Chapter Forty-Four
William watched Sally turn on her heel, her chin lifted high as she marched out of the kitchen and headed straight up the stairs to inspect the bedrooms. The sharp, rapid click of her heels on the wooden treads echoed back down the landing like a declaration of intent.
He didn’t follow her. Instead, he looked at his children, whose faces were still pinched with the tight, unnatural tension that had settled over the kitchen table.
“Right then, team,” William said, keeping his voice light. “Shoes on. Let’s get outside while the sun’s shining. Ethan, head off to the gardening rota, and text me if you’re staying for pizza afterwards. Ollie, you can referee.”
Ollie’s shoulders lifted a fraction, and Sophie gave a small, tentative nod as she shut her activity book. Within five minutes, William had shepherded the younger children out through the scullery door and onto the vibrant lawn, putting space between them and the tension inside.
For the next hour, he threw himself into their game. Sophie and Mia raced through the daisies while Jake ran in looping circles, making his red car leap from the end of the garden bench. Ollie took his role as referee extremely seriously, blowing imaginary whistles and announcing dramatic fouls.
When clouds began gathering, William left them playing within sight of the kitchen window while he went inside to start lunch.
The moment his boots hit the kitchen tiles, the suffocating rhythm of the morning hit him like a wall.
Sally stood at the worktop, vigorously scrubbing the grout between the tiles with a stiff brush.
The sharp smell of bleach filled the room.
The counters were already spotless — Jean had left the kitchen immaculate on Friday night — but Sally was cleaning with a furious, relentless intensity, as though she were trying to scrub the very shape of the household into her own design.
Richard sat at the head of the pine table, his arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on the doorway. The second William stepped inside and closed the scullery door behind him, his father-in-law leaned forward, his mouth tightening into a thin, clinical line.
“William,” Richard demanded, in the clipped boardroom tone William remembered too well. “I’ve been looking at the dimensions of this place, and I want to know how on earth you could afford a house of this scale on a firefighter’s salary. It’s very irresponsible to stretch yourself this thin.”
A hot spike of frustration flared behind William’s ribs.
He thought about telling Richard that his financial position was none of his business, but he kept his features locked into that polite, immovable fire-ground mask.
He would remain firm, but he would not break the peace in front of the children.
“Property prices up here in the North East are significantly cheaper than what you’re used to in Surrey, Richard,” William said steadily. “I didn’t stretch myself at all. I bought exactly what the family needed to find its footing.”
Sally stopped her scrubbing. The brush dropped into the bucket with a sharp splash as she turned, her face flushed from exertion. Her eyes fixed instantly on the washed cake tin on the counter, her gaze drilling into the handwritten label.
“And what about this woman Lydia?” Sally demanded, her tone thin and brittle. “The children haven’t stopped mentioning her name since we walked through the door. I want to know exactly who this Lydia is, and why she is folded so completely into my grandchildren’s routine.”
William met her gaze across the kitchen island, his eyes impenetrable.
“Lydia is our neighbour,” he said. “She has been kind to the children, and we all value her friendship. We’re going to Brookleigh Bay Community Church tomorrow morning. You’ll meet her there if you choose to come with us.”
Sally stared at him, her fingers tightening around the cleaning cloth.
“You know we don’t go to church.”