AMANDA MARTIN
TWO-HUNDRED STEPS HOME
Amanda Martin was born in Hertfordshire in 1976. After graduating with first class honours from Leeds University she wandered around the world trying to find her place in it. She tried various roles, in England and New Zealand, including Bar Manager, Marketing Manager, Consultant and Artist, before deciding that Writer/Mummy best summed her up. She lives in Northamptonshire with her husband, two children and labradoodle Kara and can mostly be found at http://writermummy.wordpress.com
Two-Hundred Steps Home is her latest work. Amanda is writing the novel in daily instalments on her WriterMummy blog as part of her 2013 365 post-a-day challenge. This ebook is Volume 7 and contains the 31 instalments from July.
COPYRIGHT
Published by 3AD Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © Amanda Martin 2013
Amanda Martin asserts the moral right to be
identified as the author of this work
Also by Amanda Martin:
Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 1
Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 2
Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 3
Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 4
Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 5
Two-Hundred Steps Home: Volume 6
Dragon Wraiths
Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes
This novel is entirely a work of fiction although based loosely on the YHA Hostels of England and Wales. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
http://www.amanda-martin.co.uk
http://writermummy.wordpress.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Follow the Blog
About the Author
ONE
Claire dragged at the car handle, but it wouldn’t open. She aimed a kick at the tyre and immediately regretted it, as her toe stabbed through the skimpy sandals she’d purchased to go with her maid of honour dress.
Behind her, she could hear that the band had started their next song. Slowly, the conversation returned, almost drowning out the sound of approaching footsteps. They weren’t the light ones she wanted to hear, but the heavy tread of an unwelcome male. For a moment she hoped it might be Jeff, come to reassure her that Kim wasn’t really that angry. Then she caught a hint of aftershave on the night breeze, and hope died.
Praying she could escape into the dark, Claire scurried round the car and wove through the others in the car park until she reached a Range Rover. Without thinking, Claire ducked down in the shadow of the 4x4 and listened. The footsteps stopped, and she felt he might hear her heart thudding in the silence, despite the sounds of the party in the distance.
“Claire?”
Michael’s voice rang out, closer than Claire expected. She flinched, but stayed ducked low, trying not to dwell on how absurd her actions were.
“Come on, Claire. I saw you come over here. The Skoda’s locked. Why are you hiding like a child?”
Because you sound like an angry parent. Claire clenched her jaw, and dug her nails into her hand. She concentrated on keeping her breathing shallow. Go away, Michael. You’ve done enough damage. Let me skulk off in peace.
The footsteps came nearer, crunching the gravel underfoot. Claire tensed, ready to run. She wondered if she should remove her sandals, but they were preferable to running barefoot across the stones. Michael stood between her and the hostel entrance.
“What are you going to do, Claire? Hide out here all night? I’m going to go and wait in our room, so you’ll have to face me eventually.” He stopped, as if listening for a response.
“You’re being childish, Claire. So Kim’s angry, so what? She’s the bride and, from what you say, she’s pregnant. Tears and tantrums go with the territory.” His voice sounded amused, patronising. Claire wanted to fly at him and gouge his eyes with her pink nails.
What did I ever see in him? What a self-satisfied prig. Kim was right. Thinking about her best friend – and the look of anger on her face as she inadvertently revealed her secret to all her wedding guests – brought bile to Claire’s throat. Her head thumped with too much champagne and she swallowed hard against the urge to vomit. That would give her away for sure.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. What a mess. She shivered, realising it was bitterly cold out in the car park, away from the heat of the hostel. Come on Michael, go away! She wondered if he was going to stand there all night, cornering her until she had to break cover or freeze. Then she remembered his threat to stand guard over her bag and car keys. What a tosser.
“Okay, Claire. Have it your way. I’m going to sit in the warm and wait for you to come to your senses.”
She heard the sound of gravel crunching, fading into the distance, as Michael carried out his threat.
“Damn!” Claire whispered, when she was sure he was gone. She stood and stretched out cramped muscles, resisting the temptation to lean against the Range Rover in case it set off the alarm. “How am I going to get my stuff back, without facing him?”
She stood in the dark and brushed away the tears, as options ran through her mind. She could bribe a member of staff to distract him, or call the police and tell them Michael was harassing her. Or she could get the RAC to get her into the car, tell them she had dropped the keys down a drain. Or she could just face him, and get it over with. Get the hell out, and leave him and his self-righteous preaching behind.
Shoulders back, chin high, Claire strode towards the building.
***
TWO
Claire strode down the corridor, hoping the surge of anger didn't fade before she reached her room. In her head, she replayed Michael's words, and pushed all thoughts of Kim aside. Time enough to worry about her friend when she had her things and was safely away from the wedding. She had no idea where she would go, but that, too, could wait.
As she stalked past guests, she caught occasional glimpses of their faces. Some merely looked shocked to see her striding past like the grim reaper. Others glared and made noises as if to berate her. She shook them off like pesky flies.
At last the bedroom door was in front of her. She hoped, for a moment, that Michael had been bluffing and had re-joined the party. It would be a relief to collect her things and leave, with no more words spoken. Then his voice echoed in her mind, as he called her childish. His smug, arrogant voice, as he'd
explained how he intended to brow-beat her into submission.
Bastard.
Claire flung open the door and had the satisfaction of seeing Michael jump. Before he could gather himself, she swept in and began collecting her things together. Hot words filled her mouth, but she knew the shaking in her limbs would betray her if she spoke. If she could gather everything up before Michael had a chance to open his mouth, he could hurl whatever accusations he liked at her retreating back.
It was a vain hope.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“I can see that.” He leant back against the headboard. “I mean, where are you going? It's nearly midnight. We're miles from anywhere. You can't leave.”
“Watch me.”
Michael sat up, narrowly missing head-butting the top bunk. He swung his feet to the floor and glared up at her.
“Claire, you're being childish. Go and find Kim, apologise. We'll sleep on it and everything will seem a hundred times better in the morning.”
“Apologise? I have nothing to be sorry for. It was you who blurted her secret out to the whole party.”
“And who told me that secret in the first place?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she itched to slap him.
“I only said she wanted a baby. You put it together in your mind, because you're obsessed. Honestly, Michael, what is it with you? I didn't think men had a biological clock?”
She looked over at him, on her way to the bathroom to get her things, and saw something in his expression, a vulnerability, that made her hesitate. There was a reason behind his desire to be a dad. For a moment she wanted to know what it was. Then his face shifted and resumed the smug expression he had worn since the party. Resuming her journey to the en-suite, she spoke over her shoulder.
“I will apologise to Kim when she's had a chance to calm down. I won’t encroach on her special day any further.” Walking back into the bedroom, she stood facing him, hands on hips.
“As for staying here tonight, I don't think that's appropriate, do you? I shall find a motel. Make yourself scarce tomorrow. You are not welcome, and I do not want to see you here when I return.” She stuffed the last of her things into her bag, enjoying the stunned silence.
Soon everything was packed, and it seemed she would escape without any more words from Michael. As she reached the door, he spoke.
“You've changed, Claire. You’ve grown hard. You never used to be this confrontational.”
She turned and smiled. “Well, more fool me. I haven’t grown hard, Michael, I’ve grown up. You should try it some time.”
With that she wrenched open the door and stormed down the corridor.
***
THREE
Claire checked her rear-view mirror, half-expecting to see Kim run from the building to prevent her from leaving. She waited, five seconds, ten. At last, with the Skoda at risk of over-heating, she pushed the stick into gear and accelerated from the car park, wheels spinning on the gravel.
The satnav had merrily informed her of several hotels within driving distance, but Claire couldn't face checking in at 1am and facing some all-night security guard with raised eyebrows. No one turned up in the middle of the night, in a bridesmaid dress, without a story to tell.
Claire looked at the numbers on the blue screen and sighed. How long until I reach the first open Starbucks.
Claire sat in the car, watching the numbers tick over. She raised the cardboard coffee cup to her lips and sipped, pulling a face at the tepid liquid. It was tempting to drive back to the services and pick up a fresh cup. It would kill some time, at least. Her eyelids dragged, reminding her she was in no fit state to drive any further. Twisting at the dial on her seat, Claire let the chair slip back and tried to get comfortable. Sleep evaded her, and she watched the numbers move through unfocussed eyes.
At last, the hour digit reached seven. She stretched, cricking her neck left and right, then rubbed her eyes, cursing as mascara made them sting. Pulling her cardigan tighter, Claire thanked God she’d thought to get changed. The bridesmaid dress now lay in a carrier-bag on the doorstep of a charity shop, next to a sign urging that donations not be left there. What was one more wrongdoing in a day littered with them?
Swallowing hard and cursing the snakes twisting in her stomach, Claire walked up the path and rang the bell. There was no answer. She waited, unsure what to do if no one was in. Her hand was raised, ready to ring the bell a second time, when footsteps reached her on the other side of the glass door, and a figure appeared through the frosting.
The sound of locks being released, and the chain being slid back, echoed loudly in the early-morning hush. The door eventually opened, and an ashen face appeared, brow creased.
“Claire! What are you doing here, and at this hour?”
Claire smiled wearily at the familiar face, peering at her from beneath a head of curlers. She resisted the urge to cry.
“Hi Mum, can I come in?”
***
FOUR
Claire looked at her mother over the top of her mug of Earl Grey and waited for the interrogation. Her mother's restraint thus far was beginning to unnerve her.
Perhaps it's too early for the Spanish Inquisition stuff. Or maybe she doesn't care that her youngest child just turned up on the door step at 7am when she was meant to be at a wedding.
She tried to remember if her mother even knew about Kim's marriage. As she’d only found out herself a few weeks ago, it seemed likely that she hadn’t told her about it. I seem to have told all the wrong people all the wrong things.
Claire sighed, and wondered why her mother was being so reticent. I guess there’s only one thing on her mind. Deciding that was as good an opener as any, she set down the mug.
“How's Ruth?”
“She's okay. A bit low. Sky wants to be outside playing – now the nights are getting lighter – and she doesn't have the strength to keep up with her. I think the poorly-parent novelty has worn off.”
Claire tried to read through her mother's words, searching for the accusations. If they were there, her mother was adopting a subtler approach than usual. The only impression Claire got was of a tired woman battling on with the hand life had dealt her.
“I'll stop by later, take Sky to that farm she kept raving about.” Claire recalled that she’d promised to take Sky there with Kim and Jeff, and hoped Sky's memory wasn't as accurate. She didn't want to think about them, not yet. She waited for her mother to start the questions, but she had disappeared back into her own thoughts, head bowed.
“Mum, is it okay if I stay for a night or two?”
Her mother glanced up, and nodded, without speaking. Claire felt wrong-footed. In the still of the kitchen, she listened to the clock ticking until it felt like the countdown of a bomb.
The silence stretched like a gaping void, pulling her in. Oh, what the hell, she'll find out eventually, even if she clearly doesn't give a toss.
“It was Kim's wedding yesterday. We had a fight.”
Her mother nodded again, without looking up.
“I've had an offer of work, which will mean going overseas. I came home to get my passport, and to talk it over with you and Ruth.”
Again the silent nod. Claire swallowed down an urge to scream.
“Mum, are you listening? I said I might be flying halfway round the world. Do you even care?”
Her mother raised her head at last, and Claire saw that her mother's eyes were red and circled with dark smudges.
“Mum, are you okay?”
Her mother dropped her eyes again, as if making eye contact were too hard. She gazed at the table and twisted her fingers.
“I think your father is having an affair.”
And then she let her head fall on her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.
***
FIVE
Claire froze, unsure how to react. She had never seen her mother cry before. Melanie Carleton did not show her feelings; it was vulgar. The
most extreme portrayal of emotion thus far, in Claire’s experience, was irritation or chiding. Nothing to compare with the shuddering sobs shaking her mother’s shoulders. She knew she should offer comfort. Words, a hug. Somehow her body wouldn’t rise from the hard kitchen seat. She sat mute, and waited for the storm to pass.
Eventually, her mother raised her head and brushed at her cheeks, as if angry to find tears there. Claire willed herself to speak, the words dredged from her.
“Can I get you anything? Tea?”
Melanie shook her head. Her lips twisted, as if a bitter taste had filled her mouth.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Oh, Mum.” Claire rose, finally galvanised into motion. Moving round the table, she wrapped one arm awkwardly around her mother’s shoulders. Melanie reached to grasp her daughter’s hand, and they remained for some time in silence.
After a few minutes, her mother patted her hand, and Claire took the signal to sit back down. She pulled up a chair, sitting knee to knee.
“Why do you think he’s having an affair? That doesn’t seem like Dad.”
Melanie sighed. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. I’m never here, what with picking Sky up from school and making sure Ruth takes care of herself. I can understand your father needing to find something to fill his time.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s another woman.” Claire thought, guiltily, about the conversation she’d had with her father, last time she was home. She wanted to tell her mother, reassure her, but she’d revealed too many secrets recently. But surely it would be better than her mother thinking she was a cuckolded woman.
Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume Seven Page 1
