Fourteen Days(61)

There was no reply from inside the room.

“Carl?” she called out.

The door suddenly opened, causing her to nearly fall backwards into a bathroom. Moving over to the side, Richard saw Carl Jones storm past her. “Where are you going?” she asked, as he reached the staircase.

“Out,” he coldly answered.

Richard followed her over to the banister as Carl made his way downstairs. “Where’s ‘out’ meant to be?” she asked.

Stopping in his tracks, he glared up at her. “Look, I’m going for a drink. So why don’t you just nag someone else?” He continued his route toward the front door.

“You can’t keep leaving me like this,” she shouted, a sob in her voice. “It’s not fair!”

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, opening the porch door.

“Carl!” she yelled, now crying. “If you walk out that door, I won’t be here when you get back.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“This time I mean it!”

Carl stopped for a moment, as if to reconsider—but then opened the front door and left the house, slamming the door hard behind him.

Standing on the landing, still peering down, Christina sobbed.

Sniffing loudly, she walked away from the banister and headed for the bathroom. Richard followed.

She ran the tap, splashing cold water over her face. Leaning against the sink, she sighed. “He’s a bastard,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone. You’ve managed this far on your own. You don’t need that wanker.”

Staring painfully at her face in the mirror, Richard could see her mascara had run down her cheeks. She tried to rub it off with her fingers, but that only made it worse. Then her chin started to quiver. She held back as long as possible, but it was no use. Her eyes began to stream with tears.



Richard was sitting in the passenger seat of a car; the interior was outdated and scuffed. Christina was sitting next to him. She was staring down at a cell phone in her hand, clearly waiting for it to ring. “Bastard,” he heard her say under her breath. But then the sound of a ring-tone made her wince with fright. She held up the phone to see who the caller was, but lowered it back down to her lap with a look of disappointment. Richard could see the name Sophie Price displayed on the phone’s screen.

She groaned, and then pushed the ‘answer’ button on the display and held it to her ear, forcing a smile. “Oh, hi Sophie, how are you? I was just—oh, hello, Peter. Sorry, I thought it was Sophie.” She shuffled nervously in the seat, seeming flustered. “How you both holding up?” she said, with a sympathetic tone in her voice. There was a long pause as she waited for a response. “Urrr, I can’t right now, I’ve got to get to the office. I can give you Sharon’s number if you like. She’s the on-call today.” Richard watched intently as the muffled sound of Peter’s voice increased. “Calm down, Peter,” she said, “I’m sure there’s—” Richard could faintly hear sounds of pleading through the phone, causing Christina to clench up anxiously. With her mouth away from the phone she sighed. “Listen, I’ll try to pop ’round later for a chat, but—” Peter’s voice cut her off. “All right, I’ll come straight. Just give me ten minutes.”

She hung up the phone and sighed again.

Leaning forward, she checked her face in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes had dried and her mascara had not run again. “You can do this,” she told her reflection. “Don’t let some pisshead of a boyfriend ruin your day. You’re better than that.”

Richard could hear the rumbling of a tired engine as they drove past familiar houses. Everything seemed so real, even the smell coming from the air freshener hanging from the mirror. But yet it couldn’t be real. He was home. Sleeping in his bed. Next to Nicky. Or was he on the couch? He couldn’t be sure. Nothing made sense.



Richard followed Christina across the road to a house. He tried to focus on his surroundings but the image was too foggy. She knocked on the white door and waited, nervously playing with the strap of her handbag draped over her shoulder. That door, Richard thought, I’ve seen it before. I’m sure I have.

As the front door swung open, he suddenly knew exactly where he was.



Peter Young’s tall and chunky frame filled the doorway. He was smiling. “Hi, Christina,” he courteously said. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I really appreciate it. Come in.”