The starlings are still swooping in the dusk, simply for fun. That’s what I need, I decide. To do something that’s not about earning money (I love my job but it’s still work), or keeping Kilmory Cottage and Dad’s flat to a standard that won’t alert the authorities – but for myself. ‘I need some fun!’ I announce loudly to the birds above.
My God, after all that’s happened lately I could do with a little light relief.
Then, as I’m walking to my car, my phone pings with a text: an unknown number.
I glance back at the flats. Dad has appeared at the top landing window, as he always does when I leave. I wave and he raises a hand in response. He’ll be wondering why I’m standing there rather than climbing into my car. God forbid he should see me checking my phone.It’s all phones, phones, phones these days! People gawping at them like they’ve had their brains removed. Are they born with them glued to their hands?
Rebelliously, I stand there, still clutching my mobile in full view of my father. Yes, Dad, I’m gawping at it like I’ve had my brain scooped out! I’m tempted to start walking while staring at it, and deliberately smack into a lamppost just to rile him.
Instead, I turn away, conscious of Dad’s gaze spearing the back of the head. And I read the message:
Hi Carly, hope you don’t mind, I got your number from your lovely son …
Suki. My heart crashes in panic. Is Lyla okay? And the baby?
… A group of us are going away to my little cabin up north this weekend. Just me and some girlfriends. It’s a little place in the woods, lovely and secluded with a hot tub. I know it’s short notice but bathroom renovations are doing my head in and I have to get away.
I stop, letting the information settle, and glance back at Dad. Although he’s silhouetted against the landing light, Ican sense him frowning.It’s all phones, phones, phones!I smile broadly and give him another wave.
…Wondered if you’d like to join us?Suki’s message goes on.With the baby coming I’d love to get to know you better and there’s plenty of room. Please say you’ll come. I’d say bring Frank but it’s girls only, hope OK! Love Suki xx
Chapter Seventeen
Normally I wouldn’t dream of saying yes. I don’t know these women – I barely know Suki – and if I were to plan a weekend away without Frank, it’d be with Prish, Jamie and Marilyn. Occasionally we book a Travelodge in somewhere like Liverpool or Manchester and have a ball.
Plus, what about the whole ridiculous Eddie-and-Lyla-are-together charade? What ifthatcame up? However, I can’t help picturing Suki’s cabin somewhere way out in the wilds. And being there, away from everything is sorely tempting.
I lug my rucksack out of the car and step into the empty house. Funny how the things that drove you mad about a person can become the very things you miss. Like the way Frank would always hang around, every time I was cooking, and give the pan a perfunctory stir – as if to ‘help’. Then he’d taste it: ‘Does that need more salt?’If it needed more salt I’d have put some in!
And the way he’d show me videos of golden retriever puppies on his phone, when I was trying to read in bed.
And insist on doing DIY projects in the kitchen, spraying sawdust everywhere, rather than tackling the job in the shed.
None of those things happen anymore. There’s no unasked-for pot stirring now. No foisting of cute animal videos on me. These past few weeks – as our grandchild has grown from the size of an apple pip to a grape to a plum – I’ve craved the warmth of Frank’s body, wrapped around mine. Is he depressed? Or angry with me? He’s the one with the penis around here! Surelyheshould’ve had a chat about the facts of life with our son? It was his job, as a father. His contractual obligation, like dragging the wheelie bins out onto the street which, I have to say, he’s also often neglected to do!
Having dumped my rucksack in the hallway, I go and open the back door and glare out at the shed. Its door opens and Frank steps out. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘You’re back.’
Clearly, yes. ‘Yep, just in.’ No,How was your day? How was your dad tonight?
He trudges towards me and follows me back inside and into the living room where I snap on the TV. ‘Everything all right?’ he asks.
‘Not really,’ I say.
He frowns. ‘What is it?’
I turn and glare at him. ‘Frank, why are you spending so much time out there? In the shed, I mean?’ After Dad’s rant about the Citrolax, I don’t care about sounding accusatory.
‘No reason,’ he replies with a shrug.
My heart is thumping now. ‘Theremustbe a reason. Why are you being so secretive? You’re not usually. At least, you weren’t before all this happened …’
‘I’m not being secretive,’ he exclaims.
‘You are, Frank. Is it because you want to stay away from me? Because if you are—’
‘Of course not!’ Frank declares.
I glare at the TV. Prish has often reminded me how lucky I am, enjoying simply hanging out with my husband. Although we could rarely afford to go out, that never mattered because, on the rare occasions when it was just the two of us, we always cherished our cosy evenings together.
