She breaks into a run, pulling her suitcase roughly over the uneven pavement, not caring any longer about trying to keep calm. Up ahead she can see the iron gate that leads out of the park. She’s nearly there. Just a few more steps …
In the distance, just beyond the gate, there is a layby where a black car is parked, lights on and the indicator flashing in the dark. Is it a taxi? She could call to them. Tell them she’s being followed. If sheisbeing followed. Her hand is on the gate. Finally. Finally. She reaches forward to push it open. The footsteps are closer. They are right behind her now. But the car … Someone is getting out of the driver’s side.
‘Excuse me,’ she cries. ‘I think I’m being –’
A hand from behind her clamps her mouth shut.
‘Going somewhere?’ says a voice in her ear.
10
LENA
I stare at Charlie in shock. ‘Sell the house! Why?’
‘Mortgage rates have gone up.’ He throws up his arms. ‘Everything has gone up. I’m not making that much money from gigging any more. Royalties fromWhat Will We Do?are drying up.’ It was their first and most successful album, named after the hit single. ‘My dad pays me a pittance, as you know. And,’ he says softly, ‘we did say when we split up that you could keep this house until Rufus turns eighteen. That’s next year.’
‘We did, I know, but …’ A dark feeling of despair grows in the pit of my stomach. I love this house. The memories of Rufus as a child still echo around its rooms. And maybe, on some level, I’d hoped Charlie and I might have reconciled by then. That Charlie would tell me all the things I wanted to hear.
‘It’s a big house for just one person.’For just one person.His words are like a sucker punch to the stomach. No doubt he’ll be shacked up with Rosie before long. ‘You don’t need a three-bedroom house.’
‘The third bedroom is tiny. It’s not a particularly big house.’ My voice wobbles and I bite back my tears. Hestares at me patiently without speaking. It’s such a familiar gesture that I feel a lurch of anger mixed with regret. ‘Okay,’ I concede. ‘I know I don’t need three bedrooms.’
‘If you earned more …’
‘I work three days a week.’ I used to supplement my income by working shifts at Collette’s café on Gloucester Road. I’d loved the job. Getting to chat to customers and hearing all the local gossip was perfect for me, but I left last year after all the trouble with Rufus. Collette’s son, Jackson, was the ringleader in the bullying. It was only when I noticed the bruises on Rufus’s back that he confessed to a ‘falling-out’ with Jackson and some of his other mates, though he tried to brush it off. When I brought it up with Collette she defended him, saying it was between the boys and we should keep out of it. I was furious with her and ended up telling her just what I thought of her son, then I resigned. Rufus begged me not to complain to the school, said I’d make it worse, so I didn’t. I still don’t know if I did the right thing. I told myself it was only a few more weeks before he went on study leave and then he’d never have to see those horrible kids again. I’ve boycotted Collette’s coffee shop ever since. And Rufus is happy now. The bruises are long gone and he’s finally coming out of his shell. During this whole time Charlie left me to deal with it while he mucked about with his band like an unencumbered teenager. It had been one unravelling thread too many in the fabric of our marriage, impossible to mend, and leading to the conversation that ended it.
Charlie raises an eyebrow. ‘Yes, but it’s not well paid. If you worked full-time we could maybe keep the house longer.’
‘I’ve tried to increase my hours,’ I say, ‘but there weren’t any available the last time I asked.’ I love being an adviser at Citizens Advice. I started off volunteering and when a part-time job came up two years ago I applied and got it. I’d put my own career on the back-burner so that Charlie could follow his music. One of us had to be the parent who made sure we were there for our son. Charlie could hardly do that when he was flitting up and down the country gigging.
‘I’m not trying to be an arsehole, Lena.’ I’ve always loved the way he says my name in his soft Essex accent. Laynah. He’s not an arsehole. I know that. ‘Look. I’ve got enough money for things to stay as they are for the next few months. Gives you time to sort something out. But if we sold it you’d have more money. We’ve got equity in the house and you can have it. I’ve got the flat.’
It all feels so final. I bet he’s saying all this now because ofRosie.
He clears his throat. His hands are still thrust in his pockets, and he can’t quite look at me as he says, ‘We probably should talk about sorting out a divorce.’
I reel. ‘Divorce?’
‘That’s what you wanted. Isn’t it?’ His gaze is challenging. Is it what I wanted? What Iwant?
‘It was mutual,’ I mutter, looking at my feet. It was more of a stance than anything else. I wanted him to take stock. To understand what he was losing by never being here, by being emotionally detached, by living his life through his music instead of facing the challenges we were going through as a family. I wanted it to kickstart him into changing. Instead, he just went ahead and left.
A muscle throbs in his jaw. ‘We can’t be in limbo for ever, can we?’
‘I … No, I suppose not.’
He looks annoyed, like I’ve said the wrong thing.
I clear my throat, the weight on my chest intensifying. ‘I’ll ask again at Citizens Advice for more hours,’ I say, my voice sounding thick.
He gives a curt nod, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed.
I don’t want a divorce.
But pride won’t let me admit it to him. Instead I leave him standing there and head back into the kitchen without another word. Mum and Rufus are sitting at the table. I can see she’s made him a cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off, just like she used to do for him when he was little. He’s telling her about a media ethics module he’s doing on his course, and they turn when I walk in. ‘Everything okay?’ Mum asks.
‘Yep. All good.’ I’ve never bad-mouthed Charlie in front of Rufus and I’m not about to start now. Charlie pops his head around the door to say goodbye. He avoids looking at me. ‘Before I forget,’ he says to Rufus, ‘I’ve shared Kit’s number with you. He’ll do mates rates. A tenner for half an hour. He’s happy to come to the house, if it’s okay with Mum.’ He’s acting like I’m not in the room.
