Chapter 9 #2
‘Remember the Petersons will be here in an hour for drinks,’ he announced, barely looking at her. He’d obviously noticed her make-up-free face, the summer dress that was years old now and not the smartest.
She’d forgotten all about the Petersons and momentarily panicked that her plan would be compromised.
But the good thing about the Petersons – a couple from eight doors down – was that they never stayed past 10 p.m. Perry and Malcolm usually talked business, then holidays, then investments before it came full circle back to business.
Throughout, Priya, some twenty years her husband Malcolm’s junior, usually kept a smile on her face and her ridiculously white porcelain veneers on display as well as one hand on Malcolm’s knee, as if he needed to know where she was at all times.
Dinner with Perry went as predicted – quiet and without much chatter – so did the drinks with the Petersons, and Margot got through both with the excitement about her plan brewing inside her.
‘You could’ve at least tried,’ Perry moaned as he got ready for bed almost an hour after the Petersons left.
Margot was wearing an old nightie, one she’d leave downstairs after she’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and made her exit. She hadn’t taken her watch off and set it onto the top of her bedside cabinet like she usually did. ‘I did try, Perry. The house is clean as always; I was polite.’
‘You didn’t even try with the conversation.’ He yanked on his pyjama bottoms. ‘They’re nice people.’
‘I’m sure they are but we don’t really know them.
’ She rubbed cream into her hands and left the pot on the bedside table.
It felt odd that such a small thing reminded her that she would never pick it up again.
She wouldn’t feel this carpet beneath her feet after tonight; she wouldn’t luxuriate in their spa bath with scented candles lined up in a row. Because she wouldn’t be coming back.
He pulled back the bedcovers. ‘We do know them. We see them every couple of weeks.’
To Perry that meant they were close. He seemed to forget that associating with someone meant nothing when the conversation between the men was always the same.
Neither of them noticed the women were quite frankly bored, and Priya sat there inspecting her manicure or fiddling with her hair extensions and was just as spaced out if one of them asked her a question.
Margot used to make an effort to remember people’s names, recall things of interest to talk to them about, but tonight her heart wasn’t in it and her mind was elsewhere.
When Perry was in the bathroom, she checked her phone. The confirmation for her bed and breakfast in Bournemouth had come through via email and she had three nights there before she would decide her next move.
Her heart thumped at the possibility of freedom after all this time.
Perry turned onto his side, almost but not quite looking at her over his shoulder as he said, enunciating every letter, ‘F-Y-I, I hate tuna casserole.’ And then he switched off his light.
She lay there in the darkness. This was the last time in this bed, in this room, in this house. Her last time sleeping next to Perry. Her Perry. Except he hadn’t been that man for a long time. Maybe he hadn’t ever been the man she thought he was.
When the time came, and she was sure he was asleep shortly before midnight, she crept downstairs and in the basement she took out everything she’d hidden away.
She took it all up to the kitchen where she left it by the back door.
She went into the hallway and disarmed the alarm, praying that despite his heavy slumber the little bleeps it emitted wouldn’t alert Perry, and then she went back in the kitchen and exited through the rear door before walking all the way down the side path to the back gate.
The Uber driver was waiting for her. He got out and helped her stow everything in the boot, and when she climbed into the back seat and gave him the address of the hotel the adrenalin was really pumping.
She disabled her location services on her phone – Perry probably assumed she didn’t know how to do that but she did; she’d just never dared to do it before – and then debated whether blocking his number was a good idea in case something happened with the boys.
She didn’t debate it for long though. She blocked his office number, the home landline, and his mobile before they reached the hotel.
She’d talk to Sebastian and Alistair soon and let them know what was going on, she had to, but for now she just wanted to be out of Perry’s reach so he couldn’t get into her head before she really got herself sorted out and knew in which direction she was heading.
No turning back now.
She was on her way. To a new life.
She wished she could tell her mum she was getting out, she wished she had her boys at her side, but most of all she wished she hadn’t waited so long.
A tear briefly escaped until she swiped it away. Was this how every woman felt leaving behind a life of being trapped? You wanted to escape, and yet there was sadness for the good parts that you’d lost or maybe never ever gained in the first place.
She looked out of the window at houses as they passed them by, some with lights on, others in total darkness. Families, couples, lovers, behind closed doors. Some no doubt happy, others needing a way out.
Finally she’d found hers.
She bought herself an ice-cream after she’d brushed the sand from the beach off her feet and slipped her sandals back on. It felt wild to do whatever she liked, whenever she wanted.
Back at the bed and breakfast she logged on to her emails but Perry hadn’t written.
Of course he wouldn’t be able to call, not unless he tried doing so from an unknown number, and she wasn’t sure what was worse: an angry response demanding she come home or this, silence.
This way she was waiting for him to make a move, and it wasn’t a nice feeling.
Or perhaps that was all part of the master plan he’d hatched the second he knew she’d gone.
Had she underestimated him? Had she made a mistake?
She felt a flutter of panic. What if he called the police? What if he reported her missing? What if she caused a whole lot of trouble and wasted valuable resources?
Oh my God, was what she was doing totally selfish?
Had she been so wrapped up in herself that she hadn’t thought this through?
In a brief moment of guilt, she sent Perry an email to say that she’d left the marriage and that she would be in touch when she was ready. It was a short paragraph but the thought of the authorities trying to locate her was enough to drive her to send it. She gave him no hint as to her whereabouts.
She read more of her emails – Sebastian had sent through a whole lot of photographs and she clicked on those – he really did look professional, happy alongside the group he’d been teaching that day, their final day.
Every single person in the photograph was smiling.
Why had Perry never put happiness before career achievements for either of his sons?
The Perry she’d met in the pub that first night might have done.
The Perry with the young son and wife in the poky little flat, struggling to make ends meet, had seen the simplicity at the end of the day coming home to a little boy he could bounce on his knee and make laugh, to a wife who wanted his affections and who laughed with him.
Somehow he’d got so successful that that had been all he could see.
He was just like his father. How had Perry’s mother lived that way for so many years?
Had she felt trapped? Had she ever wanted to leave?
Or was she happy with life the way it was? Maybe some women were.
She replied to Sebastian to thank him for the pictures. She wrote a sentence to say that things had changed somewhat at home, that they should talk soon. But then she deleted it. She wasn’t ready to say anything and when she did, it would be on a face-to-face call. It was the right thing to do.
She thought about Faye. It was exciting to know that she was in England too, in the same county in fact. And she was a friend. She could reach out to her, have someone in her corner.
Except she wouldn’t do it just yet. She wanted to eventually, but she needed to work things through in her own head before she talked to anyone else.
She began searching online at the wider parts of Dorset and the Jurassic Coast – Mupe Bay, Fossil Forest, Lulworth Cove, the Lulworth Estate, Driftwick Bay.
She wondered whether Faye had been to the bay yet, whether she knew anything else about Howard.
She sent a brief email to find out if Faye might have any news.
She was surprised to get such a quick response and even more shocked at what Faye had to tell her.
Driftwick Bay Books was closed? Permanently?
She bashed out another email to ask whether Faye knew why, whether it was because Howard had given in to the pressure to sell up, but Faye quickly replied that she had no idea.
And by the time their email exchange finished with Faye having to dash to accompany her uncle to the hospital for a checkup, Margot was even more concerned about Howard.
She suddenly felt compelled to help in some way.
She was hiding in Bournemouth, but what if she went to Driftwick Bay herself?
It was the least she could do to find out whether Howard was all right, whether she might be able to do something to help.
She’d dealt with Perry her whole life, after all, and some of his less than pleasant business associates or clients.
She might not have had the confidence to stand up to her husband, but this was different.
Perry had manipulated her and got into her head before she knew what was even happening in her marriage, but maybe she could have a quiet word with this developer and ask them to please back off.
There were very few accommodation options in or near Driftwick Bay given it was summer, but one place was available and caught her eye.
It was a very cute one-bedroom cottage half a mile on from Driftwick Bay.
She thought it a bit cheeky to claim it was still within Driftwick Bay because she wasn’t sure that was strictly true according to the map, but it wasn’t overly expensive – probably because it was one bedroom.
The listing gave approximate walking distances to local amenities, which while being a distance some would moan about, she was quite happy with and already wanted to embrace the exercise.
She didn’t hesitate for long. She could almost imagine some other online booker swooping in and booking it while she was dilly-dallying.
She booked a four-week period, which gave her a generous discount and quickly took out her credit card to secure the booking.
An uncomfortable feeling spread through her chest, however, right after she typed in the credit card number.
Of course she couldn’t use it. Perry was the primary account holder; if she used the card, he would check the statement and might somehow be able to work out where she was. She couldn’t risk it.
From the back of her purse behind a photo of the boys she took out another card.
This one was linked to the account Perry didn’t know about.
She hesitated for another moment, thinking of all she needed to do with the little money she had – she needed to live somewhere, she had to eat, pay bills and fund day-to-day living.
The enormity of it hit her all over again as she entered the alternative card number.
Margot stayed one more night at the bed and breakfast, getting a refund for the nights she hadn’t used, which was kind of the owners, and the next day she packed her things and travelled by train to Wool, where she got in a taxi to go the rest of the way to Driftwick Bay.
She smiled to herself. She was going to meet Howard in real life. Howard, her kind friend with a heart of gold, Howard who might well be having his own tough time right now.