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“Of course, darling. Let me just wipe the table and then we’ll have a look at what you’re finding difficult.”
“Quadratic equations are going to be thedeathof me,” Mairi exclaimed dramatically as she dumped her books on the table before Sarah had had time to wipe it.
“I’ve never known a quadratic equation to be lethal,” Sarah teased as she quickly wiped the table before they sat down, handing the books back to Mairi, who took them with a drawn-out sigh. Smiling, she reached for one of the textbooks in her daughter’s arms. “Dangerous, maybe, though…”
She was rewarded with a small, answering smile from her daughter, and improbably, considering how many cares were currently burdening her, Sarah felt her heart lift a little. It was possible to make things better, even if just a little.
She would talk to Nathan, she decided, and get to the bottom of what was going on, whatever it was. It was futile to keep burying her head in the sand this way; it was time to take action. Maybe she’d arrange a date night; the kids were certainly old enough to manage on their own for an evening. She’d make a reservation at that gastropub on the edge of Llandrigg, and wear something slinky and sophisticated. It was, perhaps, an obvious and clichéd ploy to woo her husband back, and it certainly wasn’t her usual MO, but maybe that was a good thing. She knew Nathan wouldn’t be expecting it, so maybe it could work? And even if it didn’t, at least they’d be able to talk honestly, however much that might hurt.
Ellie might be on a mission to save Bluebell Inn, Sarah thought, but as she studied a page of inexplicable algebra, she realized she was now on a mission, too—to save her marriage.
CHAPTER3
GWEN
Gwen stared at the name of the sender of the email in her inbox with blank bemusement. John McCardell! She hadn’t heard from him in decades, hadn’t even really thought of him in years. He’d been a friend of David’s during university in Swansea, and also his best man during their wedding, with David acting as John’s best man when he married Michelle.
Early on in their marriages, they’d seen more of each other—caravan holidays when the children were little; Gwen recalled a hazy montage of wet afternoons stuck inside and windy days on the beach, trying to barbecue. They’d had the occasional evening out when they were in each other’s neighborhoods, although, as John and Michelle lived in the East Midlands, that hadn’t happened all that often. As the children had grown older and life had become busier, they’d seen each other less, although they’d always stayed in touch. It had dropped off, however, after David had died over twenty years ago, dwindling to Christmas cards, and in recent years not even that. She wasn’t sure whether it had been John and Michelle who had lost touch or if she had, but somehow the years had slipped by without much contact. Why on earth was John emailing her now?
The subject heading was simply “Hello!”; Gwen couldn’t help but note the exclamation point. She didn’t think she was really an exclamation point sort of person; it felt a little bit like shouting, or letting out one of those booming laughs that made her wince. Not that she was against booming laughs, of course, and, in any case, she didn’t remember John as being a loud or brash sort of person. He had a keen sense of humor, as she recalled, a dry, quiet wit that David had enjoyed, as well as a natural enthusiasm for life. So why the exclamation point now?
Clearly, she was overthinking this. After the upheaval of the last few years, with Matthew and his family moving in, the renovation of the inn, and her own cancer diagnosis and treatment, then finally the hoped-for remission, which felt both wonderful and fragile… well, she supposed she’d been enjoying theexpectednessof life lately. But it was only an email, after all.
Somewhat apprehensively, Gwen clicked open. It took a few seconds to load on her ancient laptop—Matthew kept insisting she needed a new one, but since he and Ellie both had more modern ones, Gwen hadn’t really seen the point. She only used her laptop to browse the internet, do a bit of online shopping, and check her email once in a blue moon—in fact, she realized as she looked at the date, John had sent this email over a week ago. Hopefully it didn’t contain anything time-sensitive… but then, why would it?
Finally, the email loaded—several paragraphs!
Gwen started reading.
Dear Gwen,
I hope this missive finds you well! I know it’s been many years since we’ve been in touch properly. I’m afraid I haven’t been the best correspondent as of late.
Michelle was always the one who managed our social calendar, as well as the Christmas cards, and I’m very sorry to tell you she passed away two years ago, after a brief battle with pancreatic cancer. I’m learning to manage on my own, although if you remember from our holidays of old, I was never the most competent in the kitchen. Still, I’ve learned to master a curry and the full English breakfast—what more do you need??
I hope you’re well—hard to believe it’s been over twenty years since David died. I still miss him and think of him often. The reason I’m writing is because I’m going to be heading your way fairly soon, assuming you still live in Llandrigg, which I think you do. I did a cheeky google of Bluebell Inn and saw it had had something of an exciting rebrand! Assuming it’s not under new ownership, I guess you’ve been busy?!
Anyway, Izzy and Mike are expecting a baby—they moved to Monmouth a couple of months ago, which isn’t too far from Llandrigg, as far as I can tell from the map. Would you be willing to meet an old friend for coffee or even a meal? I don’t know many people in the area, if any, and old friends, as you know, are gold.
Kind regards, as always,
John
Gwen sat back in her chair, her mind whirling. Poor Michelle! She hadn’t even known she’d had cancer, and of course John and Michelle hadn’t known about hers. They really had fallen out of touch, she acknowledged sadly, something that was so easy to do without even realizing, as the years slid by, one after another. She hadn’t known their daughter, Izzy, and her husband, Mike, had moved to Monmouth, either; that was only half an hour from Llandrigg. She remembered going to their wedding ten or so years ago, feeling slightly lonely at the occasion, without David. It had been lovely to see John and Michelle briefly, but as parents of the bride they’d been understandably busy, and Gwen had barely spoken to them. She had been seated at a table with distant relatives of theirs that she didn’t know. Still, she was glad to hear about Izzy. She had a hazy recollection that she’d been having some trouble conceiving, so it was certainly good news now.
Gwen straightened, her fingers poised over the laptop’s keyboard. Since the email was a week old, she really should reply as soon as possible. And yet what should she say? Of course, she’d be happy to have a coffee or, yes, maybe even a meal, with John. He was an old friend, and she didn’t have all that many of those anymore. But at the same time, the prospect filled her with an uneasy apprehension, after all these years. What on earth would they talk about? And, really, John had been David’s friend, not hers, although they’d got along well enough. She and Michelle had got on, as well, although Gwen wasn’t entirely sure they would have been friends apart from their husbands. Michelle had been one of those rather terrifyingly athletic people—doing half-marathons every other weekend, up at five in the morning for her daily run, downing protein shakes and being very careful about her weight. When she’d been younger, Gwen had been rather intimidated by it all.
But now David and Michelle were both gone, and it was just her and John left. It caused a sweep of sorrow to blow through Gwen, like a chilly wind. She was only sixty-nine; John a year or two older. It was a time of life, she supposed, when one should get used to loss, but then again loss never felt natural or right.
“Gwen?”
Gwen looked up from her laptop, grateful for the interruption. “Hi, Ellie.” She smiled at her daughter-in-law, who had been looking rather stressed, dark circles under her blue eyes and lines of strain from her nose to mouth, since Sarah had come over three days ago, with the news about the dire state of the inn’s finances. Ellie seemed to be on a one-woman mission to save the place, while Matthew had been a bit less concerned by Sarah’s grim warnings.
“Sarah’s always been a bit of a doomsayer, hasn’t she?” he’d said.
Gwen had felt compelled to murmur, “She’s practical, certainly, and errs on the side of caution, perhaps, but I wouldn’t call her adoomsayer.”
“Does any business these days have more than six months’ budget in the bank?” Matthew had countered. “It’s just not the way the world works anymore. I’ll cut costs as much as I can on the operating side of things, of course, and we won’t make any big investments in the property anytime soon, but I don’t think things are about to fall off a cliff. Not just yet, anyway.”
