encouragingly as he improvised with a lisped ‘neigh’ and a nod.
We worked on this for a while until Richard called round and joined in with what he called ‘nativity training sessions’, but he and Jacob soon started talking football as usual. I didn’t mind, it gave me chance to reflect on the Tamsin situation and consider the implications of what had happened. I couldn’t say anything to Richard in front of Jacob, so I went into the kitchen to wash up and let my mind go over things.
Richard and I had been seeing each other on a casual basis for about a year. We had met at the school gate – his daughter played with Jacob and he was a single father going through a difficult divorce. Neither of us was ready for anything too heavy, so we were on the same page. He was warm and funny and he made me laugh, but recently he’d wanted more and I sometimes resented him trying to look after me (I had enough of that from Tamsin). I was fond of him, but a part of me was still struggling to let go of Steve.
I sometimes worried that perhaps I was looking for a father for Jacob rather than a partner for me. I could hear them playing football together in the living room and hearing the slamming of the ball against the wall followed by shouting and laughter made me smile. If everything was okay here, with Jacob, I could be strong and help my sister through this – she’d been there for me the night Steve died. I thought back to that night now in vivid Technicolor; when the police had appeared on the doorstep I'd thought it was Steve returning home. I'd run to the door to throw my arms round him and say I was sorry – but instead it had been the policewoman who was sorry. She was sorry to tell me that my husband had been killed. Just like that – not ‘hello’ or ‘Happy Christmas’... just that. Enthusiastic roars of ‘goal’ intruded on my thoughts again and I sighed with relief – I had to stop torturing myself. In the past twelve months I’d found a wonderful man who loved me and my little boy. Perhaps now it was time to try and let Steve go...
4
The Real Housewives of Chantray Lane
Tamsin
T he following morning I had (without any sleep) managed to convince myself that it was all a horrific cock-up. Of course I wouldn’t say the word ‘cock-up’ because that would be common, but I’d told the kids the bank had made a mistake and Simon must be delayed. Of course Sam wasn’t so easy to convince.
‘Delayed? Where – Australia?’
‘Rude,’ I snapped.
‘He’s done a runner,’ added Mrs J from under the kitchen island.
Sam and I looked at each other.
‘I don’t keep her there you understand,’ I said, ‘she just appears in a puff of smoke.’
Sam laughed.
‘So where is he? That hubby of yours?’ came the voice again. Apparently she was cleaning the floor, but I suspected she’d just found a good vantage point for ear flapping.
‘Look, I don’t know where he is, but what I do know is he works hard. He’s probably been working all night, he’s pulled an all-nighter before.’
‘Mmmm ... that’s what he calls it?’ Mrs J muttered.
‘Enough. That’s my husband you’re talking about.’
Mrs J didn’t miss a trick, I once mentioned that Simon was very friendly with a woman at work and she’d pestered me for weeks about it. Asking if he was working, when he was working and who with until I suggested she ask him for a copy of his bloody work schedule. Now wasn’t the time for her to be bad-mouthing Simon, though I have to say I was beginning to feel very angry with him myself. I was trying his phone every few minutes like an obsessed person, but it was permanently off. Where the hell was he?
Meanwhile, Sam had turned up at dawn and was trying to get me to pack, but how could I? My heart was breaking and I just kept thinking – if I wait another few minutes he’ll be here, or he’ll call and it will all be fine. But it was now 11 a.m., nineteen hours after the bailiffs had burst
We worked on this for a while until Richard called round and joined in with what he called ‘nativity training sessions’, but he and Jacob soon started talking football as usual. I didn’t mind, it gave me chance to reflect on the Tamsin situation and consider the implications of what had happened. I couldn’t say anything to Richard in front of Jacob, so I went into the kitchen to wash up and let my mind go over things.
Richard and I had been seeing each other on a casual basis for about a year. We had met at the school gate – his daughter played with Jacob and he was a single father going through a difficult divorce. Neither of us was ready for anything too heavy, so we were on the same page. He was warm and funny and he made me laugh, but recently he’d wanted more and I sometimes resented him trying to look after me (I had enough of that from Tamsin). I was fond of him, but a part of me was still struggling to let go of Steve.
I sometimes worried that perhaps I was looking for a father for Jacob rather than a partner for me. I could hear them playing football together in the living room and hearing the slamming of the ball against the wall followed by shouting and laughter made me smile. If everything was okay here, with Jacob, I could be strong and help my sister through this – she’d been there for me the night Steve died. I thought back to that night now in vivid Technicolor; when the police had appeared on the doorstep I'd thought it was Steve returning home. I'd run to the door to throw my arms round him and say I was sorry – but instead it had been the policewoman who was sorry. She was sorry to tell me that my husband had been killed. Just like that – not ‘hello’ or ‘Happy Christmas’... just that. Enthusiastic roars of ‘goal’ intruded on my thoughts again and I sighed with relief – I had to stop torturing myself. In the past twelve months I’d found a wonderful man who loved me and my little boy. Perhaps now it was time to try and let Steve go...
4
The Real Housewives of Chantray Lane
Tamsin
T he following morning I had (without any sleep) managed to convince myself that it was all a horrific cock-up. Of course I wouldn’t say the word ‘cock-up’ because that would be common, but I’d told the kids the bank had made a mistake and Simon must be delayed. Of course Sam wasn’t so easy to convince.
‘Delayed? Where – Australia?’
‘Rude,’ I snapped.
‘He’s done a runner,’ added Mrs J from under the kitchen island.
Sam and I looked at each other.
‘I don’t keep her there you understand,’ I said, ‘she just appears in a puff of smoke.’
Sam laughed.
‘So where is he? That hubby of yours?’ came the voice again. Apparently she was cleaning the floor, but I suspected she’d just found a good vantage point for ear flapping.
‘Look, I don’t know where he is, but what I do know is he works hard. He’s probably been working all night, he’s pulled an all-nighter before.’
‘Mmmm ... that’s what he calls it?’ Mrs J muttered.
‘Enough. That’s my husband you’re talking about.’
Mrs J didn’t miss a trick, I once mentioned that Simon was very friendly with a woman at work and she’d pestered me for weeks about it. Asking if he was working, when he was working and who with until I suggested she ask him for a copy of his bloody work schedule. Now wasn’t the time for her to be bad-mouthing Simon, though I have to say I was beginning to feel very angry with him myself. I was trying his phone every few minutes like an obsessed person, but it was permanently off. Where the hell was he?
Meanwhile, Sam had turned up at dawn and was trying to get me to pack, but how could I? My heart was breaking and I just kept thinking – if I wait another few minutes he’ll be here, or he’ll call and it will all be fine. But it was now 11 a.m., nineteen hours after the bailiffs had burst
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