She’d asked herself yet again whether she was doing the right thing.
But deep down despite any hesitation she knew she was. She’d take her memories, the good ones of this house and her boys, and keep them treasured in her heart.
Inside a cupboard in the same room in the basement as Perry’s bike was a filled suitcase and a holdall as well as the rucksack. It wasn’t a lot to take, but it would do until she needed to come back to the area to access her storage unit. Her laptop was with the holdall, as well as the bag of Sebastian’s postcards and when the clock struck twelve she would leave this house. She’d use the back door after turning off the alarm, she would go down the side path and out of the back gate where she’d meet an Uber that would whisk her to a hotel some thirty miles away. She didn’t want Perry to see her go when he woke up and looked at the Ring camera to see where she was, and in the morning she’d get the early train down to the South Coast.
The evening she planned to leave dragged on almost painfully. Perry had come home from work with an instant complaint as she bumped into him in the hallway.
‘What happened to the bush by the driveway?’ He took off his shoes and set them on the rack in the cupboard behind the sleek handleless door to one side.
‘The gardener trimmed it right back.’ She headed for the kitchen and took the tuna casserole that had been keeping warm out of the oven.
‘We can see the bloody neighbours now.’ He tugged off his tie and sat at the table. ‘Call the gardener. Find out what can be put in its place.’
She didn’t reply. He didn’t necessarily expect her to; he expected action. And he was going to get that. When she left.
Her heart fluttered with nerves despite the fact he had no idea. Part of her was waiting for him to announce he knew and block her path.
‘Remember the Petersons will be here in an hour for drinks,’ he announced, barely looking at her. He’d obviously noticed her make-up-free face, the summer dress that was years old now and not the smartest.
She’d forgotten all about the Petersons and momentarily panicked that her plan would be compromised. But the good thing about the Petersons – a couple from eight doors down – was that they never stayed past 10p.m. Perry and Malcolm usually talked business, then holidays, then investments before it came full circle back to business. Throughout, Priya, some twenty years her husband Malcolm’s junior, usually kept a smile on her face and her ridiculously white porcelain veneers on display as well as one hand on Malcolm’s knee, as if he needed to know where she was at all times.
Dinner with Perry went as predicted – quiet and without much chatter – so did the drinks with the Petersons, and Margot got through both with the excitement about her plan brewing inside her.
‘You could’ve at least tried,’ Perry moaned as he got ready for bed almost an hour after the Petersons left.
Margot was wearing an old nightie, one she’d leave downstairs after she’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and made her exit. She hadn’t taken her watch off and set it onto the top of her bedside cabinet like she usually did. ‘I did try, Perry. The house is clean as always; I was polite.’
‘You didn’t even try with the conversation.’ He yanked on his pyjama bottoms. ‘They’re nice people.’
‘I’m sure they are but we don’t really know them.’ She rubbed cream into her hands and left the pot on the bedside table. It felt odd that such a small thing reminded her that she would never pick it up again. She wouldn’t feel this carpet beneath her feet after tonight; she wouldn’t luxuriate in their spa bath with scented candles lined up in a row. Because she wouldn’t be coming back.
He pulled back the bedcovers. ‘We do know them. We see them every couple of weeks.’
To Perry that meant they were close. He seemed to forget that associating with someone meant nothing when the conversation between the men was always the same. Neither of them noticed the women were quite frankly bored, and Priya sat there inspecting her manicure or fiddling with her hair extensions and was just as spaced out if one of them asked her a question. Margot used to make an effort to remember people’s names, recall things of interest to talk to them about, but tonight her heart wasn’t in it and her mind was elsewhere.
When Perry was in the bathroom, she checked her phone. The confirmation for her bed and breakfast in Bournemouth had come through via email and she had three nights there before she would decide her next move.
Her heart thumped at the possibility of freedom after all this time.
Perry turned onto his side, almost but not quite looking at her over his shoulder as he said, enunciating every letter, ‘F-Y-I, I hate tuna casserole.’ And then he switched off his light.
She lay there in the darkness. This was the last time in this bed, in this room, in this house. Her last time sleeping next to Perry. Her Perry. Except he hadn’t been that man for a long time. Maybe he hadn’t ever been the man she thought he was.
When the time came, and she was sure he was asleep shortly before midnight, she crept downstairs and in the basement she took out everything she’d hidden away. She took it all up to the kitchen where she left it by the back door. She went into the hallway and disarmed the alarm, praying that despite his heavy slumber the little bleeps it emitted wouldn’t alert Perry, and then she went back in the kitchen and exited through the rear door before walking all the way down the side path to the back gate.
The Uber driver was waiting for her. He got out and helped her stow everything in the boot, and when she climbed into the back seat and gave him the address of the hotel the adrenalin was really pumping. She disabled her location services on her phone – Perry probably assumed she didn’t know how to do that but she did; she’d just never dared to do it before – and then debated whether blocking his number was a good idea in case something happened with the boys. She didn’t debate it for long though. She blocked his office number, the home landline, and his mobile before they reached the hotel. She’d talk to Sebastian and Alistair soon and let them know what was going on, she had to, but for now she just wanted to be out of Perry’s reach so he couldn’t get into her head before she really got herself sorted out and knew in which direction she was heading.
No turning back now.
She was on her way. To a new life.
She wished she could tell her mum she was getting out, she wished she had her boys at her side, but most of all she wished she hadn’t waited so long.
A tear briefly escaped until she swiped it away. Was this how every woman felt leaving behind a life of being trapped? You wanted to escape, and yet there was sadness for the good parts that you’d lost or maybe never ever gained in the first place.
She looked out of the window at houses as they passed them by, some with lights on, others in total darkness. Families, couples, lovers, behind closed doors. Some no doubt happy, others needing a way out.
Finally she’d found hers.
