The Apartment - K. L. Slater Page 0,27

I want to weep for her. ‘Just let me sort out this paperwork.’

I make Skye’s tea on a tray and she sits watching television, finally seeming to be a little more settled now.

I gently close the lounge door and the sound of the TV recedes.

In the narrow hallway, I tidy our shoes and bags and hang the coats on the hooks near the door. I stand there for a minute or two, leaning against the pristine magnolia-painted walls.

The apartment is so clean and cool, and as I take a few long calming breaths in and out, I massage the back of my neck and feel the taut wiry tendons give a little.

Now that I’m alone, I can admit to myself that what happened at school today shook me up a bit. The promises I’d made to myself when I was around Skye’s age always make a reappearance as a mantra in my mind at any sign of trouble.

Don’t show them you’re scared. Don’t cry. Never cry.

There had been an abusive foster carer who took me to A & E three times with broken limbs before my sixth birthday, until someone finally twigged he periodically came home drunk and threw me down the stairs.

I’d also nearly died from pneumonia when I was twelve after another foster family locked me outside in the rain for tramping mud through the house. When they eventually let me in three hours later, I was made to sleep in the wet clothes all night and keep them on the next day.

Still, I survived.

As I got a little older, I was a loner. Never had a gang of friends or even a close best friend. My nickname at school was Robot on account of my never showing any emotion or, as I saw it then, any weakness.

I liked to think I was made of sterner stuff. It took a lot to unnerve me, and I was almost never surprised by what life could throw at me.

When I met Lewis, I honestly thought those days were long behind me.

But I admit, that day he told me our marriage was over, I wasn’t expecting it. Wasn’t equipped to deal with it on top of all that existing hurt.

I squeeze my eyes against the sting of tears and the pain of a life now lost, take a deep breath, and walk into the kitchen.

Shake it off.

It can only still hurt me if I allow myself to feel it.

I make my own tea and take it through to the lounge to sit with Skye. She’s absorbed in her television programme and doesn’t look up at me.

Kids are so resilient; I honestly think she’ll be OK about the new school. I’m pretty sure that—

My phone rings just as I finish eating my beans on toast, interrupting my thoughts. I’d forgotten to check it when I first got back in, after Miss Smith said the office had left me an answerphone message.

Skye glances up at the noise and then back to the television screen.

The ring is muffled and I realise it must have slipped down between the seat cushions, which is probably why I forgot to take it with me.

My fingers locate it and I pull it out and look at the screen. My throat feels full when I see who’s calling. It’s Kat, Petra’s mum.

I push my tray and empty plate to one side and spring up from my seat.

‘Hello?’ I walk out of the lounge and close the door behind me, go into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Freya? It’s me, Kat.’ Her voice sounds sharp and to the point.

‘Hi, Kat! I was going to call you after tea, I—’

‘Is it true that you’ve moved house and Skye is leaving Grove Primary?’

I hesitate. My instinct is to be vague, stall for time, but I can’t. I have to tell her the truth.

‘Yes, it is true. I’m sorry, Kat, I should’ve told you, but things have moved so fast and—’

‘Petra’s heartbroken. She’s in pieces, but then you’ll know that because Skye would be exactly the same if we’d pulled a dirty trick like that.’ Kat’s voice sounds shaky, like she’s genuinely shocked at the news, but I need to put this into perspective.

‘It’s hardly a dirty trick!’ I exclaim. ‘It’s life, Kat. You know I had to sell the house after Lewis died and that we’d be moving.’

‘I thought you’d be staying local, and if not, that you’d at least have the decency to tell me you were