State of Grace (Resurrection) Read Free Page A

frequency and intensity. I pushed my worry to the back of my mind. It was probably a one-off, and even if it occurred again there was nothing I could do about it. Everything had already been tried, right? But I still worried about it all the way home.
     
     
     
    They were waiting for me when I walked into the kitchen, sitting at the old, scarred, pine table, trying hard to appear normal, playing at happy families. That made me feel even worse. If I had been healthy they would have shouted at me; actually, I amended, perhaps Ianto wouldn’t have. Just my parents, then. It didn’t matter I was a woman grown and that before I returned home they had no idea what I was doing. I guessed that from their point of view they couldn’t worry about specifics if they didn’t know about them, so they just did a blanket worry instead that was only partially relieved by a text or phone call, and only fully relieved when my mother could check me over with her own eyes during one of my sporadic visits. These were far less frequent than either parent liked; although they realised just because I had a day or two off it didn’t necessarily mean I was close enough to pop back home as I was often not even in the same country, or the same continent for that matter.
     
    ‘Enjoy your walk?’ my father asked calmly, taking another slice of toast from the plate in the centre of the table. My mother sat stiffl y, a mug of tea in front of her, untouched. I got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap, then found some painkillers. I was aware of my mother’s concerned stillness and my father’s studious effort at normality. Both pairs of eyes followed my every move. My first thought was to hide my headache from them, but I realised I was being silly because my mother could always tell when I was in pain: she knew from the set of my shoulders or the creased line between my eyebrows. I couldn’t deceive her, and it would probably be cruel to try. The only person in the room who was unconcerned was my brother. I downed the tablets then grabbed some toast, slathering it in butter and marmalade. I was hungry. A four hour walk in the middle of the night tended to do that to me, headache or no. I nodded to my dad, mouth full. I couldn’t actually bring myself to look at my mother and see her expression.
     
    ‘How far did you go?’
     
    ‘Diving board.’
     
    ‘Cool, ’ Ianto grinned at me. My mother shot him a glowering look. He rolled his eyes and returned to his breakfast, wisely refraining from adding any further comment. Trust my brother to think that a terminally ill woman going for a hike in the middle of the night up a three thousand foot mountain was a ‘cool’ thing to do. Even I could see how dangerous it was. Unfortunately I couldn’t seem to stop my midnight rambles and that kind of danger no longer had much meaning. My walks up the mountain were the only things keeping me sane.
     
    ‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ my mother said, her voice controlled.
     
    ‘I know.’
     
    ‘It’s silly and irresponsible.’ Her voice contained a little more emotion now.
     
    ‘I know.’
     
    ‘So why do you do it?’ This was said at a higher pitch, a definite sign my mother was starting to lose her temper.
     
    ‘I don ’t know.’ I did know but I wasn’t prepared to share that with my family right now. They didn’t need to know the depth of my misery. They had enough burdens of their own to carry.
     
    Dad pushed his chair back and stood up, draining the last of his tea. He put the mug down and stretched. ‘Right then,’ he said heartily, trying to gloss over the awkward silence which followed my last words. ‘Got to sort those barns out, ready for winter.’
     
    Cyn Coed Farm dealt mainly in sheep, although we had a few head of cattle that we bred for meat, plus the usual compliment of chickens (for eggs and the oven), dogs (to work the sheep and cattle), a goat (no idea why we had that), two horses (my