Sitting down on the bed, she scrolled through her emails, realising with relief that other than a few friends asking where she was, and many emails from people obviously just snooping under the guise of mild concern, the emails were all general life stuff. No missed bills, no disaster from back home to deal with. She deleted the list of notifications, and looking out of her bedroom window at the beach, she took a simple snap. The sun was getting high in the sky now, casting off rays through the white clouds and lighting up her scene. It looked amazing. She posted it on her Instagram feed, deliberating over a caption for ages before finally clenching her teeth and hitting send.
The photo looked gorgeous, the epitome of Cornwall captured in her own bedroom window, a framed photograph of her mother sitting at one side of the windowsill. Smiling, she looked at the caption she had written. A bit cheesy, but it worked.
New life, new view #ShadyPines
Later, she would add an account for Shady Pines, when she was ready. She could document the park being changed, showing the before and after pictures. Engage with the guests and lovers of Cornwall. She clicked to add it direct to the other social media pages, and went to check Facebook. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Her post was there, but scrolling down she could see people had messaged her, talking about her flit and asking if she was okay. She’d told no one at work, but since she had left her job when Mum got sick, she hadn’t expected them to care. She scrolled down, horrified that she’d hidden for so long and made people worry. In all honesty, she didn’t expect more than a couple of texts asking where she was. Not this. This was bad. The next name on the list made her blood run cold. Duncan Statham. Three days after she had left, he’d put a message of his own on.
Be happy, April.
Be happy? BE HAPPY?
‘I can’t believe I washed his underpants for so long.’ She scowled. ‘I hope his new bloody fiancée shrinks them till his thingy drops off.’
She should have blocked him from the get-go, but with the divorce going through, she’d kept it open in case he tried any wrangling over money. Another thing about Duncan she didn’t miss, along with his wonderful heartfelt messages on social media, was the fact that he could peel a satsuma in his pocket without spilling a drop of juice. For a man born into a better life, he sure was a tightwad. She could block him now though, and she found herself smiling as she thought of his face when he realised. Up yours, Duncan.
As his page loaded, she steeled herself for the inevitable vomit fest that would be the pair of them. His new wife to be was at least ten years April’s junior, and she looked even younger. April, at thirty-five, had socks in her knickers drawer older than her. The profile picture was a photo of the two of them from the baby shower April had ran away from, standing against a flower wall, cardboard fake moustaches and wigs comically placed against their smug faces. She was just about to go to settings to block them both, when she noticed the grainy grey page header he had put on. It used to be of the two of them, a long time ago. Standing in the snowy entrance to their once-loved home, their matching Christmas jumpers and Santa hats making the scene look like a holiday card. Now, it was a blob of white, surrounded by greys and blacks. Sitting down on the bed before she collapsed, she clicked onto the image, bringing up the post.
Under the photo of the sonography scan, Duncan had written:
When one door closes, another one opens. Darling, I will love you forever. Can’t wait to play mummy and daddy with you! A wedding, a new home, and a baby in one year. The Stathams really are #blessed #babystatham #sonandheir #finally
The #blessed was a shot to the heart, but the other hashtags sent her to the floor, her wet cheeks dripping onto the white wooden floor as she howled in pain, rocking back and forth. Her phone dropped to the floor, the hashtags silently mocking her as she broke down.
#finally
The pain felt as fresh as the day she’d found receipts in his suit jacket pockets, and knew what was coming down the road. If anything, it felt much, much worse. She hated an unborn, innocent child, simply for daring to exist, and that confused and angered her all the more. She sat and cried for a long time. Finally pulling herself up, she left the chalet. Walking down the path, her shaky legs working just enough to get her there. She took the phone to the beach, and bashing it over and over with a rock and shoving the bits into the nearby dog poop bin, she screamed at the water’s edge, hoping her anguished cries would be enough to prevent her heart from stopping altogether.
Chapter 13
April lifted her head and squinted against the sun as she sat on the freshly dug and bark-chipped play area. It had been kitted out in a type of bouncy tarmac, a local play equipment firm undertaking the work with a nice discount for her advertising their services. She had business cards in the shop, and a little plaque off to one side had the business name on, right under the flowing words that Martha had drawn. Shady Pines Play Area looked simple, but perfect. She was hoping that Orla would be able to make friends here, and not just fictional book characters. If Cillian would let her play there now.
After this morning, she couldn’t think of a way forward anymore. She was stuck, and numb. The thing that bothered her the most was that
