down the side. It’s hard, like a shoebox, not floppy like clothes. It can’t be shoes. They’re the one thing I still insist on buying from the shops. When you’ve got feet as wide as mine, ordering shoes off the Internet can be a bit of a gamble.
“Brian?” I carry the parcel into the house and search for my husband. “Oh, hi, Milly.”
She looks up from her prone position in front of the cold hearth, then lowers her head and sighs when she realizes I’m not Brian. He must be in his study. Milly knows she isn’t allowed upstairs.
“What have we got here, then?” I tear into the plastic packaging and discover a cardboard shoebox. “Very brave of Daddy to choose shoes for Mum—”
The opened box tumbles from my hands and a pair of beige suedette slippers tumbles onto the rug.
They’re meant for me. But they’re not from my husband.
***
“Brian?” I push open the door to the study. “Brian, we need to talk.”
My husband is sitting in his chair, his head in his hands, his elbows on the desk. He doesn’t look up at the sound of my voice.
“Brian?” I fight to keep the quiver out of my voice. “Brian, please. I need your help.”
He raises his head from his hands and slowly tilts back his head to look at me. His expression is blank, his eyes as fixed and dark as they were as we careered into oncoming traffic.
“What do you want, Susan?”
“I…” I hold out the slippers but I can’t do it. I can’t tell him that James sent them to me. There’s no note, no purchaser details, no gift card—nothing at all to prove who sent them. And besides, Brian looks like someone just hollowed out his soul.
I perch on the edge of a wooden chair near the door. “I’m sorry, Brian.”
My husband doesn’t say anything but I can tell he’s listening, that he wants me to continue.
“I’m sorry I told you there wasn’t anything to worry about in Charlotte’s diary. There is.”
“What?” Brian is no longer slumped back in his chair. He’s sitting up straight, the tips of his fingers splayed on the desk, his eyes fixed on mine. “Tell me.”
“She…” I can’t do it. I can’t ignore my gut feeling that I shouldn’t. Not with Charlotte’s safety at risk. “Why did you lie about going to the pool, Brian?”
“What?”
“Last week, when you took the morning off, you told me you went shopping and swimming.”
“And?” It’s just one word but I can hear the irritation behind it.
“The Prince Regent has been shut for renovations for the last two weeks.”
Brian doesn’t so much as blink. “I didn’t go to the Prince Regent.”
“Where then?”
“Aquarena.”
“You went all the way to Worthing for a swim?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“Brian, you haven’t been for a swim for months.”
“Which is why I fancied a dip.”
“Stop lying.” I stand up. “Please, just stop lying.”
My husband sits back in his chair. “Lying? I think we’ve established who the liar is here, Sue. Or would you like to take back your apology from five minutes ago?” When I say nothing, a small smile plays on his lips. “What did Charlotte write in her diary?”
“Where have you been going at the crack of dawn every day?”
Brian says nothing.
I say nothing.
We stare at each other, eyes locked, neither of us willing to back down.
Ding-dong.
The sound of the doorbell makes me jump. A split second later, I’m out of the study, relieved of the excuse to escape. I think I hear Brian call my name as I hurry down the stairs but I don’t turn back.
“Coming!” I call as I cross the hallway, pass through the kitchen, and walk into the porch. Milly follows me, nudging her empty food dish with her nose as I open the front door.
I can’t see anyone through the glass pane, so I open the door and peer outside, half-expecting to see someone strolling down the driveway, but it’s empty. Whoever rang our doorbell must have sprinted away the second their finger left the
“Brian?” I carry the parcel into the house and search for my husband. “Oh, hi, Milly.”
She looks up from her prone position in front of the cold hearth, then lowers her head and sighs when she realizes I’m not Brian. He must be in his study. Milly knows she isn’t allowed upstairs.
“What have we got here, then?” I tear into the plastic packaging and discover a cardboard shoebox. “Very brave of Daddy to choose shoes for Mum—”
The opened box tumbles from my hands and a pair of beige suedette slippers tumbles onto the rug.
They’re meant for me. But they’re not from my husband.
***
“Brian?” I push open the door to the study. “Brian, we need to talk.”
My husband is sitting in his chair, his head in his hands, his elbows on the desk. He doesn’t look up at the sound of my voice.
“Brian?” I fight to keep the quiver out of my voice. “Brian, please. I need your help.”
He raises his head from his hands and slowly tilts back his head to look at me. His expression is blank, his eyes as fixed and dark as they were as we careered into oncoming traffic.
“What do you want, Susan?”
“I…” I hold out the slippers but I can’t do it. I can’t tell him that James sent them to me. There’s no note, no purchaser details, no gift card—nothing at all to prove who sent them. And besides, Brian looks like someone just hollowed out his soul.
I perch on the edge of a wooden chair near the door. “I’m sorry, Brian.”
My husband doesn’t say anything but I can tell he’s listening, that he wants me to continue.
“I’m sorry I told you there wasn’t anything to worry about in Charlotte’s diary. There is.”
“What?” Brian is no longer slumped back in his chair. He’s sitting up straight, the tips of his fingers splayed on the desk, his eyes fixed on mine. “Tell me.”
“She…” I can’t do it. I can’t ignore my gut feeling that I shouldn’t. Not with Charlotte’s safety at risk. “Why did you lie about going to the pool, Brian?”
“What?”
“Last week, when you took the morning off, you told me you went shopping and swimming.”
“And?” It’s just one word but I can hear the irritation behind it.
“The Prince Regent has been shut for renovations for the last two weeks.”
Brian doesn’t so much as blink. “I didn’t go to the Prince Regent.”
“Where then?”
“Aquarena.”
“You went all the way to Worthing for a swim?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“Brian, you haven’t been for a swim for months.”
“Which is why I fancied a dip.”
“Stop lying.” I stand up. “Please, just stop lying.”
My husband sits back in his chair. “Lying? I think we’ve established who the liar is here, Sue. Or would you like to take back your apology from five minutes ago?” When I say nothing, a small smile plays on his lips. “What did Charlotte write in her diary?”
“Where have you been going at the crack of dawn every day?”
Brian says nothing.
I say nothing.
We stare at each other, eyes locked, neither of us willing to back down.
Ding-dong.
The sound of the doorbell makes me jump. A split second later, I’m out of the study, relieved of the excuse to escape. I think I hear Brian call my name as I hurry down the stairs but I don’t turn back.
“Coming!” I call as I cross the hallway, pass through the kitchen, and walk into the porch. Milly follows me, nudging her empty food dish with her nose as I open the front door.
I can’t see anyone through the glass pane, so I open the door and peer outside, half-expecting to see someone strolling down the driveway, but it’s empty. Whoever rang our doorbell must have sprinted away the second their finger left the
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