The House On The Cliff

Now - Maisy

Maisy closed the bathroom door gently and leaned her head against the cool wood. She breathed deeply, the type of breathing that she had learned at yoga, feeling the oxygen flood into her stomach. Her heart beat began to slow, the fuzziness that had filled her head began to melt away.

She looked at her slim fingers as they rested against the oak, the huge diamond with the plain, white-gold wedding band resting behind it. She would probably have to sell it soon, she told herself, her stomach flipping at the thought.

Who would have the money? Would she keep it, or would Paul get it? He would argue that he had paid for it in the first place, that it was supposed to be a symbol of their marriage and since their marriage is no more, the money should go back to him.

How did things get this way? She wasn't sure. And now they were going back to that house. The place that had probably ruined everything, if she were to go back to the root of it all. Maybe that was why the therapy hadn't worked, she considered as she listened to the muffled voices of her children outside the door. She could never use the bathroom without them following her, hovering outside as if they were attached by an invisible string.

Their therapist was always trying to delve deeper, figure out what the root of the problem was. The root. That root was twisted around itself so far beneath the earth there was nothing that they could do about it.

They avoided it like the plague. They would prefer to talk about their dwindling sex life, the strange things that Paul would ask her to do. Sometimes she would try them, but most of the time she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Mummy!" Her daughters' voice, impatient now, forced its' way through the thick wood of the door and Maisy turned her hand into a fist, squeezing as if she had a stress-ball beneath her tightly curled fingers. The children never shouted for Paul, never needed him for anything, unless they wanted to have fun.

She sighed, glanced at her face in the mirror which seemed to be stuck in a permanent frown, and tried to rearrange it into something else. Something happier.

She slid the lock on the door, as slowly as she could, prolonging her moment alone, and then pulled it open so that her children fell into her arms. She smiled, crouching down so that she could smell the sweetness of their hair, the strawberry shampoo that she had massaged into their curls that morning.

She had given them funny hairstyles, styling Polly with a mohawk and Archie three spikes that wouldn't stand up properly at the ends. The children had laughed hysterically as if she were a comedy genius and she had felt it for a little while.

And then Paul had stormed in, muttering that the shower in their en-suite was broken, and could they please hurry up and get out so that he could get ready for work.

He was still at work. As she packed their things, the clothes that she knew he would like, the silk pyjamas that he thought screamed class and wealth but actually screamed trying too hard. His favourite soap, the pillow case that he couldn't sleep without, even if it meant washing and drying it every single day. The book that he was pretending he was reading, laying it on top of the book that she knew he would really be reading. He would always tell people that he was reading some great work of literature when really, he was always reading something by Enid Blyton. He said that it reminded him of his childhood.

Maisy knew everything about him, yet she didn't know what had been going on in his head for the last ten years.

"Ok children' she handed them each a back pack as she saw her mothers' car pull up outside, 'be good for Nanny and Grandad please"

Polly rolled her eyes, "I always am!" She was five with the attitude of a teenager. Maisy looked at them, her beautiful children, at their dark brown eyes, the same eyes that she had.