by Anna Jacobs
‘Keeping the house clean is not the same as making it look its best. It really could do with brightening up. You never did get round to painting the living areas.’
‘I don’t do decorating. Anyway, I’m not spending any more money on the house, apart from that damned roof.’
‘Neither am I, then. I’ll just have to do my best with what we’ve got. Have you sent off your application for the decree absolute?’
‘Of course. Keith’s sorted all that out. And you?’
‘Naturally. You’re having an easy ride through this divorce with Keith doing everything, damn you.’
‘Haven’t I always told you, it’s the connections you make who facilitate things, in life as well as in business? Only you were too stupid to see that.’
Too stupid to suck up to people she disliked, yes. She hated his smugness, but he had plenty to be smug about. He was doing really well in his career, and she was sure he wasn’t going to be made redundant.
She wasn’t doing nearly as well and she’d become increasingly conscious of that during their two years together. She’d never set out to become deputy manager in a big supermarket chain. She’d worked for an uncle in his shop, enjoying the interactions with customers.
Then she married quite young and moved away. That hadn’t worked out as they’d planned, and the management trainee job had turned up when she needed to get another job – any job.
At the time, she hadn’t much cared what she did to earn a living, just about the money she could earn, because she had much more important problems to deal with. More important to her in accepting the job offer had been the company’s flexible attitude to hours, once she’d explained her problems.
Their training programme had been good – she’d give them that – and she’d risen to deputy manager in one of the smaller branches – not one of the giant ones. But she knew she’d get no further in the organization, didn’t even want to.
She did her job in a responsible manner, but she’d never been able to bring much enthusiasm to the act of enhancing and facilitating what they called ‘the shopping experience’. Ha! She knew that most women wanted only to get their family’s food supplies as quickly and cheaply as possible.
The most interesting part of the job, to her, was coaching the junior staff and mothering them a little if they needed it. Some of them were fresh from school – such babies, however grown-up they looked and tried to act.
Putting the phone down, she sighed at her own inadequacies. That’s what Stu always did to her these days: made her feel stupid.
Perhaps she was stupid. She’d been taken in by him, after all, and had lost a lot through marrying him. Not just money but confidence. She’d let him dominate their marriage, take over the finances, make the important decisions about their life together. He’d done it bit by bit, and she hadn’t even realized how he’d taken control.
All she’d wanted was to start a family before she grew too old and build a happy life together. But Stu had always found good reasons to postpone having children.
She could hear his words now. Soon, sweetie. Let’s get ourselves a bit better established first.
What she should have done, if she’d had any sense, was live with him for a while and see how they got on. Tania had begged her to do that. But Stu had swept Gabi off her feet and into wedlock.
Or, in this case, into property-lock.
She had provided most of the money for the deposit on the house, but nowhere in the records did it say that. He’d switched small sums of money around various bank accounts, borrowed from her, paid it back by putting it into the house fund. And she had no way now of proving that it was mostly her money which had paid the deposit.
Oh, stop moaning, she told herself. Get on with your life, you fool. You’re still only thirty-five. The world hasn’t ended.
But her chances of having a family were slim now, and that hurt.
The trouble was, she had to figure out what to do next before she could get on with her life, and she simply couldn’t decide on anything.
There was only one thing she was certain of: she wasn’t getting married again.
Never, ever.
Three
Gabi got the roof repaired within a month, but by the time work on it finished, she felt exhausted, what with dealing with the builders every day before work and clearing up after them inside the house when she got home.
The men cleared most of the debris from outside, but there seemed to be dust everywhere inside, something she found hard to live with. Who wanted to eat their evening meal off a gritty table? Prepare food on a dusty surface? Not her.
There were a lot of other things to do, too, what with sorting out Stu’s possessions, as well as her own. He’d taken some of his things but by no means all. He’d left a pile of boxes in the smaller of the two spare bedrooms.
The boxes showed he was a man of whims – as if she didn’t know that by now. He’d gear up for some new pastime, usually involving the purchase of expensive equipment and special clothes, enjoy it for a while, then lose interest. There was kit from several interests that must have happened before they got married – weight training, fishing, a gun club even – plus the remains of the fads she’d witnessed and teased him about after their marriage, such as golf.
What fashionable pastime hadn’t he tried? Even she could tell he wasn’t cut out for sports requiring a lot of boring training. He was too impatient, wanting instant gratification in everything.
When she studied the living areas of the house with a buyer’s eye, she knew she had to paint the walls at least, because they looked positively dingy in the bright, spring sunlight.
She was so weary by then she sat down and cried at the mere thought of all the extra work. ‘Damn you, Stuart Dixon, for leaving it all to me!’ she sobbed. ‘I hope you get what you deserve one day.’
He wouldn’t, of course: he could charm his way through any situation.
After much thought, she asked the store manager if she could take the rest of her holidays as special emergency leave. He wasn’t at all pleased about that, because they had a huge healthy eating campaign about to hit all the shops in the chain.
‘I don’t think we can manage any leave just now, Gabi,’ he said gently.
‘Then I’m sorry, but I’ll have to resign. I just … can’t go on like this. I’m too tired to think straight.’
He stared in shock at this ultimatum and studied her more closely. ‘You look exhausted. Two weeks, then. But see you have a good rest.’
‘I’m sorry but I need a full month.’ Tears escaped her control and she dabbed at her eyes. ‘Sorry.’
He shook his head and gave in. ‘That month is your limit, Mrs Dix— um, Ms Newman. And perhaps you should consult a doctor. You seem rather … depressed. It must be a very trying time for you.’
‘Thank you. I will see my doctor if I don’t improve; I can’t seem to pull myself together. Anyway, I’m very grateful.’
He flapped one hand at her. ‘Go home straight away. And take things easy.’
She only wished she could, but she had a lot to do.
It was just starting to rain and the house felt damp and cold. She didn’t sort out the painting equipment, as she’d planned, but crawled into bed. As she got warmer, she let herself sink into oblivion. Just an hour or so. She’d work better after a good rest.
When she woke it was dusk. She looked at the bedside clock in astonishment. How could she possibly have slept so long?
When she went downstairs, she couldn’t be bothered to cook, so made herself some toast and jam. She wasn’t very hungry, anyway.
She wished Tania wasn’t away on holiday in Greece, and that she hadn’t lost touch with most of her other friends since her marriage. Tania wasn’t the only one who hadn’t taken to Stu, but the others had voted with their feet, making excuses not to get together until she stopped inviting them.
It was at times like this that Gabi most missed having close family. Her
parents were dead. They had been quite old when they’d had her – a late-life surprise. They’d seen that she was reasonably well educated and had treated her with mild fondness, but they had been too set in their ways to change.
Unfortunately they’d died, one after the other, a couple of years after she finished business college. And the money she might have expected to inherit from the sale of their house turned out to have been invested in a reverse mortgage to buy an annuity, which they’d only had the benefit of for a couple of years.
Everything had been left to her, but after she’d cleared the house and paid the remaining bills from their bank account, there had been very little to inherit. She still really resented that wasted annuity – she could have found them better financial help, had they asked for it. Which they never did.
As she emptied their house, she was upset to find very little information about either side of the family – no old photos, letters or diaries. Her mother had insisted on clearing everything out after her husband died, and had refused Gabi’s help.
‘You won’t want to go through our personal things, dear. It’s a thankless task, believe me. There’s nothing of interest to anyone but Henry and me. Anyway, clearing it all out will give me something to do.’
But Gabi hadn’t expected her mother to destroy everything.
She knew there were still a few distant cousins and their descendants left on her father’s side. They lived in the north, somewhere in Lancashire. Two of the cousins had come to her father’s funeral, but not her mother’s. Her mother had had a couple of cousins, too, but she hadn’t stayed in touch with them, and no one but Gabi and a couple of long-time neighbours had come to her funeral.
Gabi should have paid more attention to what was being destroyed, but she’d just met Edward and fallen in love with him.
Now, she sometimes ached for a sign that she belonged to a family, however scattered. She would have liked to ask the cousins about her ancestors. Sadly, her mother had even destroyed all the old address books.
It was upsetting to know so little about your family. Maybe, when all this divorce stuff was over, she’d join one of those trace-your-ancestry organizations and look for her forebears.
The following morning, Gabi slept late, not feeling at all like painting walls. She ate some cereal, showered and dressed very casually, then gave in to temptation and went back to read in bed. I deserve a bit of a rest, she told herself. I’ll work better for it.
She dozed off over her novel and woke with a start when something clunked against her bedroom window. She darted across the room, but although she caught sight of a male running away down the back lane, the figure wasn’t at all clear because of the trees.
Opening the window, she stared down, wondering what had been thrown, and gasped when she saw a broken bottle containing pale pink liquid. It looked like petrol – like a petrol bomb!
Only, if so, it had failed to explode.
Why would someone do this? How could she make sure the device wasn’t dangerous? Or was it booby-trapped to explode if she went near it?
She was making her way cautiously downstairs when someone knocked on the front door and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
She peered through the security peephole and saw a stranger, hand raised to knock again. It couldn’t have been this man who’d thrown the bottle. He’d not have had time to get round to the front of the house. Anyway, he wasn’t wearing the same sort of clothes, looked very respectable. So she opened the door.
‘Gabrielle Dixon?’
She said it automatically, as she had many times in the past few months. ‘I used to be. Since my divorce, I’ve reverted to my maiden name.’
‘Sorry. Ms Newman, then.’
She was surprised. How did a complete stranger know her maiden name?
He held out a card. ‘Dan Monahan. I’m a private investigator, member of the British Security Industry Association if you’d like to check up on my bona fides. A lawyer called Henry Greaves has given me the task of locating you and delivering this in person.’
He held out a letter in an envelope with a company name and address neatly printed in one corner. ‘Oh, and Mr Greaves would like a receipt, if you don’t mind.’
She shouldn’t let a stranger into the house. It was asking for trouble. And she still had to deal with the petrol bomb. ‘I … this isn’t convenient.’
What if the bomb could still explode? She began to shake.
‘Are you all right?’
There was something about his face that made her trust him instinctively, so she told him what had upset her. ‘Someone just threw a petrol bomb at my house. It’s lying in pieces on the back patio. I can’t think what to do.’
He looked past her, instantly alert. His very calmness gave her confidence.
‘Did it damage anything? Did you extinguish it?’
‘It didn’t explode.’
‘Show me.’
She took him through the house towards the back garden, opening the patio door warily. ‘There it is.’
‘Stay there.’ He moved forward to where the pale pink liquid from the bottle had splashed across the paved area next to the house. The bottom of the bottle was still in one piece and the liquid in it was glinting in the sunlight.
He bent to dip his finger in the moisture lying in a hollow in the paving. As he held it to his nose and sniffed, he frowned, then tried another of the tiny puddles that were drying up fast. ‘This isn’t petrol, but it does look like it, I will admit.’
Her legs felt so wobbly, she stumbled to the little wooden bench against the wall and collapsed on it. ‘So even if I call the police again, they’ll just … say it was a prank?’
‘Probably. Why do you say “call the police again”?’
She studied his face. He looked so thoroughly decent, she found herself telling him about the other incidents.
He came to sit on the bench beside her and took her hand. ‘It looks as if someone’s trying to frighten you.’
‘And they’re succeeding.’
‘Have you any idea why?’
She shrugged. ‘I’d guess it’s my ex, but I don’t understand why. Anyway, he’s just gone back to Prague where he’s working on a project, so this can’t be his doing.’
‘Let’s go back inside. A cup of hot sweet tea wouldn’t go amiss. You’re in shock still.’
‘Yes.’ She stood up.
Dan put an arm round her shoulders and led her into the house, locking the door behind them.
She studied him again as he did that. He was of medium height, only a little taller than her, and he wasn’t remarkable in any way, except for a certain steadiness. Yes, that was a good word to describe the impression he’d made on her. He seemed decent, to use an old-fashioned word.
To her at least, he made Stu’s good looks, expensive clothes and fake tan seem like overkill.
They stood still in the middle of the kitchen and Dan put his arm round her again. Lightly, nothing sexual about it, just one human being comforting another. She didn’t pull away because she still felt wobbly.
He didn’t hurry her, just watched her gravely with grey eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, with a few strands of grey at the temples. Even his clothes were about as nondescript as you could get. Not shabby, but nothing to draw the eye. She’d guess he was a couple of years older than her.
She sighed and moved away from his arm. Reluctantly.
‘Are you feeling better now?’ he asked gently.
‘A little. I still feel shaky, though.’
‘Sit down. I’ll make the tea and you can direct me.’
She was glad to sit. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry about the mess in here, but I’ve just had the builders in and I’m about to decorate.’
‘I’m feeling thirsty myself, if you don’t mind.’ He put the kettle on.
‘You’re welcome.’ She stayed where she was, feeling boneless and numb. If someone had meant to frighten her
, they’d succeeded big time.
‘How do you like it?’
She started, not realizing he’d finished making the tea. ‘White, no sugar.’
He put a mug on the table in front of her. ‘Could you face some sugar in it this time? It’s good for shock.’
‘All right. You must think I’m an utter wimp.’
‘No, I don’t. Anyone would be frightened by that. It was a cruel trick to play.’
She took a comforting sip of the hot liquid. And another.
When she’d swallowed the last warm mouthful, she put the mug down, feeling somewhat better. ‘Thank you for helping me.’
‘My pleasure. You’ve got some colour back now.’
‘Yes. And I just realized, you said something about a letter.’
‘It can wait if you need more time to pull yourself together.’
‘No. I’m all right now. Anyway, it’ll take my mind off … that.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the back door.
He took her mug and put it tidily on the draining board, then pulled a letter out of his pocket and offered it to her.
She looked at the address: Rochdale. She was puzzled that a lawyer from a town she’d never visited would want to contact her. Was that perhaps where her father’s family came from? Or her mother’s?
She spread out the papers and began to read. ‘Oh! It’s a legacy.’ She gaped at her visitor. ‘I can’t believe this. Why should Rose King leave me anything?’
‘Keep reading.’
‘Yes. Sorry. I was just so … surprised.’ She read the rest of the letter more slowly, trying to take it in. ‘Ah. She was my mother’s cousin. The name does sound vaguely familiar, though I don’t think I’ve ever met her. My parents weren’t big on keeping in touch with distant relatives. Rose would be my second cousin once removed, I think. Or is it twice removed?’
He smiled. ‘I’m never quite sure of the exact relationships between cousins, especially those of different generations.’
‘I still can’t understand why she’d leave anything to me.’
