Chapter Seventeen
Alison was pushing the baby’s buggy along the long, straight road out of town when the Warburn Spa minibus passed her by.
She spotted Sariah driving and was about to raise her hand to give her a wave, when two things stopped her.
First of all, Sariah’s face was fixed in a weird sort of grimace and, secondly, if Alison lifted her right arm too high, it triggered a sharp pain in her shoulder.
She was puzzled to see Evelyn Silver sitting in the passenger seat – where on earth could the two of them be going together?
This train of thought must have made Alison slow her pace because suddenly Will was awake, rearing forward in the buggy and pushing against the plastic rain cover and she knew she’d missed the small window of opportunity for his afternoon nap.
A month ago, walking along this smooth stretch of pavement had been guaranteed to lull Will into a sleep, but these days he fought that urge, rubbing his eyes and straining at the safety harness in case he missed out on anything.
Please sleep, she thought. Please make it easier. Because she knew that if Will skipped his nap, he’d be cranky all afternoon. Worst-case scenario, he’d end up having a meltdown at teatime, just as his dad got home. Which would be bad news for everyone.
So Alison kept walking at a steady pace, hoping the swish of tyres on damp tarmac and the warm fug inside the buggy’s rain cover might still work.
Roy didn’t need the extra stress of a whingy toddler right now.
The Pinlows’ garage wasn’t doing well; people had started taking their cars up to the new place on the industrial estate that offered discounts, a jug of coffee and mini packs of Biscoff biscuits.
‘No sense of loyalty these days,’ Roy had said, thumping his hand on the table for emphasis.
Roy was a very physical person, it was how he expressed himself.
For instance, his favourite thing to do with their son was toss him up in the air and catch him.
‘Woo-hoo, how’s my boy?’ he’d shout and Will would giggle, but soon his laughter would change, hovering on the edge of hysteria, and Alison’s stress levels would rise because it didn’t sound like fun anymore.
‘Please, he’s just had his tea,’ she might say, but even that was interfering.
‘He’s a boy’ was Roy’s stock reply. ‘He can take a bit of rough and tumble.’
She knew it was Roy’s way of showing his love.
She just wished he’d try something else as well, like reading Will his bedtime story or doing bath-time or playing with the cars or bricks or bits of train track that ended up strewn around the living room by the end of the day.
‘Place is a tip,’ Roy often said, like it was her who had upended the toybox five minutes earlier.
Yes, Roy showed his love in physical ways, and it was also how he showed his frustration. Which was why Alison had decided to stop helping out with the museum campaign.
Last Friday she’d run to the meeting and back with the buggy, betting on the fact Roy always went straight to the pub on Friday and wouldn’t be home until late. What she hadn’t bargained for was Roy’s mate, Clem, spotting her as she dashed back home.
Roy calmed down a bit when she explained she’d only gone to the museum to say she couldn’t continue helping out. Anyway, what was she thinking, pretending she could do the PR? Once Della revealed she was the true media star, Alison realised how stupid she’d been.
Temptation was out of her way now because Roy had taken her phone. Thankfully, he’d let her send one last email, which had drawn a line under the whole museum nonsense. And now she was free to get on with her real job: looking after their son.
As the rain started to come down harder, Alison gave up on the idea of getting Will to sleep and turned the buggy around. Sensing the change, Will kicked the rain cover harder and Alison watched from above as two little leather shoes beat out a rhythm all the way home.