‘A bus?’ he repeats as if I’d said, ‘I took a mule.’ Vince never takes buses. He claims to not understand how they work, or where they go. ‘Why did you do that?’ he asks.
‘Because I had to get away last night.’
‘Away fromwhat? This is so weird, Kate. You have to explain what’s going on.’
In fact, before I left this morning, Tash asked again if I’d think about staying, at least for a few days. No reason to hurry back home, she insisted. But I needed to have it all out with Vince: his attitude towards us, towardsme– the whole mess I’ve found myself in.
As Tash supplied me with clean undies, a top and a jacket – and a tote bag to stash my stuff in – I felt a twinge of regret at saying goodbye. We hugged and I took the tube to Euston, having decided to head back to Shugbury by train – much faster than the bus. It felt vital to seize the moment. No more dutiful Kate, I decided. Vince would have to listen to me. I would spill out all my grievances like a dumper truck disgorging its load.
However, as I emerged from the tube into Euston station, I was already formulating a to-do list.
Explain everything to Vince in a calm way.
Call Wilma and apologise for being unable to come into work today. Say family emergency happened?
Finish Vince’s book and email to Zoe, with apologies for lateness.
Clean up party mess.
Assess state of oven, deep-clean if necessary.
Walk Jarvis. Clear head. Buy carpet cleaner.
Clear up sick.
Get on with life.
It was hardly the list of a woman on fire, I realised. I couldn’t imagine this being Catherine the Great’s first thought, on seizing control of Russia:That baking tray will be ruined from the burnt quiche. Better pick up some Brillo pads on my way home.Yet this seems to be the way I’m wired now. I’m certainly not the girl who jumped aboard an Amsterdam-bound bus with Tash when we were twenty, simply because it was £12.50. I’m a robot, programmed to return to base and complete my chores.
‘I’m still not getting this, Kate,’ Vince announces. ‘I thought you just went out wandering last night?’
‘Yes, I realise that, because you somehow felt the need, at twenty past one in the morning, to text me aboutbaristamilk—’
‘Gail’s lactose intolerant!’ he says defensively. ‘Although I do wonder sometimes. She got stuck into that Camembert the other night. There was no stopping her then—’
‘I don’t mean why did Gail need oat milk. I mean, why did you feel it was okay to message me with a shopping list in the middle of the night when I could have been lying in the woods, being ripped apart by wolves—’
‘There are no wolves here. And it was only one thing. Hardly a list...’
‘Yes, I suppose you could’ve asked me to pick up a loaf and some eggs while I was at it—’
‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?’ he snaps.
‘—Maybe a packet of Wotsits?’
‘For God’s sake. All I knew was, you’d gone out wandering—’
‘Will you stop going on about me “going out wandering”, like I blundered out of a care home?’
‘All right,’ Vince shouts. ‘Allright.’
As ill humour fizzles between us I scan the departures board, spotting a train leaving for Shugbury in twenty minutes. I spot a family hugging in a joyful reunion, and a young couple in tears, separating reluctantly.
Imagine finding it that painful to pull apart. I’ve been outall night– and my husband hadn’t even noticed. Momentarily, my attention is caught by a tall older woman who brushes against me as she sweeps past. I stare after her. Notably elegant among all the people in their travelling clothes, she is wearing a camel trench and a black beret pulled down low over a sleek silvery bob. With one hand she’s gripping two dachshunds’ leads, and with the other she’s pulling along a smart checked wheelie case.
‘I’m sorry you’re upset,’ Vince says, adopting a martyrish tone now. ‘But it wasn’t exactly all fun and games here, y’know.’
‘Wasn’t it?’ I frown. ‘You seemed like you were having agreattime.’
