You're All Mine

by Ruth Harrow

  I perch myself on the edge of the coffee table and watch him for a few moments.

  I want to know where he has been this whole time; who he has been with.

  He doesn't seem to have packed much, neither has he brought anything back today.

  He is simply here.

  The thought that he has come in person to ask for a divorce flits across my mind.

  Of course that is probably why he is here, I think.

  What else could it be?

  My eyes sting and I dab at them with my sleeve.

  James shows no signs of waking any time soon. It would feel odd to go upstairs to bed and leave him like this.

  So I do the thing that seems so natural – besides, this might be the last time I get to do it.

  I climb carefully and slowly over onto the warm area of sofa James has unwittingly left for me and lie beside him.

  My arm snakes automatically over his and my hand finds his. He is blissfully warm from sleep and I lose myself in it until I find myself drifting off too.

  39

  'Heather?'

  I feel James close by, his breath on my face as he whispers softly to me.

  For a few moments, I can't remember how I ended up so close together with my husband, enveloped in the same ribbon of heat. Then it comes back to me.

  I blink and retract the hand holding James's, pressing it to my forehead instead. 'What time is it?'

  'Just past three in the morning,' he whispers back to me.

  'Oh. Why are we whispering?'

  'I don't know.'

  We look at each other in the low lamplight and burst into laughter, the first time in so long. It feels nice – a relief. The tension all seems to have evaporated as we lie together in the quiet still of the night.

  The bright colour of his familiar blue eyes is impossible not to notice, even in this low light.

  'Are you all right?' I find myself asking him without really knowing why. Hasn't it been me that has been alone in the house, wondering when, or even if, my husband would come home?

  He shrugs. 'I don't know, Heather. I just needed to clear my head. I had to have some space to think.'

  'You look well. You even look a bit tanned, actually.'

  'I went out to visit Mum in Spain.'

  'Well it's all right for some, isn't it?' I smile bitterly.

  'Heather, it wasn't a holiday. I just needed to see her, that was all.'

  'So you told her about us?'

  'No. I just said that you were staying away on another project and I just felt like a visit. We spent Christmas together. She believed me.'

  'I bet Judith could tell something was wrong.'

  'If she did, she didn't let on.'

  'So you've been in Spain this whole time? When did you get back?'

  He shakes his head and reaches out to stroke my face, ignoring my question. 'Heather, I'm so sorry I left. I didn't know what else to do. I missed you so much, even when you were around. I thought a break would give you some thinking time too...'

  He shakes his head again.

  There is a moment where we look at each other before I find myself closer to James than I have been in a long time. Suddenly, we are kissing and pulling each other as close as we can, as though a few centimetres makes a difference.

  We make love and afterwards we are again lying still on the sofa together. James pulls the quilted throw from the chair over us and I lie with my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat; I'm certain it is every bit as contended as mine.

  'I've really missed you, Heather.'

  'I've missed you too.'

  'Did you?'

  'Of course. Probably even more so.' I adjust my head so I can see James's face. 'I wouldn't have left.'

  There is a pause before James answers. 'I didn't want to leave. I just wanted you to wake up a bit. Snap out of your work trance.'

  'Well, it worked. It made me realise how much you mean to me. And I want our marriage to work.'

  He squeezes me tighter to his bare chest and plants a kiss on my forehead. 'So do I.'

  'James, why did you leave me flowers before you left? You hate fresh flowers.'

  He shrugs. 'I don't know. I just wanted to show you that I was willing to change what you didn't like about me, that I was willing to compromise. I thought maybe you could do the same.'

  'And the chocolates? You didn't take the nutty ones out and you always do that. Was that to get at me?'

  The half of James face that I can see looks sheepish. 'I'm sorry, Heather. It was a childish thing to do. I was still angry at you, that was all.'

  I rest my head back on his chest again. 'I want you to know I can compromise – I want to. There's a big opportunity coming up on the project I'm working on.'

  I tell James about the venture John offered me.

  'It's really a great offer. If I can get it sorted, I would give up all my other client work. It would mean more normal hours. We could definitely spend more time together. We could have regular date nights, go on holiday, or visit your mother together.'

  'Try for a baby?'

  'Yes... exactly.'

  'And what would you do with our child when you want to go back to work?'

  'Well, I don't have to go back.'

  There is a pause as we both must surely think the same thing – that my work is too much a part of my identity to put on a back burner.

  James kisses me again on the forehead before he turns his face the other way and closes his eyes.

  After a while, his breathing turns heavy as though he has drifted off to sleep again.

  However, it is a long while before I find the same thing happening to me.

  40

  A loud snap cuts through my oblivion, waking me up. It is daylight now and the lamps have been switched off. I am immediately aware that I'm still naked under the heavy throw.

  'Sorry, Heather. I just dropped my phone.' James has dressed already. He picks up the fallen object from the coffee table and checks the screen.

  'I need to get going. I have to go back to my friend's house, get dressed for work. I haven't been in the office much lately.'

  I sit up, grasping the throw to cover bare chest. 'Where are you staying?'

  'At Robert's. He works in my department. You met him briefly on my birthday.'

  'Right. I thought for a while you might be with Gemma.'

  James gives me a wary look as he retrieves his shoes from beside the sofa.

  'It's OK, I know you weren't with her – she came by here looking for you. Said she needed you to sign some papers.'

  'Did she?' James sits on the low table and frowns as he slides on one of his shoes. 'She came all the way over to the house? I can't imagine what that was for.'

  'I don't know. She didn't say specifically. She said she had tried calling you.'

  'That's weird. I didn't receive any calls. Maybe she made a mistake. I don't know why she would come over to the house though. Although, I didn't tell her that we... well, I didn't tell her I wouldn't be here. I guess she just assumed.'

  'I didn't say anything either – to anyone.'

  He looks at me with a wry smile.

  'What is it?'

  'I noticed it still looked like I was around according to your Instagram.' He lifts the gift basket beside him up from the table. 'Apparently, you have the “best husband in the world”.'

  I grin guiltily. 'Yes, sorry about that. But people were asking questions. I had the feeling Nicole could see right through me when she was asking me where you were. Sending myself the basket made it look like everything was normal.'

  He nods, finishing his laces and standing up.

  'Look, Heather. I've really got to get going, but we will talk again soon.'

  His tone is suddenly brusque.

  'Soon? Well, aren't you coming back home tonight?'

  'Not straight away, Heather. I still need a bit of space. Please understand.'

  I pull the throw tighter around myself. I wi
sh I had kept my mouth shut about the business opportunity with John now.

  James leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. 'I do love you, Heather.'

  'Love you too,' I say. Although, I have the vague feeling like I have just been dismissed from a job interview that hasn't gone all too well.

  I hear the engine of James's car fire up and fade away into the distance until it is inaudible.

  Once I realise that I am in the same position as when James left before my trip, I am eager to get up and dressed.

  I go upstairs and take a long shower. Everything that has happened in the last twelve hours flashes in front of my closed eyes as a stream of hot water rushes over my face and I have the sudden urge to breathe it in.

  Once I'm dressed, I move downstairs with the thought of breakfast. Once in the kitchen, however, I switch on my phone and notice immediately a notification from the company I ordered the fabric from. It tells me that my package was delivered successfully an hour ago.

  Finally. I was starting to give up hope of it arriving in time for me to produce the cushions.

  Strange I didn't hear the doorbell, although I was probably still asleep at the time. They must have left it on the front doorstep.

  I slide my bread into the toaster and pad down the hall.

  When I open the front door, however, I am not prepared for what I see.

  The fabric I ordered is indeed out there, but it is not neatly folded and sealed inside a parcel box. It is strewn all over the driveway. It is ripped and torn in places and barely recognisable due to the fact that most of it is saturated with the white paint I had ordered at the same time.

  White splodges and speckles cover my beautiful slate tiling with surprising reach right down to the hedgerow at the end.

  The rumble of an engine draws my attention to the country track. Ewan's battered old Volvo estate hovers near the entrance to the driveway.

  He manually rolls down his window and calls through it. 'Everything all right, Mrs Peterson?'

  Clearly, it isn't. 'Not really, Ewan, no.'

  'Had a spot of trouble, have you?'

  'Yes. I'm not sure what happened. Did you see anything?'

  'Only one of them red delivery vans zoom over here and then shoot back off again. There will be a story on the news one day that they've killed someone – the speed they go at! What kind of hurry are they in, anyway?'

  'So it wasn't here long?'

  'Eh? Oh no, not at all. Hit and run, I'd call it, like! They wouldn't have had time to make that kind of a mess. Maniacs them delivery drivers!'

  'And you didn't see anyone else?'

  Ewan seems to take his time thinking and as he does, I notice the bin bags of rubbish in the back of his car. 'Well, it's hard to say with all these tall trees around...' He gestures to the conifers surrounding my home. There is a strange look in his glazed blue eyes when he looks back at me. 'No, Mrs Peterson. I didn't see anyone untoward after the delivery driver.'

  He rolls up his window again and drives off, leaving me standing surrounded by the mess in my driveway.

  41

  Since I found the destruction outside quite soon after it had happened, I manage to clean up most of it without much lasting damage.

  The fabric is a complete write-off and goes straight into the wheelie-bin. As for the paint, I manage to mop most of it up, but little traces get stuck in the fine texture of the slate and some of it is dry by the time I reach it. It ruins the pristine dark effect of the stone; I'll have to get something stronger to work the white patches from the grooves.

  In my rush to absorb the paint, my first thought sent me hurrying into the living room to grab the old tablecloth I'd thrown over the stain, but it wasn't there. I glanced around the room for it, but it wasn't anywhere in sight. Had James moved it?

  Instead, I rushed upstairs to the airing cupboard and pulled out anything shabby enough that I could bear to be parted with it.

  As I'm stuffing the paint-soaked old sheets into the wheelie-bin, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it for a few minutes and wait until I am inside and have washed my hands before I look at it.

  Swiping at the screen, I see it is a new Instagram message from lioness3783.

  It's not nice to go all quiet on someone, Heather.

  I delete the message immediately and block the username just as I had done with bunny90158. I'm convinced that it is definitely the same person behind both usernames.

  Could it really be Lisa? Or is it just someone with a lurking dislike of my blog? If it is the latter, they are taking it a little far now. Should I report it to the police?

  I can't tell if there is any real threat weighted behind the words...

  With James gone, the house is ominously silent again.

  As though he was never here.

  I hover in the living room doorway, staring at where the crimson spot has been unearthed again.

  In the utility room, I pull on my boots and quilted coat and grab the gift basket with its remaining contents of biscuits, conserve and tea.

  I pull the front door closed behind me and breathe sweet lungfuls of cold fresh air before I set off down the country track to Nicole's house.

  After I pass Ewan's property, I sense a change in the air. The sweet freedom of outside that I had stepped into a few moments ago now seems to turn into something more sinister.

  The hedgerows and towering gnarled trees above seem to knot together into a claustrophobic tunnel of foliage.

  My heightened senses detect an unnatural rustling from the woods opposite the houses, but when I look around there is nothing there but dark branches and leafless stems.

  I quicken my pace until I'm jogging, gift basket clutched awkwardly to my chest, unconvinced that someone doesn't stand behind one of the thicker trunks, watching.

  It is a relief to reach Nicole's front doorstep, but I glance around nervously after ringing the doorbell, certain I am not alone.

  42

  The door opens and I am shocked to see that Nicole looks as pale and shaken as I feel. Her usually sleek hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, her religiously applied makeup is missing and allows the dark circles under her eyes to be bared for all to see.

  'Nicole? Are you all right?'

  She shakes her head. 'Not really. You'd better come in.'

  My friend stands back and lets me enter the cramped hallway of her cottage. All the remnants of Lilly's birthday party are long gone, but something feels different about the house today. An unfamiliar smell of violets and something warm and spicy lingers in the air.

  'Do you want some ginger tea?'

  'No thanks, Nic. Do you have any coffee?'

  I sink down at the kitchen table, placing the gift basket on the chair beside me as Nicole potters around the kitchen making us drinks.

  She places a mug of overly milky lukewarm coffee in front of me and sits opposite me at her round wooden table.

  'Look, Nicole. I'm sorry I couldn't make it yesterday. There was a total disaster at the holiday apartments and I didn't get back until really late. I was shattered.'

  She nods, taking a sip of her tea.

  'So what's wrong? What did you want to talk to me about? Nic – are you ill?'

  She fiddles with the handle of her mug for a few seconds before answering. 'You could say that – I'm pregnant.'

  'Pregnant? Oh Nic, I'm so sorry.'

  She looks up at me sharply. 'Sorry?'

  'Well, I mean. It's just that Dean, well, he's... gone. Goodness – does he know yet? Have you told him?'

  'No. Dean doesn't know.'

  'Well, what are you going to do? Have you decided yet?'

  'Do? You make it sound like there is a choice, Heather. I'm going to have the baby, of course.'

  'Oh... You really sound like you've already made your mind up. How long have you known about it, Nic?'

  She shrugs. 'About a week. But I've sort of suspected for longer.'

  'So that's why you stopped drinking al
cohol?'

  She nods, staring into her tea.

  'I can't believe it. This is just so unexpected...'

  'Why? I'm not a little girl, Heather. People our age have babies all the time.'

  I look away, examining my own drink instead. 'Nicole, do you think you need to consider this more – I mean before you make any big decisions?' I take a deep breath and voice something that's been troubling me for a while now. 'I'm not sure if you're really over Dean.'

  She makes a bitter noise. 'I've already made my mind up, Heather. Don't try and change it.'

  There is a look in Nicole's eye that tells me not to press the subject. It is odd because we have always discussed everything before. But this time, I know I need to leave it alone.

  A deep and uncomfortable silence cuts between us for a few moments, one I'm not used to experiencing around my best friend.

  'So,' she says after a minute or so. 'What's been happening with you? You said something bad happened at work?'

  I tell Nicole about the mix up with the order of flooring.

  She seems so distracted from her own worries as I talk, that I tell her about the new threatening message I received and the act of wild vandalism on my property this morning.

  'And you think this Lisa person is behind it all, don't you?'

  'I didn't say that – but you did. You've come to the same conclusion.'

  'No. But it's obvious you think it's her, Heather. You said you saw her car in Aberystwyth right before the carpet delivery.'

  I sigh heavily.

  'Look, Heather. Just calm down. I don't know why you think it is Lisa – and I know you won't tell me. I know you're a minor celebrity in design circles and everything, but do you really think someone is stalking you?'

  'Someone did write that message on my bathroom mirror.'

  'But you said that was someone at James birthday?'

  'I said it could have been. I don't know for sure...'