Chapter 2
‘Now, are you sure you don’t want me to stop overnight? I don’t mind?’ Val asked a few hours later after they’d continued downing brandy, Nancy intermittently cursing Clifford, and crying some more, when Dennis messaged to ask when Val wanted picking up.
Nancy shook her head. ‘Honestly, I’ll be fine. I’ll be asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.’
‘Well, why don’t you come round to us for a spot of lunch on Sunday? I don’t want you sitting on your own feeling sad.’
‘It’s very kind of you. I’ll see how I feel,’ Nancy replied. Right now, her head was thudding, probably because of the alcohol.
Dennis arrived a few minutes later, hugged Nancy and told her Clifford was a selfish fool and then he and Val left together.
Nancy sat on the sofa in her empty house, feeling lost. She didn’t want to go upstairs and sleep alone in that big double bed so she put her feet up on the sofa, pulled the throw over her, laid her head on a cushion and immediately dozed off.
Thanks to the booze, Nancy slept soundly, not waking up until the doorbell blasted the next morning.
Who the hell could that be? Rubbing her eyes, she fumbled on the coffee table for her specs and slipped them on, then glanced at the living room clock – ten past ten!
Goodness, she’d been out for the count. The bell rang again, fiercer this time.
She groaned and got cautiously to her feet.
There was a crick in her neck and her head felt like someone was crashing cymbals together inside it.
She’d slept in her clothes too. She must look a right mess.
She tried to smooth down her hair and hoped that mascara wasn’t smudged all over the face as she gingerly opened the front door.
The postman was standing on the doorstep, brandishing two white envelopes. The top one had a label on it.
‘I was just about to go, then you’d have had to come down to the post office to collect this. It has to be signed for.’ His tone was curt, grumpy. Probably because it was still raining and his cagoule and shorts weren’t really adequate to keep him dry. He handed over the two letters.
‘What is it?’ Nancy took the envelopes off him and glanced at the top one, wondering why it was so important that it had to be signed for. It was addressed to her and was from their solicitors, Jensen and Co. Her heart did a somersault. What now?
The postman passed her the handheld electronic device. ‘Sign here.’
She didn’t want to sign it. She wanted to hand the letter back and tell him to take it away. But she had always been a practical, sensible person so she signed a wobbly signature, said ‘thank you’ and closed the door.
She leaned back against the door, staring at the envelope.
She wasn’t ready to find out what was inside yet – she’d had enough nasty surprises this weekend – so she placed both letters on top of the shoe cupboard in the hall, where whoever picked up the post left the other one’s mail, except now there was only her to pick up the post. She shuffled into the kitchen, then grimaced at the empty brandy bottle and two used glasses on the table.
She’d probably had a bit too much. Make that she’d definitely had too much.
Her head was pounding and her stomach felt decidedly queasy.
She reached up to take the first-aid tin out of the cupboard, wondering how Val was feeling.
She was working today whereas Nancy never worked weekends – Clifford had only liked her to do a four-day week so she had time to do all the household chores.
Although Nancy had a feeling that it had been her who had demolished most of the booze, not Val.
After swilling two paracetamols down with a glass of water, she flicked on the kettle to make a strong black coffee and took it back into the lounge.
Then she picked up her phone. There was a message from Val asking if she was okay. Nothing from Clifford.
A blurry memory flooded back into her mind of her and Val repeatedly phoning Clifford last night, then, spurred on by Val, writing a message telling him exactly what she thought of him.
She didn’t send it, did she? She opened her WhatsApp and there it was, right at the top of her messages.
Although there was no blue tick to show it had been read.
She could delete it. She hovered her finger over the message then changed her mind.
Let him read it. She meant every word. She was never normally one to cause a fuss, so he had probably hoped she would just take it on the chin.
Well, he wasn’t getting off that lightly.
She was furious and she wanted him to bloody well know it.
How could he be so selfish as to do this to her? And then totally ignore her. Refusing to answer her calls or messages. They’d been married for thirty-two years for Pete’s sake. He was ghosting her, as if she’d been a one-night stand!
She finished her coffee as she collected her thoughts.
Then she went into the hall to get the letters and took them into the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the one from their solicitor, Ellen, first, her eyes widening in shock as she started to read it.
Clifford wanted a divorce. If Nancy hadn’t been sitting down she’d have collapsed onto the floor.
As it was she had to grip the table for support.
Clifford was divorcing her! Clifford who had walked out with no reason, no discussion, not even telling her face to face, taking their savings with him and leaving a load of debt behind him, wanted to divorce her! What a bloody cheek!
She carried on reading to see what grounds he was citing, what heinous crime she had committed to cause this drastic action.
He was suggesting they go for a ‘no fault’ divorce as it would be quicker and more cordial.
Apparently no blame was attached to either partner – how convenient for him.
If they both agreed, the whole process would take about six months.
Clifford was giving up any claim on the house and furniture, in exchange for Nancy making no claim on his pension or the savings he’d taken.
Ellen finished by suggesting that Nancy get herself another solicitor quickly to discuss things, as she couldn’t represent both her and Clifford.
Six months and they could be divorced. Her head whirled with the shock of it all.
How could this be happening? Yesterday morning she and Clifford had sat at this very table, having breakfast as normal.
He had kissed her goodbye on the cheek, as he always did, with no sign that he was planning all this.
A memory floated into her mind of Clifford pausing at the kitchen doorway yesterday, looking at her as if he wanted to say something.
She was clearing away the breakfast things and barely glanced at him as she asked, ‘Everything okay?’
He’d paused then nodded his head. ‘Bye, love, have a good day.’ And then he’d gone. Walked out of her life.
He must have been planning it for a while, she realised.
He’d been to the solicitors and arranged it all, taken all the money from their savings.
And before that, long before that, he’d been getting into financial trouble, conning her into agreeing to change their mortgage to an interest-only one meaning that now it wouldn’t all be repaid.
Why had she always left him to deal with all the financial stuff?
Because she trusted him, that’s why.
She had always thought Clifford was safe, reliable, dependable.
How wrong she’d been.
Then she remembered the second envelope.
It was from the mortgage company. She opened it anxiously.
It was a letter reminding her that the mortgage was due to be paid up next March and informing her of the amount owing…
She blinked. How much? She stared at the figure in disbelief.
Never mind buying a flat when the mortgage was repaid, she’d be lucky if she could afford a mobile home.
She sat there, nursing her mug and alternating between fuming and wanting to burst into tears. She’d lost her husband and now she was going to lose her beloved home.
She picked up her phone and dialled Clifford’s number again. ‘Number not in service,’ an automated voice said.
Did that mean he’d changed his number? No wonder he hadn’t answered her messages. He’d walked out and cut her right out of his life.
He must have been planning this for months.
All that time, when they’d been going about their normal life, Clifford had been putting his master plan in action.
He’d kissed her goodnight before they went to sleep at night, and again when they woke up, gone off to work, come home, spent weekends in the garden and went on drives with her.
But all that time he’d been planning to divorce her so he could go off and travel around the world.
Clifford who hated going on an aeroplane and always chose boring holiday destinations, ignoring all the suggestions she’d made to go somewhere more exotic.
How could he do this to her?
She took her cup of coffee out into the garden, sitting down on the bench under the floral arch, her favourite spot.
She loved this garden; it was her pride and joy.
They’d lived in this house for twenty-six years and at first she’d been happy to leave the garden to lawn as Clifford had wanted.
Then as she realised that they would never have children, and that Clifford was determined to keep the house as minimalistic as possible, with bland colours such as beige and cream, she’d thrown all her energy and spare time into making the garden as beautiful as she could.
Clifford had occasionally complained about the amount of money she spent on bushes, plants, the pond, but he had enjoyed sitting out here and showing it off when they had visitors.