It’s not so bad being back at work. It’s better than I expected. Leonardo said I looked refreshed, and while I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, I do feel better for the time off. My brain fog has lifted slightly, and I’m finding that I can absorb more of what’s being said. I don’t think I realized how serious the problem was—how close I was to losing my job, and maybe my mind.
In my lunch hour, I walk around my favorite department store, looking at shoes, pretending I’m close to happiness. In reality, I’m nowhere near it. My life is in tatters, and it’s a wonder that my concentration has returned. I think it’s because the disagreements have stopped and a decision has been made. And while I’m frightened about whether it’s the right one, and the consequences of making it, a weight has been lifted.
I’m beginning to wonder whether my marriage isn’t what I thought it was. I’m not able to go any further than this basic thought. I wouldn’t ever—or can’t—put it into words. I don’t even know whether it’s true. I’m only basing it on what Rosie said, and I’m not convinced by her reasoning. She’s always been melodramatic. There’s every possibility that Dan has my best interests at heart, isn’t a bully.
When all’s said and done—regardless of what my marriage is, or who Dan is—I’m holding on to the fact that Jess has promised me that, no matter what, I won’t end up struggling to get by.
Am I being naive? Perhaps. But there’s no one else in my life at the moment who I can depend on. She may be an unlikely ally, but she’s my only one. So, I’m putting my faith in her.
The afternoon passes quickly, uneventfully. It’s cold when I leave work, and I draw my coat around me. Wednesdays are normally my shopping day, but because of my time off, the fridge is well stocked. As I drive home, I’m thinking about what to cook for supper—whether there are any prawns in the freezer.
I’m almost always back before Dan, so I’m surprised to see that the garage door is wide open. The light isn’t on, so it takes me a moment to distinguish that his Porsche isn’t there.
Perhaps he left it open by mistake this morning, or Rosie’s been poking about in there. Sometimes she likes going through his tins and tools, claiming she’s doing bike maintenance. He complains to me in private, saying she mixes everything up deliberately to annoy him. He says she’s a classic middle child and has split home syndrome.
I’m not sure this is a syndrome. Yet I suspect she feels left out, displaced, and I’ve always tried to go easy on her, which was perhaps a mistake when it came to allowing her to treat me the way she does.
Georgia has left her school shoes in the middle of the hallway, clumps of mud on the rug. “Georgia? Georgia!”
Upstairs, music is thumping. I’m stooping to pick up the shoes with a sigh, when I glimpse someone in the shadows under the stairs and give a little start in surprise. But it’s only Rosie.
“What are you doing, darling?” Really, she does the strangest things.
As she moves into the light, still wearing that horrible SHIT sweater, I notice that her face is streaked with tears. “Rosie?” I step out of my heels. “What’s wrong?”
She opens her mouth, shakes her head.
Upstairs, a door opens, music swelling. Georgia appears at the top of the stairs. “All right, Mum? What time’s tea?”
“I’ve done something really bad,” Rosie whispers, tugging my sleeve.
The look on her face...the open garage door. My heart skips a beat. I smile up at Georgia. “Soon, darling. About an hour. Can you hang on?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, withdrawing, shutting her bedroom door.
I turn back to Rosie. “Where’s Vivian?”
“Still at work, I think.”
“So it’s just us, then. You can tell me what’s going on.” I hold out my hand to her, as though she’s a little girl again. “We’ll go through to the kitchen.”
She doesn’t move. “You’re gonna kill me, M.”
“I doubt it.”
“Yes, you are.” She starts to cry again.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” Can it? “What is it to do with, work? Did you get fired?”
“No.”
“Then what? Come on, darling.” Gripping her hand so she can’t wriggle away, I tug her through to the kitchen. And then I stop.
The cocoa tin is lying on the table, on its side, lid off. Empty.
I turn to look at her. “Where’s the letter?”
“Oh, Mum...” She hides her face, sobbing into the crook of her arm.
Prying her arm away, I raise my voice. “Tell me, Rosie!”
“I...I thought I put it back. I was sure I did. I only wanted to read it. I didn’t...”
“Didn’t what, Rosie?”
Her face crumples, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, M. He...”
“He what?” I stare at her in horror. “Oh my God, Rosie! What have you done?”
“Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“Stop saying that! I can’t think!” I sit down at the table, picking up the empty tin, gripping it until it buckles. “What happened? Where is he?”
“I don’t know... He came home early. I wasn’t expecting him. I didn’t even know he was back. I was just looking at the letter and popped to the loo. And when I came back, he was reading it.”
“What do you mean he was reading it? I thought you said you put it away? How could he have been reading it?”
“I don’t know. I thought I put it back in the cupboard. But maybe I didn’t. I was only gone two seconds...”
“Oh my God!” I slam the tin down on the table. “This is bad! Really bad!”
“I know. I told you it was. I told you you’d kill me.”
I jump up, shaking the tin at her. “How could you have been so careless? Have you any idea what you’ve done?”
“I’m sorry.” She wails, the veins in her forehead bulging. I turn away from her, my heart pounding.
I don’t know what to do. What do I do?
“Sorry isn’t good enough!” I shout, spinning around to look at her again. “Why did you have to touch it? I told you I was handling this. Why couldn’t you leave it alone? What is wrong with you?”
“I...I wanted to read it again...to find out something.”
“But it was none of your business!” I shout so loudly that she winces. “What could you have possibly wanted to know?”
“Whether I...”
“Whether you what?”
“Whether I had a half sister.”
I stare at her.
Before I can stop her, she smacks the side of her head. “I’m an idiot! This is all my fault! I’m—”
“Stop it!” I snatch at her wrist, pull her to me, grasping her firmly by the shoulders. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault, do you hear me?” In my arms, she’s limp, her clothes damp, smelling of stale sweat.
What have I done? It was my letter, my tin, my stupid mistake.
“I’m sorry, darling.” I cup her face in my hands, kissing the cold tip of her nose. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. You’ve done nothing wrong. This is more complicated than you realize. There are other people involved.”
Jess... I have to tell her.
Hurrying to the hallway, I grab my bag, returning to the kitchen as I dial her number. “Please pick up...”
“Who are you calling?”
I close the door behind me, standing against it for support, looking up at a crack running along the ceiling.
“Hello? Steffie?”
“Oh, thank God, Jess...”
“Who’s Jess?” Rosie’s watching me fearfully.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I close my eyes, calming myself enough to speak coherently. “Something terrible has happened. It’s the letter... Dan’s got it.”
“What? How?”
I look at Rosie. “I’m so sorry. We’ve ruined everything. And—”
“Where is he now? Is he with you?”
Rosie seems to be holding her breath, going blue. “Where is he?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled, and then took off at about ninety miles an hour.”
“Did you hear that?” I ask Jess.
“Yes. Was that your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“What time was that, Rosie?” I ask.
She looks up at the kitchen clock. “About fifteen minutes ago? I’m not sure...”
“Okay, Steffie... I’ll call you back. Don’t talk to anyone about this and stay where you are. Just wait!” And the line clicks as she hangs up.
“Who was that?” Rosie asks, hiccuping.
“A friend.”
“You don’t have any.”
“Don’t start, Rosie. You’ve done enough.”
“I’m so sorry, M.” She hiccups again, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. “Where do you reckon he’s gone?”
“I don’t know.”
There wouldn’t have been a good way to tell him. But this way...behind his back...in front of Rosie...had to have been the worst.
I look at my phone, wondering when Jess will call back. What will she be doing? I’m still wearing my coat, but I’m shivering. Perhaps a hot drink—
The front door slams and we both give a start, eyes widening.
“Mum...” Rosie whimpers, reaching for me. I grip her hand as the kitchen door opens.
Vivian enters the room in her work suit, hair specked with drizzle. She stops, taking in the scene, looking at us in turn. “What’s going on?”