AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Well, life is heartbreaking, isn’t it?’ Liz sighed. ‘No point pretending otherwise.’
‘I guess so,’ Ben said, as they approached a field dug into long black furrows. ‘And, on that bombshell, this is the peat field. Rather like life, peat is the accumulation of thousands of years of events. All pressed down into itself, rotted and mulched into something beautiful. I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.’
‘Are you saying that peat is like life because all the terrible things ultimately make for transformation into something great, like whisky?’ Liz felt a smile turn up the edge of her lips. ‘Because, if you are, that’s probably the most dour, Scottish sentiment I’ve ever heard.’
‘I am, and it’s not dour at all,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Yes, life breaks our hearts. But we can at least pour our heartbreak into something good, right? And enjoy the most delicious of things?’
‘We might as well,’ Liz sighed.
‘Yes. We might as well.’ Ben reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘Life’s too short to be sad all the time, Liz Parsons.’
And, before Liz could react, he strode away into the field, calling for her to follow him.
TEN
It was a sunny Saturday, and Liz was looking forward to putting her feet up. It had been a demanding few weeks, and she felt like despite all the research and reading she’d done, she still only knew a tiny sliver of what she should know about the company.
However, to Liz,putting her feet upmeant that she had decided to read the company ten-year business plan in bed with a cup of tea. It was very rare that she didn’t work on a weekend; that was one of the secrets of her success, in her own mind. If you wanted to be the best, then you had to put in the hours, and that meant more than the standard nine to five. Even more so if you were a woman, trying to succeed in a male-dominated environment like the drinks industry.
Paul had not appreciated the working at the weekends and into the evenings. He’d saidall you do is work, eat and sleep. You have to make some time for me.
At the time, all Liz could think about was the IVF and doing everything she needed to stay on top of her job. She’d argued with Paul. Didn’t he realise that everything she was doing was for them both? For their future?
When she looked back, she could see that she had been obsessed by her work. And, if she was really honest with herself, she knew why.
It wasn’t just the fact that she was ambitious. And it wasn’t just that she knew she had to work harder and smarter than all of her male colleagues to get ahead. There was something else driving her, and there always had been.
As a child, Liz had witnessed her mother and father fight endlessly about money. Her dad had suffered long periods of unemployment because of illness, and her mum had worked around the clock as a nurse. An honourable job, but a badly paid one – and, as the years wore on, an occupation that took more and more from her mother until she could hardly stand anymore.
The long shifts, often doubled because of emergencies and staff shortages. The sheer, bone-numbing tiredness of being on your feet all day and having to care for strangers. It got to Liz’s mum, after a while. And, though she loved nursing –who’d do it if they didn’t care about people?she’d say to Liz after a long shift, as she lowered herself into a chair with a deep groan – it changed her.
It wasn’t just that Liz felt like she hardly saw her mum, growing up. She also distinctly remembered thinking, aged ten, as she watched her mother fall asleep on the sofa,how noble her mum’s job was, but also how tough it was to survive on one income when it wasn’t very generous to start with.
By contrast, sales was a good job for someone who was motivated to make a good salary, and unlike nursing, it wasn’t a set wage. Liz was gifted when it came to sales, and her commissions reflected that.
But she was like her mother more than she’d thought, perhaps, because she had overworked herself for years. She was addicted to work. She loved it, but it had exhausted her and Paul had hated it. However, she supposed that it didn’t matter now, if she overworked herself – well, it only affected her, now. It didn’t matter if she read business plans in bed, because there was no one around to object any more.
A pang of homesickness clutched at Liz’s heart. She missed Paul – or, perhaps more accurately, she missed havingsomeone. She had loved Paul, but he hadn’t ever really understood the depth of who she was. She had never felt trulyseenwith him.
Paul had listened to her explanation of her childhood carefully, and told her that she didn’t even have to work. He would look after her, and she’d never be poor again.
It was kind, and it was thoughtful. Paul was a good man. Liz had thought of all the people that probably dreamed of someone saying those words to them, and felt bad. But the truth was that Paul had listened, but hadn’t heard her. Because what she had told him was the reason why it was important for her to work.
No, she never wanted to struggle for money again. But she also never wanted to have to rely on anyone else, because that person might get ill and not be able to support her, just like her dad had had to rely on her mum to pay all the bills. Then, that person might die and leave her alone, having to look after herself, like her dad had. And – though Liz didn’t blame her for wanting something good for herself – when her mum had finally retired from nursing, within a year she’d gone to live in Australia with the man she’d just met, but described asthe love of her life.
Part of Liz thought that it would have been nice if her mum had tried thinking of Liz as the love of her life for once, but she wasn’t that invested in judging a woman who had kept a roof over her head for her whole childhood. It was what it was, and Liz knew that the only person she could rely on was herself.
That was what Paul had never understood. But perhaps it was something in Liz that had also pushed him away. She was accustomed to men – before Paul, too – telling her she was too much. Too much of what, Liz was never clear about. Too successful? Too hardworking? Too confident? She’d never thought that these were bad things. How could someone be too successful or confident or even too nice? But she was, apparently. She had been judged many times by many men – lovers, boyfriends, colleagues, bosses.
Her friends had assured her that men who thought she wastoo muchweren’t worth her time. But it was a theory that would mean she was lonely a lot of the time, she thought. Even Paul had ended up thinking she wastoo much. Her work was too demanding; the IVF tooktoo muchfrom them both. She wastoo much, in the end.
She was sipping her mug of tea and looking at her laptop screen when there was a knock at the door.
Who is knocking at this hour?she thought crossly, looking at the bedside clock, which read 10.34 a.m. She sighed and put the tea on the rattan bedside table. She’d been reading the accounts for about an hour and making notes. She thought it was earlier, but she must have slept late and not started work until after nine.
Usually, Liz was up at dawn. However, she did feel refreshed for an extra couple of hours in bed.Maybe it’s the lochside air, she thought as she wrapped a fluffy pink robe around her and tied the belt around her middle.
She opened the front door, expecting the postman.
