Toby sniffs. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘I can’t smell anyth—’ And then I realise what it is. ‘Shit! The fish fingers!’ I rush over to the oven and pull out the grill pan, but it’s too late. Six charred oblongs stare back at me from the wire tray. I’d scrape off the burned bits if I could, but they’re too far gone to salvage anything.
‘Here, let me.’ Toby comes to take over, but I wave him away with a sigh.
‘It’s fine. I’ll bin them. The kids will just have to have cheesy pasta instead.’ I flick on the extractor fan while Toby opens the window to dissipate the smell of burning, letting the freezing December air into our toasty kitchen.
After a moment or two, I can see that Madeline has read my WhatsApp message. I wait anxiously for her reply, overcooking the pasta and accidentally scalding my hands with boiling water. I’m desperate for this uncomfortable situation to be resolved.
But I wait and I wait, and a reply doesn’t come.
Six
NOW
This morning at work was one of our busiest days so far. I’ve had back-to-back clients for five hours straight, with no time for so much as a sip of tea or coffee. It’s probably a good thing, as at least it’s stopped me brooding over the Madeline situation. Jennifer tells me my two thirty appointment has been cancelled so I now have an unexpected forty-five minute lunch break.
I have a sudden yearning to see my husband, so I call Toby to see if he’s free to meet me in town. He’s working locally so it would be great if he could get away. I could also find out if Nick’s said anything more about Madeline. But when I call, Toby sounds stressed, like I’ve caught him at a bad time. ‘Oh, Zoe, I’d love to, but Nick and I had our lunch ages ago. We’re back working again now.’
‘Are you still at the Coppice Street house?’ He and Nick have been landscaping a driveway for a family who are new to the area.
‘Yeah, it’s going okay. They seem like nice people. Not too demanding, if you know what I mean. But we’ve got a lot to get through. They want it finished by the end of next week. Sorry I can’t meet up.’
‘No worries. I knew it would be a long shot. I’ll see you later.’
‘Okay, love you, Zo.’
‘Love you too.’
I shrug on my coat and wink at Becky on my way out, who sticks out her tongue, envious of my unexpected break. I’ve decided to go for a walk; I could do with a change of scenery. Something to shake off this anxiety brewing in my gut. It’s not just about Madeline, it’s also about the upcoming anniversary party and all the old memories it’s throwing up. As I leave the salon, stepping out into the wintry air, I remember how ill I felt on my wedding day. How unsettled and queasy. That strange fuzziness in my head. It’s odd, but whenever I think about that time, the fuzziness returns. Like my head is stuffed with marshmallows. I hope this party isn’t going to be a case of history repeating itself.
I leave the high street and turn onto Park Walk, an elegant walkway that runs alongside the ninth-century abbey wall. Bare-branched silver birches and sycamores sway alongside old-fashioned street lamps and an abundance of wooden benches are perfectly placed to take in the misty view of the Blackmore Vale. While it’s busy in town, there are only a handful of people up here – joggers, dog walkers and a couple of families who look like tourists. During the summer months, it can get pretty crowded, so despite the freezing temperatures, I much prefer this time of year when there’s space to breathe and I can stare uninterrupted out across the countryside.
My favourite bench is free, so I quickly head on over to claim it, running my fingers over the brass plaque before sitting down. It’s situated almost at the far end of the walk, past the war memorial. The reason it’s my favourite bench is that it’s dedicated to my mother. I used to get annoyed if I came here and someone else was sitting on it. But now I’ve come to like the fact that strangers are looking out over the same view that Mum once enjoyed. That they’ll read the inscription on the plaque and wonder about who she was, and what she was like. Getting Mum’s bench inscribed was probably the last beautiful thing my dad ever did.
The other reason I love this bench is that during the winter, when there are no leaves on the trees, I can make out my house from here. It’s easy to spot because its facade has been rendered and painted white, while all the other houses are grey stone. I can even see its splash-of-red front door. I like looking at it. Knowing that’s the place where my family and I live. Where our children are being raised. Where we’re creating shared memories.
I don’t think I’ll ever want to move house. Even though Toby keeps saying it’s too small for the four of us now. That once the kids turn into teenagers we’ll be bursting at the seams. I’m all for converting the loft – there’s just enough room for a bedroom and en suite – but Toby’s dragging his heels. He’s hoping I’ll change my mind about moving. Keeps pointing out bigger and better properties online. I make all the right appreciative noises, but I dread the day he pushes harder for us to actually leave.
I think it’s because we’ve always been so happy there. Our little house reminds me of how my family home used to be before Mum died. Not the look and style of the place, but the atmosphere and feel. My childhood home was always full of warmth and laughter. A direct contrast to how things were afterwards. When Dad stopped talking and Dina grew distant. When I was the only one putting in any effort. Not that my effort seemed to make any difference.
Even before Dina left home, I could barely get two words out of her. I guess back then I was trying to take the place of our mum. I cooked and cleaned, sorted out school stuff, tried to be a shoulder to cry on. But instead of the two of us growing closer, Dina seemed to resent me. She thought I was interfering in her life. Told me to mind my own business and butt out. I was concerned that she was so secretive about everything. That she never confided in me or Dad. I should probably be grateful she didn’t get into any trouble at school.
Maybe she was simply going through normal, grumpy teenage behaviour – something I missed out on as I was forced to grow up too quickly. But there weren’t even any brief moments of bonding between us. No bright spots to see us through the erosion of our childhood relationship. I can’t help think that if Mum hadn’t died, the two of us would have been closer. We might have been friends. Instead, Dina treated me like an annoyance. Like someone she couldn’t wait to get away from.
I take my tuna mayo sandwich from my bag, unwrap it and bite into it hungrily. I hadn’t realised how starving I was. The air is chilly, and the seat is damp. Not exactly sitting-on-a-bench-on-a-hill weather, but I don’t mind. I’ll soon warm up after I get back to the salon. I try to concentrate on my lunch and not let past hurts and future worries creep in, but I’m not very successful. I wish I could be one of those people who live in the now. Who can meditate and remain calm. Do those people really exist though? Or are they just pretending to have all the answers to life?
Before leaving for work this morning, I told Toby that Madeline still hadn’t replied to my WhatsApp message. He tried to convince me that Madeline’s fine with me. The thing is, I really don’t think he and Nick are attuned to these kinds of situations. It’s like being back at school when some alpha girl would be passive-aggressively bitchy to me, and most of the boys would be oblivious and think I was being oversensitive. It’s a subtle thing, but it’s a real thing. And while Madeline isn’t being bitchy, she’s definitely avoiding me for some reason. Meanwhile Toby thinks I’ve got no reason to worry.
The only other person I could possibly speak to about this is Celia. But then I’d be putting her in an awkward situation where she’d be caught in between her two daughters-in-law. Oh, this is so frustrating. I desperately want Toby to be right, and for it to be a simple misunderstanding. But I’m not holding my breath.
As I’m chewing over my dilemma – and my sandwich – something catches my eye at the base of the hill… It looks as if someone’s coming out of my house! It can’t be Toby, because he said he’s working. But who else would it be? An intruder? I get to my feet and hurry to the steps which lead down the hill to my street, fumbling in my bag to call the police. I stop dead when I get close enough to see that itisToby, and he’s with someone. A woman.
I flatten myself against a tree, barely able to breathe. And then I realise that I recognise the woman. It’sMadeline. I don’t know whether to be relieved or not. They’re standing on the pavement; their heads close together. I didn’t think those two had the kind of relationship where they talked to one another alone. Unless… maybe he’s been speaking to her on my behalf? Trying to work out why she’s been standoffish with me. If that’s the case, then why didn’t he tell me? Instead, he lied and said he was working. Why would he have done that? They lean in towards one another but I’m too far away to tell if they’re giving one another a peck on the cheek or… or something more.
I realise a piece of undigested sandwich is lodged in my gullet and I have to cough to clear it. I thrust a shaking hand into my bag and pull out my water bottle, gulping down the icy liquid until my throat feels a little clearer.
I stay where I am, watching the two of them part ways. My husband heads to his work van and Madeline to her dark-green catering van parked further down the road. Should I call Toby? Have it out with him? Ask him why he and Madeline met in our house while no one else was there? But what if he lies and gives me some bullshit answer? He’s already lied to me once today.Shit.I check my watch. I’m due back in work. I’m already cutting it fine – my next appointment is in ten minutes.
