the toilet. ‘Where were they?’
‘At the back of the sofa. They must have fallen out of your pocket.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Lucy said, taking the keys and keeping tight hold of them. She kissed her mum on the cheek. ‘I’d better be off.’
‘Are you sure about the kitten?’ Christine tried one last time.
No, Lucy thought. She was no longer certain about anything, but she hoped her stubborn streak meant she would never stop trying. She gave her mum one final hug and tried not to notice the spot where her dad might have stood, asking Lucy if she had the right change for the tunnel toll, or recognizing her anxiety and suggesting an alternative route through Widnes and across the bridge.
It was only when Lucy slipped behind the wheel of her car and spotted the flash of coins her mum had left in the cup holder that she was reminded it was a mistake to underestimate a mother.
Lucy was sprawled on the sofa with her laptop resting on a cushion and a ginger ball of fur balanced on the generous swell of her stomach. The kitten, who had been in her care for less than a day, paddy-pawed her gently as she sifted through emails and politely declined a couple of requests for portraits. The one message she couldn’t dismiss was from someone who wasn’t looking for a commission at all, but expressed an interest in her most recent work. What little savings Lucy had wouldn’t last for ever and an extra boost to her income would delay the day she had to ask Adam for pin money.
Her potential buyer was interested in all three paintings and Lucy was in the process of arranging a viewing. She knew better than to invite someone she didn’t know into her home, especially a man. Adam had given her a lecture the first time she had suggested it, and although she had accused him of being more jealous than concerned, he did have a point.
She had been about to send an email suggesting they meet at a local coffee shop when she heard Adam’s car pull up on to the drive. Setting her laptop to one side, she lifted the kitten and tried not to wake him as she placed him on the warmed cushion. He opened his milky blue eyes and gave her a curious look before settling back to sleep.
Adam’s keys rattled as he opened the front door and Lucy’s smile tightened as she waited patiently. When he didn’t appear, she heaved herself up, tugging up her leggings and smoothing out the olive-green smock before padding barefoot to the door. Wrapping her fingers around the handle, she thought she heard the rustle of shopping bags, followed by silence.
The door creaked as she opened it slowly, making her flinch. She had assumed Adam was in the kitchen but he peeked his head around the other side of the staircase. He had put his coat away in the closet but his scarf remained snug round his neck. ‘I thought I heard you creeping about.’
There was no telling from Adam’s expression how he was feeling and, if anything, it confirmed he shared her sense of confusion. ‘Hello,’ she said.
Lucy had spent the day going over what had happened after driving back from her mum’s the night before. She wasn’t sure if she was more scared that she couldn’t remember parts of their argument, or that she didn’t want to. Her strongest memory was of Adam’s first words.
‘What the hell’s that?’ he had asked when she had stumbled into the house laden with pet supplies and a kitten making woeful cries for his mum and litter mates.
‘We said we wanted a kitten and here he is! Isn’t he sweet?’
Although she’d had a smug look on her face, Lucy’s heart had been hammering against her chest. Adam’s glower had been the first warning that she had made another terrible mistake.
‘You actually think you can look after a kitten?’
‘Why not? You didn’t think it was a problem the other day when I mentioned it. You said they practically looked after themselves.’
‘Was this before or after you killed off the flowers I gave you? Oh, and let’s not forget the plants in the garden last year. Every single living thing you’ve ever taken responsibility for, you’ve killed. Why on earth would I think you could look after that?’ he had said, glaring at the poor mite trembling in Lucy’s arms. Or had it been she who had been trembling?
‘But you felt sorry for the kittens staying with Hannah,’ Lucy had tried. ‘You wanted to save one.’
‘By bringing it here? Are you mad?’ he had hissed.
And that was all it had taken to light the touch paper to an anger that Lucy had been unable to control. Those three words. That one accusation.
A quarrel had ensued during which she had become more and more agitated. She had been in the right – Adam had definitely said she could look after one – and besides, he was the one who was meant to be repentant. He should have agreed to anything she wanted, but he had refuted her arguments with ones of his own, and unfortunately, Adam had so much more ammunition. They had thrown insults and accusations at each other from across the kitchen.
‘Do you even see the mess you make?’ he had yelled, pointing out the greasy smears on cupboard doors. ‘I dread to think what state my house is going to be in when you’ve got a cat and a baby to look after.’
‘Your house?’ she had shouted back. ‘I’m not your housekeeper, Adam! I can do what I like in my own home. I can kick off my shoes and leave them where I want! I can wear the same clothes for more than one day if I want! I can leave dirty dishes until the next day – if – I – want. And I can open a packet of biscuits without reaching for the fucking Hoover!’
Lucy couldn’t quite remember what else had been on her list, only that she had screeched it from the top of her lungs with her hands balled into fists. Determined to prove a point, she had flung open a cupboard and taken out a container full of porridge oats. She had grabbed a handful and, in a shower of oats, had turned to face her husband again, but to her horror, Adam had been backing away with his arms held out as if to fend off an attack.
‘No more,’ he had begged. ‘Please don’t hit me. Please, Lucy.’
Except it had already been too late. Although Lucy had no recollection of laying a hand on Adam, there was a series of angry welts across his neck.
She had been unable to revisit what exactly had happened the evening before when her anger had pulled a red veil over her senses, but the evidence was irrefutable as Adam tugged off his scarf to reveal the scratch marks she had made.
‘Adam … I think I lost it last night,’ she said as she waited for him to put away his things. She heard the click of the closet door closing, but he stayed where he was. ‘Actually, I know I did.’
‘How have you been feeling today?’ he asked when he was ready to face her.
‘OK, I suppose.’
‘I was worried,’ he said, although his tone and expression gave away none of his concern. ‘I thought all that hysteria might have done some damage.’
If you were that anxious, Lucy thought, why did you leave me sobbing in the kitchen to clean up the mess on my own? Why did you pretend to be asleep when I went to bed? Why haven’t I heard
