My plan was simple. I’d learnt over the years that simplicity is the key to most things. That and appearing to be far less intelligent than I am.
I’d kept tabs on a lot of my ex-boyfriends over the years. No other reason apart from natural curiosity to see what happened to men I’d left behind. It was easy; the world I lived in was full of people who knew someone who knew someone. As a result, I knew a little about Mark’s life since we’d been together. The law firm he worked for was small but prestigious with a very classy website where I was able to look at his headshot and read his profile. There were no personal details, of course, but I read where he’d made partner several years before. The few personal details, that he was married and had one child, I’d acquired over the years from old friends and acquaintances.
I was amused when I’d heard he’d moved, several years before, into a new-build, detached house a mere mile from where my mother lived. I’d looked at it online. A small, exclusive development, the house screamed new money and whispered trying too hard.
It had always struck me as more than a coincidence that he’d moved there. Although we’d never visited my mother when we were together, he’d known my home address. Had he hoped to catch a glimpse of me? My ego wasn’t so huge that I believed he still loved me despite those last desperate words of his, but the subconscious is extremely powerful and perhaps it had guided him towards the place where the woman he’d adored had lived.
I don’t think he still loved me, but I’m sure he hadn’t forgotten me. Did he sometimes look back and see our relationship in rose-toned hues and wish things had turned out differently?
I hoped so. Because that was my plan. To convince him I’d made a mistake all those years before, and that we should be together. I could make him love me. Care for me. Make me happy again.
That day, I was going to walk to Mark’s house, scout out the terrain, see if I could peer in the windows, perhaps catch a glimpse of him, his wife, or their child. Any snippet of information would help add form to the rather nebulous plan bouncing around my head.
I especially hoped to get a look at his wife. It was always good to put a face on the competition. There wasn’t the slightest doubt in my head that I could get rid of her.
I knew my worth.
Even better, I knew men.
* * *
It would have made more sense to have headed off sooner but to my surprise, I’d slept solidly and only woke when I heard the hum of the electric shower that told me Mother was in the bathroom. I slipped back between the covers to wait till she was done, my hands behind my head, my eyes travelling over the swirls of the hideous Artex ceiling. Around and around.
It was easy to be dragged down a wormhole of memories. Throwing back the covers, I slipped from the bed again and spent the time waiting for the bathroom to be free in deciding what to wear. With most of my clothes still packed away, it didn’t take me long.
The bathroom wasn’t a room conducive to lingering. The same avocado-green bathroom suite. The same opaque glass on the small window. A shower was set into the bath, a plastic curtain on a rail above. It flapped against my skin as I showered, the cold fabric making me squirm away, the cheeks of my backside hitting the tiles on the wall, water and soapy bubbles flying everywhere. Definitely not a place to spend time and within minutes, I was out and grating my skin dry with the towels.
When I arrived downstairs, almost begrudgingly, Mother offered me breakfast. ‘There’s eggs. I could do you some fried or scrambled. Or there’s cereal if you’d prefer.’
‘Just coffee, thanks,’ I said, and stood in the doorway of the cramped galley kitchen while she flicked the switch on the kettle, spooned discount supermarket coffee into a mug, and stood with her hand on the handle of the kettle as if begging it to come to a boil.
‘Here,’ she said, handing me the mug. ‘There’s milk in the fridge if you want. I assume you still don’t take sugar.’
‘No, nor milk.’ I blew gently on the hot drink, then took a sip, it was as ghastly as I’d expected but it was caffeine and I couldn’t function without. ‘I’ll eat out. You don’t need to worry about cooking for me.’
There was no argument. No, you must let me cook a meal for you. Just relief that she wasn’t expected to provide for me and wouldn’t have to suffer meals with guilt as an aperitif.
I didn’t finish the coffee; there was only so much crap I was willing to ingest on an empty stomach. ‘Thanks,’ I said, tossing the remainder into the sink. ‘I’ll be home later.’
She didn’t ask where I was going, and I didn’t volunteer the information. ‘You still have your key, don’t you?’ When I nodded, she turned away. ‘Don’t make noise when you come in.’
I grabbed my bag from where I’d slung it around the newel post and headed out. It had been warm recently. An Indian summer, the weather people were calling it. It suited me, allowing me to wear ankle-grazing, navy trousers and a tight-fitting, white T-shirt. A stylish, smart combination that made me look good.
Looking good was the key. People rarely looked beyond the façade. Very wise too because sometimes, there were monsters below the surface. Sometimes, when I shut my eyes, I could still see Ivan’s face twisted in anger as he rained blows down on me.
Only thinking of Mark chased the fear away.