‘Hello,’ I say into my phone, my attention flitting from the mirror to the slightly blurry image of the back of a DHL delivery driver standing on my doorstep. He whirls around, presumably confused as to who is speaking to him. ‘Just leave it on the doorstep; I’ll get it in a sec,’ I say.
Finally realising the voice is coming from the bell to the left of the door, he steps closer to it and shouts, ‘Needs a signature.’
Dammit. I stop caking on my foundation to sweep the mascara wand haphazardly over my lashes, rush to the door, sign for the parcel and leave it on the hall table. It’s for Nick. He obviously hasn’t bothered to update his address yet. I’ve no time to tidy the mess I’ve just made in the bathroom, which means today is bound to be the day Carl brings someone for a viewing. I throw my handbag over my shoulder and head out the door, locking it behind me. Carl has a set of keys so that he can conduct viewings in my absence. It’s been almost two months and, as yet, I don’t think he’s needed them – if there have been visits, he’s failed to inform me.
Hopelessness soars at the realisation it might be weeks before we get any interest. Now it’s been decided I’ll be getting a place with Richard, I’m impatient and just want us all to be in our new home together, starting our new chapter.
I thought it would be easier than this.
But I also thought my marriage would be forever.
I don’t remember feeling quite so intense about Nick as I do about Richard. A warm sensation envelops me at the mere thought of him and I pause on my doorstep to send a quick “good morning, gorgeous” text. I don’t wait for a response; he’s probably already at work. I head to my car, which I always manage to park directly outside of the house. The lovely thing about Apple Grove is most people stick to parking in their own spot, and as the semi-detached properties have driveways it means I’m rarely unable to park. I think it’s one of the unspoken rules of the neighbourhood.
‘Morning, Amber!’ a voice calls. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Davina. Sadly, the unspoken rule of not bothering your neighbours at every opportunity has yet to infiltrate Davina’s brain.
I throw my hand up, giving a brief wave before ducking quickly into the car, slamming the door and starting the engine. I can only imagine her expression. She’ll think I’m being rude, which I guess I am, but if I even utter good morning, she’ll take that as a sign I want to converse with her. And I don’t have twenty minutes to spare to listen to her village gossip or bat away her questions about Nick. Since he left, she’s been itching to get the inside info; find out why. I glance in my rear-view mirror as I drive away and note Davina’s slumped posture as she walks back towards her house – on the opposite side to mine and up a little.
It’s not as if we’re friends; she merely lives in the same road. We don’t have a thing in common: she’s older than me by about fifteen years for one – and as far as I know, she hasn’t any children. Her only interest seems to be in other people’s business, which has always riled me. I don’t really know much about her as she only talks about others, never herself. The woman can rub me up the wrong way just by looking at me with her small, beady eyes. Eyes I sense are on me whenever I leave my house. Still, I feel a niggling tug of guilt for my abruptness.
It doesn’t last beyond the junction.
Once on the main road, I lean forward and press the phone icon on the car display, then tap Carl Anderson’s name. The phone is picked up on the second ring.
‘Good morning!’ Carl’s always-cheerful voice fills the car. ‘Just the lady I wanted to talk to.’
‘Oh?’ I say. His upbeat tone momentarily lifts my spirits. ‘You have an interested party?’
‘Um …’ Carl gives a little cough. ‘Not exactly …’
I’m about to butt in, but Carl must sense it and he quickly continues.
‘But. I do have a plan,’ he says. I envisage him smiling that wide, toothy grin – the obvious fake one reserved for blindsiding clients – and running his fingers through his thick mass of golden-blond hair, which I am sure he must dye as I find it hard to believe a man in his late forties lacks even a single grey. An audible sigh escapes my lips.
‘Go on,’ I say. I attempt to sound intrigued, but it’s suspicion that I unintentionally convey. A nervous flutter begins in my belly; I get the feeling I’m not going to like this plan.
‘I’m arranging an open house for you. It’s the best way to create a buzz about your property. My gut tells me something will come from it.’
My focus leaves the road as I stare at the speaker where Carl’s excited voice is emanating. Oh, God. An open house sounds horrendous. A bunch of strangers traipsing in and out of my home all at once, finding fault with my décor, my furniture, my life – each trying to outdo the other with their snide remarks. I don’t actually have any experience of open-house events, but I do have experience with people – so that’s how I imagine them to go.
I’m about to decline, tell him I don’t think it’s a good idea at all, when I hear myself saying, ‘Sure. Let’s try it. What’s the worst that can happen?’
Chapter Three
Barb
I linger in the house after Amber leaves with the boys; I don’t want to go yet. I’m not ready. Slowly, I circle the lounge, brushing my fingers over each of the framed photographs of my precious grandsons. I smile as I remove my favourite one from the cheap, white IKEA bookcase; I’d never have entertained such a monstrosity when this was my house. The picture is of Nick standing behind Finley and Leo, his arms draped loosely around their shoulders as, between them, they hold up their catch from the fishing trip. It was taken last year, just before Amber dropped her bombshell. My fingertip traces the boys’ ruddy faces; their expressions, happy and proud. They’re the spit of Nick and Tim when they were that age. An ache pummels my stomach; I rub it away with my other hand.
The thought of not being able to drop in and see my only grandchildren when I want to, not being able to give them hugs every week, crushes me. A pain burns from within my chest.
I’m going to lose it all if I’m not careful.
I can’t let them leave. I just can’t.
Chapter Four
Amber
The afternoon traffic is at a standstill and I’m still twenty minutes from the school. I crane my neck for the tenth time to see what the hold-up is. For the tenth time I see nothing but a line of stationary vehicles. What is going on? There are no cars coming in the opposite direction either, so whatever it is, I’m assuming it’s bad and the entire road is blocked. It’s been like this for seven minutes according to my car clock.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. If we aren’t moving within the next five minutes, I’m not going to be there in time for school pick-up. It’s not a disaster because the teachers at Stockwood will obviously keep hold of the boys until I get there. There is an after-school club opposite the primary school, so if I ring and explain, I’m sure they’ll walk them over there even though they aren’t registered. I’ll pay the fee as a one-off – there shouldn’t be a problem.
I hate being late. And yet it’s getting to be a habit.
Car horns blare up ahead. I’m glad I’m not the only impatient one.
I switch to the local radio station in case there’s a travel update. Maybe there’s been an accident. Although, there’s been no sign of any emergency vehicles; I haven’t heard any sirens. Ed Sheeran’s song is playing for the millionth time today. Why must they repeat the same song until it makes you want to gouge your own eyes out? Hurry up with the news.
Maybe it’s a fallen tree. The recent rain after the long dry spell may have caused the embankment to slide. This road is known for it. I wish I’d taken the left turning before the roundabout and gone the alternative route. It’s shorter, but narrow, so if you’re unlucky you spend half an hour reversing up and down the same piece of road. This way is longer, but wider. And usually it’s an easier drive.
Sod it. There’s still no movement.
I press the phone icon on the car display and hit School.
‘Oh, hi, it’s Amber Miller,’ I say, relieved it’s Jill who’s picked up. She’s the more amenable of the two school secretaries. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to be late picking Finley and Leo up. There’s some kind of hold-up on—’
‘No worries, Amber,’ Jill says, brightly. ‘Their nan has collected them.’
‘Oh? That wasn’t arranged …’ I press my fingertips to my forehead and with a circular motion rub at the furrows. Why has Barb done that without me asking her to? There’s an uncomfortable pause at the other end of the line.
‘Erm … Barbara Miller is a named guardian; she’s on the list you gave …’
‘Oh, yes, I know. It’s fine, Jill. Don’t worry. I just hadn’t asked her to pick up today, that’s all.’ I finish the call.
What will Barb do with them? She can’t take them home because I had to give the only spare key to Carl. Perhaps she’ll take them to the park. But why didn’t she call me to let me know she wanted to pick them up? She’s always waited to be asked in the past.
A thought pushes itself into my mind, and I immediately try to dismiss it as ridiculous. I’m probably overthinking her actions.
But I can’t help thinking Barb has done this on purpose so she can get my boys to herself.
Chapter Five
Amber
It’s another fifteen minutes before the cars ahead of me finally begin to edge forwards.
‘Well, about bloody time,’ I shout as I turn the engine back on. It’s been the longest fifteen minutes I’ve ever experienced and during this time I’ve run through several scenarios about where she could’ve taken them. I’ve rung Barb’s mobile a dozen times and each time it’s gone to voicemail. I leave a light and breezy message asking where she, Finley and Leo are. I don’t think Barb would take the boys to her bungalow – it’s a bit far out and she doesn’t drive, so would have to get a bus or taxi. I’m not quite sure what she’s playing at by randomly picking Finley and Leo up from school without even speaking to me first, but I’m beginning to feel she’s got an agenda. With Leo saying his nanna had told him she’s coming with us to Kent, and now this – I’m contemplating the possibility that she’s trying to get into their heads; manipulate them so they beg me not to leave Stockwood or something. I’m being mean, really, thinking Barb would be underhand in this way. She’s not a bad person.
But she is a desperate one.
I tap my palm against my forehead as though that’ll dispel the thought. I’ll be back home, all being well, in the next ten minutes, then my mind will be at rest when I see them all waiting for me at the front of the house.
Then I might ring Nick and tell him how his mother is bloody interfering.
She’s always interfered to an extent, though. Particularly in the early days. It began after the first seven months of being together, when it looked like me and Nick were becoming serious about each other. She’d been all sweetness and light up until that point – especially once she found out my parents had been killed in a car accident when I was eighteen. She’d happily have me over for meals and let me stay most nights. Her attitude cooled, though, when she realised I might be a permanent fixture in Nick’s life. In her life. It had taken at least eighteen months of hard work on my part to coax her, get her to come around to the idea Nick didn’t need her as much as he needed me. She felt replaced. I get that – it can’t be easy. No doubt I’ll have all that to come with my own boys.
And she only had Nick. She’d already lost her other son, Tim – he ran away when he was seventeen and was never heard from again – so I was mindful of that. Careful to include Barb in our plans, involve her in the wedding organisation. After Finley was born, something changed; she seemed to soften, becoming more affable. When she offered Nick and me the family house, I knew I’d properly “arrived”; I’d been fully accepted. She liked me; I’d given her a grandchild. She was happy for me to be a part of Nick’s life.
I understand how she must feel now things have changed – like her family is being torn apart again. Me leaving her son after twelve years of marriage and now wanting to leave Devon, is a big blow. We are everything to her. But she must understand life can’t stay the same forever. I am not the person I was when I first met Nick. Nick certainly isn’t who I first fell in love with. Everyone changes over time; that’s life. She’ll have to adapt, too. It’s not like I’m taking Finley and Leo abroad – we’ll be a few hours’ train ride away. She can visit – I’ve made that clear.
Maybe not clear enough.
I turn off the main road and slowly drive through the village. Annoyance makes me grip the steering wheel tightly as my eyes search the pavements for Barb and my boys. Nothing. I’m still banking on them being outside the house, playing on the lawn while Barb sits on the doorstep waiting for me.
I round the corner, turn right at the junction and drive into Apple Grove. The pavement in front of my place is empty, the garden deserted.
I do a quick U-turn and drive back out. Where the hell is she?
The playing field. Finley would’ve begged Barb to take them there, where he could go off to the skatepark and not be seen with his nanna and brother. It’s the only other place I can think she’d go with them.
Squeals from children greet me when I exit the car and hurry to the park gate. I scan the playing field, visually checking off each piece of equipment. I can’t see Leo. All the benches on the perimeter are empty. No Barb. Squinting, I try to see if Finley is at the far end by the skate ramps. There are a group of kids there, but not him, I’m sure.
Bloody hell.
Adrenaline surges through my veins. Barb is out of order taking my children without permission. I turn, the gravel crunching beneath my feet, and run back to my car. I try her mobile again and this time I can’t help myself – I leave a shitty message. She’s got ten more minutes, then I’m calling Nick. I hope it’s a case of having missed them and while I’ve been driving around, they’ve returned home.
I throw the door open. The house is quiet. Going room to room, I check if any of their school stuff has been deposited. There’s a possibility Carl might’ve let Barb in if he happened to be here showing a client around the time school ended. But there’s no sign of them. Where on earth are they? I’ll have to do another drive around the village.
As I’m about to step back out the front door again, I see something sticking out of the letterbox on the inside. I grab it. A torn page from Finley’s jotter is folded in half. Words written in pencil are scrawled across it.
Nanna picked us up from school. Daddy is taking us all to Maccies. Love Finley and Leo xx
‘Really?’ I screw the paper up. ‘Fuck’s sake, Nick. Thanks for the call.’
Honestly. Is it so difficult to pick up the phone and ask? He’s never done this before. It’s got to be Barb’s idea. My agitation continues to grow despite now knowing where they are.
I need to vent.
Chapter Six
Amber
‘Hey, Jo. Mind if I come in for a bit?’ I force my lips into a smile, which likely resembles more of a grimace.
‘Don’t do that. It looks like you’re constipated,’ Jo says as she swings the door open and steps aside.
I’ve walked down the road to the only safe place I know. The one place where I can shout and scream, swear and rant without any judgement. And where, without fail, I’m offered wine.
‘Thanks,’ I say as I head through the hallway passage, which leads to the kitchen – the hub of the home, as Jo always says. Keeley is standing by the open fridge, a large glass of white in one hand. She stretches it out towards me.
‘Ahh. How did you know?’ I take it from her and immediately gulp some of the cold liquid. I feel my body relax a little, the tension already beginning to disperse.
‘Amber. As soon as Jo opened the door, I could sense your current mood,’ Keeley says with a sympathetic smile.
‘What’s he done
now?’ Jo asks.
‘Well, actually it’s not Nick. Or, not directly, anyway. It’s Barb!’
‘Oh, that old battle-axe? She still sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted?’
‘She picked the boys up from school today, without me asking, and without telling me. I was running late, but she wouldn’t have known that.’ I slide onto one of the bar stools next to the kitchen island. ‘She just took it upon herself to do it, and then … then, she got Nick to take them all to McDonald’s!’ I take a breath. ‘She got Finley to write me a note and stuff it in through the letterbox. I only just saw it.’
‘God, Amber. I’m sorry, mate. You don’t need the extra worry on top of the stress you already have in your life.’ Jo places an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.
‘Have you spoken to Barb or Nick yet?’ Keeley asks.
‘I left a shitty message on Barb’s phone before I realised where they were. I was a bit hasty. I’m sure that’ll cause an argument—’
‘Er … well that’s not your fault,’ Jo cuts in. ‘Your obstinate mother-in-law is to blame; she shouldn’t have taken them in the first place if it hadn’t been arranged. She of all people should know better, Amber. Don’t you dare make excuses for her or worry about the repercussions of your message. She needs to be worrying about the consequences of taking the boys without consent. And don’t get me started on Nick. Why didn’t he call you?’
‘I don’t know. Punishment, maybe?’ I take another gulp of wine, then reconsider my statement. He wouldn’t have been punishing me; it’s not his style. ‘Or, more likely, lack of thinking,’ I add quickly.
‘He’s a detective. Lack of thought isn’t one of his many faults.’ Jo purses her lips.
‘He hasn’t got that many faults, Jo.’ I find myself defending Nick because despite the separation, the reasons for it, we did have some very happy times. We’d bonded at a gig – a terrible rock tribute band – as we happened to be standing next to each other, both laughing at how bad they were. I’d looked up at him, his floppy dark hair and boyish good looks immediately causing my heart to skip. It was as though it was meant to be.
The Open House Page 2