The House On The Cliff

Now - Paul

Paul stared into the pool of amber liquid in the bottom of the floral-patterned, china mug. There had been no brandy glasses, only pint, and he had thought long and hard about which was the least pathetic option when you were drinking alone.

Maisy had spent the entire day at the beach, alone as far as he knew, arriving back an hour ago, with her windswept hair, her disapproving eyes and the lack of anything to say to her own husband.

He shook his head and took a sorrowful sip, the brandy cool on his lips and warm in his throat.

"Hey"

He jumped, draining his mug so that he could pretend that he had been drinking tea, feeling the flush of guilt spread across his cheeks at being caught.

Tina raised a brow at him, crossing to the fridge, "Beer?"

He smiled gratefully, nodding, "Thanks' he watched her take down the glasses, noticed how thin she had become, and felt something in his heart pull, 'you ok?"

She looked at him, poured the foaming drinks into glasses and pushed one towards him, "Right now? Eh. In general...' she paused, 'eh."

Paul sucked in a mouthful of foam, let it dissolve in his mouth, knowing that he would have to pretend that everything was ok, that he and Maisy were still the perfect couple that they had been. That people thought they had been.

He didn't want to pretend. Not with anyone, but least of all with Tina. Not with himself.

"It's complicated" He murmured, and Tina winced.

"Ouch' she said with a half-smile, half-grimace, 'dejavu"

Paul felt his stomach clench at the memory and shook his head, "Sorry."

"It's ok, I'm joking' Tina gulped at her beer, 'all good with Maisy? The kids?"

Paul waited for a moment, letting the silence engulf him as though he were in a bubble. One where he didn't have to answer horrible questions that shouldn't be horrible questions. He should be able to talk about his wife whenever he wanted without feeling like his insides were dead.

"The kids are great, so, so clever."

Tina smiled indulgently, asked to see photographs of them, and didn't ask about Maisy again. If she had picked up on Pauls' avoidance of the question, and he was very sure that she had, she wasn't going to say anything.

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