Helpful. Sincere. I hadn’t thought I’d hurt him so much by leaving.
When I came back from the bathroom there was another message.
I wish you were still here x
* * *
? ? ?
I had so much on my mind that day. I wanted someone to talk to, who could look at things with fresh eyes. I scrolled through my contacts list. There wasn’t anyone there I could trust. I might have called Fiona in Australia, but my parents were there with her and she’d be too wound up to talk.
Outside it was hot and sunny. I sat at the window and saw people in little groups going down to the river and the park. They had picnic bags and strollers with parasols and children with sun hats. Everyone seemed to be with someone. Thoughts were flitting through my mind on a loop. Should I talk to Tom? Should I suggest counseling? I cringed at the thought of hearing what he would have to say about me. Maybe I could go alone? But there was the cost. I looked it up online; I just couldn’t afford it if I was living here and on a low wage. And if I went home . . . I think that was the first day that I seriously considered going back to him. He’d been so kind. He’d had time on his own now; was he regretting the way he’d behaved in the last few years?
The phone was quiet all day. The escort calls had stopped, thank God. I’d checked the site again and couldn’t find my number there. The webmaster must have taken my threats seriously. As he should. I couldn’t help worry, though, that those guys still had my number on their phone.
By seven o’clock I had read a book and watched two movies. I could hardly remember any of them. There was too much on my mind. I stood up, restless and annoyed with myself for wasting a day. I decided to go for a drive.
It was inevitable that I’d drive past my house. As I drove toward my old neighborhood, I could feel myself becoming tense. My palms were damp on the steering wheel. I wondered what Tom was doing at this time on a Saturday. Normally we’d be in and Josh would be there. After dinner he’d either go back to his mum’s or to a friend’s; I’d drive him as Tom would have hit the wine by then and besides, I loved that time alone with Josh.
I drove up the side road next to our house and parked the car. I was worried about Tom looking out of the window and seeing me. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t know what I’d say to him. What I’d do. I looked again at the text that he’d sent me.
I wish you were still here x
I thought of parking my car in its usual place, of walking up the driveway and letting myself into the house. I could do that. My house keys were in my bag, still there from the night I’d left. I could walk in and put my bag on the hall table and go into the kitchen and look at the list on the fridge door and see what was for dinner. I could be back in my kitchen with the radio playing, cooking dinner with a glass of wine by my side. I winced. I used to need that glass of wine. Would I still need it, if I went back?
I don’t know why, but I’d assumed Tom would be at home for the evening. His car wasn’t there, though, and the house was in darkness. I wondered where he was. Was he on a date? If I stayed there long enough, would he come home with a woman, holding her hand and warning her about the uneven steps in the garden? Would he light the candles in the hearth and pour her a gin and tonic and ask her about herself, just as he’d done with me in the early days? And if I went in there, if I went into my kitchen and made it mine again, would he be glad or sorry when he saw me?