The Island Escape by Kerry Fisher

Author:Kerry Fisher
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007570263
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

Octavia

Jonathan and I were quiet in the cab on the way home. Hurt that Roberta was moving into a new life, one that had dropped me off her speed dial, had eclipsed my anger at Jonathan jaunting off to Sardinia again so soon. Roberta had even set up a business without telling me. I was obviously the friend for bad times. Nicole, Brenda and all those other blonde-haired looky-likeys were the good-time girls.

I put my hand on Jonathan’s knee. He didn’t move or acknowledge me. ‘Sorry about today. I miss you. That’s all.’

He inclined his head on one side slightly, in a ‘bit late now’ gesture. I felt a little prickle in my eyes as I realised that no one seemed to need me. Not Roberta. Not Jonathan. Not even the kids. The beginning of the cricket season meant Charlie would spend every minute of his free time whacking balls into the nets down at the club. Polly thought no one was more boring than her family and ridiculed my Enid Blyton notions of us all going for a walk together with the wildflower book in hand. Immi still liked to join in a bit of apple crumble-making but preferred to play zoos on her own in her room.

The house echoed with missing voices. Mum was bringing the kids back after tea. We could have stayed at Roberta’s longer but the more I saw her with her new friends, her new house, even a new business, the more stuck in a rut I felt. Maybe it was the after-effect of the food-poisoning that was making me feel so low. Surely I hadn’t become such a dried-up excuse for a friend that I begrudged Roberta’s life taking a turn for the better? I waited for Jonathan to scuttle off into the lounge and start tapping on his computer. I didn’t think my ego could stand being sidelined for YouTube videos of computer troubleshooting.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I asked.

‘Not really, thanks.’

‘Have you got work to do?’

Jonathan shrugged. ‘Not really.’

I was sure I’d married someone with a wider vocabulary than ‘Not really’.

‘Fancy a shag?’ I said it as a joke to see if he could answer anything other than ‘Not really’.

He furrowed his brows, then took my hand and led me upstairs. I wasn’t sure what he was intending. I wouldn’t have put it past him to choose that moment to show me the mould on the bathroom wall ‘because no one ever opened a window’. But he pulled me into our bedroom. I struggled to get out of scratchy-picky mode and into love’s-old-dream gear, but since I was always going on about how predictable he was, I needed to embrace a bit of spontaneity myself. I chucked off my clothes while he folded his jeans, smoothed out his socks and added his boxers to the pile. I yanked the duvet up to my neck. Jonathan wasn’t having any of it and ripped the covers back. ‘Let me see you.

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