‘From what you’ve told me about Isaac, I doubt if he would tell him.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘How are you getting on being somewhere so remote? I think it would freak me out.’
‘I did think I might feel a bit anxious. The silence is deafening, until the birds wake up that is and then the dawn chorus is something else. And as for darkness, I can’t even see my hand waving in front of me. But I feel completely safe, Dee. The peace is so soothing. I haven’t even taken a sleeping pill. Getting off the mad treadmill that I was on has been like a natural sedative.’
‘That’s bird song tomyears if that’s the case. You needed to slow down, mate. I guess the only reason that Dom may call Isaac is that he’ll want his money back on the cottage,’ Dee mused.
‘No. Dom may be some things, but he’s not mean financially, and it was such short notice.’
‘OK, so just tell Isaac and Belle that you don’t want him to know where you are. Anyway, what are you going to do? Are you going to stay down there?’
‘I certainly don’t want to come back yet. I mean, where would I go? I’m essentially homeless. The Bloomsbury flat is Dom’s. He said I could stay there until I found somewhere else, and he would get a hotel. But being there would remind me of us. Plus, I figure that if I stay out of the way for a couple of weeks, everything will calm down and the news cycle will move on.’
‘Yes. The next big hashtag trend will be fuelling the fingers of the tormented trolls by then. Well, as soon as you’re ready, whether it be a day or a month, you know our spare room has your name on it. The girls would love having you around, you know that. They adore their Auntie Rini.’
‘I appreciate that. I just don’t want DomorCaroline knowing where I am. I’m surprised they haven’t been on to you already to try and sniff me out. I don’t want anyone to recognise me. No pointing fingers or people feeling sorry for me in the street. Oh, tonotbe famous– just for a year, at least.’
‘I feel I should tell you thatDaily Swine Onlinehas a thread asking,Where is Polly Malone? Maybe it’s really Sabrina Swift who has gone to jail!With a hashtag of #FindPollyMalone, and they’re offering a real-life reward if anyone spots you in public.’
Sabrina grimaced. ‘I braved a look earlier and saw it, along with the photos of him in Paris with her. They’re recent, too. I know exactly what clothes he took when he went for the rugby trip, as I blooming well ironed them and put them in his case. He’s such a cock!’
Dee tutted ‘And he’s surely not that silly to not try and make it up with you whilst carrying on with her, as he knows damn well that you are going to find out about these photos.’
‘Oh, Dee. It makes me feel sick that she’s half his age, it’s so bloody cliched. Knowing him and his already inflated ego, he’ll love the fact they could be the next Bogart and Bacall.’
‘Maybe it’ll do you good to stay for the full two weeks in Cornwall then.’
‘I agree, and Isaac did say I could stay as long as I like.’ Sabrina became animated. ‘Oh, come down and play with me, Dee. It’s magical down here and that’s without even exploring.’
‘I’d jump at the chance, but the girls are only just back at school and Stu’s got some work event in Munich next week. I’m sorry, Rini.’
‘No, of course. I forget these practicalities.’
‘Yes. You have a lot to be grateful for. The day I don’t have to do a school run again will be the best day of my life!’
‘Maybe I’ll feel that way again, one day. Free and happy. Isaac came out with something earlier. He said, “the quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.”’
‘Oh, to have just one moment of peace. You need to keep listening to that man, he sounds wise. I’ve gotta go mate. Thea is at a play date and is phoning me. Catch up soon. Love you.’
Before Sabrina had a chance to reply, Delilah Dickinson had hung up.
Chapter Five
Sabrina awoke to brilliant sunshine streaming through the shutters, spotlighting a million dancing dust particles that twirled frivolously against the walls. After two years of co-habiting, it felt strange sleeping alone. Strange but pleasantly liberating not having to share a space and being able to stretch her legs across both sides of the bed. She wondered fleetingly where Dom was and what he was doing, but she was adamant that she was going to let him suffer. Not call him back. Let him do the worrying, after hurting her so badly. Or maybe he didn’t give a shit. His inflated ego was why he was leaving his daily message on her voicemail, telling her he wanted her back. Just thinking of him with the French stick suddenly made her shiver. Her face contorted and she made a little groaning noise as she threw off the covers.
Pulling on the sexy cream silk dressing gown she had bought especially for the wedding night, she made her way to the bathroom. The one and only mirror in the place caused her to double take. Who was this woman looking back at her? Just days ago, when she had been getting ready in the stunningly decorated Soho Farmhouse bedroom, she had looked like the film star she had always aspired to be. Her pre-wedding preparation had been immense. Personal gym and yoga sessions to fit around her tight work schedule. A course of non-surgical facial treatments to make sure there was not a drooping jowl in sight. Dyed and curled lashes and micro-bladed brows. A tiny bit of lip filler. Perfectly styled hair. She’d even had Donna, the make-up artist from the show, travel to the wedding with her to ensure that every step of the way she would look amazing. The vintage mauve Vivienne Westwood inspired gown she had had specially made by Vera in wardrobe, in homage to the great lady, was one that dreams were made of. It really had been set to be a fairy-tale wedding.
‘Stupid bastard,’ Sabrina said aloud. Far from her now being ‘simply the Mrs Best’ (Dom’s words!), looking back at her was a shadow of that woman. A sombre Swift. Her long, wavy brown hair was greasy and all over the place. There were shadows under her extraordinary periwinkle-blue eyes. And aside from yesterday’s bread binge, she had been eating like a sparrow, so her chiselled features now fashioned an unattractive gauntness. For a split second she could see her mother’s face within her own. A mother who had taken her own life due to blaming herself for the accident of her beloved son. Then, as if her forthright mother was suddenly inhabiting her, a bright shard of sunlight hit the mirror and with a lone tear falling down her cheek, Gillian Swift’s beloved daughter whispered. ‘Swifty, you’ve got this girl.’
Chapter Six
During the Summer holidays, Penrigan Pier was alive with amusement arcades, fortune tellers, ice cream carts and cheeky gulls hoping to catch an unsuspecting tourist off guard and steal their fish and chips from a newspaper-printed cone. With the kids now back at school and it being a Monday, there was just a mobile coffee and snack van at the entrance and one other coffee and ice cream port to the middle of the pier. All other stall holders had stayed closed for a well-earned post-weekend break. Pensioners, reliving their youth and glad of the lack of crowds, could be seen taking a leisurely stroll along the boardwalk or sitting with a newspaper on their knees on a bench in one of the alcoves that ran down the middle of the pier, some with flasks of tea and tinfoil wrapped goodies. At weekends, teenagers would hang out after hours in these alcoves smoking, drinking, shouting, and play-fighting.
Sabrina found herself an empty bench and smiled at the engraved plaque before sitting down, which read, “To my Molly. There’s never an end to the sea, so why for you and me? Your Ronnie.”
Plonking herself down on the white-painted wooden seat and wondering who else might have sat here before her, she took in the salty, fishy aroma of seaside coming from the seaweed-covered struts on the old Victorian structure. To her right someone had left a copy of theHartmouth Echo. The area’s local paper, she assumed. Intrigued at exactly what the news might be in a sleepy area such as this, she popped it in her bag for a nosy later. Resting her head back, she closed her eyes for a second and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Behind her huge dark glasses and with cap pulled down and hair dragged back in a scruffy ponytail, for once she felt truly anonymous. Not one person in the world knew she was on this bench, on this pier, in this coastal town, and it felt strangely cathartic. It gave her a sense of peace that she hadn’t experienced for such a long time. Being in the public eye was a privilege, yes, and her pay cheques were certainly higher than the average salary, but the downside of this was that everyone wanted a little piece of her– the publicandthe press. This was great when things were going well, but now she realised how ugly things could get when they weren’t.
