The Last Resort

By Pam Fish

"Diane? Get back in the house, you''''ll drown out here." The familiar voice echoed from her past.

Trembling, both from the intensity of the storm and Peters sudden appearance, she turned and ran towards the house ahead of him, her emotions now revolving through happiness to anger and back again. Typical, she thought crossly as he politely stood on the threshold. But, his intense blue eyes found hers.

As always, Peter was reading into her very soul, recognising her years of sorrow and despair. . . .

. . . their stories begin. Dianes early years and later when Peters life tangled with hers. More than thirty years, are about to unfold and be laid bare.

Broken marriages; kidnap; abuse; attempted rape; a fight out of the black abyss of alcoholism and Peters staunch support from Linda, the child who entered his life like a guardian angel. Dianes stories are woven through a bold tapestry of babies growing up, marriages, and the births of a second generation, whilst Peters are told against the spectacular backdrop of the Dolomites.

With Dianes steadfast commitment to family life in England, always at odds with Peters passion for the freedom of a less conventional life in Italy, it appears they are destined to remain apart . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 21, 2005
• ISBN: 9781467009317

Pam Fish

About the author Pam Fish was born in South London and lived there until moving to Peterborough four years ago. Three children from her first marriage, and two boys coming into her life thirty years ago when she married her second husband, have produced many weddings and seven grandchildren. This, with all the accompanying ups and downs, has been a useful source for the realism of her fictitious families lives. Starting creative (very) writing as a nine-year old in journals, she wrote whenever she could, but since retiring has been able to concentrate fully on her creativity. Pam has written many short stories and is at the moment completing her third novel. Twenty or so years, first as a successful newspaper photographer and then going freelance, have provided Pam with a great insight into real life dramas. This in its turn has given her writing its realistic edge. The publication of The Last Resort, her first novel, has become an enormous achievement and she is hopeful its success will enable her to publish, the second of her three works - Rabbits on the Lawn. A sensitive story of how a much younger sister helps her brain damaged brother to reach his potential in life.

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© 2005 Pam Fish. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 10/19/05

ISBN: 1-4208-8227-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-0931-7 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

About the author

For my husband,

TIM

Thank you for your support,

both to me and to my computer.

Thanks also to my younger generation,

Nicholas, Sarah, Katie, Derrick and Brendan

for not telling the old fool that she’s lost it!

Prologue 

The last crashing clap of thunder had Diane running to the window, as the brewing storm finally broke and rain began sheeting down. Pressing her forehead against the icy glass, she strained her eyes to see into the darkness, through the driving downpour. Eerily lit up scenes were followed by deafening claps of thunder. Trees swayed high above the lane; its tarmac becoming littered with debris; front garden awash. Diane watched the magnificence of the thunderstorm’s electric energy. Her heart thumped as unforgettable memories flooded her thoughts, unleashing a primeval fear of an unknown future.

The storm was now so near and the lightning so bright it hurt her eyes. Another immense flash of blinding white light seared through the night followed by an almighty bang, the loudest of the raging night. Darkness then veiled the scene, just as suddenly as light had cast fluorescence.

Terrified, Diane saw movement near the tree. Then it was gone, concealed by the swishing of branches, twigs and leaves tossed about by the strength of the storm.

There was someone. A man, head down, ran towards the shelter of her porch.

Peter? My Peter? Recognition made her plunge from the cottage into the tempestuous night; wind knocking the breath from her chest, rain drenching her.

Diane? Get back in the house, you’ll drown out here. The familiar voice echoed from her past.

Trembling, both from the intensity of the storm and Peter’s sudden appearance, she turned and ran towards the house ahead of him, her emotions now revolving through happiness to anger – and back again. Typical, she thought crossly as he politely stood on the threshold. But, his intense blue eyes found hers.

As always, Peter was reading into her very soul, recognising her years of sorrow and despair… .

. . . their stories begin. Diane’s early years and later when Peter’s life tangled with hers. More than thirty years, are about to unfold and be laid bare.

Chapter One 

T he first couple to circle the floor, dancing the ‘Irish Washer Woman’ will win tonight’s star spot-prize, the master of ceremonies’ deep voice boomed out. Phiadon-White International’s, pharmaceutical works Annual Dance was in full swing, well attended by all the younger members of staff.

Diane Webster, shy and never able to believe her friends, when they tell her that her wayward curls and dark eyes turn heads, was trying hard not to look as lonely as she felt. She’d heard the musicians enthusiastically began the Irish Jig; a completely foreign sound compared to the big band swing music they’d been playing all evening, and was totally unprepared for the good looking young man who was striding purposefully towards her.

I believe you’re Diane. I’m Paul Cooper.

He grabbed Diane’s hand and dragged her into the middle of the dance floor. Diane’s friend Olive had previously confided that Paul was the catch of the evening. At eighteen and having just left a convent school, Diane felt overwhelmed by his attention as she tried to pull away.

I can’t dance a jig, she protested, breathlessly.

Just follow my lead. Paul crushed her against him with a strong arm around her waist. Why so much interest in me? Diane thought in confusion. But his enthusiasm was contagious. With his face so close to hers she saw how good looking he was. Paul smelt fresh and clean, was smartly dressed, and as she glanced at the hand holding hers she noticed his immaculately clean finger nails. A bizarre observation, but it gave her instant, pleasurable information about this stranger.

Are these the right steps? she ventured. Looking up into his hazel eyes, which were alive with merriment, they careered around the floor.

I’ve no idea what the steps are, he whispered into her ear, but then neither does anyone else. He nodded to the rest of the dancers who were now circled around the edge of the floor, clapping in time to the music. None of the others had ventured out.

After just one lap, at the rate they were spinning and jigging about, Diane felt dizzy and exhausted. Relief swept over her when the master of ceremonies announced them as the winners and presented Paul with a half-bottle of whisky. The dance had been so exciting Diane felt disappointed when it was over.

Come on, let’s open this. He held her hand firmly as they made their way back to their table, to be greeted by slaps on Paul’s back, congratulating his ingenuity.

Diane saw out the corner of her eye, what looked very much like envy on Olive’s face, but she chose to ignore it. She’d already spent a couple of hours like the proverbial wall-flower and had felt lost, as a single girl amongst all the couples. Now this good looking bloke, with film star looks, had rescued her.

Sitting down, next to Olive, Diane watched Paul sloshing whisky into all their glasses. Luckily for Diane, he tripped in his excitement and the contents of the upended bottle soaked the front of his suit. As the bottle smashed onto the floor, she was glad it had happened before he’d got to her glass. Drinking very little normally, Diane was afraid of getting tipsy as she’d already had a couple of gin and tonics to boost her sagging self-esteem.

Paul was busily clearing up the broken glass. New to the dating game Diane’s thoughts were in turmoil from this whirlwind explosion into her life, making her uncertain as to what she should do next. Giving reassuring smiles in her direction, Paul seemed to understand.

Fine, floppy, light brown hair and hazel eyes, gave him a slightly studious look. Diane found herself warming to what she saw, but was convinced she wouldn’t be interesting enough for this confident young man. Turning to help Paul, Diane caught a glimpse of her curly dark hair and almost black eyes in the decorated pub mirror on the wall behind him; I’ll pass she thought with fresh innocence.

You would make someone a good wife, she ventured laughing, as he busied himself with the dust-pan and brush.

Come on let’s get some fresh air. I don’t trust that smile of yours. What mischief are you hiding? With Diane’s hand firmly clasped once again in his, he seemed confident she would go willingly. My clothes reek of whisky. Sorry!

Well at least I know why you smell of it, and you’re not some drunk. Diane felt happier than she’d ever been since joining the world of grown ups. She’d always had worries about meeting young men for the first time and here she was talking comfortably to a stranger, life was suddenly feeling like the script of a passionate film.

If you come into this far corner, you can just see the moon over the wall, Paul said as he drew her towards him and kissed her full on the mouth. The far corner was dark and away from the party, and the rest was to become the fulfilment of her romantic dreams.

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Having little knowledge of sex, Diane found out as she got to know him better that Paul’s experience was just as limited. She liked that, convinced that anything more would have scared her away.

The last Saturday before Christmas found them shopping together; they’d been dating for about a year.

I’m buying this silk scarf for, Mum. Do you think it’s a bit bright? My parents are rather staid in their ways. They’re dour Scots. Paul made jokes about everything and Diane didn’t for one moment believe what he was suggesting. If they had such humourless personalities, how had they managed to produce Paul?

Should I send them something, Paul? I’ve never met them but I feel I know them from the childhood tales you’re always telling.

We could join forces and buy them something between us.

Quite suddenly, he was around in front of Diane. Down on one knee, and right in the middle of the department store, Paul shouted out, will you marry me? Say yes and it would make the present giving easier. There were smiles on the faces of the few customers watching this crazy scene.

Yes. Yes. Diane accepted straight away, experiencing the ecstasy of every bride-to-be’s dreams. She’d never been happier. Yes. Yes. She kept repeating. Any reserve she might initially have had just fell away as she clutched Paul, jigging them both up and down.

Later, when Diane had calmed down a little and they told her mother, a date was set for a wedding the following June, a few weeks before her twentieth birthday.

Diane blushed, whenever she thought of the activities of her peer group. As the nineteen-seventies progressed there was beginning a new sexual freedom but she shyly distanced herself, remaining naïve. Diane wondered if a chaste relationship like theirs was unusual. It troubled her when Paul almost devoured her with his kisses. She knew so little.

I love you so much, Paul. I want to give you more, but our wedding night must be special.

It’s okay; I promise you your special night. We’ll wait together.

Achieving a rare relationship fulfilled by love and understanding, Diane felt privileged. She adored Paul and spoilt him rotten. He, in his turn showered her with silly gifts and flowers. They had fun together.

- - - o o o O o o o - - -

The June day for their wedding arrived. Diane had been up for hours. Everything was going to be perfect. Tears of happiness welled up in her eyes as her mother, who had stoically planned everything despite still grieving for her husband, came into her daughter’s room.

Mum. Thank you. Sniffing back more copious crying, her mood changed from happy to sad, as Diane thought of her father. I miss Dad. I wish he was here to give me away. She was remembering the father who had always been there for her. Just before meeting Paul, Dad had died.

He’s up there somewhere, happy for his beautiful daughter. Alice, Diane’s mother, hugged her tearful child, grown now into a confident young woman. Come on love, dry your tears. We’ve a wedding to get to and you look a mess.

Who’s a mess? Diane’s friend Olive came in carrying enough cases for a week’s holiday. Shoo, Mrs Webster. It’s my job to turn this mess as you call her, into a princess.

All right, but if you need anything I’ll be just downstairs. The dresses are pressed and hanging in the spare bedroom.

Diane hugged her mother in a silent embrace. They both knew the other’s thoughts and no words were needed. With a bright smile, Alice slipped out and with a similar wide grin Diane turned her attention to Olive who was expertly beginning her job.

Never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought you’d be marrying Paul. Olive was Diane’s only bridesmaid, but had gained the title of maid-of-honour since her own wedding a few weeks earlier. I fancied him myself, you know.

Well you’re too late. She silently vowed that nothing would ever come between Paul and her. I must admit I was flabbergasted when he took to me the way he did at that dance. Since the ‘Irish Washer Woman’ I’ve been floating on air. Corny isn’t it?

Diane was sitting in front of her dressing table for what would be the last time as an unmarried teenager. She watched in the mirror as Olive pinned her curly hair high onto her crown, then settled her mother’s orange blossom head dress and veil in place. A few stray curls were expertly pulled down, to frame a happy face.

Something old – your mum’s veil, something new – your dress. What have you borrowed and blue? Olive sounded as excited as Diane, who was now experiencing such a thrill of anticipation that she felt slightly faint all the time; as if she’d climbed high up a mountain, and was lacking oxygen.

Blue knickers and Grandma’s pendant, Diane blurted out, with an hysterical giggle, as they struggled to ease the dress over her chiffon scarf covered hair and veil.

Whisking off the scarf, Olive fastened the endless pearl buttons at the back of the gown, and tweaked and smoothed with her hands the dress and veil.

You brush up well, kiddo, Olive said as she slipped into her own pale lilac dress.

I feel as if I am going to burst, Olive. Diane drew in a deep breath and picked up her flowers. We should be leaving.

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Diane had been on such a high state of excitement that many details of her wedding day were lost. But from that moment on, she knew that married life was what she’d always wanted. She carried on working, but she was not a career girl and never would be. Becoming pregnant was magical for Diane. Then, after their wait Paul got the little girl he told her he wanted, and Diane got pleasure from the happiness she saw in his face. Susie was perfect and Diane often just sat looking and enjoying every expression and sound the baby made. She didn’t return to her job in the laboratory, and became a full-time mum. It had been such a happy time.

Olive had had a baby a year before Diane and was already fretting about going back to work. Diane couldn’t contemplate missing any of Susie’s wonderful moments. She watched as the child quickly grew into a clone of herself, with unruly dark curls and soft brown eyes.

On the day Diane was told her second pregnancy was to be twins, she experienced dreadful qualms. She couldn’t help it. Paul had been a twin, but sadly his tiny brother had not survived. Having been sickly from birth, his short life had ended just six days after he’d been born. Throughout her pregnancy, Diane who with Paul had planned a big family, had to accept that this might happen again. She detected that Paul’s parents also held sad memories. However much Paul tried to reassure her Diane was apprehensive until she’d given birth.

When the twins, Matthew and Jonathan were born, Diane immersed herself even more into the family life, but Paul had become more serious. It amused her to hear him planning what they would do when the sleepless nights stopped.

Vigorously active from day one, there was never any doubt in her mind about the health of these two boys. She loved their individuality; Jon was the quieter of the two, but identical in every other way to Matt. Obtaining great pleasure as she watched them grow strong and healthy, with untidy burnt straw coloured hair, fine and floppy just like Paul’s.

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The turn of the century house, where they lived at East Molesey, in Surrey, emanated to Diane such a friendly atmosphere, with space ideal for their boisterous family. She and Paul had fallen in love with it the instant they’d seen the estate agent’s details.

It’s described as one of the few remaining houses that haven’t been turned into flats. And, I love it. Diane had not needed to persuade Paul. It was obvious he felt the same way.

Let’s go and see it then, before someone else snaps it up.

Diane and Paul had viewed, put a deposit on it and got the ball rolling for a mortgage that same afternoon.

Diane encouraged Susie, Jon, Matt and a contingent of assorted friends to whoop and shout in the large garden. Happy that they were able to indulge in swinging, climbing and generally going mad; far enough away to not disturb the neighbours.

Diane’s happiness was rocked when after she and Paul had been married for about nine years he was offered a promotion, working miles away in Norfolk.

For a few months I’ll have to work on a split site, he was telling her over breakfast one morning. I’ll be travelling to Norwich. Probably for most of the week

Of course you must take it, Paul, she encouraged him. Hoping, as she looked around the polished pine kitchen where they sat, that she wouldn’t have to leave the home they’d spent years perfecting. That evening when discussing it more fully, Diane agreed it made sense for Paul to stay in Norwich three nights a week.

Diane hated it. In all the years of their marriage they’d never been apart, but now she slept alone, in a big empty double bed, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Diane began to worry about Paul’s health when he often arrived home exhausted, late on a Thursday. Working another long day, at head office in Kingston on the Friday, always left him looking shattered.

Diane had to get used to dealing alone with any problems that might occur for seven year old Susie and the three year old twins, Matt and Jon, during the week. Then from first thing Saturday morning she made the weekends special and all the worries of the previous week became forgotten.

I love this house, Paul. They were enjoying the afternoon of one such weekend, in the garden. Susie had set up an obstacle course for the boys. Diane had thought they’d better oversee the game upon hearing cries, as small boys toppled from steps or got stuck under carpets. I’m sure we did the right thing, deciding to stay here and not uproot everyone for six months, whilst you’ve been working away.

I know we did sweetheart. I’ve always loved the house, too. It’s only going to be for a few more weeks. Paul put the book he was reading beside his deck chair and looked at Diane seriously. You’ve done really well. You’re quite capable of running the home without me. It’s good you’ve started to understand the accounts.

"That’s as may be but you know what they say, ‘don’t keep a dog and bark yourself,’ I’ll be quite relieved to hand the accounts back to you."

Can we have some ice-creams, Mum? Susie ran across at the sound of Mr. Whippy’s jingle, in the street.

Paul put his hand in his pocket and gave her some change. We’ll all have one, get five.

I’ll have to help her, Diane said, getting up. Then noticing Jon and Matt bounding after their sister as she departed through the side gate, called out, boys, wait. I’ll come with you.

Diane didn’t get another chance that weekend to talk seriously to Paul, but for some reason she’d felt chilled by his casual remark about her doing the accounts. What a strange thing to say, just as he was about to end their separation.

Shivering, Diane felt a chink appear in her otherwise perfect life.

Chapter Two 

The following Thursday, Diane had their evening meal ready at the usual time, but Paul was late. She’d tucked up the children and they were now fast asleep. Seven year old Susie had been up and down with endless problems earlier, but was settled now. Diane knew that Susie was only doing this tonight, hoping to get a glimpse of her wonderful Daddy before she went to sleep. When Diane finally heard the familiar sound of Paul’s key in the lock, she was nodding off in an armchair.

Paul, is that you? She felt silly, who else would it be? Supper’s ready, she called over her shoulder, as she hurried past him into the kitchen. She’d been on edge ever since Sunday, and she wanted this homecoming to be perfect.

I’m not hungry. I’m going straight up. I’m whacked. Paul had disappeared up the stairs before Diane had come back into the hall. What’s the matter with him? Not even a kiss.

Looking up, her heart melted; he looked dreadfully tired. The bounce had gone from his step. And, now she came to think of it, he’d been like this for sometime. He’d seemed somewhat remote in the garden on Sunday, all the travelling was doing him no good at all. The strain of working away was becoming too much for Paul. Thirty-three was too young to have the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Tidying the kitchen, Diane was deep in thought. They could have managed without the extra money from the promotion. There had been clues but she’d ignored them, believing the family to be charmed. When the Norwich job is finished, there will be no more working away from home.

Diane slipped into bed and snuggled herself close to the sleeping Paul. Pleased to have him back, content it was only to be for a few more weeks that he would be away.

The next morning, Diane did something she’d never done before. Ringing Paul’s immediate superior at work, she explained, untruthfully, that he was ill, and wouldn’t be in.

Keeping the children away from their daddy still in bed, had been the hardest part, but she’d made up her mind he should have a really restful lie in.

Daddy was very tired when he came home last night and so he’s having a lovely long sleep, Diane explained to Susie as they walked to school.

Like I did when I had measles?

Diane laughed. Well, not quite. Daddy isn’t ill; he’ll be full of beans when you come home this afternoon.

Can we jump on him? Susie wanted to make sure her Daddy would recover.

Probably. Here we are. School. Goodbye my love, I’ll see you this afternoon.

Bye. Susie dashed off through the gate. The twins, strapped into the battered pushchair, giggled and chattered as Diane waved, then she pushed them round the corner to their playgroup.

Diane still had reservations about sending the twins to a playgroup. Susie had been an easy toddler, but at times Matt and Jon, were a bit of a handful. The double-trouble saying, being very true. Thankful for the time on her own today, she gladly settled them into the toddler group and hurried home.

Just as Diane was quietly closing the front door behind her, the phone started to ring. Thinking of Paul still asleep, she picked it up quickly.

Yes, this is Mrs Cooper. Ear-ring? No, you must have made a mistake! I don’t even have pierced ears! Diane was having what she thought was a very silly wrong number call.

The caller was having another try. Diane picked up on their deliberate speech, talking to her as if she was an imbecile. You were staying here until yesterday, with your husband. Mr and Mrs Paul Cooper. I’m calling from the Eastern Counties Hotel, Norwich. I have one diamond stud ear-ring that I found in your bedroom, what…

Thoughts making odd connections, started milling through her head. Paul in an hotel? Not his usual bed and breakfast? Another Mrs Cooper? Diane didn’t hear anymore, as she dropped the telephone receiver to the floor, pulling the telephone crashing down with it. Her brain had gone numb, refusing to function. Shouting within her head came a voice. Paul is having an affair. Her legs felt strange as they gave way at the knees. Sliding down the wall, she joined the telephone on the hall carpet.

It can’t be true. It can’t. The words shouted out, in anguish, sounded like the howl of an injured animal. This wasn’t happening. There must be a mistake. The cry brought Paul to the top of the stairs.

What’s happened? Is it one of the kid’s? He ran down and tried to comfort her. Shush. Don’t, please don’t. Tell me what’s happened. Diane pulled herself into a tight impenetrable ball and turned away from him.

The sound of a barely audible voice had made Paul notice the phone was still active. Grabbing it he spoke into the handset. Who is this? I’m Paul Cooper, what do you want?

Turning her head as she heard Paul’s anxious voice, Diane watched as he went deathly pale listening to the reply from the hotel. Afterwards, Diane had flashbacks of this scene, and remembered Paul trying to calm her, with dim mental pictures of something lodged in her brain that was totally incomprehensible.

Quiet, but still unable to think, she allowed Paul to coax her into the sitting room. He was talking, his voice coming to her as if from down a long tunnel.

I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I still care about you; you’re the mother of our children.

Care. Not love? Diane sipped at the glass of sherry Paul had thrust into her hand. What did they say? she asked, referring to the phone call.

Who? Oh! The Hotel? Paul was quite calm, but his hazel eyes gave away his concern.

Was it a mistake? Tell me I’ve just been a silly idiot for reacting like that. We’re a family. We love each other. We’ve three children to bring up between us. Diane’s voice was rising, hysteria creeping in, as she watched Paul’s ashen face. Tell me the truth, she shouted.

It’s true. I’ve been seeing someone. If anyone could say anything at this point in Paul’s favour, it would be that he looked devastated and very contrite. There’s so much out in the world I still have to do. I’m suffocated with this life. He flopped down beside her, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.

A complete mental block allowed Diane to push this terrible news deep into the depths of her mind. A natural distraction was taking over as inbuilt maternal instincts surfaced.

I shall have to go and collect the twins, soon, she managed in an unreal squeaky voice. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you this morning, I thought you needed the lie in, she added shakily.

I wondered why I was still in bed. Have you let them know at work? Paul replied, ever efficient. They were talking to each other like strangers.

Of course. I telephoned first thing. Taking a deep breath, Diane added, I’m off then.

Thanks. I’ll get showered and dressed while you’re out. Diane picked up her keys and left.

She recognised the fact that it was actually much too early to collect the boys, but it was the only way she could cope. To be doing something normal. Collecting the twins was normal.

The sun cannot know how unhappy I am, she thought, as it shone down from a cloudless blue sky. Walking past the park, Diane went in and sat on the first bench she came to. Closing her eyes she felt the heat from the sun on her eyelids, soothing her. It was going to be all right. Nearly nine years of marriage must count for something. I love Paul so much. I forgive him. There was still a muffled voice in her head saying, over and over again, Paul has deceived you! After a while, Diane convinced herself it had been a storm that together they would ride out. Feeling calmer she got up and went to the church hall to collect the twins.

Pulling the old pushchair out from the back of the hall, she stood quietly waiting. Having no wish to talk to anyone, she stood well away from the other mums, avoiding any eye contact. Matt and Jon came running towards Diane, clutching dripping wet paintings.

Done picture, Matt explained as he pressed the soggy mass into her hands.

Mine’s green, Jon added, running round and jumping into the pushchair with such force that it very nearly went over.

Don’t be so stupid! Diane snapped.

Upset by Jon’s tears, brought on by her sharp remark, Matt started to run out to the car park, avoiding the hand which she was trying to catch him with.

Matthew! Stop! Mind the cars!

Grabbing the child roughly, Diane firmly strapped him into the pushchair. The boys, eyeing her strangely, had picked up so quickly the atmosphere she was trying to shield them from.

Paul had prepared lunch and was standing in the kitchen as Matt and Jon hurled their small bodies at him. Daddy! Daddy!

Still unable to understand how their life could appear so normal, Diane took her time after they’d arrived home to hang up their coats. She was nowhere near ready to cope.

Careful, hot soup! Paul swept them up, one in each arm and set them giggling and laughing onto his shoulders. It was a game that they loved. Paul looked between their heads at Diane. She felt him trying to access her present mood.

Can we talk? he said, in a near normal voice.

Of course! But, not now! Diane fought back tears and added quietly, I love you Paul! We can work this out, I know we can. As she spoke these words Paul looked like a broken man. He said no words of comfort in reply.

Grabbing his coat, he called over his shoulder as he went out of the front door. We’ll talk tonight, but I must go to work now. And was gone.

Uncontrollable tears coursed down Diane’s face as she helped the twins to their lunch. Eating nothing herself, she was thankful that the boys seemed to be very hungry and paid most of their attention to stuffing themselves full. Thankfully, Paul had left the meal ready for them.

The afternoon dragged, but eventually it was time to collect Susie. Diane still felt very numb, but had rationalised things sufficiently to behave normally with the children. After their supper and a story, she managed to get them off to bed fairly effortlessly. When Paul came home from work shortly afterwards, they had another story from him and settled off to sleep.

Diane couldn’t wait to get the discussion started and mistakenly got stuck in straight away, by telling Paul she could forgive him.

If only it was that easy. I’m sorry Diane, I want out. He did have enough feeling for her to look guilty, but it was quite obvious this was not a quick decision for him. He’d thought it all out, maybe months ago.

Devastated, Diane tried again. But why? What have I done to make you hate me so much?

That’s just it. I don’t hate you, but this fairy-tale lifestyle we lead is sending me round the bend.

But, why now? Why haven’t you said anything before? Diane could feel her emotions rising again, running out of control. Changes that would redirect her entire life were filling her mind, creating a pressure fit to split her head open. I don’t understand. What can this woman give you that I can’t? Hysterically, she was still trying to make sense of it all. What of our plans for the future? What about when the children get married? Have babies of their own, your grandchildren? Where will you be? What about me? I can’t do all that on my own.

For the umpteenth time in the one day, she visualized a bleak future alone. Her unhappiness was limitless.

Could I at least get something to eat before you start haranguing me? Paul had lost his usual rationality. Diane had never heard him talk like this before. "It’s you and the kids, constantly. That’s all you need me for these days, someone to provide for you. Well, I’ve had enough. With Christine I can be myself, make plans for my future. And, I’ve made them. Christine and I have taken opportunities within the company and we’re going to South Africa in a month’s time. The firm have a small company starting up there and I’ve got the job to expand it."

An ice-cold hand gripped her heart; Diane’s love froze to hate. Christine? Who the hell is Christine? This isn’t my Paul. How could I never have seen how ruthless and selfish he can be? But oddly, it helped her empathize and accept what Paul was saying.

You should have told me, was all she could manage, talking in a small defeated voice. Drained of any will to fight on, she went to bed.

Shortly afterwards, Diane heard the click as the front door closed. Going to the window she saw Paul throwing a bag into his car and driving off. Staring, trance like, at the empty space on the drive, she tried willing the car to return. If I don’t take my eyes off of the dry space the car has left, he’ll come back. But silly games won’t work now, he’s gone.

Back down in the kitchen, hands clasped round a hot cup of coffee, Diane couldn’t help but go over and over events since Paul had been working away from home. There had been signs, now she came to think of it, but what should she have done? Indeed, what could she have done?

With no thought for how she would take this news, Paul had never given any indication that he was unhappy. Maybe she should question her own actions. But, he’d never once shared these unfulfilled dreams with her; they’d always shared everything, the deceit was unbearable.

Interrupting her jumbled thoughts, Susie came into the kitchen and slid onto Diane’s lap as she sat at the kitchen table.

What’s wrong, Mummy?

Crushing Susie with a hug, Diane could smell baby powder and No Tears shampoo. Burying her face in the child’s hair to steady herself, she luxuriated in a fragrance that childhood brings, giving herself the chance to modulate her voice.

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