alarm sounded.
Adrian groaned and pushed back the single sheet.
Paula woke to the sound of his raised voice coming from outside.
‘I’ll take my belt to you, do you hear me? And I’m sending for the police. We’re sick of you. Now bugger off!’
Paula raced downstairs.
‘Little sods. Opened the door and they were in here, in this kitchen. Helping themselves to that.’
The half-eaten custard tart had been under cling film.
‘You encouraged them. You started this.’
She did not go out shopping until late afternoon, when the sky had turned inky and the air was so moist she felt as if she were trying to breathe underwater. The storm broke as she was checking out, crashing directly overhead. She went to the café and sat watching the car park flood and felt as if she were waiting for something, suspended between two places, two worlds.
‘It’s unreal,’ a woman at the next table said.
Adrian sent a text to say his train was delayed: ‘f...ing line flooded’. She had another coffee.
When she got back, the lane was awash with earth and branches and stones. The front path was a stream.
But it was not the storm that had broken open the door and smashed a couple of panes in the lean-to; not the storm that had smeared her paints all over her half-finished work; not the storm that had thrown china onto the kitchen floor, deposited excrement on the worktop and left puddles of urine on the floor.
Paula sat down, shaking.
Thunder grumbled in the distance and the sky was sulphurous.
When Adrian got in just after ten she was still sitting there in the half-dark.
‘Bugger’ he said, standing in the doorway, his hair plastered to his forehead. ‘Oh bugger.’
She expected him to blame her, but he did not. He said nothing at all, just dropped his jacket onto the chair and helped her clear up, unloaded the car and put the groceries away, taped a piece of plywood over the broken windows.
He ate some cold ham and tomatoes, with chunks of bread torn off the new loaf. Paula ate nothing.
‘It’s them, of course,’ he said through a mouthful of pink meat. ‘You do know it’s them? This can’t go on.’
‘It could have been anyone.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
Adrian put his plate in the sink.
‘You should eat,’ he said.
She opened the back door and stood on the step. The storm had retreated, the air cooled. Water was running down the lane and dripping off the trees. What had it been like in that caravan, parked in an open field? What if the roof leaked, the windows let in water? What if their beds were soaking wet? They had taken what food there had been in the kitchen, but that wasn’t much. What if . . . ?
Her brain swirled. The clouds parted to show a clear patch of night sky.
She went inside.
‘I think this is it,’ Adrian said the next morning. He had called in sick. ‘After last night I do feel sick, in actual fact.’ He had brought tea and got back into bed. ‘I really think this is it.’
‘What is what?’
‘To begin with, I never realised what the commute would be like. Never imagined it. Which I really should have done. You should look at a thing from all sides.’
Paula sat up. Beyond the window the sky was pearl grey and the air coming through it was fresh.
‘And you’re lonely.’
She looked round at him. ‘I’m not lonely.’
‘Of course you are or you wouldn’t have had those kids round all the time.’
‘I didn’t . . . ’
‘I don’t blame you, Paula. I understand, actually. It’s obvious you’ve been lonely and I should have seen it. I’ve been a bit selfish.’
Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She did not fully understand him.
‘We don’t have to go back to Salisbury Road. We could try a bit further in. There’s that nice new development at Ashtree.’
‘What are you talking about?’
But it was obvious. She looked at him and saw the light of determination in his eyes.
‘I’m happy here,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to live on a new
Adrian groaned and pushed back the single sheet.
Paula woke to the sound of his raised voice coming from outside.
‘I’ll take my belt to you, do you hear me? And I’m sending for the police. We’re sick of you. Now bugger off!’
Paula raced downstairs.
‘Little sods. Opened the door and they were in here, in this kitchen. Helping themselves to that.’
The half-eaten custard tart had been under cling film.
‘You encouraged them. You started this.’
She did not go out shopping until late afternoon, when the sky had turned inky and the air was so moist she felt as if she were trying to breathe underwater. The storm broke as she was checking out, crashing directly overhead. She went to the café and sat watching the car park flood and felt as if she were waiting for something, suspended between two places, two worlds.
‘It’s unreal,’ a woman at the next table said.
Adrian sent a text to say his train was delayed: ‘f...ing line flooded’. She had another coffee.
When she got back, the lane was awash with earth and branches and stones. The front path was a stream.
But it was not the storm that had broken open the door and smashed a couple of panes in the lean-to; not the storm that had smeared her paints all over her half-finished work; not the storm that had thrown china onto the kitchen floor, deposited excrement on the worktop and left puddles of urine on the floor.
Paula sat down, shaking.
Thunder grumbled in the distance and the sky was sulphurous.
When Adrian got in just after ten she was still sitting there in the half-dark.
‘Bugger’ he said, standing in the doorway, his hair plastered to his forehead. ‘Oh bugger.’
She expected him to blame her, but he did not. He said nothing at all, just dropped his jacket onto the chair and helped her clear up, unloaded the car and put the groceries away, taped a piece of plywood over the broken windows.
He ate some cold ham and tomatoes, with chunks of bread torn off the new loaf. Paula ate nothing.
‘It’s them, of course,’ he said through a mouthful of pink meat. ‘You do know it’s them? This can’t go on.’
‘It could have been anyone.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
Adrian put his plate in the sink.
‘You should eat,’ he said.
She opened the back door and stood on the step. The storm had retreated, the air cooled. Water was running down the lane and dripping off the trees. What had it been like in that caravan, parked in an open field? What if the roof leaked, the windows let in water? What if their beds were soaking wet? They had taken what food there had been in the kitchen, but that wasn’t much. What if . . . ?
Her brain swirled. The clouds parted to show a clear patch of night sky.
She went inside.
‘I think this is it,’ Adrian said the next morning. He had called in sick. ‘After last night I do feel sick, in actual fact.’ He had brought tea and got back into bed. ‘I really think this is it.’
‘What is what?’
‘To begin with, I never realised what the commute would be like. Never imagined it. Which I really should have done. You should look at a thing from all sides.’
Paula sat up. Beyond the window the sky was pearl grey and the air coming through it was fresh.
‘And you’re lonely.’
She looked round at him. ‘I’m not lonely.’
‘Of course you are or you wouldn’t have had those kids round all the time.’
‘I didn’t . . . ’
‘I don’t blame you, Paula. I understand, actually. It’s obvious you’ve been lonely and I should have seen it. I’ve been a bit selfish.’
Her mouth worked, but no words came out. She did not fully understand him.
‘We don’t have to go back to Salisbury Road. We could try a bit further in. There’s that nice new development at Ashtree.’
‘What are you talking about?’
But it was obvious. She looked at him and saw the light of determination in his eyes.
‘I’m happy here,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to live on a new
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