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12

“Mark, sorry about Friday night, just leaving like that. And sorry that I’ve not been in touch. I really owe you an explanation, and here it is: a couple of months ago, I got really involved with this guy, and it was all going well. Apart from his children, and though we got on really well, his kids just hated me for some reason, and it was like no matter what I did, I could not get them to like me. And eventually they kind of just broke up our relationship. Like even though we were getting along really well, he told me it just wasn’t working out, and it was all because of his kids. And it really hurt me.

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11

“Hi, Mum, I can come pick the girls up today.” It was Sunday.

“Mark, I tried to ring you yesterday.”

“I wasn’t in.” When I got back, I had been overcome with tiredness and had gone to bed and fallen asleep almost instantly.

“I know, but I tried ringing your mobile.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little telephone. It was switched off.

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10

“Mum,”

“Mark, hi, how are things?”

“Uh, not too bad, I guess,”

“How are the girls?”

“They’re fine. Look, I have a big favour to ask, I mean, I don’t want to put upon you, but could you maybe look after the girls for a few days, three or four? I’ve, uh, I’ve got to go on a business trip thing.”

“When?”

“The day after tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, and I really don’t like to put upon you, but it’s important.” I felt bad about lying to my mother. Well, it was important, but the business trip bit was a lie.

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9

My bed that night, the same I had once shared with Rachel, felt empty. Particularly now, after I had been turned on and disappointed by Angela. If I closed my eyes, and thought hard, I could imagine Angela naked and warm on top of me in the darkness. But the image was blurry, and kept fading into nothingness as I realised that I may just as well image Rachel as imagine Angela, for neither of them were here.

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8

I watched Angela take another bite of the pasta she was eating. Her lips were thinner than Rachel’s, and she wore a paler shade of lipstick, but I still found it a little seductive the way her tongue slipped out between her lips, and slid over her bottom one, collecting a lingering drop of the red pasta sauce. I wondered if she had done that deliberately because she knew I was watching.

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7

It was Sunday night. I was lying in bed and something had awoken me; a scream. I thought I had dreamt it until I heard another one. It was Lucy. She must have had a nightmare. I rolled over, half asleep and switched on my bedside lamp. The little clock underneath it had been knocked over by my book, so I picked it up and studied it through my still-adjusting eyes. It told me it was quarter past two in the morning. Behind me the Venetian blind tapped gently against the window frame, swaying in the breeze from the slightly open window. I sighed and slid out of bed to put on my slippers and dressing gown.

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6

I fitted the lock on the bathroom door that evening. It took about twenty minutes. When I was finished I admired my handiwork, trying out the shiny gold-coloured lock a couple of times to make sure it worked, then I went to tell Gemma.

I knocked on her door and, when there was no immediate answer, pushed down on the handle to go in. The door would not open. I pushed a little harder and still it seemed it stuck. A few moments later I heard a little click and Gemma opened the door.

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5

I stood now in the café on the top floor of the big Waterstones in Guildford, waiting for a coffee. It was Sunday. I had been out to buy a lock for the bathroom door when I had remembered there was a book I wanted and may as well get while I was out.

It was not often that I actually got out of the house anywhere, except to the supermarket or Lucy’s school or to give Gemma lifts to places. I was going to buy the lock the day before, but Gemma had gone to town a little while after the bathroom incident and had not returned until after six, and with her out I had not wanted to leave Lucy alone. I thought as well that the town would be too busy on a Saturday, so I waited until today.

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Read Part Two

Read Part Three

4

“Dad, will you give me a lift down to the sports ground in a bit?” This was Gemma. It was Friday evening.

“What for?” She sighed when I asked this, looking at me as if it was perfectly obvious, then said in a slightly patronising voice,

“To go hang out with my friends.” I was about to reprimand her for speaking like that but decided against it and instead asked,

“What time?”

“About seven.”

It was half six already.

“You haven’t eaten yet.” I said.

“What we having?”

“Fish and chips.” She wrinkled her nose and I felt a little dismayed; she always used to really like fish and chips.

“I’m not hungry yet,” she paused, thinking, “you could drop me off on your way to the fish shop.”

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Read Part One

Read Part Two

3

“What did you do at school today?” I asked Lucy, trying to drive through the obstacle course of primary school children with a loose grasp of road safety and parents in oversized SUVs with an even looser grasp of road courtesy.

“We did maths in the morning and we learned about cubes and cubic centimetres.”

“Oh, that sounds difficult,” I said, pulling into a gap to let a car with no intention of stopping for me go past, “could you do it alright?”

“Yes, daddy, I got a gold star. See” I glanced quickly at the little sticker on her red jumper.

“Well done, sweetie” I said.

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