She slammed the car door and strode across the gravel drive, wincing as the security light momentarily blinded her. She was vaguely aware of an impending headache, not helped by the fact that someone nearby was playing inhumanly loud music. She should go and tell them to turn it down. Maybe later, because, right now, she just couldn’t dredge up enough energy. It had been another long, difficult day. A day of whispers and sidelong glances – some pitying, some filled with such loathing that it made her catch her breath. Like she was guilty too.
She didn’t know how she was supposed to go on like this. How long she could put up with everything. And what about the kids… what was she going to do about them? They’d gone to stay with her mother for a few weeks, supposedly to give them all some breathing space while it got sorted out. But how would it ever get ‘sorted out’? How? She bit back an angry sob, jammed the key into the front-door lock and gave it a vicious twist, scraping her knuckles on the door frame in the process.
The churning feeling in the pit of her stomach seemed to have become a permanent fixture – a kind of low-level background hum – and as she stepped over the threshold and into the bright hallway, her guts clenched even tighter. Why was she even here? Why was he still here?
‘I’m home!’ She walked through to the kitchen and dumped her bag on the counter. Reached for a couple of headache tablets and poured herself a tumbler of water, waiting for her husband to shuffle, round-shouldered, into the kitchen, to greet her with that hangdog expression he’d recently taken to wearing. The one that gave rise to both sympathy and fury. She downed the tablets and gulped at the water, discomfited by the liquid’s cold snaking descent into her empty, grinding stomach.
‘I’m back!’ Cocking her ear, she waited for his reply. He better not have spent the whole day sleeping. That would really be the final straw after she’d been running around doing everything. Again.
She had a strong urge to hurl the glass of water through the dark kitchen window. Pictured the flying shards of glass. Imagined the gloriously shocking crash, followed by her husband running in, eyes wide, mouth open. But she managed to restrain herself. Instead, she placed the glass carefully on the counter while moving her jaw from side to side, attempting to loosen it. To relax her bowstring-taut muscles. She might as well take a few deep calming breaths while she was at it. Inhaling, she rolled her knotted shoulders back and forth. Tried to shake off the tension and growing despair.
Abandoning the kitchen, she popped her head into the dark lounge, finding it empty. She’d try their bedroom next. Taking the stairs two at a time, she called his name and noted a bitter inflection in her voice that she’d never used before. He’d always been the love of her life. But now… now.
Their bedroom was deserted, the bed unmade, the curtains closed. The kids’ rooms also lay empty, as did the bathroom. Maybe he’d finally stirred himself into action and gone out. But who did she think she was kidding? It had been days, weeks. Jogging back down the stairs, a knot of worry began to tighten in her chest. She returned to the kitchen, dug her phone out of her bag and called his mobile. It went straight to voicemail. She left a terse message:
‘Hey, it’s me. I’m home. Where are you?’
It looked as though he really might have gone out. She’d check the garage, see if his car was still there.
Back out on the driveway, she smelt jasmine and caught the distant shouts of teenagers enjoying the warm summer evening. Closer to home, she could still hear that loud music, heavy and thrashy. Not her sort of music. She hoped whoever it was wouldn’t have it on all night.
She bent to open the garage door, and found it already unlocked. She also realised with a shock that their garage seemed to be the source of the music. Was her husband in here? It wasn’t his taste in music either. Could they have an intruder? Should she call the police?
Without thinking, she yanked up the garage door, ready for a confrontation. His car sat there, the engine grumbling while the music pounded hard and violent. For a brief second, she wondered what the neighbours would