The Breakdown(78)

less frequent, suddenly stop altogether, as if he’s decided to take a break for lunch. Or maybe he has repetitive strain injury from dialling my number so often. I take a leaf from his book and make myself some lunch, pleased that I’ve managed to stay so long in the house by myself. But when two-thirty comes and goes without him calling back I begin to feel uneasy. Although I’m determined to bring him out of hiding, I’m not ready for him yet.

Wanting to be able to protect myself in case he decides to pay me a visit, I go to the garden shed and take out a hoe, a rake and, more importantly, some hedge cutters, and move to the front of the house where I feel safer.

As I’m clearing dead flowers from a bed, the man from up the road – the ex-pilot – walks by and this time he calls hello. I realise I’ve always been so nervous around him before, and this time I look over at him, weighing him up. I feel so much better after my chat with Alex yesterday, and the man looks sad, not sinister, so I say hello back.

I do about another hour’s gardening, keeping an ear out for the phone and when I’ve finished I bring one of the sunbeds round to the side of the house and rest until Matthew gets back. But I can’t relax. I want to get my life back but I know I’m not going to be able to do that until I find out who my tormentor is. And to do that, I’m going to need help.

I go into the hall and phone Rachel.





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‘I don’t suppose you could meet me after work, could you?’

‘Is everything all right?’ she asks.

‘Yes, everything’s fine, I just want your help with something.’

‘Sounds intriguing! I can meet you in Castle Wells, if you like, but I can’t get there until six-thirty. Will that do?’

I hesitate, because I haven’t been back to Castle Wells since I lost my car in the car park. But I can’t expect Rachel to always come to Browbury when she only works ten minutes away from Castle Wells.

‘The Spotted Cow?’

‘See you there.’

I leave Matthew a note telling him I’ve gone to buy myself a new mobile and drive to Castle Wells. I don’t want to risk parking in the multi-storey again so I find a space in one of the smaller car parks and head for the main shopping precinct. As I walk past the Spotted Cow, I look through the window to see if it’s already crowded and see Rachel sitting at a table halfway down the room. Just as I’m wondering why she’s already there, an hour earlier than she told me she would be, somebody walks over to her table and sits down. And I find myself staring at John.

Shocked, I duck down quickly and hurriedly retrace

my steps, going back the way I came, away from the

Spotted Cow, glad that neither of them had seen me.

Rachel and John. My mind reels, but only because I’d The Breakdown





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never expected them to get together. And is that what


they are? Together? I try to remember the body language I’d seen and it had definitely looked cosy. But a couple?

Yet the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

They are both clever, gorgeous and fun. I imagine them having nights out, filled with laughter and drinking and a wave of sadness hits me. Why haven’t they said anything? Especially Rachel.

I slow my pace, realising that the thought of the two of them together isn’t a nice thought. Although I love Rachel dearly, John seems too much of a gentle soul to be truly happy with her. And too young. I hate that I feel disapproving and I’m glad I’ve been forewarned in case Rachel decides to tell me later when we meet that she and John are together. They might not be, of course.

Maybe they’re just meeting as ex-lovers, in which case Rachel will probably never tell me. When I think about it, she’s never told me much about the men she goes out with, probably because she never stays with them very long.

I suddenly realise that I’m not likely to find a phone shop in the direction I’m heading so I cross over the road and go back towards the centre without passing in front of the Spotted Cow. A little further along I see the Baby Boutique and I go red with embarrassment when I remember how I had pretended to be pregnant that day. As I draw level, I find myself pushing the door open and I can’t believe that I’m actually going to confess that I’d lied about expecting a baby. But if I’m to get my





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life back, I need to get it in order so I walk over to the counter, relieved that the shop is empty, relieved that the same young woman is there.

‘I don’t know if you remember me,’ I begin. She looks at me enquiringly. ‘I came in a couple of months ago and bought a sleep-suit.’

‘Yes, of course I remember you,’ she says, smiling.

‘We’re expecting babies around the same time, aren’t we?’ She looks down at my stomach and when she sees my lack of a bump she looks up at me in dismay.

‘I’m sorry,’ she falters.

‘It’s all right,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I wasn’t actually pregnant. I thought I was but I wasn’t.’

She gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Was it one of those phantom pregnancies?’ she asks and because I feel I’ve earned the right to keep a little of my integrity intact, I tell that it was probably down to a lot of wishful thinking on my part.