by Dawn Goodwin
Mulling it over, I went to find a vase and arranged the long stems in some water, then I tucked the card away in my laptop case.
Thinking of Helen made me look around and realise the place was a mess. Since I had spent all day writing so far, the breakfast dishes were still strewn across the table, there was mess from one end of the lounge to the other and Paul’s ties, socks, shoes and magazines were still lying where he’d abandoned them last night.
Helen’s house was always immaculate. Not only were her and her husband obsessively neat and tidy, but she also had a cleaner twice a week, so there was never a spoon out of place or a tea stain on the countertops. My house always felt chaotic and filthy in comparison since my children and husband were not fond of helping out in that regard. The responsibility of the house lay solely at my feet and lately I had let things slip more than usual, which Paul had been quick to point out with a raised eyebrow and tight lips. What had he said yesterday? That I was preoccupied? I had since mentioned to him that I was tired and had been resting through the day to placate him, but I would have to pull my socks up soon because it was just giving him more fodder to say that I couldn’t cope.
I whizzed around with a duster and vacuum cleaner. With only an hour to the end of the school day, I didn’t have a lot of time left. I shuffled mess and shoved dirty washing in the machine, loaded the dishwasher and spritzed the countertops with lemony antibacterial spray while Bo got under my feet and tried to distract me with his toys.
When 3.15 p.m. arrived, I had a sheen of sweat on my brow and a headache settling in behind my eyes. My phone chirped and I was pleased to see a message from Helen to say she would collect the kids from class with her two and walk them over to save me a trip out. She knew how much I hated the school run with the chattering mums and raised, knowing eyebrows. Relieved, I sent her a grateful reply of acceptance.
As I went to put my phone down, it buzzed again. Expecting another text from Helen, I read:
Careful, I’m watching you.
I froze. Then I read it again. The number it had come from was one I didn’t recognise. My head began to throb and I swayed on my feet. I sat down heavily on the chair in the kitchen in case my legs gave out. Was this the same person who had written the notes? Someone else?
I didn’t have time to think about it for long before the doorbell rang. I could hear my children giggling through the letter box and calling Bo’s name as he yelped and barked excitedly, so I got heavily to my feet and tried to brush away the cold fingers that I could feel clamping around my throat.
Helen and the children arrived in a cacophony of greetings, laughter, kisses and stories about their day. The four kids then disappeared into the garden onto the trampoline, even though the early November air was growing chillier by the day, while Helen and I settled at the table. I ignored the tremble of my fingers as I poured us cold glasses of wine and pulled open a big bag of crisps. A token gesture really because we would only nibble on them before the kids hoovered them up later.
‘Nice flowers. Secret admirer? Or has Paul come over all romantic?’ There was no love lost between Helen and Paul. She found him dull, although she’d only insinuated that rather than come right out and said as much. They tolerated each other when they had to, just as Paul tolerated Helen’s husband, Ed, too. I rather liked Ed. He was funny and a playful dad compared to Paul’s style of detached parenting, which was more focused on discipline and playing the bad cop to my good cop.
‘Nothing gets past you, does it?’ I looked over to where I had arranged the flowers on the sideboard.
‘Well, it is an enormous bunch. I’m guessing not from Paul then?’
‘No, from Sam actually.’
Helen’s pencilled eyebrows shot through her fringe. ‘Well, well, well…’
‘He just wanted to cheer me up, I think. Nothing more than that.’ Even so, every time my eyes caught on them, my veins buzzed.
Helen took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ I copied her by sipping on my own wine. I avoided her curious stare and looked out of the glass doors into the garden where I could see the kids tearing around, jumping and laughing. ‘Besides, we’re both married,’ I added. She was still watching me and I could feel my cheeks redden.
‘How is the wife? What’s her name again? Something Shakespearian?’
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows.
‘What? Don’t patronise me, I’ve read Shakespeare – under duress!’ she retorted with mock indignation.
I giggled. ‘Sorry, Hels. It’s Viola and she’s been really lovely, actually. Really supportive. She’s been texting me and sending me emails about my writing. I have to say, I’m loving the whole process.’
‘You do look like you’ve got a bit of colour in your cheeks, more so than I’ve seen in a long time.’
‘Thanks, yes, I feel good. Things are going well.’ I paused. ‘But I do need a favour though.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Right…’
‘I need you to say that you sent me the flowers.’
‘Still not being straight with Paul, then?’
‘Not exactly. And he would jump to the wrong conclusion if he thought Sam had sent them, just like you did.’
‘Okay, but this can’t be healthy for either of you.’ She leaned forward in her chair and put her glass down. ‘Look, I know he’s your husband and everything, but he really does stifle you, doesn’t he? That’s what this whole writing thing is really all about. You stretching your legs, doing something naughty, testing the boundaries. Maybe being straight with him about the flowers will force him to loosen his grip on you a bit. A bit of jealousy can do wonders to spice things up.’ She winked.
I grimaced. ‘I don’t want to spice things up. I just want to get on with my writing. And it’s not about that – it’s actually about writing a book I can get published and be proud of. Besides, you know Paul’s had good reason to protect me in the past. That’s all he’s doing now.’ I thought of the notes and today’s text message, feeling cold. If I really believed what I was saying, surely I would’ve told him about the messages?
‘No, Katie, he’s controlling you, even down to telling you what to make for dinner.’
A little while ago I had made the mistake of telling her that he liked to text me mid-afternoon sometimes to tell me what to cook. I had once decided to go with what I had originally intended and he had refused to eat it, choosing instead to go out and find dinner elsewhere in a sulk. I now knew to check the menu with him before he left for work so that I had time to prepare in advance if he wanted something different.
‘That’s just his particular tastes, that’s all. He doesn’t have a varied palate. And he doesn’t do it every day.’
She sat back exasperated. ‘Rather you than me, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘So will you cover for me?’ I pressed in an attempt to keep on topic.
‘Sure,’ she replied, tight-lipped.
I sighed. ‘There must be little things about Ed that drive you mad or that you’ve had to work around in your marriage?’
‘Yes, but they really are little things – like the fact that he has to have the toilet roll facing a certain way and will change them all around if he isn’t happy and that he likes the towels to be folded lengthways. But that’s minor stuff and it’s not the end of the world if it doesn’t happen.’
‘Just like it’s not the end of the world in our house too.’
‘So why are you not being straight with him about Sam then?’
‘Because I don’t like to upset him or end up in an argument. You know I hate confrontation.’
She sat forward again, concern wrinkling the foundation caked on her brow. ‘Katie, does he hit you or the kids?’
I recoiled. ‘God, no, Helen! Why would you ask that?’
She held her hands up. ‘Sorry, I just needed to ask. You’re just so submissive around him, that’s all.’
‘No,
I’d never let that happen again!’ My voice was shrill.
‘Again? What do you mean, again?’
‘Nothing, it’s just… I had a boyfriend back in high school that hit me a couple of times before I left him, that’s all.’ I shook my head, the angry heat on the back of my neck bringing a sheen of sweat to my upper lip as I thought about it. ‘Paul is nothing like that. He loves me and only wants to protect me. And I like to make him happy. There’s nothing wrong with that.’ I took a big slurp of wine, not comfortable with where the conversation had ended up. ‘Let’s change the subject, okay? What happened at the PTA meeting this week? Did Lisa get to be in charge of the Christmas fair in the end?’
I only half listened to her reply. Something about what she had implied was niggling at me. I’d never had reason to doubt Paul’s motives, but perhaps because my head was clearer now since I hadn’t been taking my pills, something was tapping away at my subconscious, wanting me to let it in.
I poured out more wine in the hope that some more Sauvignon Blanc would silence the tick-tick-tick. I forced myself back into the conversation by sharing some ideas with Helen for the Christmas fair, even though there was no way in hell I would offer to help or even turn up on the day. Helen had always taken Lily and Jack for me, thus sparing me the anxiety of facing up to such a shark tank of an event.
As we discussed the idea of a themed cake stall, Jack came tearing into the kitchen, trailing mud and complaining about being hungry. I looked at the clock and was surprised for the umpteenth time that day at how much time had passed.
‘Oh god, I need to get the oven on for the pizza! Paul will be home soon.’
‘Great,’ Helen replied sarcastically. I scowled at her as she got up to help me prepare the kids’ tea.
Paul arrived at the worst possible time, just as the kids were in the middle of eating and the volume level had gone beyond loud to ear-splitting. They were singing silly songs and laughing uproariously at themselves just as he slouched through the door. His face immediately fell when he saw Helen sitting at the head of the table, glass of wine in hand.
‘Woah, can we keep the noise down please?’ he bellowed.
‘Daddy, listen to Lil’s song! It’s hilarious!’ Jack screeched.
Lily proudly burst into a high-pitched, tuneless tirade, resulting in more peals of laughter from the other kids, but Paul shouted over her to quieten down and that it wasn’t ladylike for little girls to be singing songs about farting.
Lily immediately stopped laughing and slumped in her chair and the other kids all shut up pretty quickly too. The mood barometer had kicked in.
‘Paul, how’s things?’ Helen said into the silence.
‘Helen. Fine, thank you.’ His eyes fell on the flowers. ‘They look expensive. Been treating yourself, Katherine?’
‘No, Helen kindly brought them as a thank you for having the kids over.’
‘That’s rather extravagant, don’t you think, Helen? Ed must be doing well for himself these days.’
‘Well, if I can’t make my best friend feel special…’ and she winked at me surreptitiously.
He watched us closely for a moment, the air falling awkwardly around us, until he said, ‘I’ll just get out of your way.’
The awkwardness followed him through the door like a cloud.
Helen raised her eyes at me and I giggled, which set the kids off again. ‘Shhh or he’ll come back in here like the Gruffalo again,’ I whispered to them, then tiptoed to the fridge to the sounds of their giggles.
I took him a conciliatory cold beer and found him sitting, scowling at his iPad, his tie askew and his legs crossed on the couch in the lounge, with the partition doors closed to our noise. He had also closed the window shutters to the outside world, even though it wasn’t quite dark outside yet. I was happy with that. Lately I’d been pulling the shutters tight like a shield as soon as the sun started to dip.
I handed him the beer with a light kiss. ‘Good day?’
‘Why is she still here? I was hoping for some peace and quiet when I got home.’
‘Sorry, but she hasn’t been here long and the kids are having fun.’
‘Have they done their homework?’
‘Not yet, they’ve been playing – and it’s Friday.’ His mouth pulled hard on the bottle. ‘They won’t be here much longer, then I’ll make us some dinner once the kids are in bed,’ I said, resting a hand lightly on his arm.
He heaved a sigh, reached over and placed his cold hand on mine. ‘Fine. Bring me some of those crisps and keep the doors closed please.’
I did as I was told, but the light-hearted fun of the evening had now vanished and I wanted nothing more than for Helen to go so that normal service could resume, the noise in the other room now grating on my ears too.
*
Later that evening, once the kids were in bed and Paul lay sleeping on the couch in front of a documentary about steam trains, I sneaked past him and disappeared upstairs. My laptop lay hidden under the bed. I didn’t dare take it out as I could never tell how long he would be asleep downstairs. Sometimes it was ten minutes and other times it was all night. Instead, I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed as quietly as I could, hoping he would stay where he was. I plugged my phone in to charge on the bedside table next to me and quickly typed out a WhatsApp to Sam thanking him for the flowers. His reply was almost immediate.
Glad you like them. But thank Viola as they were her idea. She is very impressed at how hard you are working, as am I. See you soon, S x
I smiled to myself, feeling a bubble of warmth bouncing through my chest. Then the bubble burst as I thought about the text message from earlier. I opened the message, read it again, then closed it hurriedly, not wanting to taste the vitriol in the words. Instead, I turned on my Kindle and turned out the light. Snuggling into my pillow and tucking my knees up, I forced my mind to concentrate on the book I was reading. It was about a woman who was struggling to come to terms with her daughter’s death while being tormented by an unnamed stalker and it was sad, moving and thrilling in equal measures. The irony was not lost on me and I let myself be sucked into the words. I was just falling into the plot when I heard the lounge door open and heavy feet on the stairs.
I sighed, quickly marked my place and turned off the Kindle, then rolled onto my side to face the wall. I closed my eyes tightly as Paul come into the room. He headed straight into the bathroom, flinging the light on as he went. As usual, he didn’t try to keep the noise down as he splashed and coughed, spat toothpaste and flushed the toilet. Then he turned off the bathroom light and practically threw himself into bed, the mattress groaning and bouncing under his weight.
I didn’t take the bait but instead lay perfectly still and made deep, heavy breathing sounds, as though I was sleeping the slumber of the dead. His arm reached across and stroked my shoulder, but I lay ice-still. After a moment, he sighed and flung himself onto his side. Within minutes I heard his own breathing slow.
I felt my body relax once I knew he was asleep. I was still wide awake though. I could see the shadow of the tree outside my window dancing in the moonlight, the branches like thin arms and spindly fingers. The more I watched, the more it looked like someone writhing in the breeze, tapping to be let in. The thought frightened me. Feeling like a child scared of the dark, I climbed out of bed soundlessly, then crept downstairs with my laptop for a few hours of writing.
13
On Monday morning I received a WhatsApp from Sam saying that he couldn’t meet with me as usual because he’d had a breakthrough with his novel and needed some writing time of his own, but would I mind if Viola met me instead. She had offered to come to the house to save me a trip into London and, although I was inexplicably nervous about the idea of seeing her here in my own territory, not having to make the trip into town would mean we had more time to meet and I would have one less thing to agonise over, so I agreed.
Viola then texted to say she would arrive at 12.30 p.m., meaning I had a few
hours to tidy up the weekend debris that seemed to have built up stealthily and bake some cookies to offer her. Nothing like a blatant attempt to bribe a new teacher.
By 12.15 p.m., I was sitting primly on the couch, unsure what to do with myself apart from unnecessarily plumping cushions and plucking stray hairs from the arm of the chair. At 12.30 p.m. promptly, the doorbell rang and Viola wafted in on a cloud of Chanel.
I invited her into the lounge initially, taking her camel-coloured coat from her and marvelling at the weight of it in on my arm. She made a suitable fuss of Bo while I hung her coat over the banister in the hallway.
‘Well, this is… homely.’ Her eyes swept over the room, taking in the stuffed bookcases, boxes of games tucked into the corner and posed family photographs.
‘Thanks,’ I said, although I was left wondering if it was actually a compliment. ‘Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’
‘An Earl Grey would be lovely.’
‘Sit, please, make yourself at home. I’ll get the tea.’
I walked into the kitchen and let out the breath I’d been holding. Earl Grey – did I even have any? I reached into the top cupboard. There were boxes of green tea, fruit infusions and various herbal blends, all bought when Paul suggested a new health kick and all designated to the back of the cupboard eventually along with the good intentions. Right at the back I found an old box of Twining’s Earl Grey. Probably well past its sell-by date and tasting of little more than dust now, but it would have to do.
I wiped over a tea tray and set some cups, saucers and a warmed teapot on it with a tiny milk jug and the plate of the freshly baked cookies that were still warm.
Taking a stoic breath, I returned to the lounge with the tray. Viola was peering at a photo frame containing an early school photo of Lily, holding it close to her eyes as though studying every freckle, her thumb stroking the glass curiously. She replaced it quickly on the shelf when I entered the room.
