The Divorce Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

image of me this minute, so I cross
my arms over my chest, covering the bare skin exposed through the
sheer material. He could've sneaked in here and I'd never know. But
why am I even worried about myself when the creep could be
targeting my daughter all along while trying to divert my
attention?
    I yank the door open and stomp down the hall
to Sam's room. She's already asleep, her breath coming in soft
heaps. I shake her arm gently.
    "Sam? Are you awake?" She stirs and moans,
reminding me of the times I had to wake her up early as a child. "I
want you to sleep in my room tonight."
    In the darkness I see her bright eyes
sparkle. "Mum, aren't you too old to be having nightmares?"
    The alarm in her voice is obvious, so I smile
and infuse some fake cheeriness into my tone because there's no
point in frightening her. "No, sweetie. I just can't sleep, you
know, feeling a little bit lonely."
    "Oh, okay. Just don't snore or steal the
covers." She gets up and accompanies me to my bedroom where I lock
the door even though I know that won't make me feel safe either.
Nothing could make me feel protected at this point, not even the
phone on the nightstand.
    Sam's shallow breathing tells me she's fallen
asleep almost as soon as she hits the pillow. But for me, it's a
long night. I toss and turn, my gaze wandering from the door to the
window and then back to the door. It's amazing how a single text
message can turn a stable person into an obsessive lunatic. At
times, I wish I lived in the fifteen century when the word divorce
wasn't even invented yet and men were still men: cheating, yes, but
at least they knew how to protect their families. The one time we
were mugged on a street, Greg pushed me in front of him and
pretended to be invisible.
    It's barely six when I give up hope on any
sleep and sneak down to the kitchen. By the time Sam joins me I've
prepared a full plate of steaming waffles. Sam wolfs down a couple,
then brushes her teeth and hurries out the door to catch the bus,
late as usual. I know it won't last much longer though because I've
seen her inspecting herself in the mirror as she sucks in her flat
tummy. In a year or two, when she's started counting calories, I'll
probably sell the waffle maker on eBay.
    I pretend to spend the day spring-cleaning
the house, but in reality I'm checking for surveillance cameras and
bugs, any signs of a forced break-in or otherwise suspicious
indicators that the wacko with the text message was here recently.
But the locks still work and the windows show no damage. No clothes
or lingerie are missing, no pictures have been removed, and
nothing's suspect. I begin to relax, laughing at my paranoia and
the possible onset of obsessive-compulsive behavior. But I still
need to find out who sent the message. Maybe I gave a creep my
number and can't recall, or he found one of the leaflets
advertising the club and decided to play a prank on me. That I
might be wearing a black nightgown could've been just a lucky
guess. I've heard black lingerie's a bestseller this year. Feeling
much better now, I cook Sam's dinner and leave a note on the table
saying I'd be late tonight, then change and head out.
    I arrive at the club with half an hour to
spare so I switch on all lights and brew coffee for the girls while
I set up the chairs in the middle of the room, adding one more for
our newest member. They arrive shortly after minus Mister Business
Exec.
    Lucy's barely hung up her coat on the hooks
in the hall when she starts chattering. "Well, don't you look
sassy? Look at her. She's glowing."
    "Thanks." I peer at my baggy jeans and black
top, which I don't think are particularly flattering on my small
frame. The few pounds I've lost since my divorce would make me even
prouder if I only had the money to buy clothes that fit.
    "What happened?" Lucy loops my arm with hers
and pulls me down into the chair next to hers. "You've got to share
some of the magic."
    Where do I even begin? Maybe it was the
realization some