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“Yes.” Harriet nodded in sympathy. “I know.”
“How was Dad?”
“He seemed…okay. Pensive. He said thank you for the tea, which was a first.”
“That’s something, then.”
“I suppose. Baby steps.” She paused, tried to smile. “I think I will talk to him. Eventually. Soon, I mean.”
Rachel smiled, genuinely glad for her sister. “That’s great, Hats.”
They stood in silence for a moment, while Rachel felt as if a tsunami were coming towards her, ready to swamp her with hopelessness—not just about her job, but about her dad. Everything was about to change. For five days, five measly days, she’d lived in happiness and hope. She’d lived in the present, enjoying every moment with Ben, accepting each one like a gift. But reality had now intruded in all of its grimness—her father’s prognosis as well as the life she’d left behind.
What, she wondered despairingly, was she going to do?
Chapter Twenty-One
Dusk was fallingas Rachel made her way over to the Mackeys’ farm, her feet feeling as leaden as her heart. She was filled with grief—grief for her father, for the life she was losing, for the choices she’d made in the past. She wanted to think about the future, but right now it felt too hard. And how would Ben take it all? They’d had only five days together, which was practically no time at all. The only reason you asked somebody to take it day by day was because you didn’t want to think about the future, she realised, but now the future was here, and she was afraid to talk about it, afraid to demand promises Ben might not be ready to give. Afraid to put herself out there again, and even more so, than she ever had before. Yet how else could she prove to herself, to Ben, that she really had changed?
Because she knew she had.
Rachel had spent the last few hours in a welter of indecision, all the while knowing in her gut what she had to do. What she needed and wanted to do, even if it was hard. It was right, and despite the grief and fear she still felt, a certainty had settled in her bones. She just had to tell Ben…
The light came on outside the kitchen door as she approached the farmyard, with the usual excited clamour of dogs barking starting before she’d crossed it halfway.
“Rachel!” Diana’s face was furrowed with concern even as she smiled, opening the door and then standing aside to welcome her in. “How are you? How was the doctor’s appointment?”
“Well, it wasn’t good news.” She tried to keep her tone bracing as she stepped across the threshold. “But I think we all knew it wasn’t going to be.”
“Oh, Rachel.” Diana laid a hand on her shoulder while Rachel did her best to give a philosophical smile. She was tired of trying to hold back tears; she was already tired of having these kinds of conversations, having to tell people, and she knew it was only the beginning.
That evening, at tea, her father had come downstairs and informed her and Harriet with brisk matter-of-factness that he didn’t want any ‘palaver’.
“Dad,” Rachel had protested instinctively. She wasn’t sure what her father would classify as a palaver, but she had a feeling she’d make it, one way or another, over the next few months.
“No, I mean it,” he’d cut her off. “This is actually a gift.”
“Agift—” Rachel had spluttered.
“Yes, Rachel girl, a gift.” He’d looked at her steadily. “I watched my mother die slowly, losing herself in pieces, for thirteen years. When I consider that, three to six months sounds reyt good.” He’d turned to look at Harriet too, a weary smile creasing his face. “I’ve known something was wrong for a while. This doesn’t come as a surprise. And three to six months gives me enough time, I hope, to put everything in order, the way I want it.” And with that, seeming to feel the discussion was over, her dad had picked up his knife and fork and began ploughing through the chicken and dumplings Harriet had made.
“It’s all right,” she told Diana now, not wanting to get into the grim prognosis and all it meant. “Really. But I was wondering if I could chat with Ben…?”
“Of course, love. He’s in the barn.”
Of course he was in the barn, Rachel thought as she smiled her thanks to Diana and headed outside with a weary sort of inevitability. Just like last time…except this time it could be different. Itwouldbe.
She’d come to talk to Ben all those years ago because it had been the night before she had to decide her university choice—Exeter or Bristol—and she’d wanted to talk to him. What she’d been going to say, what she’d been hoping he would say, she hadn’t completely known. She’d been excited, yes, but she’d also been rather ridiculously sure aboutthem. She’d thought they would talk about options, how to make their relationship work, and in the end, they hadn’t talked at all. Considering how insecure she’d been about Ben before, her certainty on that night had clearly been rather disastrously misplaced. But he’d chosen her, she’d thought back then, and they’d been so happy, and she’d believed it could all work out. She’d wanted to believe, so much.
Well, it hadn’t worked out, that was for sure. And as for now? Would it work out now? She was afraid—again—but she was still going to try…in a way she never had before.
Just as before, Ben was pitching hay into a stall, his back to Rachel. He looked exactly the same—maybe a little broader in the shoulders, but otherwise unchanged from his eighteen-year-old self. And what about her? Rachel wondered. Had she changed? She hoped so. She didn’t want to be that heartbroken girl again, but maybe she wouldn’t be able to avoid it.
“Ben.” She spoke softly, but he heard her anyway, turning around, resting his hand on top of the pitchfork.
“Rachel.” His voice was warm, along with his smile, which was encouraging, but of course he had no idea what she was going to say. “How was the appointment? I would have texted, but I thought you guys might need a bit of space.”
“Yeah.” She stepped farther into the barn, folding her arms and hunching her shoulders. “You were right, it’s a brain tumour. A glio—something. Glioblastoma.”
