She imagined them laughing together in a trendy bar. Smiling at each other in a restaurant.
Panic rose inside her. There had to be an explanation. He wouldn’t do this to her.
Would he?
She kept hearing Alix’s voice in her head. “How well do you really know him?”
Her hands and legs were shaking. What now?
She couldn’t admit she’d been looking at his laptop. It was a betrayal of trust. On the other hand, he was betraying her trust, wasn’t he? She hadn’t even had to click to see the email. He hadn’t tried to hide it or delete it.
Her chest felt tight. What did this mean? Was he unhappy? Was this her fault for making them move so far out of London?
She should ask him. But she didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want this to be happening,
“Christy?”
She’d forgotten Alix was still on the phone. She needed to get rid of her. Even if she could talk about it with her friend—which she couldn’t—Alix’s way of dealing with things was different from hers. For a start, Alix didn’t avoid difficult situations. If she wanted to know something, she asked. If someone annoyed her, she said “You’ve annoyed me.” Which was why, just before the wedding, she’d said “You’re making a mistake.” Someone else might have said Do you think...? or Is it possible that...? But not Alix.
Christy handled things differently.
“Sorry, you rang in busy hour.” She managed to inject just the right amount of fake breeziness into her voice. “I’m cleaning up more paint than you’ve seen in your life. Have fun at your event. Talk soon.”
She ended the call and walked blindly back into the kitchen, barely hearing Holly when she protested that she’d wanted to talk to Aunty Alix.
She had to keep busy. Yes, that was the answer.
She switched on the oven to reheat the casserole she’d made earlier. Then she finished stacking the dishwasher. Her hands were shaking so badly one of the plates slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor, scattering shards of china across the tiles.
Holly screamed and jumped on a chair.
Christy found herself thinking that at least it would give her something to clear up. Another job to fill those yawning gaps where stress and anxiety tried to take hold.
“It’s okay. Stay calm. Don’t move. I’ll clear it up.”
She was talking to herself as much as her daughter.
She took a breath and tipped the broken pieces of china into the bin.
“Mummy? Why are you crying?”
Was she crying? She pressed her palm to her cheek and felt dampness. “I’m not crying...” she blew her nose. “Mummy’s a little sniffy, that’s all. Maybe I’m getting a cold.”
Holly scrambled from the chair and wrapped her arms around Christy’s legs. “Kisses mend everything.”
“That’s right.”
If only that was all it took. She scooped up her daughter and hugged her tightly.
“It will soon be Christmas.”
Christmas. Family time.
Emotion clogged her throat and swelled in her chest. She couldn’t confront Seb before Christmas. No way. It would be better just to pretend everything was normal. She could do that. She was used to doing that.
“Time for bed.” She scooped Holly into her arms. “You’re getting too big to carry.”
“I want to wait for Daddy. I want Daddy to kiss me goodnight.”
“Daddy is going to be late tonight.” She carried Holly upstairs, operating on automatic.
“Will we see a reindeer in Lapland?”
“I’m sure we’ll see a reindeer.”
She refused to allow her emotion to intrude on this time with her child, but the effort required was so great that by the time she’d finished bathtime and read two stories, she was almost ready for bed herself.
She switched on the nightlight that sent a blue and green glow swirling across the ceiling.
When they’d first moved in Christy had suggested a princess bedroom, like the one she’d had as a child, but Holly was fascinated by snow and ice and wanted her bedroom to look like a polar research station. “When I grow up I’m going to be a scientist like Uncle Zac.”
Christy had tried not to be disappointed as her dream of floaty canopies, fairy lights and plenty of soft pink had been supplanted by steel-gray for the “laboratory” area, and a sleeping “shelf”.
Seb and Zac had transformed the room over a weekend and Christy had painted snowfields and mountains on the wall opposite the bed. It wasn’t what she would have chosen herself, but even she had to admit it was cozy.
She kissed her daughter, left the bedroom door ajar and headed downstairs.
The sick feeling had become a knot of tension.
She laid the table for dinner. Lit candles. Then blew them out when there was still no sign of Seb an hour later.
She turned off the oven.
She’d made the casserole while Holly had been watching half an hour of TV. Her own mother had refused to have a television in the house. Christy’s childhood had been a roundabout of carefully curated learning: violin lessons, piano lessons, ballet classes, riding lessons, art appreciation and Mandarin lessons. Her mother had insisted that every moment of her time should be spent productively. Flopping on the sofa had been frowned upon, unless it was done with a book in hand.
“Tell me about the book, Christy, let’s discuss it.”
Christy eyed the slim book that had been taking up space on a side table for weeks. The cover reminded her that it had won a major literary award, but each time Christy sat down to read it she never made it past the second chapter. She already knew that the main character died. The people were horrible and they made horrible choices. Which meant the ending could only be one thing—horrible. Why was it that books deemed worthy of the book group were always depressing? What was good about a book that made you want to slit your own throat?
She couldn’t bring herself to read it, which meant she’d have to read some reviews on the internet if she had any hope of sounding intelligent and engaged.
What would I have done differently if I’d been in the same situation? Everything!
She glanced out of the window into the darkness. Still no Seb.
By the time she finally heard the sound of his car in the drive the casserole was cold and congealed.
She smoothed her hair, closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
She’d pretend nothing was wrong. It would be fine. And maybe she was imagining things, anyway, and the whole thing would go away. There was probably a simple explanation.