Prologue: Heartbreak's Your Favourite Pain
They were lying in their bed, side by side as usual, but the closeness, ease and comfort they had with one another before the war had completely disappeared. Robert was reading the same passage of text over and over, pretending to be engrossed in his book, head turned slightly to the left. To the right of him Cora was staring blankly at the far wall, women's magazine discarded across her lap, pointedly looking away from her husband.
This twisted sense of companionship stretched on, an overwhelming silence settling over the room. So many words needed to be said, but no-one made a move to speak them. They both sat there like statues, unmoving, as hard as stone on the outside, but rotting slowly on the inside. The sense of tension weighed down like a ton of bricks. Cora decided to make a move to shatter the silence that had plagued her bedroom for weeks but as soon as she began to open her mouth, Robert reached over and turned off the lights before leaning to his right and kissing Cora awkwardly on the cheek. He mumbled a quick goodnight, eyes looking everywhere but at her, and settled down against his pillows, back turned to her.
Cora sighed and followed suit, praying that sleep would come to her quick. It didn't as usual. It hadn't since she heard what she couldn't have heard going on in her husband's dressing room when she had the Flu. The sound of building passion, interrupted by Bates before (she hoped) anything serious had happened, but passion nonetheless. Passion he hadn't shown her for months on end.
She began to toss and turn, unable to find comfort in the bed, despite Robert's body next to hers that used to give her solace, that used to chase away even her darkest nightmares and deepest fears. She could remember a time when she couldn't sleep without him. Now she couldn't sleep even with him near, no longer calmed by his presence, only hurt when he couldn't bring himself to touch her, to only press a hurried kiss against her cheek, now just a tradition, nothing more, feeling lonelier than she had in their first year of marriage.
At least he was fond of her then.
Now he was cautious, more reserved than ever, angry, judgemental. She could no longer understand his emotions, could no longer read him like a book.
And that was mostly her fault.
Yes, the war had come to Downton, that played a part at least. It had touched many lives, wounded many people mentally and physically and had not left their marriage unscarred, unscathed. But ultimately she had neglected him and left him struggling in a changing world. As Cora lay awake thinking, as she had done on many other occasions these two months, on what went wrong, what she had done and hadn't done, and how her relationship with Robert had deteriorated so much that they could barely speak with one another without awkwardness or arguments, she still found that she couldn't completely understand all of their estrangement.
What had changed their easy banter to barbed words that cut and wounded?
What had turned their lovemaking back into a duty, a false sense of fulfillment of their marriage and nothing more?
What had stopped his gentle touches, his reaching for her hand occasionally in public, his passionate kisses, his tender, loving words that she so craved to hear?
And as sleep began to claim her she was silently asking Robert the question she couldn't bear even to acknowledge, she definitely couldn't bear to voice.
'Robert, what happened to us?'
