The Breakdown(3)

move the car forward a little to make it look as if I’m

going to drive off, hoping it will provoke the woman

into doing something – anything – to tell me that she

doesn’t want me to leave. But still there is nothing.

Reluctantly, I pull to a stop again, because it doesn’t

seem right to drive off and leave her. But neither do I

want to put myself at risk. When I think about it, she

hadn’t seemed distressed when I’d driven past, she hadn’t waved frantically or given any indication that she needed help, so maybe somebody – her husband or one of the breakdown services – is already on their way. If I broke down, Matthew would be my first port of call, not a

stranger in a car.





14


b a paris


As I sit there dithering, the rain picks up speed, drumming urgently on the roof – go, go go. It makes my mind up for me. Releasing the brake, I drive off as slowly as I can, giving her one last chance to call me back. But she doesn’t.

A couple of minutes later, I’m out of the woods and

heading towards home, a beautiful old cottage with

climbing roses over the front door and a rambling garden

at the back. My phone beeps, telling me that the phone

signal has kicked in. A mile or so further down the

road, I turn into our drive and park as close to the

house as possible, glad that I’m home safe and sound.

The woman in the car is still on my mind and I wonder

about phoning the local police station or the breakdown services to tell them about her. Remembering the message that came through as I drove out of the woods,

I take my phone from my bag and look at the screen.

The text is from Rachel.

Hi, hope you had fun tonight! Off to bed now as had to go straight to work from the airport so feeling v jet-lagged. Just wanted to check you got the gift for Susie? I’ll call you tomorrow morning xx

As I get to the end I find myself frowning – why was

Rachel checking to see if I’ve bought Susie a present? I

hadn’t, not yet, because with the run-up to the end of

the school year I’d been too busy. Anyway, the party

isn’t until tomorrow evening and I was planning to go

The Breakdown





15


shopping in the morning to buy her something. I read


the message again and this time, the words ‘the gift’

rather than ‘a gift’ jump out at me, because it sounds

as if Rachel is expecting me to have bought something

from the two of us.

I think back to the last time I saw her. It had been

about two weeks ago, the day before she’d left for New

York. She’s a consultant in the UK division of a huge

American consultancy firm, Finchlakers, and often goes

to the US on business. That evening, we’d gone to the

cinema together and then on for a drink. Maybe that was

when she’d asked me to get something for Susie. I rack

my brains, trying to remember, trying to guess what

we might have decided to buy. It could be anything –

perfume, jewellery, a book – but nothing rings a bell.

Had I forgotten? Memories of Mum, uncomfortable

ones, flood my mind and I push them away quickly. It isn’t the same, I tell myself fiercely, I am not the same. By tomorrow, I’ll have remembered.

I stuff my phone back in my bag. Matthew’s right, I

need a break. If I could just relax for a couple of weeks on a beach, I’d be fine. And Matthew needs a break too. We hadn’t had a honeymoon because we’d been busy renovating our cottage so the last time I’d had a

proper holiday, the sort where you do nothing all day

except lie on a beach and soak up the sun, was before

Dad died, eighteen years ago. After, money had been

too tight to do anything much, especially when I’d had

to give up my job as a teacher to care for Mum. It was





16


b a paris


why, when I discovered shortly after she died, that rather than being a penniless widow, she was in fact wealthy, I was devastated. I couldn’t understand why she’d been content to live with so little when she could have lived

a life of luxury. I was so shocked I’d barely heard what

the solicitor was saying, so that by the time I managed

to grasp how much money there was I could only stare

at him in disbelief. I’d thought my father had left us

with nothing.

A crack of thunder, further away now, brings me

sharply back to the present. I peer through the window,

wondering if I can make it out of the car and under the

porch without getting wet. Clutching my handbag to

my chest, I open the door and make a dash for it, the

key ready in my hand.

In the hall, I kick off my shoes and tiptoe upstairs. The door to the spare bedroom is closed and I’m tempted to open it just an inch to see if Matthew is asleep. But I don’t want to risk waking him so instead I quickly

get ready for bed, and before my head even touches the

pillow, I’m asleep.