Chapter Ten
When the alarm went off on Monday morning, I silenced it with one hand, then snuggled back under the duvet for five minutes.
This was something I’d taken to doing after Peter’s death. Just lying there. Luxuriating in having a king-sized bed all to myself with no urgent need to get up and pander to a spouse who, somehow, always woke up in a bad mood.
I wiggled my toes under the duvet, noting the quietness of the house. Joy and James had taken themselves back to university. The silence made the twins’ absence more noticeable.
Outside sounds filtered into the room. The mournful mooing of a cow. Cheerful birdsong. A gentle breeze found its way around a gap in the window and wafted the curtains.
I stared up at the shadows playing across the ceiling in the early morning gloom and took a moment to reflect on the recent get-together with Alice at the Starlight Arms.
Much as I liked my new friend, I had quickly realised that – where men were concerned, and especially one she’d set her sights upon – Alice was comparable to one of Liam’s plant machines. Namely, a bulldozer. Nothing and nobody were going to get in the way of her claiming her man.
I sighed. Who could blame her? Liam was gorgeous. Every time the guy looked at me, it felt like my eyelashes were scorched.
I wondered what Liam’s architect friend was like.
It was faintly alarming that Alice kept referring to the impending get-together as a date.
In other words, Liam and she paired up together, leaving me with the architect.
I really didn’t want to be in some sort of blind date situation.
That said, Liam had emphasised several times that it was nothing more than a friendly meet up.
Alice had jostled her bosoms and done so much hair flicking she’d looked like Miss Piggy in a fast-forward scene from The Muppets.
Anyway, I had another man to think about. Peter. Or rather, his ashes. They’d be ready for collection on Wednesday. I hadn’t even considered what to do with them. Peter and I had never had such a discussion. Who does when still in their middle years? Maybe some couples, but not us.
Perhaps I’d take his ashes to Brighton. Scatter them over the South Downs. It was a place we’d visited a few times, especially in the early days of our relationship. Back then Peter had shown a more impulsive, fun side.
‘It’s Saturday, Jen. Let’s jump in the car and see where the road takes us.’
And so we’d wrapped up and set off in Peter’s modest car.
We’d found ourselves heading south, to the coast, and subsequently chilly Brighton on a blustery day.
We’d explored the pier, then The Lanes, and finally driven five miles north-west of Brighton and ambled through the one-hundred-metre-deep V-shaped valley known as Devil’s Dyke on the South Downs.
The scenery had been as breathtaking as the wind that had disrupted our conversation.
Peter had caught hold of my hand and pressed it to his lips.
‘Marry me, Jen.’
I’d gasped aloud and then a gust had snatched my answer away, so that I’d had to shout for Peter to hear.
‘YES!’
He’d picked me up and whirled me around and, in that moment, it had seemed as if we’d become one with the wind.
Another gust had lifted my hair, violently ruffling it.
Peter’s scarf had rippled out on the airstream along with his coattails.
Our joyful laughter had been muffled by the blustery weather.
Peter had stopped whirling me around and instead hugged me tightly, his breath in my left ear while the wind roared in the other.
We’d then made our way up the steep incline to the restaurant perched at the top of the hill.
By way of celebration, we’d decadently splashed out on two hot chocolates with all the trimmings.
I can remember us now, gazing at each other, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the cold.
We’d been glowing with the delight of being a newly engaged couple.
Happy times. Simple times. Those were the days before money and material success changed my husband.
Heaving a sigh, I pushed the duvet off me and swung my legs out of bed.