Page 13 of A Secret Escape

She worried endlessly about Zoe, about what impact the divorce would have on her, about what was going on in her head. Remembering how she’d felt when her father had walked out, Milly had been determined that her daughter wasn’t going to suffer those same feelings of worthlessness. She’d been careful to emphasize that Richard’s decision was his own and had nothing to do with Zoe. That Zoe bore no responsibility for his choices. And Zoe always insisted that she was fine, and oddly enough in the beginning she did seem fine—better than Milly—but over the past few weeks something had changed. Milly had noticed her shoulders were a little more slumped, her eyes a little more tired and the little frown between her eyes more prominent.

All she could do was make sure she gave Zoe the opportunity to talk if she wanted to. She couldn’t make her confide. She wished she could have a conversation with Richard about it, but she knew he’d tell her she was fussing and that she worried too much. He didn’t seem to worry at all, and she wasn’t sure whether that was because he’d totally abdicated responsibility for anything other than the so-called fun aspects of childcare(Why does Zoe need an asthma review? Hasn’t she grown out of it?)or because he was afraid of being forced to acknowledge that his actions might be having a negative impact on their daughter.

She was basically alone with the problem. And now she had Nicole in the mix.

But she’d figure out the whole Nicole problem later. For now, her friend was going to have to stay in the cabin out of sight.

She dressed quickly in what she now thought of as her hot-weather uniform: cropped linen trousers with a loose shirt. She fastened the trousers and grimaced as the button strained against her waistline. Some people lost weight when they were unhappy. Not Milly. Misery didn’t put her off her food, it made her hungry, although it was more complicated than that.

Cooking was her favorite form of relaxation. Some people smoked or reached for a glass of wine to relieve the tension of a long day. Some went for a long run. Milly’s sanctuary was the kitchen.

There was an almost ritualistic quality to preparing food, and she found it soothing. She loved the process, from the selection of the freshest ingredients to the presentation on the plate. It used all the senses, took her mind off her problems and left her with a sense of well-being. She loved the sound of mushrooms sizzling in hot oil, the scent of garlic, the sweetness of strawberries, the feel of a ripe mango as it gave a little under the pressure of her fingers.

It took her back to her childhood and cooking with her mother and Nanna Peg, her grandmother, who had lived with them for a while after Milly’s father had left.

Her love of baking had started with them. Some women dreamed of spa days, but for Milly nothing surpassed the soothing quality of beating butter with sugar until it turned into a soft, creamy fluff.

She’d known from an early age that food was about more than simple nutrients. The way food tasted, the whole dining experience, the way it made youfeel, was the reason some people would spend a small fortune on a meal out in a top restaurant.

Milly knew all about feelings. Sometimes she wished she didn’t know quite so much. She pictured her emotions as powdered sugar sprinkled over the surface of a cake, vulnerable to the elements instead of being buried deep where they might have been harder to reach. But over the years she’d learned to handle those feelings, and cooking helped. It calmed her and conjured up happy memories of those days in her grandmother’s kitchen when they’d stirred and sifted and she’d been bathed in a warm conviction that life, while unstable and frightening a lot of the time, was ultimately going to be okay.

Since Richard had walked out she’d cooked more than ever before, and once she’d baked something it was impossible not to sample it.

She started every day full of good intentions, and then gradually the stress mounted and those intentions evaporated. One upsetting phone call from Richard (and there had been far too many of those lately) was all it took to have her reaching for her mixing bowl. Word had spread, and now she often made cakes for special celebrations,and she’d even done a couple of weddings. That would all have been fine if she could only stop eating what she cooked.

Was that why Richard had left? Because of the extra inches around her middle?

The woman he’d left her for (her name was Avery, but Milly usually thought of her asthe womanbecause it made it easier to cope with somehow) was a yoga instructor with perfectly toned abs and smooth long hair that never seemed to curl however humid the weather. She was twenty-five, more than two decades younger than Richard, and Milly wondered if he was trying to rewind time, as if being with someone that young might somehow hold back his own aging process. And in a way the whole thing was Milly’s fault because she was the one who had suggested yoga when Richard had complained he had backache from spending too long sitting at his desk and in the car.

Now she wished she’d simply poured him a large gin.

Dispirited, she chose a pair of bold silver earrings that would hopefully draw attention away from her waistline and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

She made herself a cup of strong black coffee and took it out onto the deck.

At this time of day, the only sound came from the birds and the soft lapping of water against the shoreline.

A sense of calm wafted over her, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease. Plenty of things in her life were difficult, but not living here. She loved it here. Who would have thought it?

When Richard had forced the sale of the family home, she’d felt bereft and also angry because the house was Zoe’s one piece of stability in the earthquake of parental separation. Milly had felt like a failure for not being able to afford to keep the house. It was another loss for both of them. Another major change in which Milly had been given no choice.

It was her mother who had suggested they move into the boathouse, and Milly had known from the day they moved in that it was the right decision.

In their old house, memories had lurked in every corner, many of them painful. She’d walk into the kitchen and be reminded of the moment Richard had told her about the affair. In the small garden she’d be hijacked by a memory of seeing him taking phone calls from his lover while trying to hide behind the hedge. Instead of being a safe haven, the house felt like a stage where a dramatic ending had played out.

But the boathouse was a haven, and it washers. Richard had no presence here. He’d never set foot inside the place, and on the rare occasion he remembered to come and pick up Zoe, Milly was careful not to invite him in.

This was her space, and she protected it fiercely. She’d learned over the past few months how important it was to have something that was hers and not a leftover of what had been theirs.

She leaned on the balcony rail and stared across the water.

She rarely had a chance to savor the view from her new home because she was always in a rush to make breakfast and get ready for the day, but with Zoe staying at her mother’s, she had a little time, and she allowed herself a rare moment of indulgence.

The surface of the lake was still, the reflection of the trees that surrounded it stretching across the water. Behind were the fells that she loved so much, their contours accentuated by the bright morning sunlight.

Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and she took a sip of coffee.

It took a moment, and a prickle of instinct, to tell her that she wasn’t alone.

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