Читать книгу Mrs Whippy - Cecelia Ahern - Страница 6

My husband takes the boys on Saturdays. I watch him from the bedroom window every week as he drives off in our car. Then I fall onto the bed we used to sleep in together. I stay there until the boys come home the next day.

Today I greeted him at the door. I needed to talk to him about the boys’ behaviour. I needed him to back me up more often. I needed the boys to see him support me and respect me. Then perhaps they would listen to me. When all they ever saw was a man that walked all over me, they assumed they could do the same. My mother saw it in them. She tried to teach them. They were as good as gold for her. But as soon as she would leave they would return to their old ways. It was like a bulb being switched off inside me when that happened. My mother was always on my side. I needed the boys to see that Charlie was on my side too.

“Charlie,” I said, opening the door before he put the key in the lock. He refused to return the key to what he considered “his house”. And it was his. He had never put my name on the deeds to the house. In fact, he had refused to.

He looked up at me in surprise. Then his usual scowl returned. He always seemed irritated by everything I did.

“Where are the boys?” he growled, looking past me.

“They’re in the sitting-room,” I said, aware that my voice sounded child-like. He had that effect on me. “I just wanted to talk to you about something first.”

“What?” he snapped. “We’ve done enough talking. I’m not coming back. Don’t beg me again.”

My face reddened. I felt my head get hot. I swallowed hard and looked down at my hands. I still had my wedding ring on. He hadn’t. He had refused to wear it the day after he said “I do”. I should have known that meant “I don’t”. I should have known it meant “I never will.”

“No, I … I … I don’t want to talk about that,” I stammered.