yes, there had been ups and downs. But so much happiness, so many blessings. Of course he yearned for her. He felt he’d lost a limb. He missed her with every fibre of his being. But as he sat on the garden bench, he felt some of the bubbling anger that for the last few months had boiled within him leak away.

Was that why he had slept? His moment in the garden? Or was it the work of the week’s walk? Whatever the cause, he felt lighter this morning, if that was the right word. Marginally more human. As if . . . well, as if there just might be better days ahead. Even the tedious tinnitus of his father’s voice seemed to have receded. He began to think that perhaps there was room for optimism. That one day this searing pain would fade and be replaced by something more bearable. Oh, heck – the time! Time he was up. He needed to check on Sam; he did hope there’d been no repeat of the previous night’s accident. He must find Beth. Put on his public face. Face the day.

Father Stephen allowed them a slower than usual start. There were only nine and a half miles to walk today, so even allowing for the time needed to shuttle the walkers back to the starting point on the Pilgrims’ Way, they could afford to dawdle for a change.

Theo was relieved to find Sam’s bed empty, but dry. The boys had taken themselves off to the dining room and were happily filling their plates with breakfast. Theo scanned the room for Beth, but couldn’t see her anywhere. Probably still in the shower. Mary Anne (as ever) appeared to be in charge. She and David were engaged in an impassioned argument.

‘Honestly, David! How can you possibly loathe Nigella?’

‘Because she’s not Mary Berry, that’s why! And with Bake Off you get the divine Paul Hollywood, so it’s two for the price of one. I wouldn’t mind being his star baker!’

What a relief it was, not always having to be the grown-up! That was one of the things he realized he found hardest to adapt to, as a single parent. There was no one to share even the most trivial of decisions, let alone the big stuff. Theo loaded his plate with breakfast and went to sit down. Afterwards, once he’d helped clear the table and chivvied the boys, he went in search of Ruth. If she and William were here with time to spare, he wanted to make sure she didn’t miss out on the garden. They spent a happy twenty minutes wandering around, until she steered him towards the same bench he’d sat on the evening before.

‘Theo, we need to talk,’ she said, seriously. ‘It’s Beth. I’m worried about her.’

‘Beth?’ said Theo, surprised. ‘I thought she was doing rather well. Where are we? Day seven and seventy-two miles behind us and she’s still with us. I thought she might have bailed out by now. I’d even say she was having a certain amount of fun. Don’t you think?’

‘Well, yes. All true. But have you noticed what happens at mealtimes?’

‘No, what?’

‘She disappears. Makes herself scarce. She’s as thin as a rake. Wraps herself in layers so you can’t really see, but I think we’ve got a problem.’

Theo thought for a moment. ‘It’s not that I haven’t noticed, exactly. But I thought it was . . . well, teenage faddiness about food, I suppose. Shedding a bit of puppy fat.’

‘I fear,’ said Ruth, ‘that it’s altogether more serious than that. She worries too much. About Sam. Her exams. About everything. I’m rather afraid this has been building for years. Right back to when she was little. We were all so absorbed with the business of getting through each day. Looking after Sam. And she was always so good and eager to please, it was easy to overlook her. And now she’s lost her mother . . .’

‘Oh God!’ Theo exclaimed. ‘Why does everything have to be so difficult? What the hell I am I going to do?’

‘Talk to her,’ said Ruth. ‘Or better still, listen to her. Really listen. Then maybe make an appointment with your GP when we get home next week?’

Theo groaned. One step forward, and two steps back. A good night’s sleep and now a horrible new fear on the worry list. How could he have missed what was right under his nose? Was he a neglectful father as well as a worthless husband? Was he really so self-absorbed that he’d ignored his daughter’s pain? Or was Ruth wrong? Exaggerating a minor concern into a serious problem?

‘But dear Theo . . .’ she continued, taking his hand in his. Both were rough, weather-beaten. Gardeners’ hands. ‘You’re not on your own, here. Never forget that. We’re all struggling without our darling Anna. But William and I will do anything we possibly can to help.’

It was late morning before Theo managed to catch up with Beth. They’d ended up in different vehicles going to the start of the walk, and anyway he needed to talk to her on her own. The day’s walk started in a country park with a steep clamber up a hill to a ruined Norman castle. Beth tore up the slope, easily outpacing the other teenagers, and then proceeded to play tag with Milo, George and Tamsin, sending Smith into paroxysms of delighted barking. She looks OK to me, thought Theo. But she wasn’t at breakfast today, answered another, more worrying voice. And what about yesterday? The day before?

There then followed a series of steep steps – up, down, up and down again – which required concentration and care. He finally managed to get her to himself when they were walking along a ridge, alongside a large area of woodland.

‘Beth! I’ve hardly seen you this last week,’ he said. ‘Walk with your old dad for a bit?’

Beth was fiddling with her phone. He could hear a snatch of ‘The Long and Winding Road’ played on the saxophone. Since when had Beth discovered the Beatles? He willed her to look up. ‘’Kay,’ she answered finally, shrugging. A couple more taps, and she shoved her phone deep into her pocket.

‘So . . . how’s it going?’ he asked, relieved to have her attention.

‘Yeah. All right, I guess.’

‘Legs surviving? Managing OK in those boots?’

‘Yeah. All good.’

She wasn’t making it easy for him. ‘I’m sorry you missed that party. Has Natasha been in touch?’

‘It’s, like, fine. Sounded majorly tragic, if you really want to know. Loser city.’

‘Well, that’s a relief, then.’ Beth shot him a look. ‘I mean . . . I thought you were really disappointed about missing it.’

‘That was . . . then,’ she said. Theo detected – what? a secretive smile? – cross her face. Don’t ask, don’t blow it.

‘Er, good. So, what else is anyone up to this half-term?’

‘God, Dad. Isn’t it obvious? Revision, of course. Like, GCSEs?’

‘Ah! Of course. GCSEs.’ How could he have forgotten? That awful parents’ evening. ‘I always dreaded exams when I was your age. Got horribly nervous. Mind went blank. Not my strong point. Suspect your mother flew through them.’

‘Well, she had, like, a system?’

‘A system? How on earth do you know that? And what sort of system, anyway?’

‘So, Granny told me. Lots of index cards. All alphabetical. Highlighter pens. You know.’

‘Sounds like Mum and her lists.’

‘Yeah, except one awful time she’d used, like, washable ink for her notes. Like, one of those fountain pens you used in the old days? And the highlighter pen dissolved the writing underneath. Appaz Mum went ballistic.’

‘Oh, heck! Poor old Mum. I never knew that. Still, she did all right. In her exams, I mean. What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Have you got a system? Like Mum’s? Maybe not index cards, but something more twenty-first century?’

‘God, Dad, what do you think?’

‘Um . . . do I take it that’s a “No”?’

‘Fuck’s sake, Dad!’ Beth was shouting now. Her face was white with rage. ‘How do you expect me to revise when I’m on this stupid bloody walk? I can’t exactly carry my files with me, can I? I don’t know why you’ve got to cross-examine me about my exams anyway! Who bloody cares? What does it matter how I do? Who gives a shit?’ And with that, she marched off.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what was all that about?’ asked Tamsin.

‘Bloody hell, don’t you start!’

‘Hey, mate! Don’t turn on me! Just trying to help, OK?’

‘Sorry,’ said Theo, turning to her and forcing a sheepish smile. ‘Sorry, Tamsin. Completely out of order. Not your fault. Mine. I was just chatting to Beth . . . and she . . . well, you heard. She lost it.’

‘About? What were you talking about?’

‘This and that . . . and then I made the mistake of asking about her GCSEs. She completely flew off the handle.’

‘Sounds to me like she’s scared,’ said Tamsin.

‘Scared? Why?’

‘Here, Smith! Smith! Come here, you mad dog, or you’ll have to go on the lead!’ Reluctantly, Smith abandoned the pursuit of whatever had taken him hurtling into the depths of the wood, and turned back to rejoin the walkers on the path. He wagged his tail enthusiastically, his pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.

‘Well, I don’t suppose her mind’s been on her studies, the last few months,’ Tamsin continued. ‘She’s probably scared shitless that she’s going to come a gutser. Wondering what happens next if it all goes wrong. No wonder she threw a wobbly.’

Oh God. How could I not know that? ‘I just don’t seem to be able to talk to her any more,’ he said. ‘And I can’t help worrying about her.’ He looked at Tamsin, a thought striking him. ‘The pair of you seem thick as thieves. Does she confide in you?’

‘Well, of course she misses her mum.’ Theo sensed that Tamsin was choosing her words with care. ‘We talk about that. And girl stuff. All sorts of things. She’s only fifteen, remember. She’s a great kid, Theo. Guess you just need to keep the door open.’

Lunchtime saw a welcome pause for refreshment at a pub along the Pilgrims’ Way.

‘Sorry, guys, but there’s no argument on this one,’ said Tamsin with mock regret. ‘I point blank refuse to miss out on a boozer called The Dirty Habit. How great is that?’

Fortunately the pub was as appealing as its name: a solid, red-brick Georgian coaching inn with wooden beams and panelling, an ancient brick floor and a bread oven in the fireplace, along with a tradition of serving pilgrims that apparently dated back to the Middle Ages. A greengrocer’s apostrophe declared one bench Reserved for Monk’s. Theo gratefully accepted a pint from the landlord, and watched Tamsin work her magic round the lunchtime drinkers. She really could charm the birds out of the trees! How did she do it? Which reminded him: the TV people. A knot of anxiety formed in the pit of his stomach. He’d agreed, swayed by William and finally cajoled by Tamsin, who persuaded him that it was a way of honouring Anna’s life. (‘Pretty sure she’d have gone for it, if the boot was on the other foot, mate. But your call, obvs.’) Well, she’d better not let him down, he thought grimly.

Ruth arrived, late and breathless, but lit up by a visit to another nature reserve. ‘It was utterly idyllic!’ she told Sam. ‘Shame you weren’t with me today. It’s one of the best remaining examples of an unimproved hay-meadow in Kent. Marvellous meadow grasses! And more green-winged orchids than you could shake a stick at.’ How good it was to see her smiling! And how good she was with Sam. Now Theo supposed he’d have to tell her what a mess he’d made of talking to Beth.

‘Friends,’ said Father Stephen. ‘I’m afraid there’s rain forecast for this afternoon. Would you mind if we press on? I suggest we head towards the church, and eat our picnics in the graveyard. Then we’ll have our usual pause for prayer and reflection.’

Theo drained his glass and headed up the road with the others. ‘I really like this part of the day,’ he heard Chloe telling Catherine.

‘Me too,’ said Catherine. ‘I’m going to miss it next week.’

Wasn’t it odd? reflected Theo. It was the last thing he’d expected, but he felt the same. What was it? The words? The simple act of taking a break in the middle of the day? The community they had formed? Part of the secret lay in the routine: the fact that every day had a rhythm and you didn’t have to think too hard. That was restful in itself. Allowing yourself to be carried along by the flow. Like letting out a deep breath you’d been holding too long. Which was bizarre, when you thought about it, because along with the silence came homework. But whatever the reason, the times of reflection, as much as the walking, seemed to be weaving some kind of healing spell.

Father Stephen led them down the road into a large flint church with a square tower. Inside the church was light and bright and smelled of fresh paint. The walkers distributed themselves in the pews. Beth – she was definitely avoiding him – huddled in a corner with Ella and Lucy. Chloe squeezed in next to the sisters. Theo took a seat next to Catherine, and Mary Anne slipped in on his other side.

‘This church is associated with the Culpeper family, who owned Leeds Castle, just up the road,’ said Father Stephen at the end of the liturgy. ‘Some splendid monuments. And in the vestry there’s an exquisite piece of embroidery, called the Culpeper needlework. It dates back to the seventeenth century.

‘I don’t know if you’ve ever looked at a piece of embroidery, but I’ve always found it fascinating. On one side you have an intricate pattern or picture. But turn it over, and you can see the embroiderer’s workings. It’s quite a mess – all the threads woven in, sometimes quite randomly, to keep the front together.

‘I think our lives are a bit like that. The world sees the face we want to present. All in order! But those who know us really well understand that there’s often another story behind the front. A story of hard grind and disappointment and things that haven’t gone so well. Perhaps things we feel bad about. That’s certainly true for me. There are things in my life that I’d rather other people didn’t know about. As a Christian I believe that God sees everything. There’s no hiding from God. Quite an uncomfortable thought! But the good news is that God forgives. There’s truly nothing so awful, so shameful, that we can’t receive God’s forgiveness.’

Oh, God. Where was this going? Theo stared unseeing straight ahead. ‘So my thought today is that we take some time to think about the knotty subject of “forgiveness”. I know it’s another tough one. We’re all human, which means we all need forgiveness. And when someone dies, it can be particularly hard if there are things we feel we haven’t said “sorry” for. Perhaps because we ran out of time, or we didn’t realize that it needed saying until it was too late. That’s tough.

‘Just as tough is the fact that we may actually be angry with the person who’s died. Either because of something they’ve done, or simply because it feels as if they’ve abandoned us. And then we feel guilty for being angry. So. Our usual task. An hour’s peace and quiet, to think about forgiveness, as we walk the next few miles.’

Hell’s bells. Where to start? Guilt, forgiveness needed . . . He had a list as long as your arm. Right now, he was feeling guilty for upsetting Beth. For failing her. For having no idea what was going on in her head right now. Was Ruth right – had they all neglected her well-being from the very beginning? It was perfectly possible. Until the teenage hormones kicked in she’d been so easy, really. Anxious to please at school, eager to help at home. Apparently. What had she been bottling up inside her?

The trouble was, Beth had had to grow up very fast. She was only four, not quite five, when the twins were born. A beloved only child who suddenly found that she had not one but two siblings. Anna worked so hard to make sure she felt involved, included. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without Beth,’ she said to visitors more than once in Beth’s hearing. ‘She’s such a wonderful help with the boys.’

And she had been. At that age she was old enough to fetch nappies and muslin squares and to watch one baby while Anna was changing the other. She always knew which twin was which, and patiently put the health visitor straight when she muddled them up. Had they got that wrong? Not allowed her to be a baby for long enough? Everything about her behaviour suggested that she relished the role of big sister, enjoyed the sense of importance it gave her. ‘Mummy, I think Sam needs changing,’ she would announce solemnly. Or: ‘Daddy, you should probably give Josh his rattle. He gets very cross when he can’t reach it.’

But that was then. Halcyon days, compared with what came afterwards. That awful day when the boys were eighteen months old and first Sam and then Josh fell ill. They were rushed into hospital with terrifying speed, as what appeared to be a routine childhood bug suddenly spiralled into something far worse. At that point his concern – and Anna’s too – had been to keep Beth well out of the way for her own safety.

It had been unspeakably frightening. Anna’s panicky message on his mobile (‘Theo, you need to come to the hospital. Right now. Just come. Don’t waste a single second!’) had him running through the car park to the Land Rover and hurtling through the lanes. On Anna’s instruction, he rang his mother from the car to implore her to come and collect Beth. That in itself was a measure of the seriousness of the situation, because Marion was an anxious grandmother and, unlike Ruth and William, rarely babysat. But Anna wanted her own mother at the hospital, to interpret symptoms, to quiz the staff, to fight any battles that might need fighting.

By the time he reached the hospital not only was Ruth at Anna’s side but William was there too. Theo was confused; it was the middle of a working day. How could he have got back from London so quickly? He’d entirely forgotten that today, of course, was to have been Ruth’s big day. The day when, after years of campaigning and fundraising, Hope House was finally to be declared open by a royal visitor. William had taken the afternoon off to honour her achievement and share the moment when her long-held vision became a reality.

William had been marvellous. He calmly walked Beth to Granny Greene’s car and promised to look in to read her a bedtime story, if Granny G wouldn’t mind. And then he quietly ferried cups of tea and unwanted sandwiches and messages between them all as they took increasingly anxious turns around the two cots which were – most unfortunately – at opposite ends of the corridor, because Sam was by now in intensive care.

Because at that stage it was Sam who appeared to be more seriously ill. Theo would never forget that plaintive cry, entirely unrecognizable as anything he had ever heard from any baby, before or since. Late into the night, while Anna and Ruth kept vigil at Sam’s bedside, and Theo sat with Josh, he must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he was jolted out of sleep by the beeping of machines and the swift arrival of a nurse.

And suddenly Josh’s breathing was all gaspy and his blood pressure was crashing through the floor as septic shock set in. Anna was running and it was all systems go as doctors materialized out of nowhere and Josh was moved into intensive care and they were warned he was deteriorating. And then . . . and then . . . by the following evening everything went up another gear still as the medical team fought and fought and failed to save his life.

After that, it was all the most ghastly fog. Anna cradling Josh in her arms, rocking him back and forth, and weeping noisily and messily as if her heart had broken into a million pieces. Josh’s little body all cold, his head lolling. Ruth, grim-faced and determined, calmly reporting that Sam’s observations appeared to have stabilized, but she didn’t think he was out of the woods yet, and asking for the consultant paediatrician to be summoned as a matter of urgency. William arriving with fresh coffee in a flask and the news that Beth was absolutely fine, in the circumstances, and that she and Granny G had spent much of the day happily working on an enormous jigsaw puzzle of the Kings and Queens of England.

As for Theo . . . what had he done? What had he contributed? All he could remember was standing about in helpless confusion. And though there were endless questions to answer and forms to fill in and he went through the motions, his brain refused to process the information before him. He felt entirely disorientated, as if he was observing a scene from a long way away involving other people that had nothing whatsoever to do with him. His arms and legs seemed no longer to belong to him. For the first time in his life, he understood the phrase living nightmare.

If they had overlooked Beth in the aftermath, was it any great wonder? Was it too late to ask for forgiveness now, all these years later? He remembered Anna’s angst, the appalling guilt that had followed. She should have known the boys were ill. That it wasn’t just a sniffle. She was so determined not to be an overanxious mother that she’d taken them with her to a rehearsal that morning. Gone out on a chilly autumn day! Had she not dressed them warmly enough? How could she have missed the signs of something so serious? Why hadn’t she been watching over Josh in the night? If she had been there, rather than at Sam’s bedside, surely she would have noticed his temperature rising, his increased agitation. And if she hadn’t been weeping over Josh, would she have spotted that something awful was happening to Sam’s feet? Could she have saved his toes by responding more swiftly? Now he was maimed, scarred for life. Permanently disfigured and disabled.

And why had she chosen that day of all days to take the car in for a service, which meant that they had to wait for an ambulance to take them to the hospital? Why was she out at all, let alone encumbered with a cello? Why hadn’t she given up work al­­together when the children were born? Why wasn’t she at home, holding them close, keeping them safe from danger? How had they caught the illness in the first place? Was this punishment for sending them to nursery so that she could work, for trying to have her cake and eat it?

Round and round it went on a never-ending loop. The endless recriminations, the blame, the self-flagellation. If they were thinking about forgiveness . . . well, Anna couldn’t forgive herself. She couldn’t forgive him for falling asleep at Josh’s bedside. She was a terrible mother. She didn’t deserve children. And so on; on and on. Until, forty-eight hours later, she finally slept for a few hours. And when she woke, sank into that ghostly bleak silence. Which was almost worse than the ranting. She’d eventually stirred herself into action for the funeral, played an unbearably poignant piece of music for Josh, and then vowed never to touch the cello again.

If Theo had known then what he knew now, he wondered what, if anything, he would have done – what he could have done – differently. Because, of course, that had just been the beginning. While he struggled to come to terms with his own grief and guilt (why had he fallen asleep? could it have made a difference?) he had to watch his adored wife plummet head first into the abyss. To begin with, they clung to each other, victims of a disaster that had shipwrecked their lives. But before he knew it, the Anna he knew and loved had become unreachable behind a wall of silence. Unrecognizable.

Nothing he did seemed to help. He felt impotent, frustrated and furious. Perhaps if he hadn’t been grieving himself, he would have been less hard on her. But he found himself incandescent that on the scales of public opinion, a mother’s mourning appeared to outweigh a father’s. She was allowed to fall to pieces. But someone had to earn a living. Put food on the table. Take Beth to school and Sam to the hospital for check-ups. Go shopping, clean the house, do the washing (sod the ironing). Hold everything together. ‘How’s Anna?’ asked everyone, kindness writ large in their concerned expressions. No one asked after him. Or . . . had they? Perhaps he had simply closed his ears to any such enquiries. Brushed them off. He genuinely couldn’t remember.

Eventually, of course, she picked herself up. He wasn’t sure what the tipping point was, but one day he came home from work to find her sitting at the kitchen table with Beth, who was colouring with felt pens. Sam was curled up on the sofa with his thumb in his mouth, watching CBeebies. Anna had washed her hair – he could smell her shampoo – and was wearing a top he hadn’t seen for years. The kitchen was unusually clean and tidy, there was fresh fruit in the bowl, and the table was laid for supper.

‘I’ve made some chilli,’ she said. ‘And jacket potatoes. Are you ready to eat?’

At the sight of him, Beth wriggled off her mother’s lap and ran over to give Theo a hug. ‘There’s a surprise, Daddy!’ she said. ‘Mummy’s feeling better today and so we’ve made some cookies.’

‘Not such a surprise any more!’ Theo teased Beth. ‘But that’s lovely, sweetheart. Did you help with the washing-up as well? It looks as if you’ve had a big clean-up here!’

They tiptoed cautiously around each other all evening. ‘I’m sorry, Theo,’ she said finally, as they went up to bed. ‘I am trying. But I’ve realized I can’t do this on my own. I’m not strong enough. I need some professional help.’

That was just the first small step. Things certainly didn’t change overnight. He found out later that she’d left the children with her mother and been to see Father Stephen, and her GP. Talked to Ruth, and Tamsin, of course. In fact, she seemed to have sought solace everywhere but with him. Now, he thought, was that so surprising? They had each been so locked up in their own misery that neither had any emotional resources to spare. No wonder couples who lost a child so often split up. At least their marriage had survived. By the skin of their teeth.

Theo took a huge breath to steady himself. Oh God, this is hard. Do I have to do this? He looked around him. The track stretched ahead, long and straight. In the distance he could see the outline of a large factory, bizarrely out of place in this rural wooded setting. Clouds were amassing on the horizon. Father Stephen was probably right about the rain. The sky was heavy and grey. An incongruous snatch of song floated into his mind: There may be trouble ahead, he hummed. Then what? Something about moonlight? Yes. But while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance, let’s face the music and dance.

How appropriate! Well, if he was going to face the music, he needed to be honest with himself. Look himself squarely in the eye. He found himself struck suddenly by the realization that he couldn’t have done this a month ago. Before this week, in fact. Somewhere, deep inside, a key had turned in a heavy door he hadn’t even known was locked. Where was he? He steeled himself. Six months after Josh’s death, Anna was a great deal better. They were better. She was on antidepressants and had had bereavement counselling. (He declined the offer; he couldn’t see himself sharing his private feelings with a stranger.) But they were at least talking about what had happened. About Sam’s feet – he was making steady progress now and, thank goodness, all the signs suggested that his brain was undamaged. They talked about their beloved boy and how much they missed him. Or at least they tried to, although it wasn’t easy because whenever Josh’s name came up in conversation Beth always interrupted (‘Look what Sam’s doing!’) or created a diversion by spilling a drink or dropping a bowl. But they were more or less on an even keel, Theo thought. A lot better than they had been, anyway, and definitely heading in the right direction.

Then one day, Theo came home after a particularly long day at the end of a punishing fortnight. It was nearly Easter and an absolute peak time for business, crucial for his annual figures. He’d had an unpleasant run-in with a supplier over the non-delivery of his entire order of summer-flowering bulbs. Much worse, he had just been forced to give a member of staff his marching orders, after discovering that he’d had his fingers in the till. Theo felt particularly let down, as he’d stuck his neck out giving a job to Anatole who had only recently come out of a young offenders’ unit. He’d wanted to give the lad a chance. Anatole had betrayed his trust, and badly.

With the benefit of hindsight, Theo could see that the day’s events had left him drained and defensive, and spoiling for a fight. By the time he got back, he realized that he’d long since missed bathtime and he fully anticipated Anna’s reproach. Instead, she greeted him without comment on his time-keeping, and poured him a glass of red wine to drink while she finished preparing the supper. The kitchen was aromatic with the smell of a slow-cooking casserole. There were candles on the table and a plate of French cheese sitting out on the sideboard.

‘Do go up and say goodnight, but they’ve had their stories,’ she said. ‘I should think Sam’s asleep by now. Please don’t let Beth keep you chatting. It’s time her light was out. And then there’s something really important I want to talk about.’

Over supper she told him about her madcap plan to go to Spain and walk the Camino. He was completely thrown. The idea seemed to have come from nowhere. He felt a surge of confusion, swiftly followed by anger.

‘How long?’ he asked.

‘A month. Perhaps a little less.’

‘And how am I supposed to manage? How on earth do you imagine I can run a business and look after the children?’

‘I’ve thought about that. Mum and Dad have offered to help. And even better, Tamsin’s available.’

‘Tamsin?’

‘Yes. She’s got a short-term contract in Guildford. She needs somewhere to live and I thought she could be a kind of au pair for a few weeks. You know how brilliant she is with the kids.’

‘So you’ve asked her already? And your parents?’

‘Well, in principle. I thought there was no point us discussing it unless there was a realistic way of making it happen.’ She picked at her salad, and then dropped her fork. ‘You’ve been very busy, these last couple of weeks. There hasn’t really been a good moment before now.’

‘I’m very busy because I’ve got a business to run, in case you’ve forgotten. A business on which we all depend for our living, while you’re not gainfully employed.’ A tide of fury welled up inside him. ‘Aside from the fact that I seem to be the very last person to hear of this plan – and I am your husband, you know – where on earth has this come from? What’s this all about?’

‘I guess it’s been evolving, slowly,’ said Anna. ‘I know I haven’t been easy to live with. But I’m much better. We’re much better. We’ve lost our son and we’ve been through hell, Theo. I don’t suppose our life will ever be the same again. But for me . . . I need some time out. I think if I can get away for a bit, do something totally different, I can have some thinking time. Some praying time.’

‘Bit bloody late for praying, isn’t it?’ Theo shouted. ‘If your God had been listening, don’t you think he just might have done the decent thing and let Josh live? Let alone the minor matter of Sam’s toes?’

‘Don’t be like that, Theo . . . Maybe it’s hard to understand but I want to do this in memory of Josh. It just seems totally the right thing to do. Stephen says . . .’

‘Stephen says? Well, what Stephen says goes, I suppose.’

‘Please! Forget Stephen. I’m sorry I mentioned him. Though he’s been a rock.’ By now Anna was crying. ‘I really thought you’d understand. This is for me. For us. It feels like another step on the journey of . . . coming to terms with losing Josh. It also gives me a chance to think about the future, now that Sam’s doing so well. It feels like I’ve come a long way, but now I’m kind of at a crossroads. I’m not sure where to turn. My thinking was that this is a way of, well, marking the end of one chapter before starting on the next. Which includes going back to work at some stage, you’ll be relieved to know.’

That had been a low blow on his part, Theo thought now. Gainfully employed, indeed. What a pompous prick he’d been! They’d always agreed that looking after the children was a vitally import­ant job, and as valid a choice as going out to work. He’d been only too pleased that, provided they cut their cloth accordingly, what he brought in from the business made this more or less possible. Why hadn’t he understood what she was driving at? Why had he judged her so harshly? Thought she was leaving you, came his father’s voice. And why not? She was always too good for you. Shut up, thought Theo. You know nothing about it. Or her.

In the end, they made up, after the row. Sort of. From Theo’s point of view, it still felt like a retrograde step. What was the difference between Anna absent in Spain and Anna emotionally absent at home, as she had been throughout the long winter that followed Josh’s death? He half knew that was unfair, but it seemed that – yet again – he was the one left holding the fort. A martyr to Anna’s selfish whim. He saw that she was determined to go, and tried to wish her well. But try as she did to include him in her plans (‘Lots of maps or a single fat guidebook? Which do you think would be easier, Theo?’) he resisted all her attempts to win him over. Instead he clung unhappily to the small patch of moral high ground where he had pitched his tent, in spite of the fact that it appeared to be shrinking daily under the rising tide of support from her wider family and friends. Oh, Anna, forgive me for not understanding. I think I get it now, especially after this week.

They coped, of course. Meticulous as ever, Anna made extensive plans and drew up rotas before she left. Tamsin took up residence on the Brew House sofa-bed and threw herself enthusiastically into domestic chores and babysitting in return for free accommodation. After the strains and sadness of the past months, her sunny and uncomplicated presence in the household gave them all a lift. Beth, in particular, adored her. Tamsin never grew tired of playing make-believe with her Sylvanian Families or reading Pippi Longstocking (her current favourite). She even got Sam playing lopsided football in the garden.

Ruth, meanwhile, was an enormous help with pick-ups from school and nursery and general quiet moral support. At the time of the crisis, they were so taken up with living from hour to hour that Theo had scarcely appreciated that Ruth had handed in her notice as Director of Hope House. ‘Time for the family now,’ was the public justification for her abrupt retirement. ‘Thought you might need a little extra help,’ she added in private for Theo’s benefit. How true that had been. Some deep-seated instinct had propelled Ruth into making herself available to stand alongside them all in their bereavement, and guide them through Sam’s rehabilitation. Surgery, physiotherapy, regular check-ups. All aided by Ruth’s calm practicality and reassurance. Theo’s own poor mother, meanwhile, visibly flinched at the sight of Sam’s deformed foot and was prone to unhelpful outbursts of sobbing. But he was doing her an injustice: as regular as clockwork, Marion arrived at the Brew House on Saturday mornings with offerings from the farmers’ market: scones and jam, home-made cakes, oddly shaped vegetables, and on one memorable day, an improbable bottle of sloe gin.

Anna kept in touch by email and phoned whenever she could. She was getting on fine, and so were they. So all in all, it was OK really. If only . . . if only it hadn’t been for Beth’s birthday, thought Theo. He had no one but himself to blame for what happened. He sighed. He’d successfully buried the memory for years. It had started to rain, in tune with his dark mood.

But. Back to then. It was such a highly charged day. Anna had been due home, but was delayed by storms. He’d been so caught up in the ongoing narrative of his martyrdom that he’d done nothing in preparation. Another black mark against him! Ruth had reminded him, of course, and between them they hatched a plan involving presents and a cake and a surprise tea party.

It went wrong almost from the off: he could tell by her face that he’d misjudged Beth’s present, somehow, though he really had done his best, checked it with Ruth and everything. Perhaps he should have asked Tamsin, but she was away all week in Manchester. And then Beth dragged her heels about going to school and he almost lost his temper with her, which was unfair, and managed to reduce her to tears. The trouble was, he had to be at the hospital with Sam for a check-up, and he was already concerned about leaving Sharon in sole charge of Greene Fingers because she’d only just joined the staff, and after the Anatole disaster he couldn’t afford to take his eye off the ball for a single moment.

By the time he came home from work, though, everything had improved immeasurably. Anna had phoned and said she’d be home within forty-eight hours and Beth couldn’t contain her delight. William had taken a half-day off work as a surprise and he and Ruth had clearly spoiled Beth rotten. They’d all had a lovely afternoon together with lots of fun and laughter, eating cake and playing silly games. And he’d almost forgotten that Ruth and William had offered to have the children to stay, as part of the birthday treat. Theo planned to go out for a drink with Jonathan, an old friend from agricultural college, who was now an animal feed rep and was passing through Farmleigh on his way back from a sales conference.

He went to the pub and had a really good time. It was a Friday night and the bar was pleasantly full. Pretty girls and laughing young men. Students who’d spilled out of the FE college round the corner. Office workers winding down for the weekend. He and Jonathan had happily reminisced about their student days before falling into conversation with a spirited group of Young Farmers. Lively company, who laughed at his jokes and made him feel young again. Had a few drinks and just forgot all his troubles for once. A carefree evening. And then . . . one stupid mistake. One kiss that led to another. And he found himself doing the one thing he’d sworn he’d never, ever do to Anna, having seen the hurt that Laurence’s careless behaviour had inflicted on her. He’d broken his marriage vows and been unfaithful to his beloved wife. Just because she was a long way away and he was feeling hard done by and the opportunity had presented itself.

Oh God. How could he? No matter that it was once, and once only; that he had had far too much to drink; that it was a complete error of judgement. Never mind whether Anna could forgive him: he wasn’t at all sure he could forgive himself. Appalled, he vowed there and then that she must never, ever find out and that he would put it behind him once and for all. When she came home, it would be a new start for them both. What had she said? A new chapter. Yes; that was it. He would make it up to her by being extra loving, extra understanding. Making it his single mission in life to make her happy again, whatever it took.

When she did arrive home – just a couple of days later – it had been remarkably easy for the simple reason that she was so transformed. She was lit up: the old Anna, and something more. A new energy seemed to course through her veins. It was as if power had finally been restored after a long, cold winter endured in darkness. For the first time since Josh’s death, she had plans, was looking forward to the future. He was so relieved to see her that he simply held her close and wept into her hair. ‘I’m so, so sorry. For everything,’ he said when they were finally alone together, meaning far more by his apology than he hoped she would understand. ‘I really thought I’d lost you.’

‘Me too,’ said Anna. ‘I’m sorry, too. I just had to go. But I’m home now, and we’re going to be OK. I promise. Trust me.’

And slowly, they rebuilt their lives, found their way into a new way of being together that encompassed their loss and allowed them to live with it. Perhaps, thought Theo, they were older and sadder than they had been, but maybe a little wiser too. The new intimacy that grew between them was a place of love and kindness again. Theo watched with admiration as Anna researched and made plans to retrain for a new career. They sat down together and agreed that they needed a childminder and possibly a cleaner too, and Anna said that she wanted to ask William for a loan. Theo resisted at first, but Anna was persuasive.

‘A loan, Theo. Not a gift. I’ll pay him back when I’m earning. Don’t forget, there’ll be fees and train fares as well. It’s going to be quite an adjustment for everyone, me being a student. I think we need some practical support, domestically, and we really don’t need any extra pressure on our finances right now. Let’s not make this any harder than we have to.’

Theo swallowed his pride. He knew she was right. But the most important part of the whole conversation was that they talked it all through as partners, without resentment, and made the decisions together.

And yet, and yet . . . although it became easier over the years, Theo could never quite shake off the feeling that he was living on borrowed time. That he’d got away with it too easily; that his transgression would, in the end, catch him out. So that when all those years later Anna’s diagnosis came and the horror dawned that he was going to lose her, in the very cobwebby recesses of his mind lay the thought that this was really no great surprise. Rather, it was nat­ural justice. A catastrophe he’d brought upon himself. The punishment he’d always known was lying in store for him, a ticking time bomb.

‘Dad, come and look!’ Sam’s cry summoned him out of his self-absorption. He realized he’d been oblivious to his surroundings for the past – how many? no idea – miles. They were almost level with the factory works he’d seen in the distance earlier in the afternoon. But what had attracted Sam’s attention was something quite different. He was sitting on a bench next to a stout grey figure. On closer inspection, Theo could see that the figure was the rotund statue of a monk.

‘Dad, look! He’s called Brother Percival! It says Pilgrim bound with staff and faith, rest thy bones. I’m resting my bones! Can you take a picture of me next to him?’

Theo rummaged in his rucksack until he found his camera. Sam crossed his left arm over his body and leaned his chin on his right hand in imitation of the reclining figure.

‘Me too!’ shouted Milo, and squeezed onto the bench next to him.

‘You look like those three monkeys,’ said Theo. ‘You know, “Hear no evil, See no evil, Speak no evil”.’

‘OK, Milo, you be “See no evil”, I’ll be “Hear no evil”. Brother Percival can be “Speak no evil” because he’s asleep!’

‘Maybe he should be “Smell no evil” because of his broken nose,’ said Milo, laughing.

‘Hey, Milo, mate,’ intervened Tamsin sharply. ‘Hop off, there’s a good bloke. Give George a shot. Not fair to leave him out.’

Milo wriggled, reluctant to cede his spot in the limelight, but Tamsin was insistent.

‘He’s OK, surely?’ said Theo. ‘George can have a go in a minute.’

Milo looked from one adult to the other.

‘Nah, come on, Milo. It’s George’s turn now,’ repeated Tamsin. ‘Don’t think we want to hang about in this rain.’

‘But it’s almost stopped!’

‘Milo, mate, don’t argue please. Come over here.’

‘Fancy a chocolate biscuit, Milo, old man?’ asked William. Milo brightened slightly and slid off the bench with a glare at his mother.

What was that about? wondered Theo. But at that moment, Beth appeared at his side.

‘Er, Dad? Can I, like, say something?’

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘So two things? First, I’m, like, sorry I swore at you earlier. Lost the plot. My bad.’

‘Um. That’s OK. Look . . . do you want to talk about these exams? Anything I can do?’

‘Meh. More of a forgiveness thing.’

‘Well, if we’re talking about forgiveness, I probably need to ask yours for . . . being thoughtless. Not realizing how much the GCSEs are preying on you.’

‘Shrugalug. Let’s not overdo it, Dad.’

Theo suppressed a smile. Right on cue, the sun came out. Literally and metaphorically. A faint echo of the lightness he’d felt that morning returned. The food conversation could wait: at least she was talking to him again. Treading carefully, he took a delicate step across the fragile bridge that lay between them. ‘The other thing?’

Beth blushed, and looked at her feet. ‘So, like, a friend, yeah? Would it be OK if . . . someone comes along tomorrow? Maybe Sunday?’

‘Of course!’ Theo let out his breath. He’d thought perhaps that Beth’s apology was intended to soften him up for something, well, bigger. Like going home. ‘Who’s coming? Natasha? Jade?’

‘Um, no. You don’t, like, know . . . him. Just a guy from Big Band. Tenor sax. Um, Matt?’

‘Ah. I see. Well, I look forward to meeting Um Matt. Of course he’s welcome. Will he need a bed for the night? If so, you need to talk to Father Stephen. He can probably give you some tips on handy train stations and so on. Assuming he’s travelling under his own steam.’

‘’Kay. Will do. So Dad . . . one more thing?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘You won’t, like, come over all Victorian Dad, will you? Be embarrassing?’

‘I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ said Theo solemnly. ‘Promise.’

‘That,’ said Beth with a grin as she turned to go, ‘is exactly what I’m worried about.’