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‘How long will you be?’
‘About eight weeks in all, I think.’
They might just be the longest few weeks of my life. A private care agency is going to provide a temporary carer to visit her twice daily. Gwen will have to foot the bill for that though, as it’s way beyond my means. They’ll help get her in and out of bed, ensure she’s fed, and keep on top of her personal hygiene. And her neighbours and Reverend Eddie said they’d keep an eye on her. It’s by no means ideal, but it’s the best solution I can come up with until I return.
The Hopper is one stop away from the town centre when we come to a halt at temporary traffic lights. I’m gazing out of the window when a vehicle on the other side of the road catches my eye. It looks like Paul’s van, only cleaner. A cloudless sky and the sun shining in my direction means I can’t see who’s behind the wheel. But there must be thousands of identical vehicles on the road. Eventually, the lights on that side switch to green, the van pulls away and I finally catch a glimpse of the driver.
What the ... No, it can’t be. Is that him? No. Is it? Sleep deprivation from that bloody mattress is making my mind play tricks on me. Or is it Paul? A clenched fist appears in my stomach and starts trying to punch its way out. I turn my head quickly and the pain in my shoulder extends up into my neck and the base of my skull. Whoever it is, they are driving in the direction of our village. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t risk it, I just can’t. I need to get back to her house now.
There are no more stops planned so I’ll have to wait until the bus reaches the town centre and turns around again. I look at my watch: I can be home in twenty minutes. He can’t do that much damage in such a short amount of time. Besides, Mary is with her.
It’s our turn to go but we aren’t budging. I anxiously glare out of the front windscreen and spot a car three vehicles ahead that isn’t accelerating. The light turns to red again. ‘Shit,’ I mutter aloud. I wait and wait and wait for it to turn green again, and when it finally happens, I’m dismayed to see the car ahead still hasn’t budged. It’s like a bad dream where I’m running as fast as I can but my feet are trapped in thick mud. Horns are blasting and the car’s hazard lights start flashing. Drivers as frustrated as me are exiting their vehicles to help that car owner push his vehicle to the side of the road.Come on, come on, come on.
I’ve got no choice but to sit and wait. I try and talk sense into myself.It’s in your imagination, you didn’t see Paul, you saw what you wanted to see.I desperately want to believe this.
And even if I did believe that, it doesn’t matter because she is with Mary. She won’t have let him in, will she? She knows the chaos he caused when he took her to Clacton-on-Sea.
By the time the Hopper reaches its destination, I’m trying to message Mary but it won’t send. My phone has no signal. I’m still waiting for the bus to fill with customers before we are on our way.
By the time we reach the hill at the bottom of Avringstone, forty-five minutes have passed since I saw that van and I’m crying in sheer frustration. I don’t care that other passengers are looking at me as if I’m a madwoman.
I half walk, half jog as fast as my legs, inflamed back and neck muscles will allow. It’s just as I arrive in her street, wiping the sweat blooming across my brow, that I spot it. Paul’s van, on Gwen’s drive. None of this was in my imagination. It’s very much real. He is back.
CHAPTER 18
CONNIE
Calm, Connie, stay calm. Just stay calm. Even when I stop repeating this in my head and start saying it aloud, I’m not listening. Instead, I’m a bag of nerves for what I might find in her house, and livid that Paul has the audacity to return here.
I scan the front seats as I hurry past his van, then glance across the garden, but he is nowhere to be found. The first things I spot when I open the front door are five bulging suitcases lying side by side at the top of the staircase.
I grab some tissues from a box on the hallway console table and pat my forehead and armpits dry on the way to find her sitting in front of the television watching a black-and-white movie. She’s alone.
‘Where’s Mary?’ I ask without pleasantries.
‘Paul’s here!’ she exclaims.
‘But Mary’s not.’
‘I told her she could go home.’
I’ll have words with Mary later. ‘And who do the suitcases belong to?’ I’m praying for the answer I’m not expecting.
‘They’re Paul’s,’ she says with a grin so sudden that the top row of her dentures slip. She readjusts them with her fingers.
‘And what are they doing here?’
She pauses for a moment and cocks her head to one side. ‘I’m not sure,’ she says, then corrects herself. ‘Oh, that’s right, he’s coming to stay for a bit.’
‘Over my dead body he is.’
Without giving her the opportunity to reply, I storm out into hallway and march up the stairs. I find Paul, dressed in his decorating overalls, painting the landing’s skirting boards an off-white colour. He hums along to a station playing dance music. I kick the switch on the plug socket to turn it off.
‘Ah, Connie,’ he chirps. ‘It’s been a while. How have you been?’
‘Why are your suitcases here?’ I demand.
‘Are they in the way? I’ll put them in my room once I finish this coat.’
