He falls asleep with his arms around me. At first, I relax and breathe in time with him, but after a while he starts to snore. I’m cold again and I begin to shiver. I slip out of his embrace and get out of bed. I manage to feel my way to the en suite bathroom and I turn on the light in there. Leaving the door open just enough to see what I’m doing, but hopefully not so much that the light will wake up Alex, I move silently across the carpeted floor of the bedroom to the suitcase that contains my nightwear. I look over my shoulder as I unzip the case, but he doesn’t stir.
When I climb back into bed a minute or two later, I’m snug in my fleece pyjamas, but I’m wide awake. I can’t get comfortable. The bed is lumpy and the quilt is tucked in tight around my feet, which I hate. For a while, I toss and turn.
After a few minutes, I realise I’ve disturbed Alex because he turns over and asks, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Sorry,’ I whisper, feeling a pang of guilt for waking him. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘Night, princess,’ he says into my ear as he rolls towards me and puts his arms around me.
I lie still even though I can feel a spring digging into my lower back. Reminded of the story of The Princess and The Pea, I smile wanly in the darkness. Alex’s body is like a hot water bottle against me and now I’m sweating slightly. Listening to the rain outside, I wait for sleep to come. It’s a long wait.
The phone rings, waking me up with a start. It takes me a second or two to remember where I am. By the time I’m fully awake, the ringing has stopped.
I’ve been dreaming about Louisa, but I can’t remember the details. I reach out for Alex, but he’s not there. I get out of bed, stretch and walk over to my suitcase to find my slippers and dressing gown. I wonder if he could be in the bathroom, but I don’t hear any water running. I open the door anyway and peep inside. Just as I thought, he’s not in here. I freshen up a bit, and then I make my way downstairs to find him.
‘Alex?’ I call out.
I go into the sitting room, where the fire was crackling last night. It’s chilly in here this morning, and I wrap my dressing gown around me and knot the belt.
‘Alex?’
I walk down the hallway and peep into the kitchen. He’s not in here, either. There’s a strong smell of coffee, which makes me feel queasy even as my tummy rumbles.
As I’m hunting in the cupboards for teabags and a mug, I catch sight of the note. He has written a message on a Post-it and left it next to the kettle.
Gone training. Back in a bit.
Make yourself at home.
Mi casa es tu casa.
Alexxx.
I’m disappointed, of course I am. But it was nice of him not to wake me. He has left out some bread, butter and jam on the worktop.
As I wait for the kettle to boil, I look out of the window at a large tree in the back garden – I remember Alex telling me there was a damson tree, so this must be it. Its trunk is leaning at an angle that seems to defy gravity, but perhaps it’s the visual effect created by the grassy slope. Not far from the tree, there’s a swing set, and behind that, a thick wood.
The window bars give me the unnerving impression that I’m being kept prisoner. The rain is lashing down outside and the sky threatens to keep this up for a while. I don’t expect we’ll be wandering around Grasmere today after all.
The toast pops up and startles me, and this is followed by the telephone ringing again. I’m tempted not to bother answering, but then I think it might be Alex trying to get hold of me. I haven’t turned my mobile on yet, I realise, so he would have to use the landline. I run out into the hall, where the sound is coming from, find the phone and pick up the handset.
‘Hello?’
There’s no answer.
‘Hello?’ I say again.
Still no answer.
‘Alex, is that you?’
I wait for a second, but then there’s a beep as if the caller has hung up. I dial 1471. I think I’d recognise Alex’s mobile number if it was him. But the last caller’s number is withheld. Shrugging, I go back into the kitchen to eat my breakfast.
Sitting at the long wooden table, I feel a bit lost and very alone. To shake off that sensation, I picture Alex and me feeding our children at this table one day. I see myself making cakes with my stepdaughters, whose mother has finally forgiven Alex – for whatever it is she thinks he’s done – and let them come to stay with us. I close my eyes and inhale, imagining the mouth-watering smells wafting towards me from the oven and almost hearing the girls’ laughter.
I’ve always wanted lots of children. At least four. Ideally, two boys then two girls. Having kids was a dream that didn’t come true for me with Kevin. It wasn’t for want of trying. It was the overriding desire to have a baby that killed the passion in our relationship and made it go stale. Looking back, I think it was over long before I left. Or perhaps I’m just telling myself that so I don’t feel so bad about walking out on him.
Alex still isn’t back when I’ve showered and got dressed, so I decide to explore the house. On the ground floor, there are several rooms I haven’t seen yet. There’s another lounge, which also has an open fire, and opposite it, a study. It has alcove built-in wooden cupboards and when I open them, I see they’re empty.
As I discover my new home, I keep mentally comparing it with the house Kevin and I lived in, which we’ve just put on the market. The upstairs bathroom in Minehead would easily fit into either the laundry room or the cloakroom in the Old Vicarage.
Coming back through the hallway, just outside the kitchen, I notice a door near the staircase. I turn the handle, but it’s locked. Briefly, I hunt around for a key – on the wall, in the cupboard under the stairs – but then I leave it. I realise the door probably leads to a cellar and I don’t want to go down there anyway. I walk on towards the staircase.
Upstairs, there are five bedrooms altogether. Ours is the only one with an en suite bathroom, but there is another bathroom and a separate loo along the landing.
Although the views are better from the master bedroom – you can see Lake Grasmere – I prefer the bedroom at the back of the house, which, like the kitchen below, looks out onto the garden. It’s smaller and cosier, with some sort of period fire grate and surround. The walls are painted a warm peach colour, but I notice there are no pictures on them, and it strikes me that I’ve seen no paintings or photos – not even of Alex’s daughters – anywhere in the house.
While I ponder this, I push the last door open wider and step inside. Decorated in pink and lilac, it is a large room with two single beds. Fairies fly around on wall stickers and a giant stuffed cuddly dog lies on a multicoloured rug on the floor.
This must be Poppy and Violet’s bedroom. Then a thought pushes its way into my head. Alex’s daughters would be too old now for fairies and teddies. Alex’s wife walked out on him five years ago and the girls are in their teens now. He said he hadn’t seen them for a year. Surely if they’d come to visit a year ago, they wouldn’t have wanted to sleep in such a childish environment. They would probably each want their own space at their age anyway.
Briefly, this puzzles me. But then I reason with myself. Alex didn’t say the girls had ever come to stay with him before his ex-wife cut off all contact. Maybe they haven’t slept at the Old Vicarage since his wife – ex-wife now – left him. That would explain it.
Sitting down on one of the beds, I run my hand over the hearts on the quilt cover. Quite unexpectedly, a chill runs down my spine. I scan the room. It’s beautifully decorated. There are toys, games and children’s books everywhere. And yet, there’s something I don’t like about it. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. The sense that someone was very unhappy in here? No, that’s not it. Scared more than unhappy. In danger, even. As if something bad once happened in here.
I laugh at my silliness. I’ve always had an overactive imagination. Julie would have taken it seriously, though. My elder sister is into feng shui and mental wellness. She�
�s reluctant to set foot in Dad’s house now on the pretext that it has had negative energy and bad vibes since Mum died. I’ll have to invite Julie to stay with us at the Old Vicarage. She’ll have the chi flowing, or whatever it is you need to do, in no time.
I decide to start unpacking. Maybe when I’ve tidied away all my things, I’ll feel at home in this house.
Mi casa es tu casa.
Hopefully Alex will be home soon. That will help, too.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life, I say to myself. A completely different life to the one I’ve had until now.
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Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading The Guilty Mother.
It was quite a challenge writing this novel as I sometimes felt out of my comfort zone. Firstly, I had to get into the head of a male protagonist, but it was great fun creating Jon. I’m going to miss him as well as Melissa and Kelly with whom he shares the narration.
There was also a lot of research involved for this book and a few people kindly helped me by answering my questions. Any inaccuracies are mine and I have also made liberal use of artistic licence. Melissa’s second appeal, for example, would almost certainly have been conducted via a video link, but that wouldn’t have made for a very interesting prologue and I wanted Melissa present in the court scene at the end!
One of the best parts about writing is hearing from my readers. If you’d like to get in touch with me, I can be contacted on Twitter @dianefjeffrey or on Facebook.com/dianejeffreyauthor. If you enjoyed The Guilty Mother, please take the time to write a short review. Not only is your feedback useful for me, but it can also help other readers decide if they might enjoy my book.
All the best,
Diane
xxx
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