Page 45 of We Live Here Now

44

Emily

By Wednesday it’s minus four outside and the cold traps me in the house. Even though I can’t see any ice, I haven’t even been out to the woodstore for logs or coal for fear of slipping, instead keeping the house warm with the central heating and all the lights on to try to dispel the gray gloom. I still haven’t been up to the third floor, and even though the house has been quiet I can’t shake the foreboding that seems to come from within its walls, and I know I won’t be able to until I’ve faced the primary suite again. Every time I tell myself I’ll do it, I find an excuse or a reason to delay. The truth is that I don’t want to go up there while I’m alone in the house. I’ll wait until Freddie’s back tomorrow.

It’s his leaving drinks tonight, so I don’t expect any texts from him—we’ve never been in each other’s pockets—but as evening rolls around I can’t help wondering what he’s going to be doing and with whom. If she’s someone he works with, even if he’s ended it, will there be some last booze-induced moment?

I browse his Facebook looking for women from his work and evaluating them against myself. Women whose bodies didn’t break and who didn’t spend months in the hospital. Fully functioning women. In the end, my head is throbbing so much that my suspicions burn themselves out in the pain. He’ll be back tomorrow. I can talk to him them. Hopefully he will just be shocked and laugh at me. Maybe he deleted an email because it was sensitive information for work. Maybe he’s not lying to me at all.

I cook fish-and-chips from the freezer but I can’t find much enthusiasm to eat more than half, so I put the rest out the front in case of birds and wildlife who might want it. Maybe my raven will come for it. I haven’t heard him for a day or so. I hope he does. The air is icy and I bolt the door closed and wish we had a cat or something so I didn’t feel quite so alone and morose.