“This is Fiona Matherson. You know, Rob’s wife. He’s had several missed calls from you today, and I need to know why you’ve been contacting him. Please call me back. It’s urgent.”
I try once more, but this time it connects straight to voicemail. She’ll have turned her phone off. I send her a text. You’ll probably hear soon about Rob. I really need to talk to you. Fiona Matherson. Hopefully, that will intrigue her enough to ring me back.
Next, I try Mum. Straight to voicemail as well. “Mum, I could do with talking to you when you get this. When the police rang you earlier, we didn’t know for definite if the body was Rob’s. I’ve been and identified him. I need to tell Jack tomorrow. If there’s any way you can get back up here. I’d really appreciate it.” My voice wobbles. “I haven’t let Dad know yet, but I’m going to have to soon. Please ring me back Mum. I’m in a bit of a state.”
Tears drip from my chin. She will probably be able to hear the desperation in my voice. I can’t believe she hasn’t tried ringing me back since the earlier phone call. But I should try to give her the benefit of the doubt. She could be on her way back for all I know. That might be why she’s not answering her phone. Perhaps she’s doing eighty up the M1.
I yank the cupboard door open in the kitchen. The bottle of brandy is sitting there, taunting me. Over the last year, there’s been barely any alcohol in the house, but Rob likes a nip when he has a bad throat, or a big presentation to give. I stare at the brown liquid, desperate to pour the lot down my neck, but slam the door shut and run upstairs to the bathroom.
Warm water on my skin makes me feel slightly better, and the scent of the lavender bubble bath reminds me of my grandmother. It’s been an endless and stinking hot day. I’ve sweated more nervous energy than I did when I was coming off the drink. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. Just like when I finally kicked alcohol, I’ll take it one hour at a time. If I try to look too far ahead, I’ll get overwhelmed. I just feel so alone. There’s no one I can talk to. Maybe I should have taken Christina up on her offer to stay with me. But I can be so stubborn.
I locked the door after the police left, so do not need to go back downstairs. I can’t face the silence and the emptiness, anyway. Instead, I fill a glass with water, tie my dressing gown around me, and head across the landing to the bedroom. Our bedroom.
The bed is unmade from this morning. I didn’t pull the blinds, so I crawl beneath the duvet. It makes a crinkling sound as I tug it over me. I slide it, so I don’t disturb Milly who is curled up on the edge of the bed. Her soft body is comforting. Tomorrow I will pour that brandy down the sink. I will also ring my AA sponsor. I have to stay off the drink. But tonight, I will try to pretend that Jack is peacefully sleeping in the next room and Rob is merely working away.
I’m woken by the doorbell. At first, I think I’m dreaming the sound. It rings over and over, which annoys me. Who is it? I stare at the pattern on the ceiling. Leave me alone! For half the night, my thoughts have been escorting me to the darkest places. At around 5am, I had decided I would stay in bed this morning. I’m exhausted. And I feel ill. I’ve barely eaten for twenty-four hours. Christina’s salad is still sitting in the fridge.
I keep turning over Rob’s final hours, days, weeks. We’d grown apart. Our marriage had become perfunctory. His face no longer lit up when he looked at me. And he was always attached to his phone.
I think of Bryony again with a heavy heart. If she had nothing to hide, she would have spoken to me last night. Rob has gone, and perhaps it will not do me any good to have it confirmed whether anything was going on between them. Coming to terms with it all is going to be hard enough. I guess the police will uncover anything that I need to know once they go through Rob’s calls and messages.
“Fiona? Are you there?” Christina calls through the letterbox. I’m grateful to her, but I can do without neighbours just now, no matter how well-meaning they are, braying on the door and shouting through the letter box at the crack of dawn. I sit up and take a large swig of water. Its chill feels strange in my empty stomach. I reach for my phone to text her and am shocked to see it is after ten. Not exactly the crack of dawn.
Sorry. Bad night so have only just woken up. I’ll text or ring later. X
The icon for my Facebook app says that I have nine plus notifications. I’m lucky to receive one or two normally. I click through and realise that people are posting onto Rob’s wall, many tagging me in with their condolences and sending a big hug. Like that’s really going to help.
One post says they hope that I’m getting well looked after. Yeah, right. There’s the expected shock, disbelief, and sorrow, and a ton of photos of him out on the golf course or posing with his bike. I can’t bear to look at them. Many of them were taken when things were still good between us, but obviously didn’t include me. We ran separate lives. Especially over the last few months. They must have released his name in the
