Chapter Four
After making a pre-booked appointment, in due course I’d travelled to Battersea Dogs Home.
The misunderstanding with Robin over adoption had stirred up something deep in my soul. I’d left the dogs’ home with Cindy.
My baby was a one-year-old brown-and-white mongrel. Like all new parents, I adored her, and my love was unconditional.
I’d also made a second appointment, this time with a law firm, and filed for divorce. Since then, I’d reverted to my maiden name. After twenty years of being Mrs Jameson, it felt strange to suddenly be Miss Thomas. That said, it was also very liberating.
Robin had been livid at my rejecting his offer of reconciliation. I didn’t think he was particularly upset about losing me. More likely devastated at the prospect of losing half his assets. This included our marital home at the affluent end of Meopham, along with his considerable savings. These I’d contributed to. Regrettably the account was solely in his name. However, the solicitor had said she’d sort it out – along with Robin’s million-pound pension pot.
My husband had since been relentless in his attempt at persuading me to vacate the marital home. His plan was to have Samantha move in, then rent out her flat for extra income. He’d offered to buy me out – at a pittance.
So far, I’d been awkward and refused to comply. My solicitor had written a snotty letter to Robin on my behalf, then charged like a wounded rhino. My takeaway had been that I was perfectly capable of writing my own snotty letters if I chucked in a few whereins and heretofores and put Without Prejudice in the reference line .
‘I don’t understand why you’re being so uncooperative,’ Robin ranted in his latest phone call. ‘Why can’t you move in with your parents?’
‘You know full well they live in Cornwall,’ I said crisply. ‘How am I meant to commute to work?’
‘On your turbo-charged broomstick,’ he said snidely.
I ignored the insinuation that I was a witch.
‘Anyway’ – I sniffed – ‘it’s not as if you’re homeless. You are living with Samantha and have a roof over your head.’
‘It’s a two-bedroomed flat,’ he blustered. ‘It’s about the size of a supermarket food freezer. I have nowhere to hang my suits and other clothes.’
‘Put them in her second bedroom,’ I suggested.
‘I can’t,’ he wailed. ‘She’s had it converted into a dressing room. It’s rammed with her own stuff. I mean, how many shelves of shoes and handbags can one woman have? It’s obscene.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, sounding anything but. ‘Not my problem.’
I was aware that Samantha had her eye on the marital prize. Not only becoming the second Mrs Jameson but also hanging up her keyboard and spending her days watching Loose Women in my front room.
Meanwhile, my parents calmly took the news of my marriage breakdown. They showed no surprise. They offered words of support and said a bed was always available with them.
Deep down, I knew they’d never cared for Robin. They thought him self-centred, materialistic and tight. I’d once accidentally overheard Dad talking to Mum. It had been when Robin and I had stayed a weekend with them in Falmouth. They’d been in the kitchen washing up after Sunday dinner. Robin had retired to the upstairs loo with the Sunday papers, and I’d nipped into the downstairs toilet to have a quick wee, before helping with the drying up. I’d paused outside the kitchen as Dad had confided in Mum.
‘That fella has more padlocks on his wallet than all the love lock bridges around the world,’ he declared. ‘He never puts his hand in his pocket.’
‘I know,’ Mum quietly agreed. ‘I hope he’s not mean sharing his money with our Tilly.’
Dad had made a harrumphing sound.
‘I wouldn’t bet on it, Sylvia. Our girl goes out to work and earns her own living. However, I can’t shake the feeling that what is Robin’s is Robin’s, and what is Tilly’s might be Robin’s too.’
Mum had tutted.
‘I do hope you’re wrong, Malcom.’
‘Hm. Not sure about that. It’s not as if he’s penniless either. The man is an accountant. He has a partnership.’
‘Perhaps he’s careful because he’s thinking of their future. Retirement. And he wants their Golden Years to be comfortable.’
‘Maybe,’ said Dad, not sounding convinced. ‘Or perhaps he’s like that nursery rhyme. You know the one. The king was in his counting house counting all his money …’
My parents weren’t far wrong about Robin and his predilection towards money. He certainly didn’t splash his cash on me. He liked to spend as little as possible. But then again, wining and dining a young mistress and buying a Mulberry handbag here and Prada sunglasses there – as I later discovered – isn’t cheap.
I’d told my parents about there being another woman. Regarding Samantha, I’d been economical with the truth. There had been no mention of how I’d found out about the affair. That said, Dad was nobody’s fool. He suspected I wasn’t spilling all the beans because it was too traumatic to do so.
‘Wretched man,’ he declared upon hearing there was a love triangle. ‘If I was a couple of decades younger, I’d get in my car, drive up to Kent, stomp into Robin’s office, and bop him on the nose.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said, smiling at the other end of the phone. It was touching that my darling father still wished to protect and defend his only child – even if that child was almost half a century old. ‘But there’s no need. It’s fine. I’m fine.’
That much was true. Since Cindy’s arrival in my life, I might not be dancing around my bedroom or singing into my hairbrush as the radio played, but I was doing okay. Better than I’d dared to hope, anyway.
It saddened me to be suddenly single at forty-nine. The next birthday – a big one – would be celebrated without a partner. But then again, was that so bad? I could pop down to Cornwall and see my parents. Take Cindy with me. And I had my bestie here, in Kent. Lisa would happily celebrate with me. She had an on-off relationship with a guy called Phil. Currently it was off. She said it didn’t bother her at all.
‘I have Ronald, my rabbit,’ she happily informed me. ‘He keeps me satisfied between relationships.’
It had taken me a moment to realise that Ronald didn’t have long ears and a twitching nose.
Meanwhile the weeks had limped by. My new life had ebbed and flowed at much the same pace as previously. Despite the divorce being underway, nothing much was happening other than Robin’s endless nagging about him and Samantha having the marital home, and suggesting I do some sofa surfing. And maybe that situation would have continued for a few more weeks if a Mr Albert Garroway hadn’t telephoned Home and Hearth on a rather quiet Monday morning advising that he wished to put his house on the market.
Lisa took the call. Afterwards, she told me all about Starlight Cottage in the not-so-far-away village of Starlight Croft. Somehow, I knew, just knew , that this house was going to be pivotal in my new future.