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But that pain had heralded the arrival of her new life, a new beginning. It had been pain which had given birth to joy—the joy of becoming a mother. This was the pain of death and loss. This pain heralded the despair of finally having to acknowledge that Marcus was leaving her life. It would never end. This pain would be with her until her life’s end.
‘Briony, I have to go,’ she whispered.
‘Ma?’ she could hear her daughter protesting uncertainly, but Polly was already replacing the receiver.
‘Mrs Fraser.’
Numbly Polly looked blankly at the girl who had stopped her. She recognised her distantly, but the questions the girl was asking her seemed to be reaching her down a long, long tunnel. Something about some towels; what did she care about such things now?
Without responding Polly turned away from her and headed for the side door that led into the house’s private garden. Beyond it lay the wood where she and Briony had walked when Briony was little. They had gathered wood there for bonfire night and greenery for Christmas. And when he was at home Marcus had always come with them, holding Briony’s hand and making her laugh whilst he teased her. In her memories Polly saw herself as always standing slightly apart from them, alone and unwanted, just as she was alone and unwanted by Marcus now.
Marcus had been a wonderful surrogate father to Briony. Soon now he would have a child of his own—Suzi’s child.
The pain hit her like lightning, zig-zagging through her mind, her body, her heart, half blinding her as it knifed into her, causing her to stumble against a tree and to catch her foot in its exposed gnarled roots. As she fell Polly could feel the tears starting to flow, but she knew it wasn’t the pain of her fall that was making her cry. She could see her tears lying damply on her hand as she lifted it to her face to wipe them away. Odd that they were only water; for some reason she’d expected them to be dark red tears of blood, because that was how she felt—as though her very heart had been wrenched apart and its life’s blood was pouring from her.
‘Polly? Polly?’
Polly tensed in disbelief and anxiety as she heard Marcus calling her name. What was he doing looking for her? They had both been keeping their distance from one another recently, and so far as she knew Marcus was at his own house supervising the work there.
‘Polly.’
She heard the irritation in his voice as he saw her. Quickly she struggled to get up, wincing with shocked pain as she realised that when she’d fallen she had hurt her ankle. Not broken it, thankfully, but wrenched it badly enough for it to refuse to take her weight.
‘What’s wrong? What have you done?’ she heard him demanding as he reached her.
‘What does it look like I’ve done?’ she responded irritably. ‘I’ve wrenched my ankle.’
‘Here, lean on me,’ Marcus instructed as he helped her to her feet, ignoring her feeble attempts to push him away.
‘You know, then, about Suzi and the baby?’ he asked her gruffly, once he was sure she was able to stand.
‘Yes…’ Polly responded tersely. ‘Briony rang. I…’ She took a deep breath, heroically intending to do the proper thing and congratulate him, but discovered, to her chagrin, that she just couldn’t.
‘Yes, I know,’ Marcus agreed. ‘She rang me too. She was concerned about you. She said you sounded…When I drove over to the hotel they said you’d gone out into the private garden and I guessed you might have come down here. It was always one of your favourite places of retreat.’
Immediately Polly was on the defensive. ‘What do you mean? I used to come here with Briony, yes, but…’
‘And on your own when you needed to be alone…The anniversary of Richard’s death,’ Marcus told her. ‘I saw you that first year…’
‘That was because—’ Quickly Polly stopped. There was no way she could explain to him now that she had come here then to ask Richard’s forgiveness for loving his cousin. Instead she told Marcus jerkily, ‘Briony says you want to have the reception at Fraser House.’
She saw he was frowning as he looked at her.
‘That’s what Suzi wants and—’
‘And what Suzi wants Suzi gets; is that it?’ Polly asked him in what she intended to be a light, carefree voice but which instead sounded more like one riven with anguish and pain.
‘Look, Polly, I know how you must feel,’ Marcus told her, confirming her fears that her voice had given her away. ‘Believe me, I am truly sorry, but I did try to warn you.’
‘Try to warn me? When? When you were in bed with me? When you were having sex with me?’ Polly demanded angrily. ‘Have you told—’
