by Jess Ryder
His words sting. ‘That’s unfair,’ I protest, getting off the bed and pacing around the room. ‘Lori’s a victim of domestic violence; we had to help her. My parents would have taken her in without a second thought.’
He pauses and I hear a faint sigh. ‘See what I mean? It all goes back to your mum and dad. You spend your whole life trying to be like them. But this is about us.’
‘I know that. Why do you think I bought this house? I want it to be our forever home. I want to get married and have children.’ I stop by the window and stare at the distant view of the sea. ‘I’m over thirty now, I can’t afford to hang around.’
‘Yes, your body clock’s ticking away and you need a sperm donor.’
‘Don’t say that, it’s horrible. It’s not like that. How many more times do I have to tell you: I love you, Jack.’ Emotion wells up in my throat and I swallow it down.
‘Really, Stella? I’m not sure you know what love is,’ he replies, his tone hard and cold.
‘I’m not sure you do,’ I retaliate. This is all sounding so wrong. It’s as if we’ve let go of a beautiful balloon and we’re watching it float away, helpless to catch it and bring it back safely to earth.
‘The thing is …’ He hesitates. ‘I’ve not been completely honest with you.’
‘Oh?’ My stomach flips over and I put a hand on the mantelpiece to steady myself.
‘I’ve, er … not been staying with Dom. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you the truth, but the timing wasn’t right.’
‘Where are you then?’
‘With, um …’ He takes a breath. ‘With a girl called Pansy. She’s a designer, works on my team.’ Pansy, Pansy … Jack used to talk about everyone at work, but I don’t think he ever mentioned a Pansy.
‘What are you saying?’
‘We’ve been, um … We, er, got together at the Christmas party. Neither of us meant it to happen; it was just a one-off, a drunken moment. I said I didn’t want to carry on … then in the new year, with all the problems with the house and the travelling … and then Lori turning up … it kind of started again, and then …’ He pauses for a breath. ‘Well, if I’m honest, I feel happier than I’ve been for years.’
‘You bastard,’ I mutter. ‘You bastard.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate, really it wasn’t. I’ve never been unfaithful before. Dom says it was an accident waiting to happen. I felt neglected, like you didn’t care. You shut me out …’ He carries on emptying his shit down the line. I can’t listen any more, my head already bursting with his cruel, heartless words.
‘You’re leaving me for this, this Pansy person, is that what you’re saying?’ My mouth tastes of bile. ‘We’ve been together a year and you’re dumping me over the phone?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Why didn’t you just text me? Or post it on Instagram?’
‘I only faked the burglary to make you come to your senses and get rid of Lori, but then you chucked me out. What was I to do?’
‘Oh, I see. So I pushed you into her bed, I forced you to have an affair? Don’t give me that bollocks.’
‘You know things weren’t good between us. We were already in trouble.’
‘Bullshit. We were building a future together, making a home for our family—’
‘I don’t want children,’ he says quickly.
‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’
‘I’ve tried to tell you countless times, but you refuse to listen.’
‘Liar!’ I shout. ‘You’re such a liar! You never said that. Whenever I talked about wanting kids, you smiled and nodded. If I’d known that—’
He inhales as if to bite back, then stops himself. ‘Look,’ he says after a few seconds. ‘I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but it’s not all my fault.’
‘Oh just piss off, go back to your little Pansy. I couldn’t care less. I don’t want you, I don’t need you. You can fuck right off!’ I punch the red telephone symbol and hurl the handset across the room. It smashes against the leg of the desk like a ball hitting a wicket and falls to the floor. Throwing myself onto the bed, I bury my face in the duvet and scream.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stella
Now
‘Stella? Are you okay? Can we come in?’
I lift my head from the pillow as the door opens and Lori pokes her head around the frame. Abi is hovering behind her, her dark eyes full of questions.
‘Er, yeah … okay …’ I wipe the tears away with my sleeve and sit up. They enter and stand either side of the bed like two administering angels.
Lori puts her hands to her mouth. ‘My God, what’s happened? Abigail heard you crying.’
‘Jack’s left me,’ I croak. Lori looks confused – after all, it’s old news. ‘No, I mean, it’s not just temporary, it’s properly over. He’s found someone else.’
Abi makes a contemptuous noise. ‘This is why I don’t have relationships with men.’
‘You poor thing,’ says Lori, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘How did you find out?’
‘He rang and told me. Didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face. She’s some girl from work, they’ve been having an affair. Apparently it’s my fault, I drove him to it.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ says Abi. ‘They never take responsibility, do they? I can’t bear it.’ She moves away and paces around the room. ‘As soon as there’s a problem, either they punish us or piss off, find some new idiot to prey on. You know what it is, Stella – he couldn’t bear you controlling the purse strings.’ She waves at the walls. ‘All this was bought with your inheritance, right?’
‘Let’s not talk about that now, Abi,’ says Lori. ‘She’s upset enough as it is.’
‘I’m just saying, Stella is the one with the money, which gives her power, and men don’t like it when women have the power.’
‘Abi! Calm down, will you?’ Lori fixes her with a glare. ‘Make Stella a coffee or something.’ Abi goes to answer, then marches out of the room. ‘Sorry about that. She’s got a real thing against men.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, this is really embarrassing.’
‘Don’t be silly. You saw me in a far worse state.’
‘But Abi’s only just met me …’
‘So what? It doesn’t matter, and anyway, you can see how much she’s on your side.’ She laughs slightly. ‘Too much, almost.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ I say. ‘There were no clues.’ I stop. No, that’s not true. After Christmas, there were a lot of late nights and excuses about cancelled trains. We only had sex twice in the last few months, which I put down to the airbed and the fact that we were living on a building site. He was distracting me, like a close-quarters magician, making me focus on the wrong issues while he engineered his tricks. And then he had the cheek to say it was all my fault. An accident waiting to happen – how dare he?
‘You’re in shock. You need to take some deep breaths.’
‘I know.’ I push air down into my lungs. My chest is hurting, like somebody’s standing on it.
‘It’s horrible when you feel out of control, it’s the worst thing.’
I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. ‘I didn’t want to inherit the money – I was only trying to do the right thing, something Mum and Dad would have approved of. For me and Jack, for our future. But now he’s saying he never wanted children. He doesn’t want to be with me at all, he wants this Pansy woman. I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ Lori soothes. ‘You’re a really good, strong person.’
‘No I’m not. I’m awful. This is all a punishment.’
‘A punishment? No, no, that’s not true.’ She pushes a stray hair off my wet cheek. ‘I’m really sorry, you don’t deserve all this, but you’ll pull through. We’re here to help you. Neither of us will leave you in the lurch. You can rely on us totally.’
* * *
The next few
days pass almost imperceptibly. It’s as if a fog has drifted across from the sea and enveloped the entire house, clouding my vision so that I have no idea when day turns to night and then becomes day again. I largely stay in my room, only venturing out to use the bathroom. I’ve never felt so weak and tired, and I’ve got a permanent headache, like I’m sickening for the flu. I keep expecting to wake up with a fever and a streaming nose, but the illness doesn’t develop, just lurks at the edges of my system, threatening me. It’s very similar to how I felt after my parents died, which suggests what I’m experiencing is grief. Only it’s something far more nebulous that has died – a vision of the future that can never be.
I don’t want to go into the rest of the house – the terrible mess mocks me, emphasising my stupidity. I’ve had plenty of time to think about all that’s happened since Mum and Dad died, and I realise now that I was wandering around in a fog even then. I knew deep in my heart that Jack wasn’t completely on board, but I chose not to confront the truth. And if I’m honest – and it really hurts to admit this – I almost felt entitled to have my own way because I was grieving. My pain cancelled out his feelings. He was trying to please me because he knew how much I was hurting. But that never works, not in the long term.
Abi doesn’t see it that way. She thinks I’ve nothing to feel sorry for, that he’s totally in the wrong and his behaviour has been appalling from the beginning. To her, he’s a predator who latched onto me when I was feeling vulnerable. She thinks he was probably after my money. But she doesn’t know Jack like I do; she’s never even met him. It’s easy to stand on the outside looking in and make judgements about other people’s lives.
Lori doesn’t judge. She brings me drinks and food, sits on the bed and waits patiently for me to say something. I have a very short playlist, going over the same things again and again, but she doesn’t complain or contradict me. The tables have definitely turned – now I’m the survivor and she’s the Good Samaritan.
It must be lunchtime, or thereabouts, because Lori has just entered with a bowl of soup on a tray. Abi went out to fetch some shopping and has been busily cooking proper meals to tempt my waning appetite.
‘Grub’s up,’ Lori says. ‘Carrot and coriander, home-made.’ She rests the tray on the mattress and the soup slops around the bowl.
‘Thanks.’ I scramble to sit up. ‘Um … what day is it?’
‘Sunday,’ she smiles. ‘Shall I draw the curtains? It’s so dark in here, no wonder you’ve lost track.’ She crosses to the window.
‘Weren’t you supposed to be seeing your kids this weekend? It’s every other week, isn’t it?’
‘That’s better. Look, the sun’s shining.’ She turns around. ‘Yes, it was a visit weekend, but I decided I was needed here.’
‘What? That’s silly, I’m not ill.’
‘You’ve been crying almost constantly, you won’t eat and you haven’t left the room for three days. This isn’t just about Jack; this is because of everything you’ve been through –it’s been building up like a volcano, and now it’s erupted.’
‘I feel really bad,’ I say, staring into the orange soup speckled with herbs. ‘You should have gone, Lori. Your kids needed to see you.’
‘They’re fine, they’re being well looked after,’ she says. ‘Anyway, my visits make things worse, stir everything up again.’
‘But you’re their mum. You don’t want them to think you’ve abandoned them.’
‘It’s okay, Stella, don’t worry about it.’ Her tone is brittle. ‘Eat your soup before it gets cold.’ She leaves the room.
I pick up the spoon and stir the liquid thoughtfully. I clearly touched a nerve, but I can’t work out what upset her. Lori has been wonderfully kind to me, but she’s been on edge recently, particularly since Abi turned up. Maybe she’s had enough of living here; maybe she wants to leave and get on with the rest of her life but now feels obliged to stay. I don’t understand what’s happening about Darren, or why she isn’t fighting for her kids. I’d be desperate; I’d do anything to get them back. But I’m not Lori, am I? I don’t know what’s going on inside her head.
Deciding to buck up my ideas, I get out of bed and shower, then get dressed. As I brush my hair, I give myself a talking-to in the mirror. Stop being so selfish, I say. Your injuries are nothing compared to what Lori has had to endure. My pale, tired face stares back at me, looking disgruntled.
I take my tray back to the kitchen and pour the soup down the sink. I feel guilty about not eating it, but I don’t seem to have any appetite at the moment. Just at that moment, Abi enters from the back of the house. I quickly turn on the tap to swirl the remains down the drain.
‘You’re out of your pyjamas,’ she says approvingly. ‘Excellent.’
‘Life goes on, I guess.’
‘Yup.’ She pauses. ‘I’ve been doing an appraisal of the current situation. Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve set myself up in the office.’
‘Office?’
‘The little room next to the conservatory.’
‘Oh, right. Yes, I suppose it was an office at one time. All those shelves.’
‘Exactly.’ She gives me a fixed grin. ‘Anyway, I’ve made lots of lists and I’ve contacted some local builders, asking them to come over next week to quote for the job. We need to prepare a proper brief for them to put costs against, otherwise we won’t be able to compare like for like.’
‘Okay … sounds good …’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll handle them when they turn up. I won’t let them pull the wool over your eyes.’
‘Thanks, that’d be really helpful.’
‘We just need to talk about your budget,’ she continues. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve got to spend.’
‘There’s just over a hundred thousand left in the savings account.’ Her eyebrows rise in surprise. ‘It sounds a lot, but there’s so much to do. I’ve no idea if it’ll be enough.’
‘We’ll make it enough,’ she says. ‘Cut our coat. Lori says you were planning an extension?’
‘Yeah, a big kitchen diner with bifold doors leading onto the patio.’ I look around at all the pine cladding and sigh. ‘I had such grand plans. It was going to look amazing.’
‘We’ll get there,’ she replies. ‘Just leave it to me.’
* * *
The first builder turns up on Monday morning. Abi introduces me as ‘the client’, and then I retreat to my room and busy myself at the desk, acting as if I’m far too important to be bothered. I hear them standing in the hallway talking about time frames and guarantees.
‘She was badly let down before,’ she says, ‘but I’m project-managing now and I’ll be keeping a very close eye on things.’ Their voices fade as they go upstairs. It’s such a relief not to be doing this myself. I must offer Abi a fee, I think. She’s been so efficient and helpful. Last night we went through the accounts together and added up the expenditure so far.
‘Where are the receipts?’ she asked. I gave her a plastic wallet stuffed with grubby bits of paper. ‘This can’t be all of them. Hmm … I think he was skimming off the top.’
I think of Alan. Is he a crook? Maybe I’m a fool, but I’m still reluctant to believe it. I open the desk drawer and take out his flimsy business card. I tried so many times to contact him and left dozens of messages. I’ve given up on the idea of him coming back, but I feel I deserve an explanation at least. It would help me draw a line under it.
Before, his phone has gone straight to voicemail, but this time the number rings out several times. I stare at the screen, listening to the bleeps, silently begging him to pick up. But the call is rejected and I’m invited – yet again – to leave a message.
‘It’s Stella here,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘I hope you’re okay. Please call or send me a text. I’m worried about you. I just want an explanation. If I’ve offended or upset you, I’m really sorry. Hope to speak to you soon.’
Abi knocks on the door twenty minutes later. She co
mes in and stands by the desk. ‘One down, three to go,’ she says, clearly pleased with herself. ‘I quite liked him, seemed to know what he was doing. He’s got references, said we could go and visit some other jobs he’s done, which is reassuring.’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘I never asked Alan for references, stupid really. He was old school, didn’t have a website or anything.’
‘How did you find him in the first place?’ she says.
‘He just turned up on the doorstep. I put an advert on the community noticeboard in the Co-op. I think that’s how he found out about it.’
‘Hmm …’ she says. ‘So you don’t really know anything about him.’
‘No. All I have is his card.’ I pick it up. ‘“Alan Foxton, Builder. No job too big or too small.” No address, just his mobile number.’
‘What did you say? Give me that.’ She snatches the card from my fingers and stares at it. ‘Oh my God … oh my God …’
‘What’s wrong? Do you know him?’
Abi starts to sway; her hand is shaking, the card flapping in her hand like a tiny white bird.
‘What is it? You okay? Abi … Abi? What’s the matter?’
Her eyes roll towards the back of her head and she opens her mouth wide, gasping for breath. I leap up to catch her and she falls heavily into my arms.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kay
Then
Kay ran upstairs and into the bathroom, shutting the door and sliding across the bolt with trembling fingers. He bounded up the stairs behind her.
‘What are you doing in there?’ he shouted, pounding his fist against the door.
‘Just leave me alone, Foxy,’ she begged. ‘I’m going to throw up.’
‘Mummy?’ Abigail’s high-pitched voice, full of concern.