The Things We Need to Say: An emotional, uplifting story of hope from bestselling author Rachel Burton

‘Um yes, sorry,’ she says. The man is dressed smartly in a three-piece suit. Fran wonders how he isn’t boiling to death. His name badge says Amado. ‘I’m Fran Browne. I’m here to teach a yoga retreat.’

‘Ah.’ Amado bursts into a huge grin. ‘Pardon me, pardon me, Senyora Browne.’ Fran preferred it when he called her senyoreta.

‘Please, just call me Fran.’

‘Come with me,’ he says, beckoning Fran to follow him. He clicks his fingers at a young man in a waistcoat who is passing by and says something to him in Catalan that Fran doesn’t understand. The boy takes her suitcase from her, smiling and nodding.

‘Carlos will take your things to your room,’ Amado assures her. ‘Meanwhile, Pierre will show you around. Pierre …’ he shouts at another young man, this one wearing an orange T-shirt, and then he turns back to Fran.

‘You have sun tan cream on yes?’ he says frowning, placing his nut-brown hand on Fran’s milky pale arm. ‘The sun here is very strong and you are very pale.’

Fran smiles at this. ‘Yes, yes,’ she assures him. ‘I never go anywhere without Factor 30 at least!’

Amado nods and turns to Pierre and the two men speak in rapid Catalan. Fran just about gets the gist of it from hand gestures and facial expressions. Pierre is to show her the yoga room, the dining room, the private lounge and swimming pools, and then he is to show her where her room is. At least she thinks that’s what’s happening.

‘We will see you for dinner?’ Amado asks. Fran still doesn’t feel hungry, but she assures him that they will. She has to try to eat something after all.

The yoga room is beautiful with sprung wooden floors and a sea view. There are shelves full of rainbow-coloured yoga mats, blocks, cushions and blankets, along with candles, incense and a huge and beautifully carved golden Buddha. Fran almost weeps with relief at it. This is exactly what she needs.

‘You can take your yoga mats onto the beach too if you like,’ Pierre says. ‘But it gets pretty busy after about eight a.m.’ His English is perfect, without a hint of an accent, and Fran wonders what brought him to a small tourist town like Salou to run a health spa.

‘I’m a sports physiotherapist,’ he says with a smile as if reading her mind. ‘You’re wondering what I’m doing running a health spa and massaging pampered old women, aren’t you?’

‘How did you know that’s what I was thinking?’ Fran asks.

He shrugs. ‘Everyone thinks it,’ he says. ‘Some people even ask. There’s not much work in Catalonia right now – you take what you can get.’

Fran bows her head to hide her blush. She forgets sometimes how hard life is for some people. With the privilege she has, she has no right to feel so miserable.

‘Come on, let me show you the pool,’ Pierre goes on, leading Fran back outside.

*

Later Fran sits in her room, the balcony doors open so she can hear the sound of the sea, the occasional burst of laughter, or families having fun. Mostly everything is quiet as it’s siesta time. Nothing much will happen now until this evening. She sits on the bed and looks at the room around her. Amado insisted that she have one of the mini-suites, even though she said she didn’t need it. He said he wanted Senyora Browne to be happy, but really this room just makes her sad – the king-sized bed, the double shower, the bottle of Cava in the fridge – all remind her of Will.

She lies back on the bed holding the little plush Piglet she brought with her against her face. Somewhere outside a baby is crying and Fran wonders, as she always does, what it would have been like to hear the sound of her own baby crying, to get up in the night to feed the baby she and Will had planned. It feels like all their plans have turned to dust.

But part of her knows that they were Will’s plans not hers, that she had only ever done it to please Will, to keep him happy, to try to give him what he wanted. She thinks again about the secret she can barely bring herself to admit, let alone admit to her husband.

While she had been enjoying a life she had only ever imagined after meeting Will – the holidays, the dinners out, the theatre – she had never been sure she wanted things to change. Deep down, she had never been sure she’d wanted two to become three.

She knows she should phone Will now, just to let him know she’s arrived safely. She knows texting is cowardly and that he’ll just phone her straight back anyway, but she can’t bear to talk to him. Not right now.

Looking around the room again, she realises how lonely she feels. She knows it’ll be better tomorrow when everybody else is here to distract her, but right now she needs to hear a friendly voice. She reaches for her phone, finds Janine’s number in her contact list and waits for the international dial tone.

Janine and Fran have been friends since before Will. They worked together and, after Fran left, Janine became Will’s secretary.

‘Fran, hi, aren’t you supposed to be in Spain?’ It’s so lovely to hear Janine’s voice that Fran forgets to speak for a moment. She wonders why she didn’t phone her friend the previous evening.

‘Fran? Are you there?’ Janine asks. Fran realises she still hasn’t said anything.

‘I’m here,’ she says. ‘I’m in Spain.’

‘Are you OK? Will didn’t come in to work today and nobody’s heard from him. Is everything all right?’

‘He cheated on me.’ Fran hears the words, but they still don’t feel real. She still can’t believe Will did this after everything they’ve been through. And yet at the same time she can.

‘Fran, hold on, I’m still at work. Let me go somewhere more private.’

Fran waits, hearing rustling and muffled voices. After a moment Janine comes back.

‘Fran, are you sure?’ she says.

Fran tells her everything. The words pour out of her like a waterfall and when she finishes she feels completely empty. As if on cue her stomach growls, reminding her again that she hasn’t eaten since the previous day. She finally feels hungry.

‘Jesus Christ, I’ll kill him,’ Janine says quietly.

‘Please, Janine,’ Fran says. ‘Please don’t be angry with him on my behalf. He’s still your boss, still your friend.’

‘You’re my friend and he’s hurt you.’

‘He’s still a good man.’ As Fran says the words she knows they are true. She knows she should be angrier, that some women would be out for his blood, but she doesn’t feel like that. She doesn’t know if she will ever forgive him, ever be able to look at him in the same way, ever be able to trust him, but she isn’t angry. Janine thinks she should be, but Janine hadn’t seen Will’s face this morning, or last night. She hadn’t heard him crying in his study night after night when he thought Fran was asleep. How Fran wishes now that she had found the energy to go to him then, how that could have changed everything.