Single (ARC)

by K. L. Slater

  His father’s tone was mocking as he picked up the heavy cut-glass tumbler and took a draft of whisky from it.

  When the boy’s mother had been alive, that same tone, that same whisky, had often pre-empted one of his father’s violent episodes, causing his mother, with her silent coded look, to send him up to his room immediately.

  He’d lie on his bed with his pillows over his head and hum loudly but it still did not stop the sounds of his mother’s pain. He had felt useless, terrified and he had hated him. Had hated himself for his inability to save her.

  Yet in that moment, at the office door, he suddenly wanted with all his heart to impress his father.

  ‘I’ve been reading books about World War II,’ the boy said quickly, stepping into the room. ‘The history is interesting and I know that Grandad—’

  ‘Just take it, haven’t used it in years.’ His father held out the library card. The skin on his knuckles looked red and raw. ‘Close the door on your way out.’

  * * *

  The next day, free of his crutch at last, he’d caught a bus and called in at the large library in town.

  He approached the librarian who most closely resembled Mrs Dunmore and gave her what he hoped was a winning smile.

  ‘Hello, I’m a student at St Mark’s,’ he began, watching as the private school connection worked its magic. Her slightly suspicious expression gave way to a friendly smile. ‘I’m doing a project about suicide, methods used and reasons people do it. Very sad it is, harrowing. But I wondered if you could help me find possible titles on the subject?’

  Within ten minutes he had borrowed two books and the librarian had ordered him in three more to collect on his next visit home.

  Twenty-Eight

  Brenda and Steph don’t stay long after my big revelation. They don’t even finish their lunch.

  I clear the table and tidy up in the kitchen, and then take a coffee into the living room and stare out of the window at the frosty hedge.

  I feel so knotted up inside. Completely unsettled.

  I don’t know why they keep asking if I’m unwell. I feel perfectly fine. And as I keep telling them, grief and anger aren’t illnesses. I had good reason to feel all the emotions I did, regardless of their own denial about Joel.

  What is it about mental illness that makes you feel as if you can never put it behind you? A bad day, a low mood, vegging out and eating junk food in front of the TV… perfectly natural occurrences for most people but for Joel’s family, these are all signals that I might not be well. Worse, perhaps even signs I could be neglecting my parental responsibilities.

  This puts pressure on me. Pressure for me to keep smiling through problems, pressure for me to accept their interference and not to challenge their advice. To be the perfect mum twenty-four-seven.

  It’s enough to drive me back to pulling the covers over my head and staying put in bed for the whole day… or the whole week, as was the case at my lowest ebb.

  They assumed custody of the boys back then for all the right reasons and I’m so grateful they got us through that awful time. I just don’t need to be reminded of it on a weekly basis.

  It’s true the doctor prescribed me some sedatives even after I’d recovered from the breakdown as quality sleep remained elusive, but I wasn’t on them for long, just a month or so. He also gave me some antidepressants. Non-addictive, he said.

  They made me feel as if I was watching life from behind glass. I still remember that feeling, and I don’t mind admitting I quite liked it at the time. It was a relief, a sort of buffer from the pain.

  That was when I confided in Steph about my online activities. She and Brenda had taken the boys to the park one day and she came back unexpectedly after a few minutes for Kane’s gloves. I jumped like a startled deer when she let herself into the house.

  It was obvious I was up to something, so I just came out with it and told her I was monitoring Daniela’s activities online.

  ‘What… you mean like cyber-stalking her?’ She seemed shocked, but my embarrassment was blunted by the medication, and I simply laughed and showed her the fake profile I was using to snoop anonymously.

  Steph didn’t mention it again, and I found that strange. I think it really worried her and she decided she would rather not know.

  I was fine with that; it suited me not to talk about it. In fact, I never really gave it another thought. But on reflection, I wish I hadn’t told her. I always feel she judged me and found me wanting after that, and now that she’s obviously miffed about George, I regret confiding in her.

  Life felt so much simpler and easier to deal with when, metaphorically, I sat a few steps away from all the drama and heartbreak.

  When I’d finished the course of medication, I didn’t go back to the doctor, despite Steph and Brenda urging me to do so.

  ‘I don’t think you’re strong enough to deal with what happened yet.’ I remember Brenda saying it as if Joel’s double life was somehow partly my fault.

  Someone beeps a car horn further down the street and I break my vacant stare.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but my coffee is lukewarm when I eventually take a sip. I can’t drink it like that – I like it red hot – so I rest it on my thigh and close my eyes. When the letter box rattles, I jump involuntarily and spill cool coffee on my jeans.

  I put the mug down and pull a tissue from my sleeve, dabbing at the mocha stain before scooping up the three envelopes on the floor.

  It’s fairly obvious that the two small letters are bills of some sort, so when I sit down again, I turn my attention to the large envelope. It’s one of those reinforced ones with a sheet of cardboard inserted on one side.

  My name and full address, including postcode, are printed neatly on the front.

  I pull it open and extract the contents. Three photographs, but no letter.

  I hold up the first one and study it. Just a load of kids at some kind of play area.

  ‘Oh!’ I drop the envelope and press my fingers to my lips as I peer closer at the colour image. Then I snatch up the other two pictures and study those.

  The photographs have been taken at Bounce, the trampoline centre. There are kids I don’t know in them, but Kane, Harrison and Romy are on one of the trampolines, and sitting on the right-hand side are me and George, chatting and laughing. In the final photograph, he’s kissing me on the cheek.

  Someone is trying to send me a message here. Someone wants me to know they are watching us.

  And there’s only one person I can think of who would get off on making me feel threatened and vulnerable.

  Daniela Frost.

  * * *

  I change out of my jeans and stick them in the wash with a pair of Harrison’s mud-spattered tracky bottoms. Then I take my laptop into the living room and open up Instagram.

  Daniela has an open profile on Insta; anyone can look at it. But I still use my false identity to browse, just in case I click on a post by mistake and inadvertently ‘like’ it.

  Her latest post is a selfie in front of one of the lions in the Old Market Square in the centre of the city. She’s obviously back in Nottingham already.

  A worrying thought occurs to me: what if Steph has mentioned my online snooping activities to Daniela? I’ve always trusted Steph like a sister, believed she wants the best for me and the boys. But her reaction to my news about George is so out of character, I’m not sure whether I’ve been naïve and gullible in that regard.

  I log into Facebook next and wait for Daniela’s profile to load. More photographs on here: she’s shopping in Nottingham, drinking Glühwein and eating mince pies at the Christmas market. A smutty joke about the size of the bratwursts on the German food stall…

  Perhaps she’s heard on the local grapevine that I’ve found happiness again and has taken to watching me, waiting to see how she can wreck my life. It sounds extreme, but then people hold grudges for years, don’t they?

  After what happened with my car, I r
ealise I’ll have to speak to George about the photographs and confide in him about the awful events I so desperately want to leave in the past. My heart is heavy, but I can’t escape the truth, and the longer I try, the worse it will sound when he does find out. I need to explain who Daniela is and why she seems so obsessed with getting even, to the extent she’s going to the trouble of buying the house I’m renting!

  But before I get the chance to call him, he sends me a link to a beautiful log cabin park on the North Yorkshire coast.

  Fancy wrapping up warm and taking the kids to this wonderland for Christmas?

  Far from worrying about what Brenda might have to say about it, my heart soars when I think about getting away from here.

  There looks to be so much to do for the kids. An indoor heated swimming pool, cycle hire, and Christmas festivities with plenty of entertainment and family games.

  There are bound to be lots of opportunities, when the kids are being entertained, for me to speak to George about Joel and Daniela Frost.

  Before I can change my mind, I send him a message back by return.

  Looks perfect. Let’s do it!!

  * * *

  Mid-afternoon, George calls me, flustered after a short phone call from the hospital.

  ‘Apparently there’s another emergency meeting been called over this chap Joseph Hill, the patient with the failing kidneys. The powers that be want me there but it’s Maria’s day off and I’m picking up Romy.’

  ‘You must go,’ I tell him. ‘I can pick her up, no problem. The boys are at after-school clubs but she can go back with me to collect them later. I’ll give her tea at my house.’

  ‘Are you sure? That would be perfect.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ I laugh. ‘It’s no big deal and it will give me chance to get to know Romy a little better.’

  George calls the school and lets them know I’ll be picking her up.

  When the classroom doors open out on to the playground, I walk up to the young teacher to introduce myself and she calls Romy over.

  ‘Someone new to collect you today, Romy!’ She beams.

  Romy freezes and stares at me.

  ‘It’s OK, Romy, Daddy has had to go into work for a meeting. So me and you are going to have a little bit of girlie time now, how’s that sound?’

  The teacher crouches down at her level.

  ‘Everything OK, sweetie?’

  One or two of the other parents glance over as I stand there, feeling like a child-snatcher.

  I hold out my hand. ‘Ready to go, Romy? Thought we’d treat ourselves to a hot chocolate before heading home.’

  She blinks and the faintest smile plays around her lips.

  ‘That’s better!’ The teacher stands up again and Romy takes my hand.

  ‘Can I have whipped cream and a flake in mine?’ she says.

  * * *

  At the café, we huddle together over our hot chocolates at a small table at the back.

  ‘Sometimes Maria brings me for treats after school but we don’t say anything to Daddy,’ she says, loading her teaspoon with whipped cream and popping it in her mouth.

  ‘Is that so?’ I smile to myself. The formal housekeeper has got a soft side after all, then.

  ‘She reads me stories and plays snakes and ladders with me. I love Maria.’

  ‘That’s very sweet,’ I say, touched by her openness. ‘I hope we can become good friends too, in time.’

  She nods and shovels in more cream and I imagine myself in the future, married to George with our three children. Romy is only six, young enough that I could be a proper mother to her and so she doesn’t have to rely on the housekeeper for maternal affection.

  I feel a growing hope that, if George and I get closer, she will fully accept me as such. Is that too much to ask?

  When George calls at the house later to pick up Romy, he looks bright and happy. ‘I’ve booked the lodge! I got a last-minute deal and ten per cent extra discount too, as they had just two cabins left.’ He hesitates and then, in an apologetic tone, says, ‘I’m afraid this means it’s time to tell your in-laws that you and the boys won’t be spending Christmas with them.’

  When they’ve left, I steel myself and call Brenda.

  ‘Are you free this weekend?’ I ask nervously. ‘I could bring the boys over, and George too… if you’d like to meet him?’

  ‘That would be perfect! Could we make it Saturday afternoon?’ I’m encouraged when Brenda sounds upbeat. ‘Leonard and I are going to one of those turkey and tinsel events on Sunday.’

  Just the mention of Christmas has me stammering.

  ‘Great. We… we’ll see you then, let’s say about three?’

  I put down the phone and take a breath.

  It looks like I’m really going to go through with this.

  Twenty-Nine

  George Mortimer walked into the room and Steph’s heart did a little flip. She’d barely looked at him at the park that day, busy keeping Harrison distracted, and had quite forgotten how good-looking he actually was: textbook handsome, but with a relaxed and modest manner about him, and seemingly completely unaware of his own attractiveness.

  His slightly wavy thick brown hair was immaculate but looked as if he’d combed it through with his fingers rather than grooming it with a comb or using products. A hint of stubble grazed his jawline and chin, and his soulful brown eyes – in Steph’s opinion the pièce de résistance – were fixed on her beneath his thick, defined eyebrows.

  When Darcy had confessed her secret dating a few days ago, Steph had googled him. Although Darcy hadn’t mentioned his surname and Steph couldn’t recall it, she did remember he said he worked in urology at the City Hospital.

  His details had popped straight up then and when she clicked on the images tab, his photograph had been the first one.

  ‘Urology surgeon?’ Dave had said disparagingly, from over her shoulder. ‘Mending prostates and bladders for a living… rather him than me.’

  ‘I’m sure he earns a ton,’ Steph had said drily. ‘How’s your job hunt going by the way?’

  Predictably, Dave had mumbled something about his bad back and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Dave swaggered over to George now, his tracksuit bottoms riding low below his muffin top.

  ‘All right, mate? Welcome to the madhouse.’ He offered his hand and George shook it and began to make small talk. Dave seemed distracted, looking everywhere but directly at George, and Steph had to bite back a snarl instructing him to sit down. He looked like a complete mess next to the other man’s groomed appearance.

  She glanced over at a smiling Darcy and felt a twinge of envy.

  Brenda laid a hand on her chest. ‘Welcome to our humble abode, George. I’m Brenda, and this’ – she indicated Leonard, who was looming at her shoulder – ‘is my husband, Leonard.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, George.’ Leonard offered his hand cautiously. As soon as he’d shaken hands with George, he stepped back again.

  Brenda made a fuss of the children and tried to strike up a chat with George’s daughter. But the child kept dodging behind Harrison and would barely say a word.

  Steph looked across at her mother and stifled a grin. There was life in the old dog yet, she thought mischievously, noting Brenda’s wide eyes and slightly flushing cheeks.

  But then she saw that her father looked concerned, and she remembered that this personable, intelligent man might be a threat to the plans she and Leonard had been discussing recently.

  While the kids disappeared up to the playroom, the adults sat down on the comfy sofas, and Brenda buzzed around them serving drinks and nibbles.

  Leonard asked George about his job at the hospital, and Steph wanted to know all about the operations he’d carried out.

  ‘I’m a bit of a Grey’s Anatomy addict,’ she confessed.

  George obliged with a litany of anecdotal stories, causing Brenda and Darcy to wince at several rather colourful descriptions of bladder operations. B
ut when he announced that he’d signed the petition to stop the new housing estate on the outskirts of the village, he really hit the jackpot.

  A slightly reluctant Brenda appeared to transform into his biggest fan.

  She patted the seat cushion next to her. ‘Come sit here next to me, George, and tell me what you think of our wonderful grandchildren. Your daughter… Romy, is it? She’s adorable.’

  Steph watched Darcy carefully and smiled. Her hands were balled into loose fists and she kept nibbling at her bottom lip. It was obvious she was feeling insecure. Perhaps this new life of hers wouldn’t be so perfect after all. Surely a more confident career-type woman would be more George Mortimer’s type?

  Then, just as Steph began to think this was a relationship that probably wouldn’t last, Darcy dropped a bombshell.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Brenda and Leonard, and I do apologise in advance, but…’ Her foot bounced incessantly on the floor.‘I’ve decided to take the kids away for Christmas this year. Just for a few days.’

  There was a terrible silence for several seconds as they all took it in. George took a swig of his gin and the ice cubes clinked together like a clash of swords.

  ‘But I’ve ordered the turkey now,’ Brenda said. ‘And the boys… they’ve never been away from us at Christmas time.’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice, Brenda,’ George said kindly, seeing that Darcy was faltering. ‘It was entirely my suggestion. I just feel we need some time together, the five of us. We’re trying to make a fresh start here, and of course, we want you involved in that, as Kane and Harrison’s grandparents, but—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Leonard interjected, ending George’s slightly awkward speech. He touched Brenda’s arm. ‘It’ll be fine, Bren. We’ll see the boys before and after the big day, I’m sure.’

  ‘Of course,’ Darcy said quickly. ‘You can have them over before we go, and then again after Boxing Day.’