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I’ve been checking my phone all afternoon. I’ve an endless string of WhatsApp messages from a group I was added to this morning inviting Molly to a birthday party. One of the boys in her class is turning five this weekend. Molly’s been telling me about his party plans for the last week. Molly said they’re going to Bouncy Land and then for ice cream. Today’s invite confirms Molly’s story. The class mothers have been replying all morning with lots of emojis: smiley faces, birthday cakes and balloons. I haven’t replied.
I don’t have any other messages. I was hoping for an update from Gavin. He called earlier, but he was a mess and I didn’t want to start firing questions at him over the phone. I suggested he grab a coffee and call back, but I’ve heard nothing for hours and I’m slowly cracking up.
I have a headache. The bleach is getting to me and I desperately need fresh air. Despite it only being a couple of degrees above freezing outside, I fling open the window. Chilly, angry wind nips at my face like sandpaper but I laugh at its efforts because it’s surprisingly refreshing.
I glance around at the several other houses, identical to mine, that sweep around the horseshoe of our cul-de-sac. The morning dew hasn’t lifted from the grass on the large green all day and I doubt any of the children will be out playing this afternoon because it looks like rain. But despite the grizzly weather the street looks as warm and inviting as always. Gavin and I lied through our teeth to the bank to get the mortgage that we could barely afford to buy this place. Gavin had niggling doubts at first, but I was so in love with the house I convinced him it would all be worth it because someday we would raise a wonderful family here.
Kayla had just turned seven when we moved in. She loved coming over every weekend. And we loved having her. We spent a small fortune in IKEA, money we didn’t really have at the time, turning her bedroom into a pink palace. That changed to purple when she was nine, and then a very sophisticated ivory and mint when she was eleven. I’d chosen the calm, pastel colours for the baby’s room when I was pregnant with Molly because we didn’t know if she was a boy or a girl and I wanted something neutral. Kayla was so excited about become a big sister that she wanted her room to be exactly the same as the baby’s. I remembering secretly hoping I was carrying a girl so the three of us could enjoy days out shopping, and l looked forward to lazy afternoons going for coffee together when the girls grew up.
We’ve painted Molly’s room since. And I’ve offered to paint Kayla’s too but she shrugs, smiles and doesn’t seem bothered. But I guess that’s because she’s not here very often anymore. At first, Kayla missed the odd weekend here and there when she made the transition from primary into secondary school. Heather would text Gavin to apologise, sometimes at a moment’s notice, and explain Kayla was sleeping over at a friend’s house. Gradually every weekend turned into every second weekend,then once a month and lately we haven’t seen much of Kayla at all. I understand, she’s busy being a teenager and her friends and social life are all in Cork. She FaceTimes Gavin and Molly often though. But it’s not the same as actually having her around and I know they miss her. I do too. A lot.
When my headache has eased and my face is completely numb I duck my head back inside, close the window and make my way downstairs to the kitchen deciding that I’ll flick on the kettle and have another coffee before it’s time to pick up Molly from school. The doorbell rings before I reach the bottom step and I groan inwardly. I’m in no mood to make small talk with an unexpected visitor today. I drag my hand around my face trying to shake some life into myself before I answer. The smell of bleach, that despite wearing rubber gloves seems to have found its way onto my fingers, jolts me upright and I open the door semi-startled.
SEVEN
CHARLOTTE
‘Gavin,’ I say, confused when I find my husband standing on the other side of the door.
Gavin doesn’t speak. The top button on his shirt is open. His tie is still around his neck but it’s so loose it’s almost slipped out of view below the top button of his jacket. And his hair is messy, almost greasy as if he hasn’t washed it in days. He looks completely different to the suave man who left our house earlier this morning.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘No keys?’
I look at Gavin’s car parked in the driveway and then at the keys he holds in his hands.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Come on. I was just about to put the kettle on. You look like you could use a cup.’
I reach out and drape my arm around my husband’s waist, ushering him inside, but I pause when the passenger door of Gavin’s car creaks open slowly.
Kayla, I think, hopeful, but my breath hitches in the back of my throat when Heather steps out of the car. My eyes dart back to Gavin looking for an explanation. But he’s watching Heather, protectively. Heather looks awful. Her eyes are red and puffy, it’s noticeable evenfrom a distance. Her usually bright skin is dull and grey and she’s shaky on her feet. Gavin doesn’t look much better and I can understand why he didn’t text to let me know he was on his way with Heather – neither of them seem capable of thinking straight right now.Oh God.
Gavin wriggles away from me and hurries back to the car and around to Heather’s side. He drapes his arm over her shoulder as if she can’t walk unaided.
‘C’mon,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.’
Heather snuggles into him. She’s as slim and petite as ever and Gavin’s six foot three seems positively gigantic beside her. He holds her as if he could sweep her into his arms at any moment and promise to keep her safe for ever. I can’t take my eyes off them.
‘Stick the kettle on, Charlie,’ Gavin says, as they reach the front door, still huddled together, and I step back to let them brush past me.
‘You forgot to say please,’ I mumble under my breath as I close the door and turn around and watch Gavin settle Heather on the sitting-room couch.
I turn away, shake my head and make my way into the kitchen.
‘Sorry. I’m sorry,’ Gavin says, appearing behind me with his hand on my shoulder. ‘She’s a mess. She was in no state to head back on the train alone. And I couldn’t sit in a coffee shop any longer with a nosey waitress listening over our shoulder. I thought bringing her here for a while was a good idea. Help her calm down a bit, you know.’
‘Yeah. Good idea,’ I say. ‘A text would have been nice though. A heads-up, you know,’ I add still walking towards the kitchen with Gavin trailing behind me.
Gavin shakes his head. ‘Did I not text? Oh God, sorry. I meant to. It’s just?—’
‘It’s okay,’ I say quickly, feeling like a bit of a bitch because a text seems like the least important thing in the world right now. ‘Will she even be okay to get the train alone at all today? She really doesn’t look good.’
‘Actually,’ Gavin says, ‘that’s something I want to talk to you about?—’
‘Sorry,’ Heather’s voice calls behind us and we both turn around. ‘Mind if I use the loo?’ Heather points upstairs as if to ask,Is it up there?
I smile. ‘There’s one under the stairs, but we don’t really use that one. The main one is upstairs. Second door on the right.’
‘Thanks,’ Heather says.
