Chapter 8
EIGHT
My eyes itched with exhaustion, and for the tenth time in as many minutes, I raised the back of my gloved hand to rub at them, the dry, sawdust-filled air making me cough. I gripped the sandpaper in my pinched fingers, pausing again to listen.
The door to the workshop was open to the dawn, birdsong filling the garden beyond, the soft orange-streaked sunrise promising another clear summer’s day.
It should have made me smile, but I was too tired, too damn tense, to take any pleasure in it.
For three years I’d created a routine, coming out here to work after a long, leisurely breakfast. I’d spend two or three hours absorbed in creating my latest piece, then go in for lunch.
The afternoons were for the garden. It was a routine that had brought both comfort and pleasure after so many years of not knowing what to expect, what horrors might be waiting for me on any given day, but having barely slept last night, I’d given up trying and had been out here since the first signs of light, not bothering to eat before creeping out the back door.
It was probably for the best I got it done early. Down here, at the end of the garden, with the tools banging and whirring, I couldn’t hear a thing from the house. I could at least try to relax .
I sighed, resuming my sanding, my small fingers working into the soft wood.
Despite how this hobby came about, woodworking was still my happy place.
It had been a surprise to me that Ryan had supplied the wood, the kit, long after he’d made me give up anything else that had brought me pleasure.
But it hadn’t taken me long to work out why.
He thrived on praise, and my unusual skill set, showing off what I was capable of to his friends, his colleagues, had brought him a sense of smug satisfaction.
His girlfriend was thinner, better dressed, more talented than theirs – at least in his warped view.
He would take the houses as I finished them and present them as gifts to his circle – a subtle reminder that while they had wives and girlfriends who answered back and forced them to do their share of the housework, he had me waiting at home to cook his dinner and wash his pants.
And make little gifts for his friends. He saw it as a mark of pride that I didn’t need to work, though the truth was we couldn’t really afford it, and a second income would have meant a lot less sacrifice.
But I had never objected to his thinly veiled bragging, the illusion that he was so good to me, so nurturing of my talents , because it meant I could continue to do the thing I most enjoyed.
An escape from the hell that was my reality.
It was interesting to me that given all the other things he’d done to hurt me, he had never once destroyed a single one of the birdhouses.
It was only now, feeling vulnerable and exposed in a way I hadn’t for a very long time, that I wished I’d thought to create something different after moving here. Something less distinctive.
I sighed, pausing to listen again, wondering if Jade and the baby would be waking soon.
I didn’t want her wandering around in there freely.
I wanted to be back before she had the chance to snoop.
The memory of that Facebook site, the ‘about’ page complete with my full name, sent a shiver down my spine.
If Ron had led Jade to me… if he’d inadvertently led Ryan here, th ings were about to get very nasty, and I didn’t know what I might have to do in order to clean up his mess.
‘You want me to what ?’ I asked, hot water sloshing out of the overfilled kettle onto the counter as I spun to face Jade.
Her long brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail, making her look even younger than usual – like a girl of eighteen rather than the twenty-eight she’d claimed to be.
There was no sign of Amala, and it made me anxious to think of her alone upstairs, the horrible things that could happen to a tiny baby in a split second with nobody watching.
‘I… I need nappies,’ she said, clasping her hands together. ‘I only came with Amala’s changing bag, and I’m down to my last few. I could do with wipes too. And probably some more sleepsuits.’
I knew my expression was betraying my exact feelings – absolute shock and anger at what she was asking me.
I could feel the deep furrow in my brow, my red, bleary eyes sore and dry from the lack of sleep over the past couple of nights – caused by her , as it happened.
I had emerged from the workshop just now feeling stiff and angry, and before I’d even had a chance to drink a cup of coffee, she was trying to get me to run her errands as if I was her fucking employee. I couldn’t believe the cheek of her.
‘ So ?’ I asked pointedly, still gripping the kettle. ‘Go down to the village. It’s only ten minutes’ walk from here.’
She nodded slowly, as if I was somehow missing the point. ‘I saw the shop the other day. It’s only a little Co-op. They won’t have baby clothes there. I thought maybe you could drive into the town and get what I need.’
I blinked.
‘I… I saw the garage round the side of the house,’ she continued. ‘That red Mini. It’s yours, right? And I don’t have a car… I don’t drive, and I don’t have a seat for the baby. ’
I pressed my lips together, reminding myself that I had agreed to help her. I didn’t know when she’d been close enough to the garage to see the rusting old Mini through the window. Had she been snooping? The idea sent a chill down my spine.
‘It was my mother’s car. It hasn’t left the garage in years,’ I said, turning at last to pour water over the generous spoonful of instant coffee waiting in my favourite mug.
‘I doubt it will even start, and I have no interest in finding out.’ I swept a tea towel over the puddle of spilled water.
‘I have a perfectly good washing machine you’re welcome to use for Amala’s things, and yours too if you need to, and the local shop will absolutely have nappies and wipes.
I’m sure the walk and the fresh air will do you and the baby good,’ I added, my voice firm and inflexible as I stirred the fragrant dark brown liquid.
‘And you might as well look in at the community centre while you’re there.
They have a support group for young mothers that runs every week, though I’m not sure which day it’s on.
I remember a leaflet coming through the door a while back. It might be helpful.’
She bit her lip, and I could tell she wasn’t happy. ‘Will you walk down with me?’ she asked quietly. ‘To the village? I… I’m not sure I can do it alone.’
I met her hopeful stare, shaking my head before she’d even finished. ‘No. I can’t do that. I won’t do that.’ I offered no further explanation, letting the silence grow until it became uncomfortable.
She bowed her head. ‘Okay… Well, is there anything you need while I’m there?’
‘You can pick up some bread and milk if you can carry it. If not, my neighbour will do that later. I’d ask him to get your nappies, but I don’t want to put him out. He already does such a lot for me. It’s not fair to ask for more.’
‘Right. I understand. I’ll wait for Amala to wake up from her nap and then we’ll go. We won’t be long,’ she added, as if she was afraid I might bolt the door and ignore her knocks on her return. I couldn’t deny that the idea was more than a little tempting.
She left the kitchen, and I heard her quiet footsteps on the stairs.
I took my coffee over to my chair by the fireplace and slumped down into it, exhausted.
I was shocked that she had even asked the question.
Wasn’t it enough that I’d let her, a complete stranger, into my home?
Did she really expect me to leave her unattended, free to snoop through my private things?
I shuddered at the thought of it. I wished I could find that bloody photograph.
The more I looked at her, the more I was convinced I was right.
That she was the woman who had married the man who’d made my life a living hell for far too long.
I should throw her out, but she looked so vulnerable.
And that poor baby deserved a safe place to rest. If Ryan was her father…
if he found her… It didn’t bear thinking about.
I glanced up at a sound in the hallway, and a moment later, Jade appeared in the doorway, Amala strapped into the carrier on her chest, the empty changing bag slung over one shoulder.
‘Are you sure you won’t come for the fresh air?’ she asked, her voice soft, pleading.
I shook my head. ‘I’ll get plenty of that in the garden this afternoon.
Don’t forget to look in at the community centre to find out about that mothers’ group.
’ I winced internally at the sound of my cool, clipped tone, wishing I could find it in me to offer more warmth, especially when she looked so in need of empathy.
But my fear, my discomfort at her presence here was making me tense and snappy. I longed to be rid of her.
She gave a resigned nod and turned away.
I waited to hear the front door close, then jumped up, slamming my mug on the table as I rushed into the hall.
I could see from several feet away that she’d left the door on the latch.
Was the reason simply so she could get back in on her return?
Or, I thought, my blood running cold as I slid the bolt across, was she leaving it open for someone else to get inside?
To sneak up on me when I wasn’t looking.
Had she been so insistent on my joining her because she was trying to warn me… to protect me?