Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
DOUGLAS
It’s Monday afternoon, and I’m standing outside the school gates with the other parents, hands in my pockets, trying not to look like a man whose estranged wife showed up out of the blue yesterday and upended everything.
The sky is flat grey, the kind of overcast that can’t decide whether it’s going to rain or just threaten for the rest of the day.
A few mums are chatting near the wall. Someone’s toddler is having a meltdown in a pushchair. Normal.
After Ellie left last night, I stripped the bed. Leah wasn’t in it for long, but that didn’t matter. No way was I going to sleep on the same sheets she lay on.
The bell goes and children pour out. I spot Logan first—he barrels through the door with his bag half open and his jacket tied around his waist—then Rosie, a few steps behind, scanning the crowd of parents until her eyes find me.
“All right, you two?” I catch hold of Logan’s bag before it spills its contents across the playground, and zip it closed. “How was school today, then?”
“Is Mum coming to the house again?” Logan asks. No preamble. No hello. Just straight in. Well, that didn’t take long.
“Aye, is she?” Rosie says.
I wonder if they’ve been thinking about this all day. If so, I can’t blame them. She’s been preying on my mind too.
“She’d like to spend some time with you this afternoon, but it won’t be at the house,” I say, keeping my tone light and steady as we start walking.
When Leah called me earlier, I made it clear there was no way I was letting her back into my home after how she behaved yesterday.
“Maybe you could all get ice cream and have a walk along the harbour before your swimming lesson later. Sound good?”
Logan shrugs. “I suppose.” But some of the bounce goes out of him.
Rosie’s brows knit together. “How long is she staying this time?”
“I’m not sure.”
She nods, as though she expected this, and says nothing more.
“First, though,” I say, “we’re going to the library.”
“The library?” Logan says. “We’ve been there loads lately.”
“Aye, well, Rosie got a book out last week, remember? Thought we’d return it before we forget about it.”
“You get to keep library books for three weeks,” Rosie reminds me, but neither of them object too much as I steer us towards the library. I think they’re in no rush to see Leah.
As always, the bell above the door jingles as we enter.
The twins immediately scatter, making for the children’s section.
Ellie is at the desk, scanning something out for a man I vaguely recognise.
She glances up and offers a small smile, a flush of colour in her cheeks, then turns her attention back to the man.
I drift towards the noticeboard, pretending to read a poster about an upcoming jumble sale. It gives me a moment to get my head straight. Leah’s been on my mind too much today, but I don’t want her colouring this conversation with Ellie.
The man thanks Ellie, tucks his book under his arm, and heads for the door, which is my cue to approach the desk. Ellie’s wearing something bolder than usual today: a bright green top instead of the muted jumpers she usually wears.
I lean on the counter, a little closer than I normally would. “That colour looks good on you,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Been thinking about you all day.”
The pink in her cheeks deepens and works its way to her ears. She presses her lips together, trying and failing not to smile.
“Douglas Fraser,” she whispers. “This is a library, a respectable establishment. Behave yourself.”
“I am behaving myself. If I wasn’t, I’d be telling you exactly what I’ve been thinking about.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, then, in her best professional librarian voice, she says, “Can I help you with anything today, Mr Fraser?”
“Aye, I can think of a few things I’d like your help with, but none of them involve the library.”
Ellie puts a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh. “You’re impossible.” But when she lowers her hand, her expression shifts. “Have you heard from you-know-who today?” The question changes the air between us, but I understand why she’s asking.
I nod. “She’s going to have the twins for an hour or two this afternoon.
They might go for ice cream or something like that.
I won’t be letting her into the house. I’ve learnt my lesson.
” I drum the desk with my fingers. “You were amazing last night, by the way. The way you stood up to her . . . I’ve been trying to find those words for years. ”
Ellie lowers her eyes, fussing with a book on the desk, then looks back up at me. “It was nothing. But tell me . . . those things you need help with, the ones that don’t involve the library. When exactly were you wanting my assistance?”
She says it sweetly, calm as anything, but the colour in her cheeks gives her away.
My cock gives a brief treacherous twitch. Christ.
The knock comes at four o’clock. Right on time, which is unusual for Leah.
I’ve already got the twins ready, shoes on and jackets zipped. They’re sitting side by side on the bottom step.
I open the door, and there’s Leah, in a nice coat, hair done, lipstick on. She smiles at the twins with that glowing warmth she can turn on when she wants to. “Hello, you two!”
She steps forwards as if to come into the house, but I don’t let her. There’s no drama—I don’t block the doorway with outstretched arms or make a speech—I simply stand where I am, filling the frame, and she can’t get past me.
“Right, kids,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “Off you go. I’ll see you in a bit.”
They stand and squeeze past me. Leah crouches and pulls each of them into a hug on the doorstep—cooing at them, all sweetness, the full production. Just like yesterday, the twins don’t return the hug with any degree of enthusiasm, but Leah either doesn’t notice or pretends not to.
“Right, then,” she says, straightening. “Let’s go have some fun!”
“Half five,” I remind her. “No later. I’ll have dinner ready, and the kids need to eat then to get to swimming on time.”
“Half five,” Leah repeats. “No problem.”
I watch them go. Logan walks slightly ahead, hands in his pockets. Rosie walks beside Leah but keeps a careful gap between them. Leah chatters away, animated and oblivious.
I close the door, and the silence hits me almost straight away.
You’d think I’d enjoy it. God knows I spend half my life telling the twins to use indoor voices, to stop thundering up and down the stairs, to stop shouting from one room to another.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve wished for five minutes’ peace.
Now I’ve actually got it, it doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels wrong.
I stand in the hall for a few seconds, not entirely sure what to do with myself.
Then I do what I always do when I’ve got a bit of free time: I find jobs around the house to get on with.
I gather up a pile of clothes from beside the washing basket—the twins somehow never quite get their things into the basket—and shove a load on.
I tackle the twins’ room, picking things up, putting things away, straightening their duvets.
Usually, I tidy around them and there’s a running commentary, or an argument, or one of them asking for a snack while I’m trying to get on with things. Didn’t think I’d miss that, but today the minutes drag. Every time I glance at the clock, it feels like hardly any time has passed.
I start on dinner: chicken nuggets, chips, and peas. Not prawns for once. Comfort food—I reckon the twins could do with a bit of that today.
The oven ticks as it heats. I lay out three plates, three sets of cutlery. I check my phone just in case there’s been a message, but there’s nothing. At a loose end, I clean the fridge, just for something to do.
Half five comes and goes. The nuggets are done. The chips look crispy and perfect. The peas are drained and steaming, ready to serve. But there’s no sign of them.
No need to panic. Punctuality has never been one of Leah’s strengths. Five minutes late is early for her.
But still, I’m pacing now, moving between the kitchen and the front window, glancing out of it, checking for any signs of them.
Because I don’t trust her. Not with timekeeping, not with anything.
And after last night—the manipulation, the tears, the way she climbed into my bed like she had a right to be there—I can’t help but wonder if letting her walk off with our children was a mistake.
No, I’m panicking. She wouldn’t take them. She has a lot of faults, but she wouldn’t do that.
Should I have gone with them, though? No, it was hard enough being civil for the thirty seconds I saw her at the door. There was no way I could spend time with her today, not without arguing with her in front of the twins, and things are hard enough for them as it is. I wanted to spare them that.
I check my phone. No messages. I consider calling, but hesitate. Knowing Leah, she’d hear the worry in my voice, enjoy every second of it, then keep them longer just to spite me.
But when it gets to quarter to six, I’ve had enough. I grab my jacket from the hook, shove my feet into my boots, open the front door—
And there they are. Walking up Braeview Drive. Logan and Rosie in front, Leah a few paces behind.
The twins spot me and break into a run. Logan reaches me first, crashing into my side with enough force to rock me back on my heels. Rosie is right behind him, hugging my other side.
“All right?” I say, patting their heads. “Did you have a good time?”
Logan nods. Rosie shrugs. Neither of them elaborates.
“Go on inside,” I tell them. “Dinner’s ready.”
They don’t need telling twice. Already they’re through the door and kicking off their shoes.