There was no way to wriggle out of the plan, agreed as it was that she would travel to The Mount, the Sutherlands’ house that sat on the ridge of a valley looking down over Bath. The circumstances of the invitation were still etched in her mind, the memory of which made her flush with the uncomfortable warmth of guilt. The prospect of seeing Dominic again was not something she relished, not under these circumstances, where she was fearful of saying or doing something that might reveal their duplicity.
Just the thought made her feel grubby.
Aiden had not yet ventured home, having stayed with Iris all week, and, as he had the car, had agreed to collect her from the train station. Enya didn’t mind the rigmarole, it meant she didn’t have to worry about navigating the narrow country lanes, and she wouldn’t have to arrive alone. A thought that for some reason always unsettled her, turning up somewhere new or unfamiliar. It was another thing that Jonathan did, offering her his arm whenever they arrived anywhere, as if he instinctively understood.
It broke her heart that she hadn’t seen him. Not since the moment Dominic had left via the front door. She’d tried calling to him, writing to him and leaving a note on the kitchen table.
My love . . . come back to me . . . here I am . . . I miss you . . . come back to me, Jonathan . . .
She’d even howled her apology, crying as her bath-water grew tepid, and she felt the loneliest she had since he died, and the most alone. It felt like punishment for admitting to her feelings for Dominic and was a cruel lesson to learn.
For the last two years, Aiden and Holly had been ever present despite living across town, occasionally staying over, popping in forcups of tea, calling with innocuous updates on their day, all very mundane. Yet this contact, their voices and texts, the gentle oil that greased her cogs, had fuelled her will to keep going and had been the thing that got her up and moving every day. Cooking for them was a diversion. The sound of their feet running up and down the stairs, their laughter filtering back from the kitchen, even the nauseating smack of their smooching at every greeting or goodbye – they were the sounds of life that ushered out any threat of isolation. They meant that life carried on, and even though she might still feel every day as if she were wading through treacle, sounds muted, motivation a little lacking, these kids and their presence were a reminder that she was still there. Still human, even if she felt a little otherworldly, as if she were on the outside of the world looking in.
Jenny had been a huge part of that life, connected to her via their kids, but so much more than that, the person she called in the early hours, the woman who had made her tea when she’d arrived home alone from the hospital, having reluctantly had to leave Jonathan’s body where it lay. Jenny was the person she texted with nothing to say, just because. She was her friend, her very best friend, and the loss of her cut her as deeply as any grief.
Hardest to accept was that her life, yet again, seemed to have changed all at once, given Aiden’s understandable preoccupation with Iris. Holly, broken and in hiding. Dominic, at her insistence, closing the book on their story before it had started, and Jonathan... Jonathan gone.
As happened, sometimes she forgot to take a breath and felt the air jump in her throat. It felt a lot like sobbing without the tears, as her old friend panic paid her a visit. Leaning on the kitchen sink, she closed her eyes and took a minute until her breathing settled and the feelings of fear and anxiety passed. The last thing she wanted to deal with this morning was a panic attack.
Angela had been checking in with regularity, softly asking leading questions that without the intensity of the moment when Enya had called her were a little uncomfortable for them both.
‘Have youseenanyone?’
‘No. I haven’t seenanyone.’
Whether her sister referred to Jonathan or Dominic was neither here nor there. Her answer was just the same.
A quick glimpse at the clock and she knew it was time to head off to the station, no more than a brisk fifteen-minute walk.
‘Keys, phone, bag, purse, mints, water bottle, lip balm.’ She still spoke aloud as if her husband were near enough to be kept informed. Running through her mental checklist to make sure all was in order.
Pickle was in the kitchen sun puddling, having found a warm spot on the kitchen floor.
‘Pickle, I’m going out. I’ll be back later. If you need a poo, use your tray. You’ve had your breakfast and I’ll get your supper when I get home. You can go out via your cat flap if you want, but don’t go too far. Be good. No parties. No running up phone bills. Do not open the door to strangers; if you hear a noise, call the police, and stay away from the drinks cupboard. There’s money at the back of the tea-towel drawer for emergency taxis or a pizza. If you call me, I can be home in a flash.’
She smiled as she gave the same dire warnings her parents used to issue whenever she and Angela were left home alone. Angela’s eyes would light up, as if their mother’s words were a reminder that booze and pizza money were within reach, whereas Enya would simply make a promise, drawing a cross over her heart. ‘Don’t worry, Mummy.’
A good girl. Always.
Grabbing her Radley, she was about to shut the internal door when she heard a knock. It was an inconvenience, as well as makingher gut bunch at the prospect of encountering Phil on the rampage. Or maybe it was Jenny, full of words of love and forgiveness? Still Enya hoped. It was, however, lovely to see this visitor, no matter how inopportune the timing.
‘Holly, hello, darling! Come in, come in!’
She had been telling the girl to pop by whenever, explaining how she would always be there for her, and therefore felt unable to immediately mention that she was about to leave the house.
‘Is... is he here?’ Holly looked timidly towards the staircase, again her loss of vivacity shocking.
‘No, my love. He’s not. Come through.’
It was strange how, in such a short period of time, Holly moved through the cottage with hesitancy, as if she no longer had a right to be there.
‘Do you want a drink, my love?’ Enya pointed at the kettle.
Holly shook her head and Enya breathed out with relief that coasted on a trickle of guilt. ‘Sit down!’
Holly sat at the table, and almost immediately Pickle jumped up on to her lap and nestled in for a cuddle. Holly held her close, kissing her head and running her hand along the length of her spine. ‘I missed you, little Picks.’
‘She’s missed you.’ It felt like the right thing to say.
