James humphed. ‘You left your last job at short notice. I don’t see why you can’t do the same again. What I’m telling you is for the best, Catherine.’
Was he right? What had she been thinking, running off to Saffron Bay? What had she been thinking, assuming she could manage by herself? She’d made a mess of everything, and all she’d done in the process was prove James right. No. The glint of fighting back fought to be heard …
‘Now, what are we having for dinner?’ said James, twisting to sit with his feet on the floor, and an expectant smile on his face.
Dinner, yes. She needed to cook. ‘I was going to make Bolognese.’
‘Fine,’ said James. ‘Don’t make it with too much salt. You know how much I hate that.’
A memory flashed through Kitty’s mind, and not only one. Multiple memories of dinners being thrown in the bin: too salty, too sweet, too dry, the sauce too runny. In fact, now she came to think of it, she couldn’t remember a time when James had ever been happy with what she’d prepared. Tiredness swept over her. She nodded her acquiescence.
‘I’m exhausted from being here,’ said James. ‘I’m going to have a bath while you make dinner.’
‘Would you like me to run it for you?’ said Kitty, hating herself for offering, thinking the offer might make up for the already discarded Bolognese.
James raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you suggesting I can’t run a bath by myself?’
‘No, no, that… no. I was being helpful.’
‘If you remember, Catherine,’ James wagged a finger, ‘you’re not very good at being helpful. That’s why you need me with you.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Kitty, believing him.
James heaved himself off the sofa, pushed past her and stomped up the stairs to the bathroom. Kitty was about to leave the room herself when she heard the ping of a message. It came from James’s phone, sitting on the coffee table. Kitty crossed the room and, with a glance towards the door, picked up the phone. She wouldn’t have dared unlock it, even if she had known James’s password. She could read enough of the message to get the gist, however:
Where are you? You were meant to have Rae this weekend. She has her gymnastics competition today. Why can’t I get ahold of you? You promised you’d be there.
The message was from Zoe, James’s ex. Kitty turned the phone in her hands. What was Zoe talking about? Gymnastic competition? If Rae was as ill as James said, she wouldn’t be doing any of those things. And what about the photo he’d shown her? There was no doubting that was Rae in a hospital bed…
Kitty pulled her own phone from her pocket, copied the number from the message, and replaced James’s phone exactly where it had been on the coffee table.
‘We’re all out of tomatoes!’ she called up the stairs. ‘I have to go to the general store to get some.’
‘I want you here by the time I’m out of my bath,’ called James. ‘Ten minutes. No longer.’
‘Of course,’ said Kitty.
She let herself out of the house and sprinted to the general store, knowing she’d need to return home with evidence of what she had been doing. When Sam tried to stop her for a chat, Kitty shook her head, said she was in a hurry, and tried to ignore thelook of hurt on Sam’s face. She grabbed the tomatoes, paid for them, and ran around the corner where she couldn’t be spotted if James came looking for her. She pulled out her phone and dialled the number.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hi. Zoe? It’s Kitty.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know a Kitty.’
‘Sorry, I mean it’s Catherine. Catherine McDonaugh.’
‘Catherine? Why on earth are you calling me? I thought you’d left James.’
‘I had,’ said Kitty. ‘And now he’s found me.’
‘Oh, you poor woman,’ said Zoe. ‘He’s come to charm his way back into your affections, I take it?’
‘He came to tell me about Rae’s illness.’
‘Rae’s illness?’ Confusion filled Zoe’s voice.
‘Yes. He showed me a photo of her in the hospital.’
