Читать книгу For The Babies' Sakes - SARA WOOD - Страница 9
CHAPTER FOUR
ОглавлениеTO HELEN’S surprise she didn’t burst into tears. Perhaps, she thought morosely, that was because her brain had turned to stone and it was incapable of thought any more.
Staying in bed was impossible. Her own restlessness was driving her mad. Desperate to do something, she got up and put on one of Dan’s T-shirts and a pair of his walking socks.
They were her comfort clothes, she supposed. She’d often wear them on a Sunday when she allowed herself a precious few hours of leisure.
Perhaps she’d do some housework. Despite not feeling very well, she was too angry to sit still. Cleaning would pass the time and use up some of her suppressed anger as she imposed her will on the hated farmhouse. So she gathered up some cleaning equipment and set to work.
In an odd way, she almost enjoyed the activity, and felt grimly satisfied to see that Dan’s study curtains quivered in subdued terror after she’d whacked the dust from them with a table-tennis bat.
‘Be afraid,’ she muttered, glowering at the rest of his room. ‘Be very afraid!’ And she cleaned it within an inch of its life.
All of the rooms had borne a sad and neglected air when she’d started. Housework had never been high on her list of priorities because the builders and plasterers kept ruining her efforts.
But by the time she’d polished and dusted and hoovered everything with manic attention to detail, the spiders had fled in shock and each habitable room hummed with the energy she’d expended.
The house almost looked homely, she mused grudgingly and pretended not to notice the deep sob which lurched up from nowhere into her throat.
It was only when she’d cleared rubble and plaster from the builders’ latest extension project—ironically the nursery-to-be—that she paused for breath, remembered where she was and suddenly found herself convulsed with weeping.
That was it. She spent a chilly hour in the nursery hunched up in the dust, mournfully twisting the knife into herself by gazing at the place where she’d planned to put the cot and its precious occupant.
The floodgates opened. Her burst of displacement activity was over. Almost too blurred to see through the curtain of tears, she dispiritedly made herself a fresh hot-water bottle and dragged herself up to bed.
Eventually her howling turned to intermittent sobbing and she found herself listening for Dan’s car, every sound outside rocketing her hopes up to a peak of anticipation, only for disappointment to follow. Dan didn’t come back at all. In her heart of hearts she knew he wouldn’t, not with Celine panting eagerly on the sidelines.
Most of the night she spent awake, morbidly cuddling his pillow, reflecting that she’d never been really unhappy before. Unlike Dan, she’d had a childhood unblemished by tragedy or trauma. Her parents—now enjoying life in the Californian sun—adored her. She’d been popular at school and clever enough not to worry about exams.
This feeling of deep misery was totally alien. For the first time she understood what it was like to be unhappy and to lose a person you loved. It was frightening, she mused, to surrender your whole self to someone and to have that commitment flung back in your face as if it were worthless.
She felt as if he’d crushed her. Trampled on her dreams, knocked the confidence out of her. He’d chosen someone else, effectively telling her that she wasn’t good enough. So her self-esteem was at an all-time low.
Wearily she crawled out of bed the next morning and rang in sick. All through the day she continued her onslaught on the house, with frequent breaks for a crying fit whenever she came across something that reminded her of Dan. Which was often. Yet she slogged on with dogged determination.
She still felt sick but she was learning to ignore that. The house needed to be in good shape if it was going to be photographed and put on the market. Tomorrow she’d speak to her solicitor. At the moment she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t bawl down the phone. She had her dignity, after all.
Dusk was now falling. She’d been working since dawn, clad as before in Dan’s big T-shirt and the cosy socks.
A sudden dizziness made her clutch at the table in the hall that she was polishing. The duster floated to the floor and she stared vacantly into space, weak from her stomach bug, from exhaustion and lack of food.