ringing. Her mother had covered her with a blanket and left her on the settee. She answered wearily, her voice croaking a greeting.
And then … everything changed.
11
Saturday 18th February 2012
11 Months Earlier
Rob pulled up outside his house ten minutes after leaving Carla’s. The car settled as he looked through the window at the semi-detached house. He remembered the first time they’d seen it together. He and Jemma must have looked at maybe fifty houses before deciding it was the one for them. Three bedrooms, one for them, one for the future, and one for an office that neither had ever used. Needed some work doing to it when they’d first moved in, but one loan from the bank later, and they had the money. They’d worked hard making it just right. This was supposed to be it. Their first home.
Rob stepped into the house, slipping his coat off after closing the door behind him. He paused as he began to hang it up, placing his free left hand on the black woollen coat he’d bought Jemma for Christmas.
‘Helen?’ he called.
‘Through here.’
Rob hung up his coat and turned to enter the living room. Helen was in the doorway. Her eyes were tinged with red, slight mascara stains underneath.
‘Anything?’
Rob shook his head, then collapsed to a sitting position on the staircase, his head in his hands. Too much, it was too much. He wanted to scream out. Didn’t think he could.
Helen stood over him, placing a hand on his shoulder. The second woman that night to do so. ‘It’s okay. Rob, she’s okay.’
He looked up, his eyes trying to find hers. She wouldn’t meet his gaze though.
‘You think?’
‘Carla just called. She told me you’d just been around.’
‘Yeah. But you can’t think the same as her, can you?’
‘Look. Jemma has always been her own woman. Even as a young girl, I couldn’t get her to do anything. I remember once, she’d have been about eight at the time, sitting for two hours at the dinner table waiting for her to finish her mash. I gave up before she did. Jemma had eaten them twice a week for years, but one day just decided she didn’t want them anymore. She’s headstrong, knows her own mind. Always has.’ Helen took her hand away, and turned towards the kitchen. ‘Carla said you didn’t know that she’s done this before.’
Rob stood up too quickly, a sudden swirling feeling in his head. ‘She never said anything. Are you telling me you think she’s just left, in the middle of the night, without saying a word?’
‘She was happy before you, you know, with, erm … whatever his name was. It didn’t stop her leaving. This is what she does.’
‘But just leaving like that, she’d do that?’ Rob knew the answer before it came.
‘She’s done worse. You may have been with Jemma a long time, but there’s a lot you don’t know about her.’
‘I know her now. She’s not like that, not with me.’
‘Come on, come and sit down. I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
Helen turned and walked up the hallway towards the kitchen. Rob sighed and followed her. As he walked up the hallway, he paused in front of the collage of photographs that took up the centre of the wall. Jemma had spent days, weeks maybe, putting together snapshots of their lives together. Friends, nights out, the day at Aintree races, him suited and booted, her in a long cream-coloured dress. The holidays they’d taken, Tenerife, Rome, and Florida. He traced his fingers across the photographs. Watched as they blurred into one. Became a final image. The bare bulb which hung in the hallway illuminating the frame, placing a glare across the top third.
He could hear Helen taking cups out of the cupboards, the kettle steaming up and boiling. He took his hand away and looked up at the ceiling.
He pulled one of the chairs back at the small dining table that was never used. Too small to eat at really. They’d talked about throwing it out a few times, but never got around to it. Helen was pouring milk into
And then … everything changed.
11
Saturday 18th February 2012
11 Months Earlier
Rob pulled up outside his house ten minutes after leaving Carla’s. The car settled as he looked through the window at the semi-detached house. He remembered the first time they’d seen it together. He and Jemma must have looked at maybe fifty houses before deciding it was the one for them. Three bedrooms, one for them, one for the future, and one for an office that neither had ever used. Needed some work doing to it when they’d first moved in, but one loan from the bank later, and they had the money. They’d worked hard making it just right. This was supposed to be it. Their first home.
Rob stepped into the house, slipping his coat off after closing the door behind him. He paused as he began to hang it up, placing his free left hand on the black woollen coat he’d bought Jemma for Christmas.
‘Helen?’ he called.
‘Through here.’
Rob hung up his coat and turned to enter the living room. Helen was in the doorway. Her eyes were tinged with red, slight mascara stains underneath.
‘Anything?’
Rob shook his head, then collapsed to a sitting position on the staircase, his head in his hands. Too much, it was too much. He wanted to scream out. Didn’t think he could.
Helen stood over him, placing a hand on his shoulder. The second woman that night to do so. ‘It’s okay. Rob, she’s okay.’
He looked up, his eyes trying to find hers. She wouldn’t meet his gaze though.
‘You think?’
‘Carla just called. She told me you’d just been around.’
‘Yeah. But you can’t think the same as her, can you?’
‘Look. Jemma has always been her own woman. Even as a young girl, I couldn’t get her to do anything. I remember once, she’d have been about eight at the time, sitting for two hours at the dinner table waiting for her to finish her mash. I gave up before she did. Jemma had eaten them twice a week for years, but one day just decided she didn’t want them anymore. She’s headstrong, knows her own mind. Always has.’ Helen took her hand away, and turned towards the kitchen. ‘Carla said you didn’t know that she’s done this before.’
Rob stood up too quickly, a sudden swirling feeling in his head. ‘She never said anything. Are you telling me you think she’s just left, in the middle of the night, without saying a word?’
‘She was happy before you, you know, with, erm … whatever his name was. It didn’t stop her leaving. This is what she does.’
‘But just leaving like that, she’d do that?’ Rob knew the answer before it came.
‘She’s done worse. You may have been with Jemma a long time, but there’s a lot you don’t know about her.’
‘I know her now. She’s not like that, not with me.’
‘Come on, come and sit down. I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
Helen turned and walked up the hallway towards the kitchen. Rob sighed and followed her. As he walked up the hallway, he paused in front of the collage of photographs that took up the centre of the wall. Jemma had spent days, weeks maybe, putting together snapshots of their lives together. Friends, nights out, the day at Aintree races, him suited and booted, her in a long cream-coloured dress. The holidays they’d taken, Tenerife, Rome, and Florida. He traced his fingers across the photographs. Watched as they blurred into one. Became a final image. The bare bulb which hung in the hallway illuminating the frame, placing a glare across the top third.
He could hear Helen taking cups out of the cupboards, the kettle steaming up and boiling. He took his hand away and looked up at the ceiling.
He pulled one of the chairs back at the small dining table that was never used. Too small to eat at really. They’d talked about throwing it out a few times, but never got around to it. Helen was pouring milk into
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