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“I’m standing in front of you!”
“No, Will. Don’t do that. Don’t make me out to be crazy. Your body might be here, but your mind?” Her head shakes from side to side. “No. It’s like you’d rather be anywhere but here with us.”
Oh God. Becca. I grab her waist, the action as natural as breathing. What have I done? “I’m right here. I promise. You and the kids are everything to me. You have to know that.” I kiss the top of her head, stroke her hair.
“And then you embarrass me in front of strangers?” she cries into my chest, voice quivering. “Snapping at me like you did.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I have nothing else. One overused and easy to say word is all I have to offer. I squeeze her a little tighter. “I love you, Rebecca.” That, at least, comes from a pure and honest place. “With all my heart.”
The world looks so big here. Exposed. Surrounded by so much space. Yet I’m trapped. The air is heavy, pushing on my skin, crushing me from every angle.
“I know you do,” Becca says after a moment, sniffling in the last of her tears. Her face rises from my chest, looking up at me. “I guess it’s a bit harder than we thought it would be, eh. You working away. But we’ll adjust. We always do.” As she reaches up to stroke my cheek, she smiles.
This is it. In the middle of the Suffolk countryside against a backdrop of moonlight, with the soundtrack of the glistening stream playing alongside us, this is the moment I realise my marriage is broken. For Becca has just spoken all the right words through the beautiful smile I’ve always loved and, for the very first time…I don’t believe them.
Lost, in all ways I think a man can be lost, I pull her back into my chest. “Yeah,” is all say. “Yeah, we do.”
Since our argument outside the farmhouse two nights ago, Becca has been attentive to the point of clingy. Stifling, almost. Her arms keep appearing around my waist. When I brush my teeth, when I make coffee, when I take a minute to simply gaze out of the window. I can’t make eye contact without her initiating a kiss, and not a chaste peck, but a full-on lingering snog, as if we’re sixteen again. Ben’s disgusted. Lucy posted a video of us on TikTok.
I need to get out of here.
And we should’ve been today. Only now we’re stuck here until Sunday thanks to Laurence having a decent and generous family. I wonder if they’d be so generous if they knew the truth.
“Hmm…” I’m scrubbing potatoes in the sink when Becca materialises behind me, moaning into my neck. “You smell good today.”
I smell the exact same as every other day. Still, I twist my neck, place a quick kiss on her forehead. I know why she’s doing it, the hovering. She’s making an effort. Trying to bring us closer again. Because she thinks we can be fixed. That we’re just tired. That it’s just the stress of our jobs, the distance, time apart, the long hours blowing too harshly on our spark. She has no idea that it never existed in the first place, not the kind she wants or deserves, and that not even a flame thrower and a can of petrol could ignite it.
I’m just too fucking gutless to tell her. Here. Now. But I’m going to. If these last few days have made me appreciate anything, it’s how much better my wife deserves.
“The kids will be doing archery for another hour at least,” Becca whispers straight into my ear, in a tone of voice I’m all too familiar with. A second later, her hand reaches around my front, grabs my crotch.
I stop breathing for all the wrong reasons.
“Ahhh… I’d love to,” I say, dancing out of her grasp. “But I just realised we’ve no sweetcorn. Can’t have a barbecue without sweetcorn.” Tonight’s our turn to cook for Emmett and Josie, but Becca thinks Josie dropped hints that extra guests might tag along after all. Therefore, a barbecue should cover all eventualities.
She follows me around the kitchen, trying to steal kisses as I dry my hands, find my wallet.
“Won’t be long,” I say, hoping it takes a little long to find sweetcorn in the farm shop. Maybe even hoping they don’t sell it and I’ll have to venture into town. In the doorway, I leave her with a kiss blown through the air, which she pouts at, and then call, “Oil and season those spuds for later!” as I walk outside.
She huffs as I close the door, sounding just like our daughter, which makes me laugh...until regret sets in. I’m going to miss this, my family, their quirks and mannerisms, when I fuck it all up. I wonder if I’ll ever get to hear Becca huff and grumble in that impish way again. Or see my favourite smile. Or even hold her. Just…hug her. I’ll miss hugging her, my best friend in the world.
