her mother to move. Oakwood Cottage had played a central part in her life. The house was gorgeous, surrounded by acres of fields and farmland that stretched down to the sea. In the spring you could hear the bleating of new lambs, and in the summer the air was filled with blossom, birdsong and the faint sounds of the sea.
It was hard to imagine her mother living anywhere else, even though the house was too large for one person and thoroughly impractical—particularly for someone who tended to believe that a leaking roof was a delightful feature of owning an older property and not something that needed fixing.
“You are not responsible for everything that happens to people, Liza.”
Sean settled himself in the passenger seat as if he had all the time in the world. Liza, who raced through life as if she was being chased by the police for a serious crime, found his relaxed demeanour and unshakeable calm occasionally maddening.
She thought about the magazine article folded into the bottom of her bag. Eight signs that your marriage might be in trouble.
She’d been flicking through the magazine in the dentist’s waiting room the week before and that feature had jumped out at her. She’d read it, searching for reassurance.
It wasn’t as if she and Sean argued, or anything. There was nothing specifically wrong. Just a vague discomfort inside her that reminded her constantly that the settled life she valued so much might not be so settled. That just as a million tiny things could pull a couple together, so a million tiny things could nudge them apart.
She’d read through the article, feeling sicker and sicker. By the time she’d reached the eighth sign she’d been so freaked out that she’d torn the pages from the magazine, coughing violently to cover the sound. It wasn’t done to steal magazines from waiting rooms.
And now those torn pages lay in her bag, a constant reminder that she was ignoring something deep and important. She knew it needed to be addressed, but she was too scared to touch the fabric of her marriage in case the whole thing fell apart—like her mother’s house.
Sean fastened his seat belt. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
She felt a moment of panic, and then realized he was talking about her mother. What sort of person was she that she could forget her injured mother so easily?
A person who was worried about her marriage.
“I should have tried harder to make her see sense,” she said.
Men just didn’t seem to feel the same sense of responsibility and associated guilt that women did.
Her brother was the same. “Stop stressing, Liza.”
What was it like to be so relaxed? To leave the worrying and responsibility to someone else? Would Matt even have thought to drive to the cottage to see their mother this weekend if she hadn’t called and spoken to her sister-in-law?
What would happen now? If her mother needed someone to stay with her next week, then it would have to be Liza—but that would mean arranging cover for her classes, and this close to exams it really wasn’t fair on the students. She could ask Matt to take time off, but he would in all likelihood revert to childhood and go out to kick a ball on the beach, leaving their mother to take care of herself. And what about the coming weeks?
They would have to sell the house—there was no doubt about that. Although Liza desperately hoped it could wait until later in the summer. It was only a few weeks until school ended, and then the girls had various commitments until they all went on their annual family holiday to the south of France.
France.
A wave of calm flowed over her.
She was counting the weeks. Crossing off the days on her calendar.
Relaxation. Sunshine. No pressures.
France would give her the time to take a closer look at her marriage. They’d both be relaxed, and away from the endless demands of daily life. She and Sean would be able to spend some time together that didn’t involve handling issues and problems. Until then, she was going to give herself permission to forget about the whole thing and focus on the immediate problem.
Her mother.
Oakwood Cottage.
Sadness ripped through her. Ridiculous though it was, the place still felt like home. She’d clung to that last remaining piece of her childhood, unable to imagine a time when she would no longer sit in the garden or stroll across the fields to the sea.