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

‘You don’t have to,’ he said. ‘I like seeing you every day.’

‘We both know I do have to.’

He looked at me then, quietly for a moment.

‘I love you,’ he said after a while. It was the first time he said it.

JULY 2016 (#ulink_ffeee716-3f5f-52d0-aa54-ce56fa9e6f02)

Fran (#ulink_ffeee716-3f5f-52d0-aa54-ce56fa9e6f02)

Standing 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.

Will (#ulink_65b61039-3ba7-5aa0-933f-36b7a1e0d074)

He sits in the bathroom, Fran’s bathroom, on the edge of the bath. He hasn’t been in here for months. He hasn’t been in here since she was pregnant – he hasn’t been able to cope with the memories. Sometimes back then he would take his clothes off and slip in with her, sitting behind her, holding her against him as they marvelled at her growing bump. The last time he sat on the edge of this bath Fran had looked so beautiful. They’d been so happy.

He doesn’t know what has drawn him into the bathroom, but as Fran’s taxi had driven out of sight, he’d come back into the house and found himself here. This was her haven, her sanctuary. He supposes he is trying to feel close to her.

He remembers renovating this bathroom for her. He and Jamie had taken a week off work to get it done in time to surprise her on the day they moved in. He’d been amazed that they’d managed it without bursting a water main. He’d just wanted to make her happy. Over the years he’d failed again and again to make her happy, and now he has let her down in the worst possible way.

The house already feels so quiet without her. The clock ticking in the hallway seems louder than usual. She hadn’t answered his question about whether she was going to leave him. He can’t bear the thought of this empty, silent house being his future.

From the moment he first met Fran he was lost. He had never believed in love at first sight until then – he thought it was just something written about in the kind of novels his ex-wife read. But when Fran first walked into his office and the woman from HR introduced her as his secretary, he knew he was in trouble. When Jamie texted him that evening to ask how the first day in the new job had gone those were the very words Will texted back: Bro, I’m in trouble.

He could still remember exactly what she was wearing the first day he met her, the way her hair looked even redder under the office light. The way she stood in front of him looking at him, her green eyes challenging him, appraising every inch of him before sticking out her hand and grinning. She had a firm handshake and her fingers had lingered in his for longer than they needed to. Will knew from that moment he was undone.

He would find himself watching her from his office, listening to the jangle of the silver bracelets on her wrists as she typed. He’d never met anyone like her; she took his breath away.

The first time he met Karen at the end of last summer, by contrast, he had barely noticed her. He was still consumed by grief. Fran was still so unwell, barely holding it together, and spent a lot of time in bed. He was trying to look after her, trying to make her eat, trying and failing to find something, anything, interesting or nourishing in the village shop.

Susan was working behind the counter that day and introduced him to Karen.

‘William and his wife live in the Old Vicarage,’ she said.

‘Wow!’ Karen replied, holding out her hand for Will to shake. To this day he can’t remember if he took it or not. ‘That house is gorgeous, and so huge! Do you have a big family?’

Will froze, staring at her. Why didn’t she know? Why had nobody told her? This bloody village couldn’t shut up about your private business most of the time.

‘Karen has only just moved to the village,’ Susan butted in, clearly flustered. ‘She lives up by the station with her two children. She’s recently divorced.’ Will couldn’t imagine why Susan thought he cared.

‘William’s a divorce lawyer,’ Susan babbled on. Karen gave him a funny look that he couldn’t read.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, finding his voice. ‘My wife’s not well. I have to get back to her.’ Clutching the two tins of soup he was holding, he fled.

It was days later when Susan gently reminded him that he’d never paid for them.

Fran (#ulink_0bb16ca0-d03b-5d90-aa3e-1d38b128aee2)

She has never been on a plane on her own before. Until she met Will, she’d never been on a plane at all. Meeting him had opened up a whole new world to her: a family she’d never had, countries she’d never visited, things she’d never dreamed of doing. Every year they would go en masse to the south of France, or skiing in the Alps – Fran was a hopeless skier, which utterly frustrated Will, who was, of course, brilliant and only ever skied black runs. It was a life Fran had never imagined.