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Willow reached the end of the field and stepped onto the small style that led into the lane. Then she was in the lane and walking swiftly, woodenly, aware of the cold air on her face and the smell of woodsmoke. Jim must have lit a bonfire, she thought vacantly. He often did on a Sunday afternoon.
By the time she reached the cottage the tears were streaming down her face and she fumbled with the key for what seemed like an age before the door opened. She all but fell across the threshold, pulling the door shut and then sinking down with her back against the wood as she sobbed and sobbed.
It was over. As she had wanted it to be. He thought she didn’t love him and, Morgan being Morgan, that would be enough to keep him from contacting her again. No more hour-long phone calls, which had changed mediocre days into something wonderful; no more weekends filled with laughter and music and life; no more being able to watch his face as he talked and smiled; no more Morgan. What had she done? What had she done?
He had told her he loved her and she had flunked it big time, ruining any chance for them in the future. She couldn’t have put the final seal on this relationship more effectively if she’d planned it for a lifetime, she thought sickly. She had lied to him and, in lying, sealed her fate.
Willow couldn’t have said how long she sat there wallowing in misery, but by the time she dragged herself into the kitchen it was dark outside and beginning to snow. Fat, feathery flakes were falling in their millions from a laden sky. Willow wondered briefly if she was going to be able to get to work tomorrow, and then dismissed the thought just as quickly. What did work matter? What did anything matter? she asked herself wretchedly. If this was all there was, if life was going to continue to be as horrible as it had been the last few years, she might as well hibernate in the cottage and become a recluse.
After making herself a mug of hot chocolate she put a match to the fire and curled up on the sofa, staring unseeing into the burgeoning flames. Morgan said he loved her, but how could she know he wouldn’t change once they were together? She didn’t let herself consider marriage; togetherness was too frightening as it was. And he hadn’t mentioned marriage anyway.
Piers had been the perfect boyfriend before they’d got wed: charming, amusing, loving, attentive. He hadn’t put a foot wrong and she’d thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. And then they’d tied the knot and even on honeymoon he’d begun to show his true colours. How could anyone ever really know anyone else?
‘They can’t,’ she whispered into her mug of hot chocolate, cupping her hands round its warmth. They can’t, that’s the truth of it. Some things had to be taken on trust and she was all out of that commodity. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t, take the risk.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she told herself to get a grip. She had a nice job, her own home and she was in good health. Furthermore, she had plenty of friends and was as free as a bird to do what she pleased. She was so lucky.
It didn’t help. It should have, but it didn’t.
After another hour or so of fruitless soul-searching she resolutely switched on the TV. The weather girl was happily warning of severe snowstorms causing major traffic problems, her hands waving like an air hostess as she pointed out the worst-hit areas. It looked worse directly where Willow lived.
Great, Willow thought. Still, she was warm and snug and had plenty of food. Even if she was kept home for a day or two it wouldn’t matter. She sat gazing at the TV screen wondering if Morgan would come round to see if she was all right if they got snowed in. He might, she thought, her heart thudding, before picturing the look on his face when she’d said she didn’t love him. Of course he wouldn’t come. Why would he? Silly to expect it. He might go as far as sending Jim but he wouldn’t come himself. Not now. He’d stay away because he thought she wanted him to.
After another bout of crying she watched an inane comedy, which even the studio audience didn’t seem to find funny judging by the forced laughter, and then made herself more hot chocolate. She had just swallowed two headache pills when her mobile phone rang, causing her heart to jump into her throat.
Her hands trembling, she looked at the number and could have cried again but this time with disappointment. Beth’s mobile. Likely her sister and Peter were out somewhere and checking she was safely at home in view of the weather. She was still faintly annoyed that Beth and Morgan had been having private conversations she’d known nothing about, and her voice was stiff when she said, ‘Hallo, Beth?’
‘It’s me, Peter.’
She knew immediately something was badly wrong; she’d never heard stolid, reliable Peter’s voice shake before.
