Kate walked briskly, pushing the buggy ahead of her as though she were in training. The jolting didn’t seem to bother Millie who was waving her hands in the air, laughing and watching as everything rushed by. Kate just needed to get home. She needed to think. She needed to sit down and think really long and hard because Alex had left her and she needed to find out why. And she especially needed to find out if it was anything to do with Sandra Maddison.
Chapter 3
By the time Kate arrived home the tears had become something of a permanent addition. She would become aware that her face was wet and would brush aside the constant stream of despair.
It was lunch time and despite Millie’s smiling face Kate knew that a five minute delay would bring on tears to equal anything that Kate could produce, so taking deep breaths and trying to control her shaking hands, she stripped Millie of her outdoor clothes and sat her in the highchair. Millie watched eagerly as Kate prepared some lunch, her daughter was easy to feed, Kate had yet to find something that didn’t meet with Millie’s approval.
‘Shepherd’s Pie Millie, what do you think?’
Millie clapped her hands together in glee although Kate seriously doubted she understood what was being offered and for the next half hour her attention was given to her small daughter who ate the mashed up shepherd’s pie, wolfed down the baby yoghurt and emptied her feeder cup. With a satisfied burp Millie sat back to look at her mother through a smeary face and hair containing more than its fair share of yoghurt.
Kate smiled sadly. ‘Oh Millie darling, what is going on?’ she whispered, her cheeks once more wet with tears.
It was clear that Millie wasn’t too upset by the morning’s activities and she smiled happily at her mother before throwing her cup on the floor and pointing to it with a delighted smile.
Retrieving the cup Kate looked at the sink, full once more with cup and plates and the surface sprinkled with crumbs.
The kitchen was usually immaculate by now. When Millie had her morning nap Kate would whirl through the house restoring order and throwing things in the washing machine so when Millie finally woke Kate could devote her time to her small, demanding daughter.
Kate shrugged her shoulders. The kitchen would have to wait and wiping Millie down with a flannel she lifted her out of the highchair and took her into the living room. Even in here the absence of Kate’s routine was visible. Normally she would have dashed in at some point to plump the cushions, placing them back on the settee in the correct order (who has a correct order for cushions Alex often asked), shaking out the throw and replacing it with the fringe straight and hanging neatly downwards, folding the newspaper that Alex usually left on the floor and putting away any magazines or books that Kate had read the night before. But this morning Kate didn’t give the disorganised cushions a second glance as she dropped Millie into her bouncing chair with donkey for comfort and pulled open one of the sideboard drawers so violently that it flew from its runners and landed heavily on Kate’s foot. Wincing with pain but not stopping to examine for any damage, Kate upended the drawer on the settee and began looking feverishly through its contents.
Hundreds of photographs were stuffed into envelopes, all supposedly waiting to be transferred into the scrapbook that Kate had decided to create. The scrapbook lay in the second drawer, still wrapped and waiting for the day Kate found a spare few hours.
She pulled out envelope after envelope throwing them to one side with a tsk of annoyance until her fingers pulled out one that made her stop. She held it close, taking a deep breath. Carelessly she brushed her hand across the settee, pushing everything onto the floor before holding the envelope upside down and scattering its contents across the seats. She spread the photographs out, face upwards, her fingers desperately seeking the one she knew was there until with a sharp intake of breath she stopped. She could see it, half hidden by others but she knew it was the one and slowly she shook it free and raised it to eye level, her eyes flitting over every figure in the captured scene.
Fiona had given her the pictures. There was always a Christmas photographer at the work’s party and anyone who wanted could have a copy of the evening unfolding and caught through the lens of the camera. ‘You didn’t come but at last you can see what happened!’ Fiona had said as she presented the envelope to Kate.
They had spent a lovely afternoon looking through the photographs with Fee giving a running commentary as to who said what, who disgraced themselves at the bar, who embarrassed themselves on the dance floor and who threw caution to the winds and indulged in a little Christmas fling! No mention had been made of Alex’s flirting and Kate had looked on indulgently at the evidence of her husband enjoying a night out with his colleagues.
But one photograph had been burning its image into Kate’s mind as she walked home. One photograph of the group that had included Fiona and Alex, a line of people all leaning in to wave their glasses in the air as they shouted Happy Christmas. She worked her way along the picture, putting names to faces until she came to Alex, then stopped. Standing beside Stuart, Alex was holding his glass aloft like the rest of the party as he smiled into the camera. On his other side, the last person in the shot, stood a woman. Kate vaguely remembered asking Fiona at the time who she was and being satisfied with the answer. She couldn’t remember what Fiona had said but now, staring at the figure, she knew without a shadow of doubt that she was looking at Sandra Maddison.
She was tall and slim as Fee had described. Her hair was upswept and still immaculate compared to others in the group whose hair was becoming untidy and losing its pre-party shape. She was pretty, very pretty. And there was no air of desperation that Kate could detect no matter how long she looked at the picture.
She was standing very close to Alex. Kate tried to excuse this as a necessary party pose and her eyes travelled along the rest of the gathered figures. They were all standing close together she reasoned, and yet ….
Was it her imagination or was Sandra Maddison leaning in towards Alex, almost relaxing against the length of his body. Was there a suggestion of intimacy as she raised her glass in the air? Were the back of their hands touching as their glasses moved upwards? Were Sandra’s eyes moving in the direction of Alex’s own rather than towards the camera and more importantly, was Alex’s other arm actually around Sandra’s waist, resting on the curve of her hip just out of shot?
Kate was breathing rapidly. She brushed her hand impatiently against her tear soaked cheeks and stared at the picture trying to see beyond the image and into the night itself. Sandra Maddison wouldn’t have been sat on the same table as Alex. She was not part of the group that would traditionally be seated together. So to be on the picture she must have gone to the table to talk to someone … Alex? Had she slipped into an empty seat wondered Kate? Had she sat beside Alex and asked him what he thought of the meal, the evening? Had he turned to her with a smile and said that the turkey was a little dry, the vegetables were too hard and there weren’t enough potatoes? No of course not. That was the sort of conversation he would have had with Kate. This was a beautiful woman, with no sign of a baby pouch still sitting on her stomach. She was wearing an expensive new dress and no doubt there was a recent visit to the hairdresser and quite possibly the beauty salon showing on her credit card. No thought Kate, the conversation would have been far more relaxed, much more intimate. Perhaps Sandra had rested her hand on Alex’s arm and asked him how he was enjoying the evening. He would have put his head close to hers so she could hear him over the music pounding through the room and explained that his wife had refused to come because she was too tired. Perhaps Sandra had given a little pout and offered a ‘poor you’ to which Alex had no doubt nodded his head vigorously and agreed, yes indeed poor him.
Fiona had mentioned flirting. Is this how it had started? A little sympathy at the dinner table. And then afterwards? Had they walked onto the dance floor hand in hand to twirl and whirl, exchanging lingering looks when their eyes met, holding hands briefly as though
to steady themselves, feeling the chemistry shoot up their arms and straight into their hearts. Had they declared they were going to grab some fresh air and separately made their way to the dark terraces outside, gliding towards each other, neither saying a word as their lips met? Had Alex run his hands over her body, pulling her closer to him as they shivered from both passion and the freezing temperatures of a dark December night?
Kate realised that she couldn’t see the photograph any more for the shimmer of tears that had fallen onto its surface and weeping in anguish she clutched the photo to her heart and cried as though she would never stop while Millie chewed donkey’s ear and watched her mother slide from the settee to sit on the floor racked by sobs.
Ignoring the state of the kitchen Kate put Millie down for her afternoon nap and still clutching the picture of Alex and Sandra in one hand, she pulled out the other envelopes, all crammed full of photographs. Recently any photos taken went straight onto the computer but these envelopes contained Kate and Alex’s early relationship, a series of snapshots that featured two smiling faces now spread across the settee and the floor.
They had met when Alex, a serious young man with his first job in marketing still in its infancy, came into the café where Kate, a carefree spirit with no career to speak off was working until she decided what to do next. Alex had been in every day for a week and Kate had taken to the tall rangy figure with the blonde hair that flopped onto his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back. Alex in his turn had fallen head over heels for the slender young woman with the strawberry blonde hair that hung down her back in a thick curly plait, trying hard to escape the pins keeping it in place. Her dark gray eyes were wide, framed by dark lashes that caught and held Alex’s gaze. But it was Kate herself that fascinated him, the bubbly, infectious joy of Kate’s manner that left him quite enchanted.
Little did Kate know that Alex was potentially damaging his career by spending every lunch hour in the small tea room instead of joining the other thrusting young executives at the funky new sushi bar around the corner. And little did Alex know that Kate had left her letter of resignation in her pocket all that week as she waited each lunchtime for the tall young man to walk through the door and give her a shy smile as he ordered a ham salad sandwich. By the end of a week that had progressed to names but little else, Kate had decided to take the step that Alex didn’t seem quite able to reach and gently suggested that maybe they should meet one evening, away from the café.
Kate looked at the photographs she had spread around the floor; there were so many of them. Their third date when they joined a couple of Kate’s friends and drove to a pub by the canal, Alex gazing adoringly at a windswept Kate who sat in the crook of his arm and watched the boats glide past.
Another taken the first time they went to Kate’s mum’s for Sunday lunch, dressed up for the rather exacting standards she imposed and looking a little strained as they sat ramrod straight at the table. Their first holiday together, laying on the beach in Malaga and looking sun kissed and totally in love; their first flat; their engagement party where Kate, beside herself with happiness drifted around the room showing everyone her diamond ring and a smile that wouldn’t disappear while Alex stood at the bar looking inordinately pleased with himself.
It was all there, the story of their lives together. Kate stared at them for hours, lining them up in an order that charted the progress from the very first few days of their relationship to the small but elaborate wedding Kate’s mum had insisted on hosting and paying for; their eventual move to the house where Kate had imagined they would spend their next decade together and culminating in a shot of Kate and Alex staring anxiously down at a tiny red faced figure in Kate’s arms.
Kate picked up each photograph, searching Alex’s face for clues. Did he look less loving in this photo than the one before? When did that adoring look leave his eye? At what stage should Kate have seen that he had moved away from her and would now spend his Christmas parties flirting with slim blonde women called Sandra as they trailed their hand along his arm and whispered seductively in his ear?
Kate was struggling. In every photo the smile Alex sent in her direction was as loving as the previous one. Sometimes he was laughing, his arm thrown around Kate’s shoulders, sometimes his face was serious as he looked adoringly into her eyes. But no matter how hard Kate looked, no matter how many times she looked, there was no sign, no clue at all that Alex Patterson had decided that Kate was no longer the love of his life and he was about to pack his case and walk out of the door.
Chapter 4
Later that evening there was a knock at the door and Kate shot up from her semi sleeping state, skidding through the newspapers and photos that littered the floor as she flew to answer it, her heart hammering.
‘Oh,’ she said, disappointment clouding her face, ‘come in.’
Fiona followed her into the hall.
‘I just wanted to check that you were alright,’ she said giving Kate a quick hug. ‘Have you heard from Alex? I thought you might need someone to talk to.’
Kate shook her head. She hadn’t been able to suppress the tiny fragment of hope that it had been Alex who was knocking at the door, Alex who had come home having decided she had learnt her lesson.
‘He would have used his key honey, he wouldn’t be knocking on his own front door.’
Kate’s eyes flew to her friend. ‘Mind reader,’ she accused trying to smile.
‘Not really,’ sighed Fiona, ‘it’s written all over your face.’
Kate shrugged. ‘Tea?’ she offered and turned to walk away, shoulders sunk with depression.
Fiona only just managed to stop the exclamation as she followed Kate into the kitchen. Fiona was notoriously untidy and constantly teased Kate for refusing to relax her high standards even with a small baby creating chaos around the house. But the kitchen looked like a student flat. Every surface was covered with something, pots were piled high in the sink, the kettle was sitting on the dresser and the milk sat on top of the hob which mercifully was turned off. As Kate looked round for the kettle, her bleary eyes wandering unfocused around the room, Fiona slipped off her coat and took Kate by the arm.
‘Go sit down honey. I’ll make the tea, you put your feet up.’
Kate nodded and wandered aimlessly back into the living room as Fiona looked round her in dismay, rolled her sleeves up and attacked the chaos.
Twenty minutes later she carried a tray of tea and biscuits through to the living room. The sink was empty, the dishwasher loaded and turned on, the misplaced items returned to their homes, surfaces tidied and cleaned.
Having restored order in the kitchen she almost dropped the tray as she entered the living room. Kate was curled up in an armchair by the fire. The TV was a blank screen in one corner of the room and the lights were off but in the glow of the street lighting Fiona could see the mayhem that covered every inch of the room. Balancing the tray, she flicked on a light so she could walk through the piles of photographs spread across the floor and make it safely to the small table by Kate’s chair, one of the few surfaces not covered with memories.
Biting her lip, she touched Kate’s shoulder to rouse her from her reverie as she stared through the window to the dark garden beyond. Looking around, Fiona failed to find anywhere to sit so she slid to the floor at Kate’s feet and reached out to touch the line of photos that snaked around the room, overlapping, crowding on top of each other, sweeping across the floor, onto the sofa and back onto the floor, all clearly set out with some path in mind.
‘Having a clear out?’ she asked lightly.
Kate shook her head listlessly and for the first time Fiona noticed that she was clutching something in her hand.
Reaching out she gently uncurled Kate’s fingers from the fist they had formed and smoothed out the crumpled photo.
Suddenly Kate came back to life and jumping out of the chair she squatted down by Fiona’s knees.
‘That’s her isn’t it?’ she demand
ed eagerly. ‘That’s Sandra Maddison!’
Fiona stared at the picture. It was hard to see who anyone was anymore. Clutched in Kate’s hand for hours the surface had broken and caused white lines to form across the faces of the people gathered. But Fiona obediently looked at the line of people toasting Christmas and at the blonde woman who Kate was stabbing at with her finger.
‘No,’ said Fiona in surprise. ‘that’s not Sandra. That’s the head of sales, Gwen. You met her at the last social we had. Remember? She’d just spent two years working in California and we both said how we’d love to visit there one day.’
Kate stared at Fiona in bemusement. ‘So that’s not Sandra?’
‘No of course it’s not.’
Kate grabbed the photo from Fiona’s hand.
‘But I was so sure. Look at them … look at them Fee!’
Fiona obligingly looked at the figures standing side by side.
‘You can tell can’t you, you can tell just by looking - can’t you?’
Fiona bit her lip. ‘Tell what honey?’
‘That they’re together, that they want to be together!’
Fiona looked hard at the photo, at Alex smiling into the camera and Gwen standing by his side, leaning forward so she was in the shot, her hand raised in a toast, smiling.
‘Kate, they’re not together …’
‘They are!’ Kate’s voice was almost a scream and she snatched back the photo. ‘Look how close they’re standing, look how she’s leaning on him, look at his arm … LOOK!’
She waved the photo in Fiona’s face, almost scratching her friend’s nose as she thrust it closer. But Fee shook her head, worry etching a line between her eyes.
‘Kate they’re not together. Look at everyone else, they’re all standing close to each other. We had to so we could all get in the photo. And what do you mean look at Alex’s arm, I can’t see his arm …’
‘Exactly!’ shouted Kate clutching her stomach and doubling over with grief. ‘Because he’s touching her with it, it’s out of shot because he’s touching her, I know he is!’
Google Your Husband Back: An wonderful tale of love, loss and how to get your husband back! Page 3
