into thousands if I ended up having to replace pictures, furniture and the carpets themselves. As sorry as I’d felt for Emily’s situation before and as guilty as I’d been of failing to be there for her this time, I didn’t feel like I deserved this, and hot tears started to run down my face.
I’d bought my house three years ago as a new build, and while it wasn’t exactly palatial, it was a good sized three bedroom semi in a nice area that I’d lovingly decorated myself and filled with objects that I adored. I looked up at one of the ruined paintings on the wall, an oil on canvas picture of a glowing red sunset done by a friend who had since died younger than anybody should have to of a quiet cancer that she’d chosen not to tell anybody else about. I’d never be able to replace it, and I’d never be able to forgive Emily for defacing it and in turn Siobhan’s memory with it.
Wiping at my cheeks with a fluffy sleeve I made my way through to the kitchen and dragged out the box full of cleaning products, running a bowl full of hot soapy water to take through with me. I might not be able to make it all perfect again, but I could try to rescue some of it as a part measure. Hopefully it would distract me from the ugly emotions that were circling so I could pull myself back together, and if Emily had any good sense left in her head at all she’d stay away and leave me to it. As I carried the full bowl back through, I quietly vowed to have nothing to do with her ever again.
Twenty minutes later I was making much better progress into the big clean up than I’d anticipated, and I’d turned on some music to keep me company while I worked. On closer inspection Siobhan’s picture had been treated with some kind of hard-wearing lacquer after she’d finished it, which had protected it from the worst of the damage. There’d be some small red and orange stains left behind, but they wouldn’t stand out too much against the other similar colours in the paint. The carpets were another story and were pretty much completely ditched, but I was so pleased about the painting that I could live what that as a trade off. I stood back and looked around the room again, scouting for stray bits of pasta and spotting another strand relaxing on top of a cushion.
As satisfied as I could be for the time being I moved the bowl of dirty water and stained cloths back through onto the kitchen worktop, realising as I did that I’d still not eaten and feeling my stomach growling. The Italian salad of tomatoes, mozzarella and basil was still sitting over to one side, and I knew that I had cooked chicken breast still in the fridge which would do for now. A bottle of some dark coloured liquid with a fancy label that was standing next to the hob turned out to be balsamic vinegar, which I drizzled over the salad after I’d arranged some on a plate with the chicken. The food looked good, and I was beginning to feel marginally better already. I’d almost managed to sit down and get the first forkful up to my mouth when the doorbell rang and my body dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream in anticipation of another fight.
Chapter 37
It was immediately obvious as I entered the hallway that the figure behind the front door wasn’t Emily. Even in silhouette it was too tall and stocky to be female, and as it turned its head to the side I caught the outline of glasses on its face. I hesitated for a moment, not immediately recognising the figure behind opaque glass, as they rang the bell in impatience for a second time. Whoever it was they weren’t going to go away without talking to me, it seemed, so I inserted the key and opened up the door.
‘David. What are you doing in these parts?’
My heart sank as my sister’s husband fixed me with his unpleasant stare, curling up one corner of his mouth in a gesture that I imagine was supposed to be a smile of greeting, but which fell a long way short. It was no secret that I was not his
I’d bought my house three years ago as a new build, and while it wasn’t exactly palatial, it was a good sized three bedroom semi in a nice area that I’d lovingly decorated myself and filled with objects that I adored. I looked up at one of the ruined paintings on the wall, an oil on canvas picture of a glowing red sunset done by a friend who had since died younger than anybody should have to of a quiet cancer that she’d chosen not to tell anybody else about. I’d never be able to replace it, and I’d never be able to forgive Emily for defacing it and in turn Siobhan’s memory with it.
Wiping at my cheeks with a fluffy sleeve I made my way through to the kitchen and dragged out the box full of cleaning products, running a bowl full of hot soapy water to take through with me. I might not be able to make it all perfect again, but I could try to rescue some of it as a part measure. Hopefully it would distract me from the ugly emotions that were circling so I could pull myself back together, and if Emily had any good sense left in her head at all she’d stay away and leave me to it. As I carried the full bowl back through, I quietly vowed to have nothing to do with her ever again.
Twenty minutes later I was making much better progress into the big clean up than I’d anticipated, and I’d turned on some music to keep me company while I worked. On closer inspection Siobhan’s picture had been treated with some kind of hard-wearing lacquer after she’d finished it, which had protected it from the worst of the damage. There’d be some small red and orange stains left behind, but they wouldn’t stand out too much against the other similar colours in the paint. The carpets were another story and were pretty much completely ditched, but I was so pleased about the painting that I could live what that as a trade off. I stood back and looked around the room again, scouting for stray bits of pasta and spotting another strand relaxing on top of a cushion.
As satisfied as I could be for the time being I moved the bowl of dirty water and stained cloths back through onto the kitchen worktop, realising as I did that I’d still not eaten and feeling my stomach growling. The Italian salad of tomatoes, mozzarella and basil was still sitting over to one side, and I knew that I had cooked chicken breast still in the fridge which would do for now. A bottle of some dark coloured liquid with a fancy label that was standing next to the hob turned out to be balsamic vinegar, which I drizzled over the salad after I’d arranged some on a plate with the chicken. The food looked good, and I was beginning to feel marginally better already. I’d almost managed to sit down and get the first forkful up to my mouth when the doorbell rang and my body dumped adrenaline into my bloodstream in anticipation of another fight.
Chapter 37
It was immediately obvious as I entered the hallway that the figure behind the front door wasn’t Emily. Even in silhouette it was too tall and stocky to be female, and as it turned its head to the side I caught the outline of glasses on its face. I hesitated for a moment, not immediately recognising the figure behind opaque glass, as they rang the bell in impatience for a second time. Whoever it was they weren’t going to go away without talking to me, it seemed, so I inserted the key and opened up the door.
‘David. What are you doing in these parts?’
My heart sank as my sister’s husband fixed me with his unpleasant stare, curling up one corner of his mouth in a gesture that I imagine was supposed to be a smile of greeting, but which fell a long way short. It was no secret that I was not his
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