Читать книгу The Things We Need to Say: An emotional, uplifting story of hope from bestselling author Rachel Burton - Rachel Burton, Rachel Burton - Страница 18
ОглавлениеStanding at the bottom of the gravel driveway, waiting for her taxi, Fran takes a deep breath. It’s just after five in the morning and the sun is beginning to appear over the horizon. The rain of the previous day has subsided and the sky is a thousand shades of orange and pink. Another day is dawning, the birds singing, life is continuing. The cycles of nature don’t care that Fran’s world will never be the same again.
One of the things she has always loved about living in Suffolk is the size of the skies. They always feel as if they go on for ever and, on a good day, the sunsets are as beautiful as anything she’s seen in more exotic locations. The size of the sky at her in-laws’ estate had taken her breath away the first time she’d seen it. She’d still been living in Cambridge then, where the sky always seems so close, almost oppressive in comparison. There’s a freedom in the Suffolk skies that makes Fran feel beautifully insignificant.
She hears Will’s footsteps on the gravel drive behind her. She knew he would never be able to just let her leave. She doesn’t turn to look at him.
‘Don’t do this, Fran,’ he says quietly. The whole village is still asleep. It feels as though they are the only two people in the world.
‘I have to,’ she replies.
‘You could go tomorrow,’ he says. ‘You can get a flight direct to Reus tomorrow. We need to talk.’
Still she doesn’t look at him. She wishes the taxi would come.
‘Please, Fran.’
There is something about his tone of voice, something about the way he sounds that almost breaks her. She turns to look at him. He stands in front of her still in his pyjamas, his hair tousled, his brow furrowed in that way she knows means he still has a headache. The shadows under his eyes indicate how little sleep he’s had. She wants to reach out and touch him – she almost does – but the taxi arrives suddenly with a screech of brakes.
‘I have to go today,’ she says. ‘You know I do.’
Fran had decided weeks ago, when she first agreed to do the retreat that she wanted to arrive the day before her retreaters. She needed a little time to settle in, to get the lay of the land. But flights to Reus only went from Stansted on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so she had organised a flight to Barcelona and booked a taxi to take her down the coast to Salou from there. She had sorted out this week in a way that worked best for her. She wasn’t going to change her plans for Will now, not after what he had done.
‘I’ll put this in the back then shall I, love?’ the taxi driver asks. His voice seems unusually loud in the quiet summer dawn, his accent the kind of Estuary English that would make Will’s mother turn her nose up.
Fran nods and as the driver puts her suitcase in the boot, Will steps a little closer.
‘Fran …’ he begins, reaching for her.
‘Don’t,’ she replies, stepping away.
‘Remember when we last flew to Barcelona?’ he asks quietly.
She’s been trying not to think about that weekend seven years ago. Another bullet point in a long list of failures, another time she’d let Will down.
‘I need you to let me have some space, Will,’ she says again. ‘Please?’
‘Phone me when you get there at least. Let me know you’re safe.’
She nods once and turns away to get into the taxi, but he grabs her arm, stopping her.
‘Fran,’ he says, so quietly she can barely hear him over the noise of the car engine. ‘Are you leaving me?’
She looks up at him then, catching the darkness in his eyes. Despite what he’s done her heart is breaking for both of them. Nobody should have had to go through what they’ve been through these last few years. She needs to get away: away from this village, away from Will, away from the memories. She doesn’t answer him because she doesn’t have an answer; she just keeps staring into those brown eyes that she has always loved so much.
‘Is everything all right, love?’ the taxi driver asks walking around the car and looking at the two of them curiously. Will loosens his grip on Fran’s arm and she gets into the car, shutting the door. The driver shrugs and gets back into the driver’s seat.
‘Stansted then?’ he asks.
‘Yes, please,’ Fran replies quietly. As the cab moves away she turns to look out of the rear window. Will stands on the pavement, his hands in the pockets of his pyjama trousers, watching her drive away.
