by Sarah Picson
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
Dominic’s eyes flickered about, an invisible string pulling at the corners of his mouth that Ellie knew wouldn’t turn into a smile. He took a gulp of his wine.
‘That’s pretty good,’ he said, nodding at the glass.
‘But the room,’ Ellie persisted. ‘The hotel. What do you think? It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know, Ellie.’
Ellie felt an uncomfortable pressure beneath her ribs.
‘What does that mean?’
Dominic shrugged.
‘It’s not really my thing. How long is the food going to take?’
Ellie sank down in her seat, feeling less and less like the glowing bride to be.
‘What is it about the hotel that isn’t your thing?’ she asked.
Dominic let out a sigh.
‘It’s just fancy. It’s not me, I mean look at all this, there’s six glasses on the table, what do you need all those for?’
‘We can sort out the glasses, that’s not a problem. And I thought we could have a small, simple flower arrangement in the centre of each table, but we won’t go crazy. What do you think?’
Dominic slung an arm over the back of his chair, his mouth working from side to side as if he were sucking on a boiled sweet. Ellie felt a familiar prickling sensation beneath her skin.
‘Let me think about it, okay?’ he said, his face immediately brightening as two waiters bustled into the room carrying an assortment of plates.
Ellie lost herself in the delicious food for a while, determined to enjoy herself.
‘The lamb’s good,’ Dominic said.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Ellie said, allowing herself a small smile.
‘What’s this all about?’ he said, poking his fork at a smoked salmon starter in the centre of a huge plate. ‘It’s tiny!’
‘It’s gourmet food. It’s quality not quantity.’
Dominic merely grunted in reply.
As they finished, tossed their napkins to one side and drained the last of the wine from their glasses, Ellie sat forward and planted her elbows on the table.
‘I love this place, Dominic. I think we should have our wedding reception here. I was thinking the eleventh of May would be perfect. I know the church can hold the ceremony on that date too.’
‘Church?’ he said, becoming quite still.
‘Yes, I spoke to a woman in the church office yesterday.’
Dominic scratched the back of his head.
‘I’m not religious. I won’t know what to do or say and I can’t remember the last time you went to church.’
Ellie took a deep breath.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But I was brought up going to church every Sunday with my mum and just because I’ve lapsed a bit, doesn’t mean it’s not important to me. It would be so special to have the ceremony at St Mary’s.’
‘What’s wrong with the registry office?’
‘And then down to The Bell & Whistle I suppose?’ Ellie snapped.
Dominic’s eyes darkened.
‘And would that be so bad?’
Ellie straightened up in her chair.
‘Will you at least come and see the church? Meet the priest with me and then we can decide,’ she said, between gritted teeth.
It was Dominic’s turn to place his elbows on the table and stare at her.
‘You really want all this? Posh hotel with fussy food? A stuffy church?’
‘You know I do,’ she said, in a tight voice. ‘Will you come to see the church with me?’
Dominic’s phone began ringing in his pocket. She gave it a black look as he pulled it out.
‘Well?’ she asked.
He frowned but gave her a curt nod, which she grabbed with both hands, a jolt of triumph surging through her. It was a small win, but it was a win nonetheless.
‘Yeh?’ he said into the phone. ‘Yeh, now isn’t a good time, I told you that.’
The waiter smiled serenely down at Ellie.
‘Would you like to make your food decisions now?’ he asked.
Ellie risked a look at Dominic, pleased he was distracted by his call. She wasn’t sure how he’d react if he knew she’d already put down a deposit for the hotel.
‘No. I’ll email you if that’s okay?’
‘Of course,’ the waiter replied.
‘I need to go…. Yeh that’s right…. Okay, sure,’ Dominic said, finishing his conversation and slipping his phone back into his pocket.
He flashed Ellie a confident smile, white teeth showing off his golden-brown tan.
Outside, the tyres of Dominic’s van kicked up the gravel as he sped away from the hotel. Ellie gave a limp wave and let out a deep sigh. What had started as a summer of promise, a summer of leisurely wedding planning together, had been nothing but disappointment and continual frustration.
Ellie considered Dominic’s words: Posh hotel, fancy food, stuffy church. She knew he wouldn’t like the hotel, but she shuddered at the thought of walking into The Bell & Whistle in her wedding dress and having her first dance on its sticky floor; she could practically feel her mother’s hot breath of disapproval on the back of her neck. An impatient energy stirred within her and pushing her shoulders back, Ellie pulled her phone from her bag and punched in the number of the church office.
Chapter 4
Robert pulled onto his driveway, turned off the car engine and sat gazing up at the house he’d called home for fifteen years. The stark realisation that he would never be making the familiar drive home from the office again made him reflect on all that he was about to leave behind.
The house had been run-down when they’d bought it, but as a hungry architect, Robert had immediately seen its potential. As his skills sharpened at work, his wages had grown and with it came a rear double-storey extension, creating a huge kitchen diner, followed by a spacious master bedroom and en-suite in a stylish loft conversion.
As the house slowly transformed, Robert envisaged a large, noisy family within its four walls, but now it was only him and Abi that rattled around in it. And soon it would be someone else’s family home, as tomorrow there would be a removal truck parked outside ready to carry away their belongings and their memories.
The patter of Abi’s small feet, her constant chatter and exuberant singing in the bath were long gone. He remembered one particular summer when he’d taught Abi to ride her bicycle without stabilisers; he’d run round and round the garden, promising not to let go of her saddle, until she finally got the hang of it. His back had ached for days after that. He could also picture the adoration shining in Abi’s eyes when he used to cook her pancakes for breakfast, as she waited with giddy anticipation for the first one to flip onto her plate. He couldn’t remember the last time he had made pancakes.
Robert emerged from the car, juggling a small mountain of leaving presents in his arms. It had been a strange day finishing at the company he’d worked for since he’d qualified as an architect. He’d found it harder saying goodbye to his colleagues than he’d expected. They’d become supportive friends over the years. In fact, the enormity of leaving his job and moving to a new, unfamiliar place hadn’t hit him until he’d been driving home. At thirty-nine, he felt too old to be starting over again.
Nevertheless, the summer had been spent meticulously planning their move to Thistleby. His first priority had been to find a job, which hadn’t proved difficult. There was only one practice in town and after two interviews he’d been offered the role of senior architect.
Finding a suitable house hadn’t been quite so simple. The estate agent had explained on Robert’s first visit that Thistleby was a popular town and properties didn’t stay on the market for long. After a few frustrating setbacks, Robert had eventually found a house on the outskirts of town that he liked well enough and his offer of the full asking price had been accepted. He had been adamant that they move in time for Abi to start her new school at the beginning of the academic year.
Walking through to the kitchen, he stopped abruptly. It was bare; an empty husk. He’d expected it, of course, but to see it this way still startled him. The room seemed so much larger with nothing in it. Robert drifted around opening and closing empty cupboards.
‘I made a curry earlier,’ announced a woman, who swept into the kitchen, pink-cheeked and efficient. ‘Heat it up when you’re hungry. It’s in the fridge.’
‘Thanks Moira,’ Robert said.
Moira paused and studied him with bright eyes, a floral apron squeezed around her short, neat frame.
‘Anything else I can help you with, Robert?’
Robert let out a small sigh. What would he have done without Moira? Initially, he’d hired her as a cleaner for a few hours each week but she’d turned into something so much more. Gradually, she’d taken over running the house, diligently lifting it from Robert’s shoulders so he could concentrate on his career.
He’d been so apprehensive when he broke the news that they were moving to Thistleby. Despite hoping for it, Robert hadn’t dared assume that she’d come with them. However, she’d accepted the situation with her usual fuss-free nature, as it would mean she would be living closer to her sister. She’d agreed to come with them right then and there and his relief had been palpable.
‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘There’s nothing else I need help with.’
‘Right,’ Moira said, consulting a long list from her apron pocket. ‘I think I’m all done then. Good luck tomorrow. I’ll join you both next week and then I’ll start looking at flats to rent.’
‘Stay with us at the house for as long as you like, Moira. It’s no trouble.’
‘I know,’ she said, hoisting her handbag over her shoulder. ‘But I’ll need my own space soon enough.’
Robert followed Moira out into the hallway and watched her slide her feet out of her slippers and push them into a pair of low heels. As her slippers disappeared into her handbag, her eyes fluttered across the hallway.
‘It’s odd to think this is the last time I’ll be in this house,’ she said. Robert shoved his hands into his pockets and remained silent. ‘You look tired, Robert, get some rest this evening. You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.’
‘I will.’
Satisfied, Moira glided out of the door, calling to him over her shoulder.
‘You might want to go up and see Abigail by the way, she’s got very unusual ideas about packing.’
And with the briefest of smiles, Moira was gone.
Upstairs, Robert knocked on Abi’s bedroom door and when there was no reply, he pushed it open. What he saw caused his jaw to drop open: it was exactly the same as it always was. The empty boxes Robert had given her days ago sat untouched in a pile in the corner of her room. Her bookcase was full, her wardrobe, with one door open, was still stuffed full of clothes and her desk was scattered with notepads, trinkets and jewellery.
Abi lay across her bed on her stomach, absorbed in her phone and didn’t look up.
‘Abi? We leave tomorrow. You need to pack.’
‘Do we have to go?’
Robert folded his arms. They hadn’t spoken about it much over the last four months, but he’d assumed that Abi had quietly accepted the move. He’d assumed that she understood why they had to go.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘But I don’t want to leave.’ She looked straight at him now and he could see the undisguised pleading in her young, anxious eyes. ‘I don’t want to leave my friends.’
Robert shifted from one foot to the other.
‘Your friends can visit,’ he muttered, wincing as he heard the inadequacy of his reply.
‘It’s not the same. I don’t want to start a new school.’
‘Abi, we discussed this.’
‘No, we didn’t,’ she said, more forcefully now. ‘We didn’t discuss anything.’
‘You know why we have to do this.’
Abi let out a frustrated cry and sprang from her bed. She paced the room like a caged animal, her dark hair bobbing around her cheeks.
‘I just don’t see; I mean what’s the point if…’
She broke off and met Robert’s unyielding gaze through her tangle of hair; a film of tears bathed her eyes and his chest tightened.
‘People move every day,’ he explained. ‘You’ll make new friends.’
‘You think it’s that easy?’ she threw back at him.
‘No, I understand it’s hard to start again, but she needs us close by, Abi. You know this.’
‘What about me?’ Abi said, her voice thick and croaky.
Robert felt a burst of love and pity for his frustrated daughter, her hands trembling by her sides.
‘You’ll have everything you need. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘I don’t need more stuff.’
‘What? What is it then?’ Robert asked. ‘I’m sure there will be other new children starting and the school has an excellent reputation, so a smart girl like you will thrive there.’
‘I’m not smart,’ she protested, dropping down onto her bed.
Robert’s jaw tensed.
‘Is this to do with that maths teacher?’ he asked, sharply. ‘I told you to ignore what he said.’
‘He was right. I’m useless at maths. Every Friday we’d have a test and any questions I got wrong he’d make me stand up in front of the whole class and work out the right answer. It was horrible. My mind would always go blank and he would shout at me to work harder.’
Abi pulled her knees up to her chin; it was the most she’d said to him in weeks. Robert felt his cheeks grow hot. Her old maths teacher, Mr Tunks, had been a waste of space, in his opinion. He remembered sitting opposite him at open evenings, meanness seeping out of every greasy pore. He had chipped away at Abi’s confidence for two years and now she’d convinced herself she was useless at maths.
Robert wracked his brain for a way to help his daughter.
‘You need to believe in yourself and apply yourself harder if you’re struggling.’
Her eyes flashed at him.
‘I’ll still come bottom of the class.’
‘How about some extra tuition?’ he said. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.
Abi stuck her tongue out.
‘Do I have to?’
‘I think you do. If nothing else than to prove that you’re better than you think. I’ll email your new school about it. We’ll show Mr Tunks how wrong he was about you.’ Abi pulled a face, but her features had softened a little. Robert clapped his hands together and smiled. ‘That’s settled then.’
‘A maths tutor doesn’t suddenly make it all better. I don’t want to start a new school!’
With that, Abi swivelled around on the bed so that her back was to him and Robert felt the bottom drop out of any progress he’d just made.
‘I’ll heat the dinner up,’ he said, turning to go. ‘I’ll help you pack after we’ve eaten.’
‘I don’t need your help,’ she said, as he pulled the door closed behind him.
Robert stood outside his daughter’s bedroom and listened to her muffled sobs for a moment before making his way downstairs, trying to ignore the swirling ripples of failure that always seized control of his stomach when dealing with his daughter.
As the steady whirring of the microwave filled the silence of the empty kitchen, Robert wandered amongst the brown boxes that contained their lives. He stopped beside a box which hadn’t been sealed shut and opened up the flaps. Nestled inside, in a silver frame, was one of his favourite photographs. He gently peeled away a layer of bubble wrap and stared at it, amazed that one simple photograph could make him smile and cry in equ
al measure.
Smiling back at him was his family. Except it wasn’t a family he recognised any more. The photograph had been taken on Abi’s fifth birthday. Her careless smile stretched from ear to ear and he marvelled at his own wide eyes and relaxed expression. Robert remembered the day well. They’d had a party for her; small people tearing around the house, balloons popping, squeals of laughter and a table laden with presents and cake. Abi had shrieked her way through the day in delight and then when the sugar had run out and everyone had gone home, she had fallen asleep in a sweaty, exhausted heap on his lap.
The final face was Jane’s. She hadn’t wanted to be in the photo at first, but Robert had insisted and she’d finally allowed him to pull her into the shot. Looking back at the photo now, he noticed her smile wasn’t quite as wide as Abi’s or his.
Jane would have known how to talk to their teenage daughter tonight, he was certain of it. But it had been a long time since she’d moved gracefully around the house, the scent of her perfume lingering in each room long after she’d left it. It had been a different house all those years ago.
Robert rested a finger on her image. He should have tried harder. He should have listened more.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
His ears pricked up as loud music began pounding down through the ceiling from Abi’s room. He wondered if she’d started packing yet. She wasn’t a little girl any more, he couldn’t just put his foot down and demand she do it, that much he knew. But he didn’t know how to confront the simmering anger in her eyes that he knew she reserved just for him.
The ping of the microwave punctured his melancholy.
‘Abi,’ he called up from the bottom of the stairs.
There was no change in the volume of the music.
With the microwave’s relentless pinging and the heavy beat of Abi’s music pushing down on him from above, Robert felt quite alone. It was a house which had meant to be teeming with life and love, but instead it had become filled with awkward silences and arguments. Worst of all, it was his fault.
Chapter 5