Читать книгу The Secrets of Ivy Garden: A heartwarming tale perfect for relaxing on the grass - Catherine Ferguson, Catherine Ferguson - Страница 16

21st September 1965

I escaped to Ivy Garden again today.

Peter’s foul mood was casting a black shadow over the house, making me so on edge, I couldn’t settle to anything. I had to get out, otherwise in trying my best to placate him, I might have unwittingly said something wrong and made him even angrier. And his temper is starting to really scare me. It used to happen only when he’d had too much to drink, but since he lost his most important client, the moods have become darker and more prolonged. I try to say the right thing, so as not to upset him, but when he’s in that mood, nothing I say is right.

As I was putting on my shoes, I heard the study door open and held my breath. But luckily, he didn’t object to me going. Just demanded to know when dinner would be ready, then retreated into his study and slammed the door. I found myself remembering what it was like between us when we were first married three years ago. If only it could be like that still.

But I know we can never reclaim that all-too-brief happiness. I’ve spent the past two years walking on eggshells, doing everything I can to make Peter happy, but it doesn’t seem to matter what I do, it’s never enough. Being childless doesn’t help, of course. We never talk about it, but it can’t have been easy for Peter to find out that the problem lay solely with him; that it was highly unlikely he would ever be able to father a child. The news must have been devastating, his pride crushed. It was hard enough for me to accept the fact that I’d never have the child I so longed for. The consequences for our already shaky marriage didn’t bear thinking about …

Stunned, I put down the notebook.

Why didn’t I know about all this? It’s as if I’m reading a diary written by a complete stranger. Not the person closest to me for most of my life.

Granddad’s moods scared Ivy? But she always spoke warmly of him; never in any great detail, but the impression I’d got was of a happy marriage. She never told me they had trouble conceiving …

It must have seemed like a precious gift when my mum was finally born in September 1967. My granddad had been warned he was never likely to be a father and yet the miracle had happened! Had it made a difference to their marriage? Made things better between them perhaps?