She can’t believe what I’ve done.
“What, temporarily or permanently? Tessa, my love, have you thought carefully about this?”
Now why would I do that? I can’t come up with an answer to the latter question so I stick with the former.
“Permanently, I reckon.”
She’s struggling for words. “Well. Well, he’s clearly upset. He did leave in a great hurry. I’ve never seen him drive like that. He must be hurt. I think… I want you to… You must… Oh, Tessa.”
Then she says, “He hasn’t… well… I mean… tried to put… er… pressure on you to do… well… something you’d rather not?”
Oh Mother Dear, if only you knew. If only you knew the thoughts the daughter you brought up to be chaste has been having about someone else. But you don’t, and I’m not telling.
Rosie’s still lurking outside the door. She’ll be more than a bit interested in my reply to this one, so when I say, no, not in the slightest, not ever, I can feel her disappointment. What’s eating both of them, of course, is the fact that I didn’t consult with, or confide in, either of them before doing what I did.
“It’s not working with me and the horses. He’s not been happy about it for some time now. He feels I should be more committed to him and his plans, but I am, and always will be, committed to my horses.”
Her face says everything she feels about that and yeah, I know. It’s all very well for me as a horse-mad girl/teenager but what about when I’m married and have a family, blah, blah, blah?
Well, what about it?
It’s not just the horses of course, but that’s the simplest reason. There are people who need to lay out all their affairs of the heart before family and friends and seek guidance/support/approval. I’m learning that I’m not one of them. I didn’t need any help to make the decision I made last night. I also know I don’t want to be married to Danny or have his children and it’s just such an awful, awful, sad thing to know. He’s a gem, and I want to be his friend, but I don’t want to marry him.
“Don’t think it was easy, Mum. I psyched myself up for several hours before calling him to come over. When he arrived, I wavered and panicked and we sat on the patio and chatted in such a normal way, and it was all exactly as it had been before. I very nearly didn’t tell him I wanted to end it. I nearly chickened out.”
My heart, which had been hammering behind my ribs when I started on my speech, threatened to stop altogether when he all but broke down in front of me. All my planned setting out of my logical reasons fell in tattered shreds around me.
“He pleaded with me. He said he was prepared to work on it. And I was hard. I had to be hard. I’m sorry.”
I’m apologising to them when I should be apologising to him.