Dangerous Affection

Chapter Twenty-Six

Shaun texts me ten minutes after walking out of the café to say he’ll be at the house at 6.30 so we can tell Maisie together.

It angers me how he arrogantly picks the time and expects me to be free at his convenience. But I force myself to send a simple text back to say it’s fine.

I’m treading on eggshells with him at the moment. He’s displaying personality traits that are the polar opposite to the ones I’ve lived with during our marriage. There is no sign of the dithering and self-doubt that plagued him and irritated me for years. Any such weaknesses seem to have melted away overnight.

Sadly, as I know only too well, those old insecurities have a habit of popping right up again just when you think you’re rid of them for good.

For now, though, Shaun is flying high and seems to be giving himself full credit.

I’m due to pick Maisie up from her dance class at six o’clock, so that will give me time to feed and water her before Shaun arrives for our chat.

I get out of the car and walk around it to the front door, stopping dead as I pass the corner of the house. The small opaque side window, the downstairs loo, is broken. When I inspect it, I see it’s still in one piece but fractured, cracks radiating out from a central puncture. There’s no glass on the floor and no sign of a rock or stone. In fact, it looks just as if someone has punched the glass in temper.

I shiver and rush around the front of the house to open the door. Inside, I peer at the glass from the inside. The middle of the window bows in slightly where contact has been made.

I feel sure the window is too small for anyone to climb through, but still. Tendrils of dread begin to stir in my stomach and I leave the tiny room and close the door behind me.

There’s probably a perfectly simple explanation that evades me at the moment. I make a real effort to push the troubling thoughts away. I can’t go back to that place. I just can’t.

I throw myself into making Maisie’s favourite chocolate spread sandwiches for tea. I’m making an exception tonight and skipping our usual hot meal – I have no appetite and I’m certain food will be the last thing on Maisie’s mind once her dad gets here.

I can’t second-guess how she will react to the news. It makes it more difficult as Shaun and I haven’t actually discussed how we’ll approach it.

I feel fairly confident that, if it’s done in the right way, Maisie is happy and confident enough that she’ll take it all in her stride and cope admirably. That’s been my experience of her attitude to change so far, at any rate.

I take a sharp knife from the block and cut the sandwich into four dainty triangles, the way Maisie likes them.

But I pull the knife away too sharply and it nicks the edge of my left index finger, drawing blood.

I curse and suck the tiny wound while I open the kitchen drawer and pull out a packet of plasters, awkwardly wrapping a small one round my finger.

I place her sandwich on a plate and wrap the whole thing in cling film before putting it in the fridge. I’m so clumsy lately. I broke the wine glass and yesterday I dropped a plate, which bounced painfully off my foot before breaking in two on the kitchen floor.

Distraction, that’s what it is. I shouldn’t be dreading this conversation with Shaun and Maisie; I ought to welcome the chance to get things out in the open so we can start to work towards a new routine for our lives.

I hate all this turmoil and unfamiliar territory; I’m exasperated by the broken window I just discovered. I need more stability and less confusion.