Page 34 of Happily Never After
‘Sure,’ she called back, hating the way her voice wobbled with nerves. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s probably best if I show you.’
She wracked her brains, trying to think what on earth she could have done to annoy him this time. The slightest thing could set him off these days; last week he’d completely lost his shit because she’d put the mustard back on the ‘wrong’ shelf in the fridge. She winced as she touched the bruise on her hip, where she’d banged it against the counter when he’d shoved her. He didn’t even bother to apologise after his outbursts any more, and they were ramping up both in intensity and frequency. She was genuinely scared he was going to seriously injure her or kill her if she didn’t get away soon. Thankfully, everything was now in place. Darren was going to be away overnight at a work conference next week, which would give her two clear days to move her stuff out.
Darren was sitting at the table when she walked into the kitchen. He was ominously still, and her heart went into her mouth when she saw the shoebox in front of him. How the bloody hell had he found her secret hiding place? And, more importantly, what could she tell him to stop him ruining everything?
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, trying frantically to buy enough time to concoct a plausible story.
‘Yes, why not?’ He smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it. It was the smile of a predator playing with its prey. Fuck. What was she going to do? Her hands were shaking so badly as she filled the kettle that it took all her concentration not to spill water everywhere.
‘I found this at the back of the wardrobe,’ Darren told her, taking the lid off the box once she’d switched on the kettle and summoned the courage to turn and face him. He started methodically taking the items out, laying them carefully on the table like trophies. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we? A passport in your name, a surprising amount of money, some bank statements for an account that’s also in your name, and a debit card. Now, I’m no detective, but it looks awfully like you were planning on going somewhere.’
I’ve managed to find a quiet, shady corner of the garden well away from everyone else and, for the first time in ages, I’m definitely in the zone. I’ve been writing for two hours solid and, now that I’ve reached the climax of the first part of the novel, my fingers have almost taken on a life of their own as they dance across the keyboard. However, I’ve been doing this job for long enough to know that I need to take regular breaks if I don’t want to end up with painful stiffness in my neck and shoulders, and the alarm on my phone is telling me that I need to get up and move. The temptation to ignore it is huge; I’ve spent chapterafter chapter carefully laying my breadcrumb trail, and this is a really inconvenient place to stop.
‘That’s why you have an alarm, Laura,’ I tell myself firmly as I close the lid of my laptop and force myself to stand, moving my head from side to side, stretching my arms and twisting my torso to loosen the muscles. I breathe deeply, enjoying the mixture of floral scents in the air. I glance at my watch. Eleven o’clock. I think I’ve earned a cup of coffee and maybe one of Cara’s delicious pastries.
This really is a stunning garden. Hugh and Cara have obviously put a lot of thought into both the layout and the planting. As well as the table I’ve been sitting at, there are a number of other semi-private spots set up with benches, tables and chairs. The area where I’ve been working is surrounded by riotously colourful flower beds, but even the herb and vegetable gardens that I’m walking through now have a functional beauty to them. Finn obviously likes it here, as I spot him on a bench ahead of me. He’s leaning back, with his eyes closed beneath his wide-brimmed hat and his long legs stretched out in front of him, almost blocking the path. The crunch of the gravel beneath my feet evidently alerts him to my presence, as he sits up with a start when I approach.
‘Hi, Laura,’ he says with a smile. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I was just going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like me to bring you one?’
He heaves himself to his feet. ‘Do you mind if I come with you? I’m not stalking you, I promise. There’s something I wanted to ask you, actually.’
‘Oh, yes?’
He falls into step beside me and lowers his voice. ‘Is it me, or is there a seriously fucked-up dynamic at play here?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I may be imagining it, but there seemed to be an atmosphere at breakfast. The three women who were sitting together at the end of the table kept staring at me like I was some kind of monster, and the one you were talking to cornered me outside my room earlier and started babbling all this stuff about how excited she was to have a man in the group, as if she’d never come across one before.’
‘Lynette is pretty full-on,’ I agree.
‘That’s one way of putting it. I’m starting to wonder if you and I are the only normal people here.’
‘Tess is OK, and the jury’s still out about you, stalker.’
Thankfully he takes my remark in the spirit intended and smiles.
‘I will find a way to convince you that I’m not, but I agree about Tess. She came to introduce herself to me earlier and we had a good chat. She was lovely, but we agreed that she probably wouldn’t be able to help me with my new show format. There’s definitely something going on between the Double-Doubles and the hippy, though.’
‘Who?’
‘Sorry, I have a habit of nicknaming people in my head. The three women reminded me of Macbeth’s witches.’
‘“Double, double, toil and trouble”,’ I quote with a smile.
‘“Fire burn and cauldron bubble”,’ he replies, grinning.
‘Have I got a nickname?’
‘No,’ he says so firmly that I’m sure he’s lying.
‘Come on. What is it?’
‘Promise you won’t be offended?’
