LITMIR.BIZ

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       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       Eli

      Sunday brunch is usually a relaxed affair, but there’s an awkward silence as we sit around the table picking at the food Martin’s made for us. We’re all being perfectly polite to each other, but it feels scripted.

      We’re all wounded and tired.

      I sit peeling flaky pastry from a croissant I’m not going to eat while my mother nibbles at a piece of toast. Martin’s doing his best to tuck into his eggs and bacon, but everything feels off.

      ‘I’ve been thinking.’ My mother speaks and both Martin and I look at her. ‘Somebody somewhere is probably just jealous and trying to throw a spanner in the works. I think you have to trust in each other to put this right.’

      Martin and I glance at each other.

      ‘Trust in each other,’ she says. ‘Listen to each other.’

      She smiles and we smile back, tight, forced. It’ll take more than words to fix this.

      ‘I was thinking I might head back to Belfast today,’ she says. ‘Since Martin’s here. I’d say you two need your time alone. You certainly don’t need an old dear like me getting under your feet.’

      ‘Don’t feel you have to go,’ Martin says, but I know he’s already mentally packing her bags.

      ‘I don’t feel I have to, but I think it would be right to.’

      I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s been nice to have her here – even if my entire world has been spinning out of control these last few days. I chide myself. I’m a grown woman, for the love of God. I shouldn’t be so pathetic. I force a smile onto my face.

      ‘Well, I suppose you want to get back to your evening classes and all and your work.’

      ‘Well, work is a good bit quieter these days. The need for me isn’t what it was before all those stupid accounting computer programmes,’ she says, ‘but I do have some stuff to catch up on. That said, Eli, you know that I’m here for you whenever you need me. And you too, Martin.’ That last bit sounds less convincing.

      If the truth be told, I could do with them both being out of my hair to give me space to think about everything, but then again, I don’t want to be alone. I feel even more vulnerable now, in this house where people can break windows. I’ve never felt unsafe here before. I’ve thrived on the seclusion of our home, felt we were untouchable in many ways. Maybe I’m being punished by the karma gods for being smug.

      Everything, except for work, is developing rough edges and I want to find and hit a pause button. I put the croissant, still untouched, back on my plate and get up. I need a little air, so I walk out onto our decking. The coldness of the morning forces an intake of breath and I pull my cardigan tightly around myself, over my bump, then cross my arms and walk across the deck to the edge of the lake.

      It’s a crisp morning. There’s a glint of frost where the dew would normally twinkle. There’s something almost magical-looking about it. This dream house in a dream location. I let the cool air fill my lungs again and again until I feel two strong hands on my shoulders, the comfort of Martin’s presence behind me. I lean back into him.

      ‘What do you need me to do, Eli?’ he asks. ‘To fix this. Just tell me.’

      ‘If I knew who was behind these notes, I’d feel better. It’s the not knowing.’

      ‘I’ve been racking my brains but I can’t think of anyone who’d take against either of us. There are no aggrieved clients in my past as far as I know and you, well … it goes without saying, who could be angry enough at you to do something like this? It doesn’t make sense. I’m at a loss.’

      He pulls me tighter. Kisses the top of my head. I try to react as I normally would, enjoy the intimacy, but something is cracked between us.

      ‘Look, I need to call Jim. Tell him to take over the London job going forwards. He’s expecting me back tonight, so I need to warn him to gen up for the presentation. Send him my notes, that kind of thing.’

      I feel guilty. And worried. This is his pet project and my distrust is keeping him from seeing it through to the end. Am I being incredibly selfish? Will he end up resenting me over this? It could fracture things between us further. If I let him go, will he believe that I want to trust him, after all? Will it help to fix things between us? I’ve always been a peacemaker. A people-pleaser. I’ll tie myself up into tiny knots so as not to offend anyone.

      ‘Go to London,’ I say, my voice not more than a whisper.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Go to London. See this project through. I’ll ask Mum to stay.’

      ‘Eli, no. I don’t want you here alone until we know who’s behind this.’

      ‘I won’t be here alone. Mum’ll be here.’

      ‘And those notes, you do believe me, don’t you? If you need me to stay and work through this with you, I will.’

      His green eyes are set on me. I hear his words but I know where his heart lies at the moment.

      So I tie myself up into another little knot and I lie. I tell him I believe him. I tell him there will be time to work through it all properly when he gets back.

      ‘I swear, Eli. I swear on my life. I swear on our baby’s life, you’ve no reason not to trust me,’ he says.

      ‘Then go,’ I say.

      A part of me is hoping he says no. Hopes that he’ll stay anyway. That part of me is soon disappointed. He kisses the top of my head again, tells me he loves me and darts off across the decking.

      ‘I’ll just confirm my travel arrangements then,’ he calls to the wind as he goes.

      In the silence of the morning at the edge of the lake, not a person around to disturb me, I try not to feel hurt by the speed of his departure. I mentally try not to file it into the big paranoia folder in my head.

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       Louise

      I’ve thought about her husband a lot. That handsome man who hugged her in the café. Who joked with her and made her smile, even though she’d looked so lost before he arrived.

      I knew his name. It ran through my head on a loop. I’d say it just to see how it sounded. I wrote it down then scribbled it out. I couldn’t risk leaving any connection, but I did feel a connection. He’d be the father of my child, after all.

      I wanted to know as much about him as I could. What he did. What he liked. How he spent his free time. What books he read and what movies he watched. Was he excited about the baby his wife was carrying? The baby who’d be mine. Would he have been a hands-on kind of dad? Was he one of those ‘new men’ types – not afraid to change a nappy or push a pram?

      I thought I might ask her a little about him when I next saw her. Slip it into the conversation casually. ‘Your husband must be excited?’ I’d ask. It’s possible she’d offer me something to go on. A little insight into his life and his personality.

      He’d looked like a good man. Peter had been a good man. He’d been a good husband to me. He’d have made a brilliant father to our children, if life hadn’t been so cruel.

      God never gives you any more than you can handle, I reminded myself. He must have thought I could handle an awful lot. Peter – he wasn’t up to God’s test.

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