herself. It is more than that. It is a nugatory feeling, a space, a void, and there is nothing she can do to alter that.
‘ You want coffee?’ Laurence shouts through the door.
‘ When I come out.’ The squeakiness of her voice catches her by surprise and she coughs.
He doesn ’t help. She is not sure she would go so far as to say he is a control freak—she does have a theoretical say in their lives—but the reality is that the things that come about in their lives are the things Laurence wants or suggests. Her ideas remain just that, ideas. But he always leaves room to argue it is not so. Like the move when the boys were so small. She suggested that they needed a larger house when the boys got bigger. Somewhere with a garden where they could run around, let off steam. Laurence’s salary was good, they could afford it, and it could be a family home, a place that was theirs, and not just his bachelor pad that she had moved into. It didn’t happen; the boys continued to bounce off the walls, she continued to be surrounded by relics of his single days until, one day, she was called back home to County Clare, to an uncle’s funeral, and Laurence stayed home with the boys. After her week away, Laurence met her at the airport full of his idea that they needed a bigger home, with space for the boys, and within the following week, they had seen four houses and Laurence had put an offer in for one of them—but not the one she liked best. The house move was his ever recurring example, both in private and public, as to the equality he gave her.
‘ Everything.’ Sarah sinks beneath the water again. It’s like that with everything, right down to when he takes her clothes shopping. Now she has a wardrobe full of so many dresses that she only half-likes but Laurence loves.
‘ I don’t matter. Nothing I do matters.’ The garbled words create pockets of air that jettison to the surface.
She pushes herself up and reaches for the shampoo. Laurence, true to form, has laid everything out in order: shampoo, conditioner, shaving foam, deodorant, contact lens solution, toothpaste.
‘Coffee’s going cold,’ Laurence calls.
‘ Alright.’
She slips under the water again to wash off the soap before grabbing at the conditioner bottle. It ’s light; it doesn’t occur to Laurence that packing a nearly empty bottle is a bit pointless. She makes a mental note to buy more. Shaking the shaving foam and the contact solution bottle, she finds that at least they are full. She needs to go to a supermarket anyway, get some staples in, something for breakfast; coffee, milk, sugar.
‘ I matter for that,’ she sneers. ‘Keeping the cupboards stocked.’ Which is almost true, although, at home, she uses a delivery service that brings the same stuff every week. It is only the special things that she would buy herself from specialist shops. It fills her days.
But here , there will be no delivery service. She will have to go shopping. There is bound to be a supermarket in Saros; she could pop in when they go in to to meet Joss and Pru. But then, Finn had said they should meet up today.
She pulls herself from the water, stepping out of the bath and, drying her hands first, reaches for her phone.
‘Have you arrived?’ she texts Josh.
The heat is drying her more quickly than the towel , which she wraps around her to go and find some fresh clothes. The reply comes before she leaves the bathroom.
‘ Meeting Finn and Helena for lunch, join us?’ it says.
‘ Where?’ She drips water from her hair onto the phone as she replies.
‘ One minute,’ is the answer.
Laurence is still on his laptop. She looks around the room for another door that will lead to a bedroom, but there is only the door that she came in by which went through the kitchen.
‘Where’s the bedroom?’
‘ Another door on the patio.’
‘ Oh, not very useful if you need the toilet in the night.’
‘ It has an en suite.’ He doesn’t look up.
It feels
‘ You want coffee?’ Laurence shouts through the door.
‘ When I come out.’ The squeakiness of her voice catches her by surprise and she coughs.
He doesn ’t help. She is not sure she would go so far as to say he is a control freak—she does have a theoretical say in their lives—but the reality is that the things that come about in their lives are the things Laurence wants or suggests. Her ideas remain just that, ideas. But he always leaves room to argue it is not so. Like the move when the boys were so small. She suggested that they needed a larger house when the boys got bigger. Somewhere with a garden where they could run around, let off steam. Laurence’s salary was good, they could afford it, and it could be a family home, a place that was theirs, and not just his bachelor pad that she had moved into. It didn’t happen; the boys continued to bounce off the walls, she continued to be surrounded by relics of his single days until, one day, she was called back home to County Clare, to an uncle’s funeral, and Laurence stayed home with the boys. After her week away, Laurence met her at the airport full of his idea that they needed a bigger home, with space for the boys, and within the following week, they had seen four houses and Laurence had put an offer in for one of them—but not the one she liked best. The house move was his ever recurring example, both in private and public, as to the equality he gave her.
‘ Everything.’ Sarah sinks beneath the water again. It’s like that with everything, right down to when he takes her clothes shopping. Now she has a wardrobe full of so many dresses that she only half-likes but Laurence loves.
‘ I don’t matter. Nothing I do matters.’ The garbled words create pockets of air that jettison to the surface.
She pushes herself up and reaches for the shampoo. Laurence, true to form, has laid everything out in order: shampoo, conditioner, shaving foam, deodorant, contact lens solution, toothpaste.
‘Coffee’s going cold,’ Laurence calls.
‘ Alright.’
She slips under the water again to wash off the soap before grabbing at the conditioner bottle. It ’s light; it doesn’t occur to Laurence that packing a nearly empty bottle is a bit pointless. She makes a mental note to buy more. Shaking the shaving foam and the contact solution bottle, she finds that at least they are full. She needs to go to a supermarket anyway, get some staples in, something for breakfast; coffee, milk, sugar.
‘ I matter for that,’ she sneers. ‘Keeping the cupboards stocked.’ Which is almost true, although, at home, she uses a delivery service that brings the same stuff every week. It is only the special things that she would buy herself from specialist shops. It fills her days.
But here , there will be no delivery service. She will have to go shopping. There is bound to be a supermarket in Saros; she could pop in when they go in to to meet Joss and Pru. But then, Finn had said they should meet up today.
She pulls herself from the water, stepping out of the bath and, drying her hands first, reaches for her phone.
‘Have you arrived?’ she texts Josh.
The heat is drying her more quickly than the towel , which she wraps around her to go and find some fresh clothes. The reply comes before she leaves the bathroom.
‘ Meeting Finn and Helena for lunch, join us?’ it says.
‘ Where?’ She drips water from her hair onto the phone as she replies.
‘ One minute,’ is the answer.
Laurence is still on his laptop. She looks around the room for another door that will lead to a bedroom, but there is only the door that she came in by which went through the kitchen.
‘Where’s the bedroom?’
‘ Another door on the patio.’
‘ Oh, not very useful if you need the toilet in the night.’
‘ It has an en suite.’ He doesn’t look up.
It feels
Similar Books
