Single (ARC)

by K. L. Slater

  ‘They’ve already lost their dad, love,’ Leonard chips in, his tone regretful. ‘They need some stability in their life.’

  Something sparks inside me.

  ‘They were never used to having their dad around full-time anyway, because as you know, your son turned out to be a liar and a cheating rat of the worst order. So don’t worry yourselves too much about that; they’re probably better off without him.’

  Brenda yelps as if my words have speared her.

  I push past Dave and stride outside, slamming the front door behind me.

  I don’t look back. I get in the car and pull away immediately.

  When I reach the top of the street, I breathe out. If the papers in my bag really are a legal bid for custody of my sons, I’ve got another massive problem to deal with.

  But that final altercation and those things I said about Joel?

  After years of keeping my mouth shut, all that felt so good.

  Forty-Seven

  When my mobile phone rings, I snatch it up. It’s three hours since I left the message for George.

  ‘Just to let you know I’ll be on my way in ten minutes. I saw your text message. Is everything OK?’

  His casual tone annoys me.

  ‘No. Everything is not OK! Didn’t you check your messages before now? It was important, George. I needed to speak to you. I’ve got big problems with Joel’s family.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He sounds tired. ‘It’s been a long, tough shift. Two life-saving operations and we lost a patient.’

  I’m momentarily shamed into silence.

  ‘Sorry. That must have been awful for you.’ Is it me, or does he always find a way of making me feel guilty for complaining? ‘And I know you sometimes can’t get back to your locker to check your phone, but this was really important.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you weren’t to know. Tell me now, what’s up?’

  ‘It’s complicated. Just get yourself home safely. The kids want to watch some movie on Netflix after their baths, so we should get some time to talk then.’

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I hear George’s Audi pull up on the gravelled area outside the front door. The kids are all clean and in their pyjamas; they’re fed and watered and watching their movie in the television room.

  I should be feeling content and looking forward to a nice evening ahead, but my heart is in my mouth. Tonight feels like a bit of a watershed. I’ve asked Maria to give us a little privacy in the lounge and, judging by the sour look on her face, she isn’t used to being told any of the house is off limits to her.

  ‘Well, this is nice.’ George beams, kissing me on the cheek, and glancing at the two glasses of red I’ve placed on the coffee table. ‘I could get used to a welcome like this every night.’

  He’s loaded down with his briefcase in one hand and a stack of folders under his other arm. I take the briefcase and he dumps the files on the hall table. I see from the name stickers and hospital stamp that they are patient records.

  ‘I’ll just take a quick shower,’ he says, jutting his chin forward and loosening his tie. ‘Then you can tell me what’s on your mind.’

  ‘OK,’ I mumble, wondering how long I can keep it all to myself. I walk into the kitchen, pleased that Maria is in the utility room doing the laundry.

  A few minutes later, I hear the low growling noise that signals the en suite shower is running upstairs.

  I take the platter I prepared earlier out of the fridge and look over the artfully arranged Italian meats, olives, sun-dried tomatoes and artichokes. I add some mozzarella and pecorino, and a spoonful of chilli jam at the side. Then I grab the cutting board and slice half a French stick, layering it neatly on a wooden board that matches the platter.

  Everything looks so perfect here. It should be perfect. But my heart is heavy and my head feels so full of problems, part of me feels like running away instead of facing up to things. And getting George to face up to things too. Just lately it feels nigh impossible.

  ‘This looks nice.’ He appears in the doorway and strides over to the sofa, kissing me on the top of the head as he walks behind me. He sits down and picks up his wine, and before I can clink glasses with him, he gulps down a deep slug. ‘Beats coming home to one of Maria’s cheese sandwiches.’

  I hold up my glass without much enthusiasm.

  ‘It’s been a tough day,’ he sighs. Our glasses chime and George puts down his wine and pops an olive into his mouth. ‘Before we eat, why don’t you tell me what’s up?’

  You’re not in a fit state to take care of them, Darcy. Brenda’s voice echoes in my head. It’s true that things have moved fast with me and George, but the boys are always my priority.

  ‘Darcy?’ He plucks a sun-dried tomato off the platter with his fingers, and a drop of oil falls onto the dark grey sweatpants he’s changed into. I hand him a small side plate and a napkin. ‘Thanks. So, what have Joel’s family done to upset you?’

  I take the papers out of the envelope, flatten them out and place them on the table. He doesn’t pick them up. Instead, he butters a piece of bread.

  ‘They got me over there on false pretences – supposedly a lunch with Steph and Brenda, but instead they gave me this.’ My sinuses start to sting. ‘They say they’re going to apply for sole custody of the boys. They’ve been plotting against me. All of them.’ A sob rises in my throat.

  He stops chewing and looks at me. ‘Well they won’t get it. No court is going to hand kids over to their grandparents without exceptional circumstances. What reason do they give?’

  You’re not in a fit state to take care of them, Darcy.

  ‘They say it’s because of Opal Vardy. Harrison’s told them some of the stuff that’s been happening.’ I wipe away the tears. ‘They think I’m not looking after the boys properly because I’ve had my head turned by you too quickly.’

  George puts down his glass and looks at me. ‘That’s ridiculous! Our problems with Opal are none of their business, and our relationship certainly isn’t either.’

  ‘It’s the fact that my children are living here that worries them. If Opal decides to do something like she did in the woods at Christmas, or scares the boys by challenging them in the street like she did me…’

  ‘You’re all quite safe here,’ he says, spearing some prosciutto. He loads his fork with meat and mozzarella and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

  ‘She’s not going to go away, George. We have to deal with it.’

  ‘We’re not dealing with anything, Darcy. I am. It’s my problem and I will deal with it… with her. But it’s going to take time. She’ll lose interest eventually, and as you now know, that’s our best bet, because the police have zero interest.’ He lays down his fork and looks at me.

  I nibble on an olive and its bitter taste floods my mouth. I put it down on my plate and it rolls off onto my lap. I’m making such a mess of everything.

  ‘The police have asked us to get an incident log together. There are things we can do: contact the cab driver who witnessed her causing a scene outside the café, pursue the complaint you made at the lodge park… It’s inconvenient, but if we put our minds to it, we can start to make life difficult for her.’

  ‘She’s irritating, not dangerous, Darcy.’

  ‘No! She approached the kids at the lodge park, she felt she had a right to confront me outside the café! For goodness’ sake, what has she really got on you, George?’

  I bang my glass down on the table and the stem snaps, cutting my finger. Red wine sprays everywhere.

  George rushes into the kitchen for the first aid box, checks my finger for glass and expertly applies a small bandage. Then he gently lifts my chin so I’m looking right at him.

  ‘Stop worrying. It’s you, me and the kids now, and that’s all that’s important.’

  ‘No. I can’t stand it any more, George. I could lose the boys over your refusal to tackle that… that crazy bitch!’

  ‘For the final time, Darcy,
stop. Opal Vardy is nothing to us and she can’t spoil our happiness together unless we let her. I love you, I love the boys, and that’s all you need to be thinking about from now on. Why can’t you trust me on this?’

  I stand up. My legs feel shaky and my body is aching as if I’m coming down with a bad cold, but it has to be said.

  ‘I’m sorry, George, I just can’t do this any more.’ My voice is barely a whisper. ‘I’ve tried everything to make you see that you’re deluded about Opal, but the time has come.’

  He sighs. ‘The time has come for what, exactly?’

  ‘You have to choose. Deal with Opal, or me and the boys are moving out. There’s no room for us all in your life.’

  Forty-Eight

  George grasps my hands in his. ‘I hear what you’re saying, how you feel. Let me think about it all. Please, Darcy, give me a little time.’

  I don’t answer him. It’s not the response I was hoping for, and let’s face it, he’s had all the time in the world to sort this out – from long before I met him.

  I should have given him an ultimatum before now, I’ve let this whole Opal situation go on far too long. But I can’t move out immediately, that’s not logical. In some ways it could cause more problems than it solves. Joel’s family’s case would be strengthened if I move the boys again, so soon.

  I have to give George a little time as he asks. So long as he understands I absolutely meant what I said.

  While George finishes up some paperwork in his office, I clear up our supper dishes.

  ‘I can do this, madam,’ Maria says, making me jump as I carry in the supper dishes. She closes the utility room door behind her, shutting out the noise of the washing machine.

  ‘It’s fine, thanks, Maria, I honestly don’t mind.’ She backs off without saying anything else and I wonder if she thinks I’m trying to take over her duties. I place the dishes on the side. ‘If you don’t mind then, I’ll let you take these and I’ll look in on the children.’

  ‘I just did and they’re fine.’

  I turn around and she holds my stare.

  ‘Well, I’ll look in on them anyway,’ I say firmly.

  Upstairs, I check on little Romy first. I push open her door a little wider and tiptoe in. The soft glow from her night light illuminates the pink canopy that hangs around the top of her bed.

  Her entire room is princess-themed, and having two boys, I find it fascinating to see the difference in their chosen decorations. Romy’s white wardrobe and dressing table are beautifully hand-painted with glowing stars and flowers. I’m certain so many little girls would describe this as their dream bedroom.

  I pad closer to the bed, my eyes adjusting to the dimness now. Her plump, flushed cheek twitches in the midst of a dream, the skin smooth and unblemished like a peach. I reach down and gently smooth back the wisps of dark blonde hair splayed across her face, and her long dark eyelashes flutter as though she knows on some level that I’m here.

  My heart fills with affection for this tiny, loveable girl who lost her mummy and her twin sister so cruelly. I’d never try and take Lucy’s place; it would be impossible. But I can make sure I’m the best stepmother that I can be to her, and provide all the love and guidance her own mummy would have done if her life hadn’t been cut so tragically short.

  I bend forward and kiss her cheek before creeping out to check on the boys further down the hall. George’s deep voice carries upstairs as he potters around in the kitchen, chatting to Maria.

  I push open Harrison’s door, and smile to myself. The boys shared a room in our old house, and when I did my last check on them before bed, the sight of them asleep never failed to amuse me. Harrison – just as he is now – was always splayed across the bed, covers thrown awry, limbs dangling carelessly off the mattress. Kane, on the other hand, is a neat sleeper. Usually cocooned in his quilt, or a sheet if it’s warmer, he looks like a little dormouse, snug and content in his resting hours.

  I gently rearrange Harry’s arms and legs so they’re back on the bed, and kiss him before popping next door to Kane, who is wrapped up neatly as usual. From his pillow I pick up a bright green spotted Tyrannosaurus rex, whose tail is threatening to poke him in the eye, and place it on the floor.

  The boys’ rooms are still quite plain, painted cream with beige carpet, but they have big plans. Harrison, who is football mad, is currently trying to convince George that a Nottingham Forest theme would look brilliant in here, while Kane is debating dinosaur or superhero wallpaper.

  Decisions, decisions.

  I kiss Kane gently and leave the room. Only yesterday, I’d felt so grateful that my boys were safe and happy in their new home and now I’m worrying about leaving George and Joel’s family taking them away from me.

  George won’t tell me the full story of why he seems so nervous of doing anything about Opal Vardy. When it comes to her, he just seems to roll over and blindly accept her attempts to control our lives. It has to be more than the fact that it could ruin his promotion prospects; that’s just not a good enough excuse when his family’s safety is on the line.

  I decide here and now it leaves only one viable solution.

  It’s down to me to find out what’s really going on.

  * * *

  Back downstairs, I glance into the lounge to see George sitting in there with a drink. I walk into the kitchen and stand in the doorway for a moment, watching Maria busying around. I glance at the wall clock and see she should have left twenty minutes ago.

  She’s the sort of person who just never stops. I’ve walked in the house lots of times and she’s been unaware of my presence at first because she’s working hard at some household task.

  I’m pretty sure most folks, myself included, would be tempted to slack off just a touch now and again if my employers weren’t around. But not Maria, it seems. She works like she’s doing it for her own benefit.

  ‘Oh, madam! I didn’t see you there.’ She lays her palm flat on her chest like I gave her a fright.

  ‘Sorry if I startled you, Maria, but please, call me Darcy.’ I push the kitchen door closed behind me. ‘None of this “madam” business. You should get off, it’s way past your home time.’

  She nods, smiles a little tightly. ‘Can I get you anything… Darcy? A tea, perhaps?’

  ‘No, no. Thank you, I’m fine.’ She doesn’t look in any rush to get home, so I pull out a stool and sit at the breakfast bar. ‘We’ve been here a little while now and you and I, we’ve had no chance to chat at all.’

  Maria stops wiping down the work surfaces and looks at me. ‘Chat… about what?’

  Her body looks tense all of a sudden and every few seconds, the side of her mouth twitches, very slightly.

  The last thing I want to do is upset Maria. She’s so mild-mannered and kind to the children, George would not be impressed if he thought I was prying. Am I prying? Not exactly, just making conversation… you never know what might come up.

  ‘Please don’t look so worried, Maria!’ I laugh. ‘I just meant it would be nice to get to know you a little. I know George thinks a great deal of you and you’ve been with him for a long time, I think.’

  She nods but her shoulders still look stiff.

  ‘I think Mr Mortimer values what I do here.’

  ‘I know he does. How did you come to work for him?’

  She picks up her cloth again and rubs distractedly at a mark on the counter.

  ‘Mr Mortimer put an advert in the village newsletter,’ she says. ‘My daughter told me about it and I applied. Of course, I instantly fell in love with little Romy.’

  Her face softens a touch.

  ‘Who wouldn’t?’ I smile. ‘She’s a delight and I know she really cares about you, too. Did you… did you know George’s late wife, Lucy?’

  She doesn’t answer for a moment but turns to the sink and turns the tap on full pelt. I shift on my stool, wondering if I’ve upset her by mentioning Lucy. Although she’s never been anything but pleasant to me, I’v
e always felt held at arm’s length from getting to know her.

  ‘I knew Mrs Mortimer for a little while, that’s all. Then she had Romy and died. It was all very sad. My heart broke for little Romy, growing up without a mother.’

  I strain to hear what Maria’s saying through the noise of the tap and I hope she turns it off in a moment.

  George must have brought Maria on board to help when there were just the two of them here, before Romy was born. From what I’ve heard, Lucy had quite a privileged upbringing and was probably used to having some domestic help in the house.

  ‘I hope I can be a mother of sorts to Romy,’ I say, smiling to myself as I think about how we’re getting closer now and how I’m slowly gaining the little girl’s trust. ‘She’s young enough, I think, that eventually, I can play a full role in her life and—’

  Maria turns off the tap and whips around to confront me, her face red and twisted.

  ‘You will never be her mother! We were managing just fine before you came along.’

  The change in her mood happens in a split second. Such is the strength of her reaction, I find myself slipping off the stool and taking a step back, reeling from the vitriol that’s suddenly rolling off her in waves.

  I open my mouth, feel my cheeks burning with the shock. Surely in a moment, she’ll be begging for me to accept her apology.

  Maria wrings the dishcloth hard, between her hands. She looks mad enough to do the same thing with my neck if she gets close enough.

  ‘You’ve ruined everything with your interfering. Everything!’ She juts her chin forward, speaks in a hissing whisper. ‘You haven’t a clue what you’re getting into here.’