Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Skin and Bones

His hand lay on the back of her neck, up over the hairline, and he pressed her into him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Anya weakly twitched into his embrace - and then slumped, unable to pull away. His body was firm, warm; and there was only that much self-control she could exert.

"You have nothing to apologise for," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry that it happened to you," he said, and she felt him bury his nose into her hair. "I'm sorry life is so fucking unfair, Anna. And that it made you forget how wonderful you are. How beautiful. And that you–"

"Don't say that!" she cried out, shook her head, and sobbed. "Don't– I'm not, and you can't just say it– and it'll hurt more later–"

He made a soft shushing noise and stroked her head. Another choked sob made her quake, and she dropped her forehead on his shoulder.

"You're making me cry..." She hated how nasal her voice was. "I'll muck up your jumper."

"You wouldn't be the first," he said, and his second palm rubbed her back comfortingly. "I tend to have this effect on people."

Anya sniffled and wiped her tears over said jumper.

"When was the last time you had a proper bawl, love?" he asked. She felt him press his cheek to her temple. "And I mean a proper one, with snot everywhere, ugly noises, and hiccups afterwards? How long have you been bottling it up?"

"Twenty one years," she answered.

"You're so British, love," he joked tenderly. "Keep calm and carry on, innit?"

She took a shuddered breath and pulled back. He let her go immediately.

"That's the nicest compliment you can give me," she said and wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palm.

"That's the only compliment I'm allowed to give you," he murmured, and then once again ignored her questioning look. "When did your Mother pass away?" he asked.

"Five years ago." Anya filled up the kettle again. "That's when I divorced Dom. Remember you told me that I care too much and tolerate too much? Well, I didn't then. I just– I couldn't forgive him for leaving me alone to handle it. Varya was small, and my Mum was slowly dying in our tiny flat, and I just– One day he came back, after five days of drinking somewhere, and I told him to leave." She realised she'd unconsciously picked up a dish cloth and was wiping droplets of water off the counter. She folded and tucked it in behind the tap. "I reckon I was jammy that it was Dom I was dealing with. Any other man would've told me to sod off and fixed my attitude by breaking a couple of my ribs."

"You had every right to do it," he said in a low voice.

"Everyone I worked with kept telling me I was an idiot to leave him." Anya scoffed bitterly. "They weren't wrong, most men are times worse than him. He didn't beat me, he was good with Varya. He even occasionally had a gig or two, and brought some money in, here and there."

The kettle whistled, and she filled up two mugs again.

"And you know what? He didn't argue," Anya said and pressed her lips to hide their trembling. "He didn't ask to let him stay. He didn't even have a 'bit on the side,' or anything. That's how little it mattered to him. He still came over from time to time, to see Varya. So, it was just me that he didn't mind leaving. That's how little value I am as a wife."

She stirred sugar into their teas and sighed.

"And then I lost my job, and we had nowhere to go, and I asked him for help. For the first time, ever, mind you," she added defensively. "But he couldn't do anything, so he arranged for us to stay with Martin and Sally. I'm sorry! I should stop whinging! I don't know what's come over me," she said and gave out an awkward hollow laugh. "Oh I forgot to tell you, I might have found a job! It found me, actually. There's this person who's opening a bookshop in Fleckney Woulds, and she wanted to hire me. It's barmy, I know, but–"