are bubbles and candles and towels have been put out. There is even a little glass of sparkling wine. She did this for me on Mother's Day, just before it all happened.
I used to love my baths.
It's the one place where I really relaxed. I used to have a quick shower in the morning after we'd sorted out Noodle, but in the evenings, after Charlotte was in bed and he was on the computer, or on the phone, I would head up to the bathroom to do my routines.
Exfoliate, face mask, hair mask… you know what I mean.
Now, I take off my blue supermarket blouse and black trousers. I look at my bra-it should be white but it's grey, I’ve been sleeping in it.
I’m bloated.
I look down to my feet. My nail varnish on my toes is there at the end of long nails, a blood red that went with my lovely red dress. I really should get the clippers and find a fresh razor. I peer in the mirror and I look at my face. My horrible, puffy face, that sits on top of my horrible, puffy body. I open the bathroom cupboard and there's my exfoliating cream and those little glove things that you pull on. They’ll be bald by the time I’ve finished tackling my lizard skin. I line them all up on the edge of the bath.
I don't really know what happened then.
I look back at that moment sometimes and I find it hard to believe what I did. I still find it difficult to make sense of it, even now.
I don't know what I was thinking.
Okay, I know a little of what I was thinking.
That it all just seemed too hard.
Too big.
Too impossible.
Insurmountable.
I can’t do this.
I pick up his razor, one of those old-fashioned ones where you change the blade. Charlotte bought it for him one Fathers Day. I find the little rectangular packet. I can hear Charlotte outside; she must have got up to use the loo.
‘Night, Mum!’ She calls.
‘Night.’
Just go to bed.
‘I love you.’
‘Love you too.’
Please, just go to bed - I can't do normal tonight.
‘Nice bath?’
‘Wonderful.’ I call out. ‘Come on now Charlotte, it's time for bed –you’ve got school tomorrow.’
I sit on the edge of the bath and it takes all my energy to just answer, because we have to start the love you, love you too thing all over again if I miss out a part. Then there’s the, see you in the morning thing too. They're supposed to reassure her but if I miss a beat, if I miss one word, panic grips and we have to start all over again.
‘See you in the morning,’ she says for maybe the third time.
I can’t do this.
I just can't keep on doing this.
‘Go to bed, Charlotte.’
She doesn't say anything, I just feel the tension in her silence and I have nothing left to comfort her with tonight.
I really don't know what I was thinking.
I looked at the bath and the bubbles and the jars and the lotions and the razors and I can't explain what happened next.
Even now it doesn't make sense.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Gloria
‘We’ll go somewhere nice,’ Paul says. ‘You deserve spoiling and I might not get to take you out for a while.’
‘I'm not sure if I can get a babysitter for Daisy.’ I try to get out of it that way, but he says that he doesn’t mind a bit if we bring Daisy along. Paul’s nice like that and so I tell him that I'll be ready by seven.
I don't want to go.
It doesn't seem right.
Paul starting a stint on night duty and it's nice that he wanted to take me out but, the thing is, it’s his birthday.
Not Paul's.
It just seems wrong to be going out when he's lying cold in the ground.
I had the most terrible dream last night.
About him.
About him in the ground. I don’t like my thoughts sometimes. I don’t like the horrible images that flash in my mind sometimes and I can’t tell anyone.
I can't really discuss it with Paul.
It's the only thing we can't talk about.
Well, it’s not the only thing, but it’s a big thing.
He gets awkward when I bring him up. I suppose it's understandable really. Given that we’ve been divorced for years, I should be well and truly over my ex. I am but it just feels different knowing that he's dead.
I’m obsessed about his last minutes. Did he talk about me, did he think about me for even