‘Have you received anything from Richard’s so-called solicitor?’ Claire asked over the phone. She used the words ‘so-called’ as she was still unconvinced Richard had actually appointed one, especially ‘one of the best’ as he put it. To Claire, that meant real money, and if there was one thing she knew about Richard, it was his reluctance to part with it. No, he was merely trying to frighten and upset Tara, and, judging from the way her friend was reacting, it was working.
‘No, not yet,’ replied Tara. ‘But that doesn’t mean a letter won’t arrive imminently,’ she added in a fretful tone.
‘Well, let’s face that if and when it does,’ countered Claire. ‘I honestly think he’s just trying his best to scare you, Tara. There’s not a hope in hell he’d ever get full custody of Calum.’ She spoke in a firm, assertive voice, adding conviction to her reply.
‘But, what if—?’
‘Don’t start the “what if” game, please, Tara. That’s exactly what he wants, to mess with your head.’
Tara closed her eyes, wishing the whole thing would just vanish from her plagued mind. Claire was right; Richard wanted her to be forever tormented instead of living a happy life without him. Or, more to the point, with someone else. And if that someone else was younger, handsome and fun around his ex-wife and son, well then he’d really up the ante – and he really had.
Since receiving Richard’s letter, Tara had felt sick to the stomach. A constant anxiety spilled over her, quashing any hope of happiness. She’d cry into her pillow at night, hoping Calum couldn’t hear her in the bedroom next door. Half of her expected Jack to end their relationship – and she wouldn’t blame him if he did, what with all the baggage she had. Not Calum, obviously, but certainly a vengeful, spiteful ex-husband who was determined to ruin her relationship. Who would want that?
Tara now started to envisage living the life of a divorcee for ever, always waiting for Richard to come and destroy any second chances she may have. She imagined a deserted existence, alone and without Calum. At this point she started to hyperventilate. It had been a long time since that had happened. Her final exams and the day Richard admitted his affair had been the last time her body had reacted so violently. Tara’s eyes frantically searched for a paper bag to help regulate her breathing. Speaking to Claire was increasingly stressful, and her chest was starting to tighten.
‘Tara, are you still there?’ asked Claire a little sharply.
‘Yes… Look, I’ve got to go. We’ll speak later,’ wheezed Tara.
‘Tara? Are you OK? Please, don’t worry—’
Tara put the phone down, rushed to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a paper bag. Delving her head into it, she took great gulps of air. Watching the bag expand and deflate was therapeutic and soon her thumping heart subsided. Her body was regulating back to a calmer state. Would sheevertruly be at peace?
