The Marriage Act(101)
What she actually wanted was a few moments of respite from her husband, even if it was while they were still under the same roof. Since Adrian had left and they were Unlevelled, Owen had stuck to her like a limpet on the hull of the Titanic. His reasoning was that to remain close emotionally, they had to remain close physically. He had even condensed his working week from five to four days so that he could spend long weekends with his family. If it were up to Roxi, she’d have asked his employers to increase them to include Saturdays and Sundays. Upstairs, she placed a balled-up pair of freshly laundered trainer socks into her mouth, covered her face with a towel and screamed until her throat was hoarse.
Roxi had naively assumed that, with no online distractions, she could become the wife and mother everyone in that house wanted her to be. But that role and her family’s love didn’t fulfil her. To her shame, it didn’t even come close. She yearned for her old life so much that sometimes it made her nauseous. Some nights she found herself padding silently down the staircase and into the garage to sit inside Owen’s car. She had perfected sobbing so silently that her tears couldn’t be picked up by her recordable tech.
She frequently asked herself why she couldn’t be like other women. Why couldn’t she live in the moment instead of always wanting more? Millions of single people would kill for a husband and children like hers. She had even killed at the thought of losing them. Now, this perpetual suppression and claustrophobia was suffocating her. And she couldn’t find a way past it.
When Darcy had turned thirteen a fortnight earlier, she’d asked for her mum’s help in creating new social media platforms. It was like inviting a recently sober alcoholic on a pub crawl. It was intoxicating helping her with content creation, editing, lighting, promotion and watching her subscriber numbers steadily rise. Mother and daughter finally had something to bond over. The notification sounds returned her to a time when she had been at her happiest. Antoinette Cooper had been right when she’d suggested to Owen that Roxi’s need for social media was an addiction. But going cold turkey hadn’t ended the cravings. She briefly considered that it might be just about enough to live vicariously through Darcy. However, she knew she’d be fooling herself.
The front door sensors beeped, alerting her to company, and she suddenly became self-conscious of the footwear in her mouth.
‘Can you answer that?’ she yelled to Owen as she removed them. ‘It’ll be the courier picking up the products that were sent last week.’ She hadn’t bothered to open the boxes; it would hurt too much knowing there was nothing she could do with whatever gems were inside.
A moment later Owen called back, urging her to join him downstairs. His tone unnerved her and she hoped to God that Adrian hadn’t returned. It was only when she saw the figures huddled by the front door that she understood Owen’s edginess. Half a dozen men and women, some uniformed and others without, had her in their eyeline. For a split second, she treasured the attention. And then, from the window directly above the door, she noticed three marked vehicles lined up along the road outside.
‘It’s the police,’ Owen said, his voice taut. ‘They have a warrant to search the house.’
87
Corrine
Corrine had last visited Oxford’s Magdalen College early in the year to drop her daughter Freya off for the start of a new semester. Today, mother and daughter were making their way through the historic university grounds for a very different reason.
Corrine’s eyes fell upon a yoga group making the most of the lush green lawns and a late summer afternoon. Elsewhere others sat under shady trees chatting or with their heads buried in textbooks. If only her life was this uncomplicated, she thought.
It was Freya who’d appeared out of the blue in the warehouse where her mother, Yan and Nathan were catching up. Corrine later discovered it followed weeks of suspicion on Freya’s behalf, convinced that her increasingly preoccupied mother was keeping something important from her. She’d approached Corrine on several occasions, concerned about her well-being. Each time, she received a contrived smile and reassurances that all was well. On a whim, she had followed Corrine after spotting her climbing into a vehicle with a woman she didn’t recognize. And, at the warehouse door, she had listened to their conversation and suddenly her mother’s secrets made sense. She was both astonished and proud of Corrine’s double life. And, most of all, she wanted to help.
‘It’s through here,’ Freya said, leading the way under a brick archway and through a set of double doors. A brass plate on a wall read Longwall Library. ‘Lizzy says she saw him in here an hour ago.’
Corrine followed her daughter up a staircase until they reached an arched window and a desk piled high with reference books and a laptop. She immediately recognized the young man sitting there.
‘Will,’ Freya began.
Eleanor Harrison’s son looked up from his work and smiled. ‘Oh, hey, Freya, how are things?’
‘Probably like you, drowning in essays, but it’s all good. This is my mum Corrine.’
‘Hi Will,’ Corrine said as a swarm of butterflies gathered in her stomach. He shared the same prominent cheekbones as his mother and her smile. She hoped that was the end of their similarities.
‘Listen, I’m sorry to bother you,’ Freya continued, ‘but have you got a few minutes?’