The Marriage by K.L. Slater (any book recommendations TXT) 📕

Doubtfully, he twisted his mouth to one side but had the sense to stay quiet.

When he’d disappeared into his office, I went upstairs and walked to the end of the landing.

I stepped inside the room and closed the door behind me. The space was unrecognisable. All the football posters, the Star Wars memorabilia and boxing trophies were gone. Reclaiming the space as my own had felt profound. I’d packed Tom’s things safely away in the attic. They were there if he wanted them, but I’d finally set them aside to make space for myself.

As per my instructions, Joel had dismantled the wardrobe and bed but left the desk and chair and the drawers. My comfy armchair that had been sitting in the other spare bedroom, under a pile of Robert’s old suits, was in here, as was my mother’s lamp. For me, the best thing of all was looking around the walls. Floor to ceiling shelves that provided a home to my books.

‘Have you lost your mind?’ Robert had raged when he saw Joel’s handiwork. ‘Money’s tight and you’ve designed yourself an elaborate hideaway!’

‘I’m finding a space for all my books as you suggested all those years ago when you evicted me from the office, Robert,’ I said coolly. ‘Somewhere you wouldn’t trip over them was your brief, as I recall.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t mean for you to incur all this cost!’ he blustered. ‘God only knows what Joel will charge for a full day’s work.’

‘Well, this is just the start,’ I said. ‘I’ve spent precisely nothing on myself for the past ten years and I intend making up for that now. Which reminds me. Can you order me a bank card for our joint savings account?’

I smiled to myself when I thought about him stropping like a two-year-old, slamming the door on his way out. I’d had no interest in the household finances for a long time now and that had suited Robert. He’d always liked to control the purse strings.

On one of the shelves next to my desk sat Gran’s Dickens collection. When Joel had finished the room, I’d ventured out to the garage and heaved the box onto the sack barrow. I’d hauled it into the house and unpacked it.

Several of the books were damp and the ones on the bottom were slightly warped, their spine hinges broken. My grandma had treasured the books and, although Mum hadn’t displayed them, she’d kept them packed and protected.

Now, thanks to Robert’s carelessness, they were in a worse state than ever. I walked over to the drawers, pausing to look over the view of the garden before opening a drawer and taking out the box containing my book repair tools. Then I selected Oliver Twist – my favourite volume as a child – and sat down at the desk.

I worked methodically and precisely, cutting out the old stitching and trimming the rough edges. Carefully, I removed the old glue with a sharp craft knife. The front hinge of the cover had become detached through age and wear and tear but that was to be expected with all the joy it had given. My favourite illustrations had been in this particular book and I smiled again as I recalled the hours of contentment spent in my gran’s arms as we’d pored over detailed pictures of Bill Sikes, Oliver and the Artful Dodger. A warm glow filled me up inside, banishing the dark hollow that had been there for so long.

A sense of peace and calm enveloped me and for the next couple of hours, I had respite from my many worries.

Sadly, once I’d emerged from my reading room and returned downstairs, my head felt full of Ellis telling me about his mum and Tom arguing. What was it my son had been going to tell me before Bridget whistled him back in the house like a puppy?

If the police asked Tom about his relationship with Coral, he’d have to tell them about visiting her house that day. He’d have to tell them what they had been arguing about.

And if that happened, even I had to accept Tom’s prospects did not look good.

Forty-Nine

The next morning, I stood at my bedroom window waiting for Tom and Bridget to drop Ellis off when movement across the road caught my eye. A figure dressed in dark clothing lurked at the back of the bus shelter. It was not unusual for people to stand in there, of course, but two buses had sailed past and this person didn’t stop either of them. Unless it was my imagination, he or she also seemed to be staring over at the house.

I thought about fetching the binoculars when Tom’s silver car pulled up. At that exact moment, the figure emerged from the bus shelter and started walking briskly away.

I went downstairs and waved to Tom from the front door. He waved back but didn’t get out of the car. I was desperate to talk to him, but now wasn’t the time.

‘It’s good of you to have Ellis again,’ Bridget said when she brought the boy to the door. Her eyes looked dark and dull and she wore only mascara, leaving off the heavy liner. ‘Hopefully we shouldn’t be too long. It will be routine questions, I’m sure.’

I nodded, not wanting to show my concern.

Instead, I said, ‘I hope you’re bearing up, Bridget. You and Ellis.’

Ellis scowled. ‘I could’ve stayed at home on my own.’ The attitude was clearly a cover-up. His bloated face and red-raw eyes told another story.

‘Well, I like your company even if you’re not fussed about mine,’ I told him, before looking back at Bridget. ‘We’ll be fine. I hope everything goes well at the station.’

Bridget got back in the car, and I waved in Tom’s direction again before ushering Ellis inside and closing the front door.

‘Go through to the living room, Ellis, it’s the first room on the right,’ I said. ‘Are you