His words slid under her skin like a blade. She’d used to love the fact that he was so calm, but now it felt like a criticism of her coping skills. Not only was she doing everything, but she was taking it all too seriously.
“You’re suggesting I need to ‘chill’ about the fact my eighty-year-old mother has been assaulted in her own home?”
“It sounded more like an accident than an assault, but I was talking generally. You worry about things that haven’t happened and you try and control every little thing. Most things turn out fine if you leave them alone.”
“They turn out fine because I anticipate problems before they happen.”
And anticipating things was exhausting—like trying to stay afloat when someone had tied weights to her legs.
For a wild moment she wondered what it would be like to be single. To have no one to worry about but herself.
No responsibility. Free time.
She yanked herself back from that thought.
Sean leaned his head back against the seat. “Let’s leave this discussion until we’re back home. Here we are, spending the weekend together by the sea. Let’s enjoy it. Everything is going to be fine.”
His ability to focus on the moment was a strength, but also a flaw that sometimes grated on her. He could live in the moment because she took care of all the other stuff.
He reached across to squeeze her leg and she thought about a time twenty years ago, when they’d had sex in the car, parking in a quiet country lane and steaming up the windows until neither of them had been able to see through the glass.
What had happened to that part of their lives? What had happened to spontaneity? To joy?
It seemed so long ago she could barely remember it.
These days her life was driven by worry and duty. She was being slowly crushed by the ever-increasing weight of responsibility.
“When did we last go away together?” she asked.
“We’re going away now.”
“This isn’t a minibreak, Sean. My mother needed stitches in her head. She has a mild concussion.”
She crawled through the heavy London traffic, her head throbbing at the thought of the drive ahead. Friday afternoon was the worst possible time to leave, but they’d had no choice.
When the twins were young they’d traveled at night. They’d arrive at Oakwood Cottage in the early hours of the morning and Sean would carry both children inside and deposit them into the twin beds in the attic room, tucking them under the quilts her mother had brought back from one of her many foreign trips.
“I really don’t want to do it, but I think it’s time to sell Oakwood Cottage. If she’s going into residential care, we can’t afford to keep it.”
Someone else would play hide-and-seek in the overgrown gardens, scramble into the dusty attic and fill the endless bookshelves. Someone else would sleep in her old bedroom, and enjoy the breathtaking views across fields to the sea.
Something tore inside her.
The fact that she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a relaxing weekend in Cornwall didn’t lessen the feeling of loss. If anything it intensified the emotion, because now she wished she’d taken greater advantage of the cottage. She’d assumed it would always be there...
Ever since her father had died, visits home had been associated with chores. Clearing the garden. Filling the freezer. Checking that her mother was coping with a house that was far too big for one person, especially when that person was advanced in years and had no interest in home maintenance.
She’d thought that the death of her father might bring her closer to her mother, but that hadn’t happened.
Grief sliced through her, making her catch her breath. It had been five years, and she still missed her dad every day.
“I can’t see your mother selling it,” Sean said, “and I think it’s important not to overreact. This accident wasn’t of her own making. She was managing perfectly well before this.”
“Was she, though? Apart from the fact she did leave the door open, I don’t think she eats properly. Supper is a bowl of cereal. Or bacon. She eats too much bacon.”
“Is there such a thing as too much bacon?” Sean caught her eye and gave a sheepish smile. “I’m kidding. You’re right. Bacon is bad. Although at your mother’s age one has to wonder if it really matters.”
“If she gives up bacon maybe she’ll live to be ninety.”