by Liz Davies
Ug!
With great effort and a considerable amount of grunting, she clambered stiffly out of bed, heading for the mini-bar and the bottled water she knew it contained, gulping half of it.
Oh, no! Too much, too fast—
She only just made it to the bathroom and afterwards she stood on wobbly legs staring at her gruesome reflection in dismay.
If Brett could see her now...
Ah, well, it was a good job he can’t then, she told herself tartly. Anyway, it was his fault she was in this state to begin with. Him and his sodding mother.
Kate rinsed her mouth out a couple of times, then ran a shaking hand through her shoulder-length hair, catching her fingers in the tangles and wincing. All she wanted to do was to finish that bottle of water, take a couple of aspirin, and go back to bed, but—
Wait, she really could do that, couldn’t she? She didn’t have to make breakfasts, or packed lunches, or take various children to several different destinations. She was on her own and she could do what she bloody well liked.
So what, if she went back to bed and missed breakfast. It didn’t matter, she had no one to please but herself.
Except... breakfast was part of the cost of the room, and it would be a shame to miss it. Besides, a fry up would do her good, and she was desperate for a glass of orange juice. She was up now, so she might as well just get on with it.
After a shower, a cup of tea, and a couple of painkillers from a stray blister pack she’d found in the bottom of her bag (she’d also found an ancient sachet of Calpol which must have been in there for ages, because she hadn’t given any of the kids any of the baby pain relief for years), Kate began to feel more like her normal self. She still felt a little sick and her head still throbbed, but she was functioning, albeit at a lower level than normal. She’d eat her breakfast and then see how she felt. If she continued to feel lethargic and out-of-sorts, she’d go back to bed for a nap.
Breakfast was surprisingly good, served by Dave who’d signed her in yesterday, minus the parrot.
‘Where’s Polly?’ Kate asked, tucking into a bowl of chopped fruit and honeyed yoghurt.
‘She’s not at her best in the mornings,’ he said, placing a pot of tea on the table. ‘I’ve left her in her cage with her head tucked under her wing. How about you, did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ If she could call passing out, sleeping.
‘Are you here on business or pleasure?’ he asked.
It was probably a standard question of his, but Kate gave it a moment’s thought as she wondered how to answer. ‘Pleasure,’ she said, eventually.
‘Have you been to Brixham before?’
‘Never; a friend recommended it, and I needed somewhere... I mean, I was at a loose end, so I decided to come here.’
‘You’ll be sightseeing then,’ he said. ‘There are some brochures on a stand in reception, if you’re interested. The harbour is lovely, and we’ve got a replica of The Golden Hind moored up which is well worth a visit. There are some glorious walks along the coast.’ He leaned closer as if what he was about to impart was a secret. ‘The weather forecast for today is good – cold but sunny, with very little chance of rain.’
‘Great,’ Kate said, thinking that the way she was feeling now, she might just manage a trip to a café and back, but that was about it.
Yet, once a hearty English breakfast had done its job and with a large glass of orange juice and several cups of tea under her belt, Kate felt almost back to normal.
A stroll around Brixham might be nice, she thought. Actually, it was essential if she didn’t want to wear the same clothes several days in a row or try to rinse them out in the shower. She also needed to pick up a few toiletries and a book or two. Of all the shopping she intended to do, choosing a book excited her the most.
Kate popped back to her room for her coat and bag, and as she did so, her mobile phone glared accusingly at her. Still switched off, it nevertheless managed to make her feel guilty. Should she check it for messages? Make sure everyone was OK at home.
Maybe something had happened when she was out gallivanting and getting drunk last night – something awful – and no one had been able to get hold of her—
In a sudden panic, Kate grabbed the phone and held the on-button down.
‘Start, start,’ she muttered, a fresh wave of guilt vying with a sudden churning in her stomach, making her feel nauseated again. Please let everyone be alright, please...
It came on, and the text icon appeared in the corner of the screen.
With shaking fingers, she opened up her messages.
Ellis – This is the top I bought. Don’t let Portia anywhere near it.
Portia – I need a lift into town tomorrow at 6. Evening, obvs lol
Sam – is it normal to have so many spots
Kate paused. All the messages had been received yesterday evening, and her first instinct was to send reassuring replies back.
A pause gave her time to think.
Ellis, she conceded, did have a point. Portia shouldn’t be taking Ellis’s things without permission and as a parent, it was Kate’s responsibility to make sure her middle child respected boundaries. Portia, she recalled, should have been grounded, but the punishment appeared to have been conveniently forgotten, even to the point where Portia was demanding the mum-taxi. And, yes, Sam was getting to the age where acne was a definite thing.
There was nothing further from her children, but there were a couple from the nans.
Beverley – she ses her car wont start rubbish thats why shes staying don’t believe a word of it
Helen – We need to talk. Stop being so childish.
Followed by another from Helen saying, How could you do this to him?
Kate narrowed her eyes – a huge part of her felt as guilty as sin for running away, even if it was only for a couple of days. Another part, a much smaller but more vociferous part, whispered loudly that it was about time her family realised how much she did for each and every one of them, and that it was high time they stopped treating her like a doormat. Admittedly, Christmas wasn’t the ideal time to make a stand, but a woman could only take so much, and she was at the end of her tether.
Finally, she gathered enough courage to listen to the voicemails from Brett.
‘What do you mean, you’ve gone away for a few days? Stop being silly and come back home. My mother said you stormed off in a huff.’
‘Kate, answer your phone.’
‘Kate, where the bloody hell are you? You do realise the kids haven’t had their dinner? Kate, answer your phone. Kate?’
‘Why the hell don’t you answer your phone?’
‘Pick up, Kate, you’re starting to worry me.’
‘Is there someone else, is that it’?
‘Kate!!’
‘Kate!’ Brett gave a loud huffing sigh. ‘For God’s sake,’ she heard him mutter under his breath.
Kate closed her eyes and gulped back tears. Someone else indeed! Since when did she have the time to have an affair? She barely had time to shower. Even though she and Brett had an en suite, none of the kids felt they could wait for her to come out of it if they wanted to speak to her. Instead, they traipsed up to the attic and parked themselves outside the bathroom door to hold a yelled conversation through it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d washed her hair in peace; or had managed to shave her legs without nicking herself because she’d been concentrating so much on one or another of the kids’ problems. Not that she shaved her legs very often, because she was always haring around and chasing her tail.
Brett sounded worried, but he didn’t sound upset. Cross and put-out were the things that came to mind when she listened to his final message.
‘We’ll talk tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to come to your senses, it said.
So much for missing her. He sounded more like he was her line-manager and was reprimanding her, than a concerned husband wondering why his wife had suddenly gone off the r
ails.
That did it – her mind was made up. She’d stay in Brixham until after Christmas. Sod the lot of them. None of them cared, none of them even asked her what was wrong, why she’d done what she’d done. The only thing they cared about was how her absence affected them.
Kate sent one message before she switched her phone off again. It was to Brett.
There is no one else. There’s not even you, it seems.
Then she placed it gently on the chest of drawers and burst into tears.
Chapter 30
The first thing Brett did when he woke on Thursday morning (apart from noticing that his wife wasn’t in her side of the bed and didn’t appear to have been, although it was difficult to tell because the duvet was firmly wrapped around his waist) was to check his phone. There was a text from Kate. What did she mean, “there’s not even you, it seems”? Of course he was there – where else would he be?
He wished he knew what she was so upset about. His mother might have put her size six feet in her mouth, but Kate was used to Helen and her ways. If his wife had left because of that, then she was overreacting.
He tried calling her again, but this time when it went to voicemail, he didn’t bother leaving a message.
He lay there for a while, listening to the silence. The only sound was the occasional slam of a car door from somewhere in the close and the faint hum of the central heating, and he wondered where his wife was and whether she was awake.
It was Christmas Eve tomorrow; surely she’d be home today. Or if not, then definitely tomorrow. He couldn’t imagine Christmas Eve without her. Kate was the kingpin of the family, the person who kept everything ticking along, who sorted out problems, who organised everyone else.
She wouldn’t have gone far, he decided, not when she had work this morn—
That was it! She’d definitely be in work today. There was no way she’d let Doris down. Surprisingly, charity shops did particularly well in the week leading up to Christmas, with women looking for party dresses that didn’t cost the earth, and stocking up on cards and wrapping paper. Kate was bound to be there. She loved her job and she took it very seriously, although Brett honestly couldn’t see the appeal of rifling through discarded clothes and assorted household junk. He often teased her about getting a proper job, a full time one and one that paid better, but in fact, he was proud that she worked for a charity – at least one of them was doing some good, because Brett felt that his job was an utter waste of time most days. Briefly he recalled their squabble the other night when he was blowing up the air bed, and he’d made a comment about earning four times as much as she did. It might be true, but he was a little ashamed that he’d pointed it out. Kate’s value to the family wasn’t financial.
Keen to talk to his wife and find out what the hell was going on, Brett slipped out of bed and quickly showered and dressed. This particular mountain was off to visit Mohammed, and try to talk some sense into her. Kate could refuse to take his calls or answer his texts, but it would be a whole different ball game when he was standing in front of her and staring her in the eye. He wanted to get this silliness sorted out once and for all, and persuade her to return home before Christmas.
Brett didn’t think he’d walked along the high street at this hour of the morning before, and it was quite eerie with the Christmas lights on but none of the shops open, and hardly any people around.
He was intentionally early, wanting to catch Kate before she started work. He wanted her full attention, and not have to vie for it with a pensioner who was looking for a pair of winter boots.
Argh! Talking of boots, Brett tripped over a pair of clunky men’s ones which were sticking out from underneath a pile of blankets and some flattened cardboard boxes.
‘Are you alright, mate?’ a gruff voice asked from somewhere beneath the pile.
‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there. And I think it should be me asking that question considering I nearly trod on you. Are you OK?’ Brett asked.
‘Yeah, ta. I’m grand.’
He didn’t believe the man for one second. Who could possibly feel “grand” while lying in a shop doorway in late December? The bloke had clearly spent the night there.
‘Can I... um...?’ Brett looked around. The café across the street was about to open. Staff were bustling about inside. ‘Get you a coffee? Once they open?’
‘Thanks, mate, but they won’t be serving for a bit yet, and you’ve probably got somewhere you need to be.’
‘Uh, no, I haven’t. I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Then, yeah, a coffee would be great, if you’re sure. Two sugars, please.’
‘Right,’ Brett stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘A coffee it is, then.’
The two men were silent for a moment, then Brett said, ‘Is this your normal spot?’ He felt a little awkward standing there, without speaking. It seemed a trifle rude.
‘I suppose so. The doorway is nice and deep, stops most of the rain if it’s not too heavy.’
‘It must get dreadfully cold at night,’ Brett said. He was already starting to feel the chill and he’d only been standing there for a couple of minutes.
‘Yeah, it does,’ the man said. ‘But I have a wicked sleeping bag. One of the women who works in the shop gave it to me.’
‘Doris?’ Brett asked.
‘No, the other one. Kate. She’s lovely, always shares her lunch or fetches me something from the café. She even lets me inside for a warm, when she can.’
Brett’s heart did a double thump at the mention of his wife’s name. Aww, that was so sweet of her. ‘Kate’s my wife,’ he said, feeling proud of her generosity. ‘Always thinking of other people,’ he added, realising it was true.
‘Nice to meet you,’ the man said. ‘My name is Ron, and you must be Brett.’
‘I am.’ Brett didn’t know what to make of the fact that this guy knew his name. He wondered what else Ron knew about him. ‘She’s not mentioned you to me.’
‘Why should she?’ Ron asked. ‘I’m just a homeless bloke she’s kind to, now and again.’
Brett shifted his gaze to the café, in the desperate hope it would open its doors soon, because he was wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He’d felt a flash of jealousy there for a moment, which was so unreasonable and so unlike him, that he almost didn’t recognise himself. And the guy was right – why should Kate mention that she’d been kind to someone?
‘Are you waiting for her?’ Ron wanted to know.
‘Sort of.’ There was no way Brett was going to discuss the situation with this man.
‘Is she feeling better?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Kate. Is she better?’
Brett shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’
Ron’s grubby-faced gaze was full of curiosity. ‘She wasn’t very well yesterday.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Doris told me that Kate wasn’t in work because she wasn’t well.’
Brett needed to sit down. Kate hadn’t been in work yesterday? Where had she been, and why hadn’t she said anything to him about not being well? Was that why she’d taken herself off, because she was ill? But what kind of ill would warrant her disappearing?
Oh. My. God. Brett leant against the shop window, his heart sliding into his boots with fear. Maybe she had something seriously wrong with her and she didn’t want to spoil Christmas for the rest of the family. That would be just like her.
No it wouldn’t, Brett reasoned. It would be more like her to carry on as normal and not say anything to anyone.
What the hell was she playing at?
‘I saw her,’ Ron said.
‘Kate?’
‘Yeah. She was in there.’ Ron pointed at the café which was finally open for business.
‘When?’
‘After Doris had made me some toast and told me Kate wasn’t coming into work because she must have caught what she’d had. A twenty-four-hour virus t
hing, Doris said.’
‘Let me get this straight – you saw Kate in the café after she’d phoned in sick? What was she doing?’
‘Eating a full English.’
Brett’s eyebrows rose. ‘Was she with anyone?’
‘Not that I could see.’
Had she been planning on disappearing before she overheard his mother saying he should never have married her? If so, that put a whole different slant on things.
‘She went to church after that,’ Ron added.
‘She did?’ Brett was even more astounded. He didn’t think Kate had stepped foot inside a church since one of the kid’s schools had held a carol concert in one.
‘The abbey,’ Ron said. ‘She had coffee and cake.’
Brett shot him a look. Had this man been stalking his wife? How did he know so much about her movements yesterday, when he, himself, knew absolutely nothing?
Ron smiled as if he knew what Brett was thinking. ‘I always pay a visit to the abbey on Wednesdays because that’s when they hold their coffee morning. A sit in the warm, with a hot chocolate and a slice of Yule log is very welcome, I can tell you.’
‘Do you know where she went after that?’ Brett was clutching at straws here, but by now he wasn’t ruling anything out.
‘Sorry. But she looked much happier on the way out of church than when she’d come in.’ Ron got to his feet, and Brett could have sworn he could hear the man’s joints creaking.
‘Let me get us a coffee,’ he said. ‘Fancy a bacon sarnie to go with it?’
Ron’s eyes lit up and when Brett returned with breakfast, the man tucked in with gusto, making Brett wonder when the bloke had last eaten a hot meal.
‘Here,’ he said, taking his wallet out of his pocket and handing him a ten-pound note.
‘Are you sure?’ Ron asked. ‘It’s a lot of money.’
Which only served to make him feel even worse than he already did. He pushed the money at Ron who took it from him gently and tucked it away inside his many items of clothing.
‘She isn’t happy, you know,’ he said to Brett.
Brett paused, his lips around a bacon roll. He bit a mouthful off, chewed for a while, then said, ‘I’m not sure if that’s any of your business.’
