Keith’s late. I try to carry on with supper but keep on glancing at the clock on the wall. The hours tick by and yet no word from him. Where is he?
I try to contain the panic increasing as I wait. He’s never late. What’s happened?
I feel sick and can’t concentrate, abandoning my preparations to look out of the window. I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling that something’s happened. Keith’s in trouble, I just know it.
Frantically, I check my phone, the answerphone and our emails, but nothing.
Turning on the local news, I listen eagerly for traffic updates, or news bulletins that may alert me to a holdup—anything.
As the clock ticks past the hour, I pace the floor in fear. He’s in trouble. I know he’s in trouble and there’s nothing I can do about it, just stress about something out of my control.
My heart hammers and my skin prickles with sweat. He’s not coming back; I know he isn’t.
The tears build and I swallow hard, but a frightened sob escapes as I think about everything bad that could have happened.
Should I call the police, is he injured, or worse? A sharp pain in my heart reminds me I need to keep my doctor’s appointment next week. It’s been a few months and I need to check everything’s ok.
But it’s not ok because Keith is late.
The sound of a car pulling onto our driveway has me standing as stiff as a statue. Is that Keith or someone else? Is this part of an operation to rob us and leave us for dead? Are they holding Keith and here with his keys to take what small amount we have left, or worse?
I’m almost crying as I hear the key in the lock and the door opens. My legs almost fold as a foot steps across the threshold and my heart’s in my mouth as Keith appears and says crossly, “Traffic’s a nightmare, sorry I’m late.”
Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I feel the relief hit me hard as I say weakly, “I thought…”
I see the concern on his face as he heads towards me, his arms outstretched and I fall into them with a mixture of relief and anger, whispering, “Why didn’t you call?”
He pulls me close and mumbles into my hair, “Battery’s dead. I forgot to charge it, I’m sorry, love.”
The relief causes me to sag against him and I whisper, “I thought…”
“I’m sorry, I should have left earlier. Do you forgive me?”
“Of course.”
I know I’m being melodramatic and after all, he’s only thirty minutes late, but that’s all it takes to trigger the memory of a time when life changed in a matter of seconds. Since that day, I’ve been over-anxious, needy and scared and no amount of counselling has worked. I’m broken because of events out of my control. Will it ever go away?
Keith leads me gently to the settee and pours me a stiff brandy. “Take a sip of this, love, it will steady your nerves.”
My fingers shake as I do as he says and he sits besides me, holding my hand and reassuring me with a gentle squeeze and words of apology.
As soon as I’ve settled down, the fear subsides and I say meekly, “I’m sorry, love. You know I can’t help it, don’t you?”
“I know, you don’t have to apologise.”
“But I do, Keith. I know it’s just as hard for you and I’m trying, but it just won’t go away.”
“I know.”
For a few minutes, we sit while we both calm down and it’s only later after we’ve eaten and life settles back to as normal as it gets before I remember the visit from the neighbours and what happened with Jasmine and Liam.
As I fill him in, Keith looks worried.
“That doesn’t sound good. In fact, I’m surprised by all of it. The people at number 9, Liam and Jasmine and their frankly shocking behaviour. What do you want to do about it because say the word and we’ll move if that’s what you want?”
He turns to me and looks lovingly into my eyes and says sweetly, “What Sandra wants, Sandra gets, you know that, right?”
“I know.”
I smile and my heart rate subsides a little. Yes, whatever happens around us, at least we have each other. Thinking back on our marriage, I count my blessings that I walked through life with this man. Reliable, kind and driven, exactly the man I always dreamed of marrying. We’ve had a nice life and thought this would be the cherry on top of the cake. Meadow Vale. The place we lived out the rest of our days, surrounded by good people. Safety in numbers and nothing to worry about. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
As we eat, we talk about the day’s events and Keith looks a worried man. “It’s not exactly what we thought it would be, is it love?”
“Not really, I mean, frankly I’m shocked at the actions of people who should know better, but what can we do, it’s nothing to do with us, after all?”
“Maybe but then again, we have a right to be concerned if there’s violence in the air. You hear it all the time and god only knows, we know more than most about being caught up in a criminal act. Like I said before, if you want to move, just say the word because as you know, I was undecided about moving here in the first place.”
I look down because it’s true, Keith didn’t want to move here at all.
He prefers our own space, hidden from view with no neighbours to worry about. But I moved here for him and he doesn’t even know it. This move was done for a reason because as it turns out, I have an illness that only me and my doctor know about.
My check-up’s next week and I’m hoping for good news, but there’s a chance it’s there. Growing, festering, consuming my body and any chance of treatment will involve a painful process. I’m not sure I’m up to it and Keith is none the wiser, which is how I wanted it. I need to deal with this in my own way and on my own terms. Telling Keith that I may not have long is a conversation I’m a coward for not having. No, it’s easier this way. Hopefully the appointment will give me the all clear. It may just be explained innocently away and I’m given antibiotics to take the swelling down. Maybe the cyst they removed when Keith thought I was lunching with friends will prove innocent. A growth that comprises something that will be sorted now it’s gone from my body.
Yes, I must remain positive because Keith needs me more than I need him. Keith without Sandra, Sandra without Keith, never going to happen.