by Ruth Harrow
The way he looked at me when he saw the sleeping pills resurfaces.
The feeling of dread creeps up over me once again, but I read and reread my message many times and decide there is nothing wrong with it before hitting send.
The time pressure seems to squeeze at my insides uncomfortably and I realise I need to get going myself. I need to stop off at a supermarket and buy fresh flowers to give the apartments a warmer and more friendly feel to them for when John and Ian arrive later on.
Before I leave, I make sure I do a mindful sweep of the house, checking every window and door. I even check the fragrance bottles on the shelf and the bathroom taps before I go, checking nothing is out of place.
Once I'm satisfied, I step into my car and take a deep breath. I look in the pull-down mirror at my reflection and smile at myself to try and ease my nerves a little. I read somewhere that helps. But I realise I've overdone my makeup in an attempt to look well-rested and fresh. My face looks only powdery; dry and taught.
No time to deal with it now, I think. Some of it will have worn off by the time I get to Aberystwyth.
I'm in such a daze thinking a hundred miles ahead of me that I don't notice a vehicle approaching from my left as I pull out of my driveway onto the country track.
A short horn blare makes me jump.
I immediately think of Ewan, but it is Nicole's Mini that has slammed on its brakes.
The trees block out most of the light in the country lane, but Nicole's hand gesture through the windscreen is clearly visible. She holds up her hands to demonstrate her surprise.
I raise my own hand in apology and reverse back onto my driveway, winding down my passenger window.
Nicole pulls forward so her open window is level with mine.
'I'm so sorry, Nic,' I say, leaning across to talk to her. 'I didn't see you. I don't know where my head is.'
She scrutinises me as best she can at the awkward angle. 'Are you all right, Heather? Has something happened? You look awful.'
I smile, realising at the last second that it is probably making my chalky face look worse. Then I wonder why I keep pretending.
'I'm not really all right, no. It's silly, really, but I've lost something in the house – a spare key. I put it in some flowers and now I can't find it anywhere.'
'Is that it?' Nicole glances at the road in front of her exasperatedly. 'You know you sent me a text earlier about that. I think perhaps you meant it for James – it had his name on it.'
'What? No, I didn't.'
I pull out my phone and check my outgoing messages. My stomach gives a hot swoop when I realise my mistake – I sent this morning's message to Nicole instead of James.
'You're right... Sorry, Nicole, that message was for James.'
'Thought so.' She cringes over-dramatically. 'Don't worry, I've done that before. I accidentally sent a message for Dean to his mother. There was a photo too – and that was a lot worse, trust me! Anyway – maybe you put this key somewhere else and forgot about it. I do that all the time. Like this morning for instance – I couldn't find my shower gel anywhere, and I then I found it in the fridge next to a tin of beans.'
'What? That's weird.'
'Yeah it is, isn't it? Anyway, I probably just put all the shopping away when my mind was on other things. It'll be something like that. Unless someone was fucking about...'
'Maybe.'
'Anyway – why would you keep a spare key inside your house? Mine is hidden in the garden shed so I could actually use it if I lost my main one.'
She looks distracted for a second before she opens her mouth to speak. 'You know, Heather, maybe you should think about getting a burglar alarm. I've always said you are silly not to have one. Especially with the way you splash your life all over social media as you do.'
I think of the Instagram messages. 'Do you think it was one of my followers that broke in?'
'I don't know...'
She still sounds slightly irritated and I can guess she is still smarting from yesterday's incident. But I'm just glad she is talking to me.
I'm so grateful to have someone on my side today.
'It's a big day for you, isn't it Heather? The final meeting is today, right?'
'Yes, it is. I expect I'll find out about the other project today – the one with my own range of home improvement products. I'm just on my way down there now. Actually, I should really get going.'
Her face splits into a grin. 'Oh, how exciting!'
Nicole bounces in her seat a little. She always gets over her grievances with me pretty quickly. 'I really hope you get it, Heather – let me know everything that happens! Call me as soon as you know, won't you?'
'Yes, of course I will.'
She rolls up her window and waves at me enthusiastically before she drives off down the lane. I give her a ten-second head start before following behind her. She has already gone by the time I get to the junction.
After being in two-minds all down the lane, I decide to pull over near the main road and attempt to send James a message again. I take much less care this time, aware of the four-hour drive ahead of me and the errands I need to run. However, I am very careful of which recipient I select before I hit send.
61
The traffic is lighter than I expected and I make excellent time in the first part of my journey. At this rate, I should get there slightly earlier than I expected so there should be no issue with adding the finishing touches I wanted. This calms me slightly, but not a great deal.
My mind wanders back to the text that I sent to James. This morning I had thought it a good excuse to talk to him, but had I worded it casually enough? In my haste to resend, I suspect my tone was a little less casual than in the carefully crafted first message.
Another pang of regret stabs at me when I consider the fact that Gemma could have been by my husband's side when he read the message. What if it was her that had taken the key? I'd bet she would have had a right kick out of it.
Why didn't I word it better? I hope I didn't sound too panicked. At least my husband's ex can't see how my white knuckles grasp the steering wheel.
I'm not so familiar with where the big supermarkets are in mid-Wales, so I decide to play it safe and pick up the flowers from somewhere just outside Manchester instead. No one will know where I got them when they are arranged beautifully in the vases I picked up last week. And I should have plenty of time to do that once I get there.
Fresh flowers will really add an extra dimension to the décor I have designed and implemented. Adding both elegance and a homely feel to the properties. And I need every extra bit of edge I can get.
I pull into the ridiculously busy car park of a Tesco Extra, annoyed at being forced to park right in the corner.
I'm just about to dash out the door when my phone starts to buzz. When I realise it's a phone call and not a text, I pull out my phone from my bag and my heart leaps rather uncomfortably at the sight of James's name.
I withdraw my hand from the door handle and answer.
'Hello?' I'm disappointed at how unfamiliar my voice sounds and I clear my throat and straighten up in my driving seat.
'Hi, Heather – I got your message earlier.'
'Great – I didn't mean to text you with something so trivial, but I just needed to check if you had seen that key? Maybe you moved it when you were at my house recently?'
'I'm not sure which key you're talking about, Heather. But I didn't move anything like that when I was – well – there.'
A mirthless snort reaches my ear from James's end of the line.
'What is it?'
'Nothing.'
'No, it's something, James. What's so funny?' The muscles of my face contract as though I am smiling too, but I catch sight of myself in the flip-down mirror and realise it is more of a grimace.
James lets out another noise, and I can tell he just shrugged even though I can't see him.
'No, Heather, it's just you called it your house, not our house.'
'Yes, you did. When you were speaking just now you called it “my house”.'
I say nothing. I feel as though something cold and poisonous has just run down my throat.
'It's always been your house hasn't it, Heather? Ever since we moved in, it was always, “I want this” and “I want that”. It didn't matter one bit what I said. You had already made your mind up.'
'I'm sorry. I just wanted to make a nice home for us both to live in.'
'No, you wanted a nice house for you to live in. I just felt like a spare part. My opinion never meant anything to you.'
'Well, maybe we should have gone about things differently. You're right, James, I should have listened to you – I realise that now. '
'It's not just that, Heather. You've been distant for a long time now. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be living with a stranger? I know you've been keeping secrets from me.'
It's Gemma, I think. It has to be. She must know about my parents. Why else would she have driven into the estate that day? What if it had been her that had visited my parents? She could easily have said her name was Lisa. Has she told all this to James? Of course she would.
My heart is pounding, but I hardly notice. My voice comes out in hardly more than a whisper when I speak. 'What do you mean? What have I kept from you?'
'I think you know as well as I do, Heather. You keep all sorts from me and you think I can't tell. I mean – for goodness sake – why were you hiding sleeping pills in the house without telling me?'
'I didn't want you to know. I wanted everyone to think I have everything together.'
'But nobody really does. The ideal home you've created for your blog is just an image. It's all just a lie you've invented. Nobody should have a home that looks like a show house all the time. There should be wobbly crayon pictures stuck to the fridge door. And misshapen biscuits with messy icing at the island. And maybe the odd felt tip mark on the walls.'
A hard lump has developed in my throat and I fail to swallow it down. 'We can still have that,' I say, breathlessly. 'I want that.'
There is a long pause and James's voice breaks as he speaks again.
'I don't think so, Heather... I want to have kids with someone who is happy to do it. Not everyone wants to go down that path and that's fine. I don't want you to be unhappy.'
'I was happy with you...' My own voice falters and I find I can't let out everything I have been wanting to say to my husband for months.
A few moments pass and I sense James is taking time to compose himself.
'Look, Heather, maybe you should stop taking the pills though.'
'I'm not taking them! I only tried them once, but I didn't like what they did to me.'
James makes a sceptical noise at the end of the phone.
'You know, my mum took something similar after Dad died and they seemed to cause her to struggle more. I looked what you're taking up online after I left. Lilly was right – they can cause forgetfulness. Did you know you left the front door wide open?'
'What?'
'When I took Lilly back to your – well – back to the house, the front door was wide open.'
'No, it can't have been. I wouldn't have made a mistake like that – and anyway I double checked it.'
'Well, I thought that too, Heather. But if you're on medication...'
'It's not medication! And I hadn't taken those that day – or the day before. Someone must have been in the house.'
'Hmm. Did they also leave the bathroom taps on?'
'What do you mean?'
'The cold bathroom tap was left on. But the plug was in and the water had just risen to the overflow. If I hadn't gotten there when I did, it would have flooded, Heather. Just think of the damage that would have caused. I think you need to reassess your life.'
I shake my head. 'No. James, someone else must have done that. I wouldn't do such a thing!'
'Heather, you probably just forgot you did it, that was all... If your mind was elsewhere...'
'James – you know me. Other weird stuff has happened too since you've been gone – I swear someone has been in the house! There was writing on the bathroom mirror, and doors have turned out to be unlocked after I know for sure I had locked them.'
'Heather–'
'No, James – please believe me. You have to at least listen after leaving me in the house all by myself all this time!'
I breathe heavily, waiting for the silence to abate on the other end of the line.
'Heather, I'm sorry. I think you need some help.'
Now it is my turn to shake my head wordlessly. I lean back against the headrest and squeeze my eyes shut.
'I'm sorry I left the way I did, Heather. But it has given me some time to think. I've got a fresh perspective on things.'
My eyes fly open and I stare at the pale fabric of the car ceiling.
'I think you'll object, but I think we should consider divorce.'
'W-what? No–'
'I didn't expect you to agree with me. I should know you well enough by now.'
'But, you can't do this. I know things are bad, but we don't need to get divorced. W-why don't we try couples counselling – just like you suggested before.'
'That was months ago, Heather. I think we need to be realistic–'
'But I'm ready to change now! Please, James – just give me another chance–'
'Heather, you've had enough chances. Let's just admit it's not working–'
The ball of despair that I have been fighting for so long rears up inside me, wild and uncontrollable. My vision becomes blurry and I struggle, as I snatch the phone from my ear, to find the end call button.
I throw my phone at the dashboard and my shoulders shake with violent sobs. Now I really do sound unrecognisable. Everything that has happened over the last year – especially
the last few months flashes before my eyes.
I'm utterly furious with myself that I've let this happen and I slam my fists angrily onto the steering wheel.
There are several short bursts of noise but I am hardly aware of them, almost as though it is happening far away.
Blindly and with shaking hands, I feel for the door handle and step out onto the hard asphalt ground and slam the door behind me.
I take in big lungfuls of unseasonably warm air as I lean forwards with my palms against my pristine car. I face determinedly in the opposite direction of a pregnant woman returning her trolley to the nearest bay.
I'm oblivious to how much time has passed. My whole world just seems to have changed colour in a moment.
All of a sudden, I feel a strong grip on my upper arm causing me to gasp out loud.
I spin around and the person I see staring back at me knocks the remaining wind from my lungs.
62
It's Gemma.
'You,' I say, breathlessly. 'What are you doing here?' I shake my head 'Are you following me?'
'I just came over to see if I could help. I didn't realise it was you, Heather.'
'Liar.'
'Excuse me?' Her vague smile fades and she hastily lets go of my arm.
'You must have followed me here.'
She glances around the car park. A paint-splattered workman in a fluorescent vest roughly shoves his trolley back into the bay and stares over at us curiously as he returns to his white van.
'Look, I just heard the car horn go off a lot and thought someone was in trouble. I didn't know it was you until I came over, Heather. I certainly am not following you. OK?'
I shake my head. The rage coursing in my veins is ebbing slightly but I'm still shaking. I fold my arms so she can't see.'
Gemma takes another glance around before she lowers her voice. 'Is everything all right?'
I laugh savagely, again wondering who is controlling my voice, scared by the stranger I hear in it. Is this what James meant? 'No, actually. Everything is not all right. My husband is leaving me. But I'm sure you already knew t
hat.'
Another jolt of anger stabs at me when I see that there is not so much as a trace of surprise in her delicate features.
She nods in a patronising sort of way. 'OK, Heather. I can see why you might be upset. But it's not a good idea to take it out on those around you, all right?'
Instantly, I can imagine this is how she deals with difficult clients at work. James always said she was the best of his colleagues at easing a difficult situation.
She has failed in this case though because I'm now even more furious.
'No, it's not all right – I don't need to be spoken to like a child either! How dare you even talk to me when you have been sneaking around with my husband. I saw you together recently – driving off somewhere during his lunch break. Have a nice cosy meal somewhere did you?'
Gemma has the audacity to drop her head and smile at the faded car park bay markings before she speaks again. 'I see what James means now. You really are self-absorbed aren't you, Heather?'
'What?'
'You know I'm engaged, don't you?'
'No, I didn't know that. James didn't mention it...' My voice trails off as something tugs at the recesses of my memory. For some reason I think of the romantic dinner I had with James on the night I found out I was going to Milan.
She shrugs and smirks further, her dimples deepening upon her perfect fair skin. 'I'm sure he did, Heather. Anyway, if you had paid any attention to those around you, you would remember that you've met my fiancée already. She was at James's birthday party before Christmas.'
'She?'
Another memory floats to the surface of my mind – of James's birthday party and of the woman who seemed to stick close to Gemma all evening. Now that I think of it, those moments make sense. I look back to the woman standing in front of me now and find her watching me closely. There is something like pity in her bright blue eyes.
'You only see what you want to see, don't you? James always says you're not a great listener – I just always thought he was exaggerating...' She looks at her watch. 'Well, as much fun as it always is talking to you, Heather, I've got to take off. I've got a meeting to get to. See you.'