by KL Slater
I held on to the edge of the worktop and waited until the room stopped spinning. The consequences of taking that extra tablet just kept on coming.
I’d have to ring the school. I could tell them I’d been ill, and surely they’d be able to fit us in another day.
I glanced at the bills and documents I’d hastily piled on the side when Harriet had arrived. The newspaper was still open at the jobs page.
There was so much to do to get this house in order, but I had neither the energy nor the inclination to even make a start.
I saw the flyer just as I was about to close the newspaper and set it aside for the recycling bin. I pulled it out to read it.
Assistant Residential Lettings Agent – part-time
Required ASAP at Gregory’s Property Services, a small, independent estate agency
in Hucknall town centre.
When I checked their location map, I found the town was just over three miles away from our house here in Bulwell. Even better, it seemed there was a direct bus to Hucknall that I could catch from the stop that was situated just at the edge of the new estate.
That was certainly useful to know, should I have to take the car off the road until I gathered together enough funds to replace the exhaust.
Assistant lettings agent was certainly a bit of a drop from the agency branch manager I used to be, but I really couldn’t afford to think like that. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ I could imagine Mum saying.
The advert gave a link for applicants to access the job description and person specification online. I pulled my bulky laptop towards me and piggybacked the 4G connection on my phone.
I’d already emailed the telephone and internet provider twice in the past two days, trying to organise a connection earlier than the engineer’s confirmed appointment next month. So far, I’d had no response.
I copied the link into the address bar and the details slowly loaded. The duties of the job were as I’d expected: compiling property details and arranging photographs to be taken; marketing and promoting properties to let; advising clients and helping tenants decide on suitable properties; taking details of any issues that arose with lets that the agency managed on behalf of private landlords.
My heart sank a little, despite my little pep talk about thinking positive. I could do this stuff with my eyes closed.
The spec stated: Previous experience would be preferred but not essential.
I was woefully over-qualified, there was no doubt about that. But hopefully they’d be able to see the benefit in hiring someone with so much experience, even if I wasn’t getting paid at that level.
I saved the online application form to my desktop and made a note of the closing date, which was only three days away. Looked like I’d spotted it just in time.
I felt stirrings of excitement in my stomach. It felt good to get a sense of control again.
For once, it felt like I was actually moving forward, doing something for me and my daughter instead of remaining stagnant and relying on my dead husband’s stolen tablets to function.
12
Three Years Earlier
DIARY ENTRY
25th August
TIMELINE
Arrival at watch point: 7.30 a.m.
* * *
8.21 a.m.Subjects arrive at new property in silver Fiat Punto: CV06 HLY. Semi-detached town house: 22 Muriel Crescent, Bulwell, Nottingham.
* * *
8.46 a.m.Mother drives child to Little Tigers day nursery, Broxtowe Lane, Nottingham. Grandparent remains in property.
* * *
9.02 a.m.Mother returns. No movement.
* * *
11.45 a.m.Mother drives to day nursery to collect child.
* * *
12.01 p.m.Mother and child return to house.
* * *
12.17 p.m.Furniture arrives.
* * *
1.06 p.m.Bouquet delivered.
* * *
1.13 p.m.Desired response elicited.
* * *
Departure from watch point: 1.15 p.m.
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS
Adults seem downcast and cautious of new surroundings. Child is bright and enthusiastic.
Neighbourhood is not close-knit, neighbours pay little attention to what is happening around them. Area is low income/unemployed, property security is poor.
Grandparent lives nearby in Nuthall.
Awaiting further instruction.
13
Three Years Earlier
Toni
Spurred on by the thoughts of making a fresh start, I buckled down for the next couple of days, getting lots of boxes and bags unpacked and managing to get most of the stuff downstairs put away, or at least relocated into the correct rooms.
I opened up the final box in the lounge, breathing a silent thank you that I’d finally reached the last one. I was starting to worry just how long the bottom of my back was going to hold up.
‘Mummy, there’s nowhere in my bedroom to put my soft toys or sort my Lego bricks into colours and shapes.’ Evie stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.
‘I know, sweetie, just put them in neat piles along your wall for now. We’ll be getting some nice new furniture soon.’
Evie huffed her disapproval and bounded back upstairs. Her old room had boasted a full wall of mirrored wardrobes that had held tonnes of stuff.
I started to compile a list of items we desperately needed: two chests of drawers and a wardrobe for Evie’s room. All the bedroom furniture had been built in at our old place. We needed a coffee table and rug for the lounge because I’d foolishly managed to ruin both with hot wax by knocking over a burning candle just before we left. New curtains, blinds for the kitchen . . . depressingly, the list went on and on.
I ended up pushing my pen and paper into the cutlery drawer and trying to forget about how I was ever going afford everything.
If I could get the job at the property agency then what we needed would follow, but if not, then I didn’t really want to think about it.
I chewed my nails, pulled at my hair and drank endless cups of strong coffee. But at least I didn’t go upstairs and reach up to the back of the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet behind the tampons and hair remover.
I was determined to manage without that little brown bottle full of calm, which I knew was a sure-fire road to ruin.
I had to make a stand against popping the pills right now. Otherwise, where would it stop?
My mobile rang. It flashed up with the caller’s name and I thought about ignoring it, but I knew that would only result in a key in the lock within the hour.
‘Toni, it’s me, love.’ Mum’s voice filled my ear. ‘Now, are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to come over? I really don’t mind.’
‘Honestly, Mum, thanks but we’re fine. Evie’s organising her toys as she wants them in her bedroom and I’m unpacking the last box downstairs now.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She sounded disappointed and I felt a pinch of meanness at my throat.
‘Look, we’ll pop round to yours for a cuppa later, if you’re in?’
‘Lovely,’ Mum replied in a brighter tone. ‘I’ll put the kettle on around four then, if that suits you.’
‘Perfect, see you later.’
Mum was a massive part of our lives and I loved her to bits, but the move to Nottingham signified a fresh start for us on a number of fronts.
I wanted to look after my daughter and myself, regain some of the self-esteem that had chipped off like cheap nail varnish over the last two years.
Every time I thought about the money Mum had stumped up periodically to help us out, a hot flush crept up into my neck and face.
At thirty-five years old I needed to be able support myself and my daughter. I needed to find the person I used to be, the woman who had plans and goals, and who had built a successful career, juggling all the usual responsibilities – a husband, a home and a child.
It wasn’t such a big ask,
was it?
Losing Andrew had been a sucker punch to my very core. I knew part of me would never recover, no matter how much time elapsed. No matter what the future held.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking that it could have been so very much worse. Evie was young, she would bounce back. I would never let her forget her daddy, of course not, but she deserved the freedom to live her life without sadness and pain.
It wasn’t too late for me to give Evie that gift.
I knew the little brown bottle was leading me in the opposite direction to that. Rebuilding our lives, I couldn’t afford to keep taking the easy way out.
But as with a lot of things in life, it was far easier to make the observation than it was to actually do anything about it.
The brown bottle had so far stopped me dealing with the grief and pain of losing Andrew. It had delayed it until, I told myself, I was in a more stable place to deal with it.
Mum was another crutch I knew I had to wean myself from overusing. It wasn’t fair on her, for one thing. I knew she constantly worried about Evie and I, and that she felt obliged to help out in ways she shouldn’t have to do.
I thought again about the property agency job and a swell of hope rose inside me. It was the closing date tomorrow, so if I wanted to go ahead, I had to make certain to get my application completed and submitted in good time.
Mum’s free childcare was an integral part of me working and I couldn’t really get away from that fact, but I’d noticed that Evie’s behaviour had worsened since she’d been spending more time with her nanny. Discipline was a word Mum didn’t understand when it came to her beloved granddaughter, although she’d never had a problem being strict when I was growing up at home.
Dad had been the soft one, always getting himself into trouble with Mum for winking at me when she was telling me off, or sneaking snacks and comics up to my room when I’d been banished upstairs for insolence or something similar.
But we lost Dad after the second heart attack and Mum became even stricter then.
‘It’s for your own good, Toni,’ she’d lecture me when I complained about having to get a paper round for pocket money, or keep my bedroom ridiculously tidy compared to the state of all my teenage friends’ rooms. ‘I want you to have a good life, be financially independent and not struggle like I’m doing, now your dad’s gone.’
I sighed and walked into the lounge to get the last of the toiletries out of the box. How utterly ironic I’d ended up just the opposite of Mum’s vision for me.
But not for much longer, I promised myself.
I was going to make this new start count. And an undeniably important first step in my plan was to get myself a job.
14
Three Years Earlier
Toni
Mum had Evie over at her house for a couple of hours on Friday morning, so I took the opportunity to finish my job application.
By lunchtime I’d emailed it off, together with the required covering letter.
I made a cheese sandwich and ate it while I watched the news headlines. I heard the letterbox snap, mail falling on the mat. After I’d eaten my lunch I popped into the hall and scooped up the small pile of post, taking it through to the living room. The usual combination of glossy pizza delivery and double-glazing leaflets nestled amongst utility letters addressed to ‘The New Tenant/Owner’.
I spotted a thicker letter than the other items, handwritten. My curiosity was piqued right away. I tore open the pretty lilac envelope to find a ‘New Home’ card and a letter from my old friend Tara Bowen, whose husband, Rob, had died instantly in the accident with Andrew.
I sat down on the couch and read the letter. It was printed and only took up half an A4 sheet, so it didn’t take me very long, but when I’d finished it, my eyes were prickling.
Predictably, Tara was only interested in how Evie and I were doing and how we shouldn’t lose contact as friends. She’d always been a very selfless person, doing lots of voluntary work for animal charities on her weekends, even though she’d worked full-time as a veterinary nurse before her life was steamrollered flat, in the same way ours had been.
When I got to the last line of the letter, Tara referred to herself only once to tell me she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Never one to dramatize her problems, she said it like it was nothing: ‘Oh, and I now have a positive diagnosis for MS. At least I know now what’s been causing my insomnia.’
I folded up the letter and slid it back into the envelope, and then I sat, watching tiny rainbow spheres dancing on the wall, created by the sunlight filtering through the beautiful crystal vase that Andrew had given me as a gift before he died.
It was easy to get caught up in your own problems, focusing on what was lacking rather than counting your blessings. Reading the last line of Tara’s letter put things into sharp perspective. Life had lambasted her yet again, but was she complaining? No.
Thanks to Tara, I felt a sharp resolve. It was time I got my act together and sorted out my life.
At that very moment, in the kitchen, I heard my laptop ping with an incoming email.
Unbelievably, it was from Gregory’s Property Services, inviting me to interview at 3 p.m. on Monday afternoon.
I swallowed hard, trying to relieve the dryness in my mouth and throat. Although my stomach was fluttering at the thought of my plans coming together, Evie started her new school on Monday. I’d wanted to take her and pick her up on her first day at least.
My heart rate instantly doubled. At least it felt that way.
Desperate to share my news, I picked up my phone and fired a text off to Mum.
‘Got interview on Mon for the job I told you about! Be over in 20 mins to pick up Evie x’
It was brilliant and completely unexpected; they must have been really impressed with my application to get back within the hour.
But then I suppose it was easy enough to appear competent on paper. What if I flunked the interview? What if they thought I was too experienced, or too old for the role of assistant?
I glanced at my phone but Mum hadn’t yet replied to my message.
Despite feeling relieved I’d actually managed to get a shot at securing a job, the whole of my upper body felt tight and tense, every muscle as taut as an overstrung cello.
A few weeks ago, I’d downloaded a relaxation app on my phone that gave breathing exercises and even played mindful music while you did them. I opened it up and sat for a few minutes, trying to keep focused on the narrator’s voice. The entire time, the little brown bottle called to me from the bathroom cabinet but I forced myself to ignore it.
When I’d completed the first stage of the relaxation, I felt even more stressed than when I’d started.
I grabbed my keys and left the house before the pull to go upstairs grew too strong.
I didn’t trust myself anywhere near those tablets.
* * *
‘I think you’re rushing into things with this new job.’ Mum jumped straight in, as soon as I walked into her kitchen. My heart sagged in my chest; I didn’t feel up to an argument. ‘Your priority should be to get the house comfortable and properly organised and to get Evie settled into school.’
‘I need extra cash to get the house looking right,’ I tried to reason with her. ‘And it’s only part-time hours, I’ll still be able to take Evie to school every morning.’
‘I don’t want to go to a crèche, Mummy,’ Evie whined, wrapping her little arms around my neck. ‘Nanny said I shouldn’t have to.’
‘What have you been telling her?’ I quickly bit down on my tongue but the unspoken words burned in my mouth like acid.
‘I haven’t been telling her anything,’ Mum replied calmly. ‘I just said that Mummy might have to go to work and if so—’
‘You should have let me tell her in my own time.’ I tried to stop, but in the end I just had to spit the words out. ‘I am her mother.’
‘Oh yes, we know that, don’t we?’ Mum said shortly. ‘We know t
hat you’re her mother.’
I heard the subtext as clearly as if she’d shouted the words at me. You’re her ineffective, unreliable mother who can’t function without my help.
It was yet another reason I had to get my life back on track.
I bit down my retort and looked away from her challenging stare. I couldn’t afford for Mum to retreat into one of her silent protests. I’d known them to last for days before.
And as much as it stuck in my craw, I needed her.
15
Three Years Earlier
Toni
In the early hours of Sunday morning, I woke up with a jolt.
I thought I’d heard something outside but now I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to tell exactly what you heard when you snap awake in an instant. After holding my breath for several seconds and staring into the thinning darkness as my eyes adjusted, I heard nothing more.
That didn’t stop my heart from pumping and my hands from sweating.
My bedroom overlooked the street. I slipped out of bed and padded over to the window. The streetlights illuminated the line of new mews-style houses across the street that mirrored ours. They stood identically uniform and cramped, bathing in the pools of sodium orange light, like a real-life toy town.
There was nobody around. It was 3 a.m. Blinds were down, curtains were closed. There was no movement at all and I felt like I was the only person who couldn’t sleep. I came to the conclusion that I must have dreamt the noise.