room. She couldn’t control the tremor that dogged her right hand as she wrote out cheques in the study. That was all the bills up to date. A few more lines were penned and sealed in envelopes and she was all set. Dishwasher on. Loos cleaned. Plants watered. Laundry folded. Bed made.
Kate pulled the front door behind her and relished the feel of the morning sun on her cheeks. This had always been her favourite time of day. As the path flattened out and the stones gave way to sand, Kate’s faltering steps turned into strides. She ran the last few metres with a smile on her face as the salt-tinged breeze lifted her fringe and buffeted her chest.
Kate removed her T-shirt, folded it neatly with arm holes and hems together, and laid it on the sand. Next she slipped out of her jeans, which she placed with precision on top of her T-shirt. She unhooked her bra and let the straps fall along her muscular arms and finally she stepped out of her pants. Her clothes sat in a neat little pile, like laundry waiting to be collected and put away on wash day. She was done.
Kate felt the bite of small stones and shells on the soft soles of her feet. She did nothing to ease the discomfort, figuring that it mattered little compared to the journey that she was about to undertake. A second or two of foot pain meant nothing in the grander scheme of things. She ran her palms over the backs of her thighs; she’d had worse. ‘Good morning, Mrs Bedmaker… Good afternoon, Mrs Bedmaker… Mrs Bedmaker… Mrs Bedmaker…’ She always noticed, always.
She walked forward to the dark shadow on the sand where the water lapped, staining it the colour of dark tea and pitting it with fizzing holes in which small worms and crabs bathed.
Kate trod gingerly, feeling the shock of the icy current on her exposed flesh. It was colder than she remembered for the time of the year. Her mind flitted briefly to the warm Caribbean Sea that had caressed her under a hot sun all those years ago. She remembered throwing herself into the balmy current and feeling the heat smooth the knots from her muscles; she remembered dancing in the rain at Carnival and wearing green feathers. She recalled being held in strong arms with nothing but a towel between her nakedness and a beautiful man; she remembered a kiss that had been full of love and promise. That had been a perfect day.
The man reversed on the winding lane and struggled with the unpredictable gearstick of the hire car as it crunched and whined in protest. He pulled into a lay-by to allow the caravan and hefty 4x4 to pass by. His female passenger winced and squealed, closing her eyes against the impossible manoeuvre. The man exhaled loudly through puffed out cheeks; these roads were going to take a bit of getting used to. Relief and laughter filled the car.
Kate strode further into the water and allowed the tiny waves to lap her with their salty tongues. She turned and faced the shore, stepping backwards until the sea covered her shoulders. Her teeth chattered in her gums and her limbs jerked involuntarily, trying to counter the effects of the cold.
The man pulled the car into the driveway. This was it. Bulky luggage and a partly defrosted shepherd’s pie were quickly retrieved from the tiny boot and lugged to the front door.
The girl shielded her eyes from the sun and looked out over the ocean.
‘I am so going to paint this!’
The man put his arm across her shoulders.
‘Nervous?’
She nodded and bit her bottom lip.
‘Me too,’ he said.
Kate gazed up to the top of the cliff for one last look at Prospect House. This was the one place that she had been happy, the one place she had been comfortable and felt needed. Kate knew when she was beaten. Mark was right, he had won. She would never be free of the memory of what he had done; her scars ran too deep and the pain hovered too near the surface. There would never be peace for someone like her; she was too broken. The prospect of a life without her children was one that she could not contemplate. Deep down she had always known this. She would rather bow out than face that reality.
Prospect House looked beautiful. She thought of how easily her last vista could have been something