Helen stared out of the window of her hotel room at the passing cars, most of them with only one occupant but many with more. Happy couples, young families, groups of friends. People all going about their daily lives, happy and carefree. Something Helen longed for.
Even in her darkest moments, she knew she had to do what was best for Emily. The only problem with that was that she didn’t know what was best for Emily. After everything that had happened to the girl, how could she approach it?
She knew she couldn’t keep fobbing Jack off for long, that much was true. Sooner or later he’d demand an answer or, worse, find it out for himself. She couldn’t risk that. This had to be done on her terms. After so many years of being more than happy to play second fiddle to him, she’d only managed to regain her independence after leaving him. She certainly wasn’t about to risk going back to square one again.
She turned the handle on the window and pushed it open as far as it would go, which wasn’t far. The sounds of the outside world rushed in on a warm, humid breeze and it struck her how removed she felt from it all. It was probably the medication, she told herself, but that didn’t reassure her much. This stuff was meant to be making her better, but more often than not it just numbed her and left her feeling frustrated and confused.
She’d been turning it over and over in her head ever since she’d spoken to Jack over a week ago. The longer she left it the more comfortable she felt, but the chances of Jack taking matters into his own hands would also grow day by day. It was a delicate balancing act.
He hadn’t found her up until now, but then he said he hadn’t been looking. Was that true? Jack was a proud man, she knew that much, but did that mean he was too proud to look or that he was too proud to have spent years in the wilderness without a clue as to what had happened? She realised she didn’t know how to read him any more. Too much time had passed. Too much had changed.
Sometimes she wondered why she kept going. It would be far easier not to. Deep down, though, she knew why. She knew that it was right to keep fighting, no matter what. It was one of the rare times she was thankful for her stubbornness.
There’d been good times, undoubtedly, but the memories were fading. Memories of long walks in the park, Jack pushing Emily on the swings, buying ice creams, walking home and flaking out in front of the TV. She couldn’t even be sure they were real memories. Were they just fantasies? She was sure she couldn’t actually recall a time when Jack hadn’t been so consumed with his work that he’d take a day off to become the family man. If he had, she wouldn’t have left. Would she?
The subjectiveness of memory frustrated Helen. How much did she truly remember and how much had been warped and shaped by her anger and feelings about Jack? Had her mixed-up emotions played on the fragile nature of memory and distorted it out of all proportion? The more time that passed, the less sure she was. That was why she’d had to go back. That was why she’d had to return to Mildenheath. She needed to know. She had to justify what had happened. Deep down, she knew that.
In many ways, she had her answer. Jack hadn’t changed, that much was clear. It still didn’t answer everything, but it was enough to put her mind at rest for now. The upset and opening of old wounds had left its mark on her, though, and there was still some closure needed.
Not now, though. Now was not the time.