faded with an air of resignation and sadness.
The lady looked at Liz. ‘Hello Beth.’
Liz took a deep breath. She knew that this meeting would come. She thought she was prepared for it, she was wrong. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing?’
‘I’m working…’ All Liz really wanted to do was run. Get out; get away, as far away as possible. Moving back to the town inevitably meant that her mother would hear about it. The WI had spies everywhere and her mother was queen of the cupcakes. But even so, seeing her mother standing in front of her was tough. The pain and the anger were as raw and powerful now as it had always been. Time did not heal. That was a myth. Time just masked the emotions.
‘I can see that. Can you take a break? We could have coffee.’
‘Just go,’ Liz said, desperately trying to keep a grip on her emotions. She didn’t want to create a scene.
‘That’s it? You can’t be civil to your own mother?’ The lady reached out to touch her arm, ‘please Beth…’
Liz looked into her mother’s eyes. She could see the pain and sorrow of loss and separation. The eyes were a watery grey, they used to be clear and blue like a summers day. A tiny slither of sympathy and regret stirred, she shook it away along with her mother’s arm.
‘I’m busy.’ She said and walked quickly away.
Andrew paced the shop floor. He was bored and restless. There was only one customer in the shop. An elderly man, Gemma could handle him. Without bothering to tell Gemma, he left the shop. He headed down the High Street towards the pub. He crossed the road and as he did so he saw Liz. There was something vaguely familiar about her. She was a stunner alright, certainly memorable. He wondered if she’d arrested him. He’d been picked up a few times, unfairly, when all he’d done was enjoy a few drinks. Either that or he’d seen her around.
She looked his way and their eyes locked and held. Just briefly, before she turned and walked further into the shadows, away from his view.
Andrew felt unsettled by the brief encounter. He couldn’t account for it. He definitely needed a drink.
The first thought that struck Matt, was that he was alive. The second was that he felt like shit. He was on the floor; he ached all over, which was bad enough, but nothing compared to the searing pain in his head when he tried to sit up. He looked down at his body; he was only wearing boxer shorts, easy to check for bullet holes or dried blood.
What the hell had happened last night?
According to his clock it was lunchtime, he’d be late for work, although that seemed to be the least of his problems. He picked up the bottle of pills and read the label. Big letters: Do Not Drink Alcohol...
Bugger, bit late for the information check now, he probably should have read the label before taking them. The doctor had prescribed them months ago, maybe even as long as a year ago. Insomnia had been his constant companion for years but the doc thought that his inability to impregnate his wife must be down to stress and lifestyle. He suggested gentle exercise, healthy diet, meditation, massage and sleeping pills. Of course the best route to pregnancy was sex. But they had both given up on that weeks ago. And even before that it had become sporadic and only when Avrils fertility charts dictated.
Avril? He needed to remember something about her. He had an image of her face looking down at him. She had been there, last night, he was sure she had been there.
Matt stumbled from the bedroom. He was still groggy, the hangover from hell. He pulled open the door to the spare room, but it was empty. He forced himself to tackle the stairs even though every step jarred, sending a shooting pain through his head.
But Avril was not in the house.
He made himself a coffee and searched the kitchen drawers until he found paracetamol. He sank down into a chair at the table and tried to relive and remember the night’s events. Not
The lady looked at Liz. ‘Hello Beth.’
Liz took a deep breath. She knew that this meeting would come. She thought she was prepared for it, she was wrong. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing?’
‘I’m working…’ All Liz really wanted to do was run. Get out; get away, as far away as possible. Moving back to the town inevitably meant that her mother would hear about it. The WI had spies everywhere and her mother was queen of the cupcakes. But even so, seeing her mother standing in front of her was tough. The pain and the anger were as raw and powerful now as it had always been. Time did not heal. That was a myth. Time just masked the emotions.
‘I can see that. Can you take a break? We could have coffee.’
‘Just go,’ Liz said, desperately trying to keep a grip on her emotions. She didn’t want to create a scene.
‘That’s it? You can’t be civil to your own mother?’ The lady reached out to touch her arm, ‘please Beth…’
Liz looked into her mother’s eyes. She could see the pain and sorrow of loss and separation. The eyes were a watery grey, they used to be clear and blue like a summers day. A tiny slither of sympathy and regret stirred, she shook it away along with her mother’s arm.
‘I’m busy.’ She said and walked quickly away.
Andrew paced the shop floor. He was bored and restless. There was only one customer in the shop. An elderly man, Gemma could handle him. Without bothering to tell Gemma, he left the shop. He headed down the High Street towards the pub. He crossed the road and as he did so he saw Liz. There was something vaguely familiar about her. She was a stunner alright, certainly memorable. He wondered if she’d arrested him. He’d been picked up a few times, unfairly, when all he’d done was enjoy a few drinks. Either that or he’d seen her around.
She looked his way and their eyes locked and held. Just briefly, before she turned and walked further into the shadows, away from his view.
Andrew felt unsettled by the brief encounter. He couldn’t account for it. He definitely needed a drink.
The first thought that struck Matt, was that he was alive. The second was that he felt like shit. He was on the floor; he ached all over, which was bad enough, but nothing compared to the searing pain in his head when he tried to sit up. He looked down at his body; he was only wearing boxer shorts, easy to check for bullet holes or dried blood.
What the hell had happened last night?
According to his clock it was lunchtime, he’d be late for work, although that seemed to be the least of his problems. He picked up the bottle of pills and read the label. Big letters: Do Not Drink Alcohol...
Bugger, bit late for the information check now, he probably should have read the label before taking them. The doctor had prescribed them months ago, maybe even as long as a year ago. Insomnia had been his constant companion for years but the doc thought that his inability to impregnate his wife must be down to stress and lifestyle. He suggested gentle exercise, healthy diet, meditation, massage and sleeping pills. Of course the best route to pregnancy was sex. But they had both given up on that weeks ago. And even before that it had become sporadic and only when Avrils fertility charts dictated.
Avril? He needed to remember something about her. He had an image of her face looking down at him. She had been there, last night, he was sure she had been there.
Matt stumbled from the bedroom. He was still groggy, the hangover from hell. He pulled open the door to the spare room, but it was empty. He forced himself to tackle the stairs even though every step jarred, sending a shooting pain through his head.
But Avril was not in the house.
He made himself a coffee and searched the kitchen drawers until he found paracetamol. He sank down into a chair at the table and tried to relive and remember the night’s events. Not
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