Free The Stranger Within by Kathryn Croft Page B

module and need to give myself a day off. I don’t want to burn out and begin questioning what I’m doing. This course is the one thing in my life that is going well at the moment.
    But standing in the hallway to gather up the letters the postman has shoved through the door, it occurs to me that there is something I could do to make things better. It doesn’t matter whether or not Dillon and Luke appreciate my gesture, it only matters that I don’t give up.
    So I change into some old clothes, already splattered with paint, and spend the morning replacing my yellow walls with Lauren’s snow-white shade. With every brush stroke, I imagine what these walls have seen: James, Lauren and the boys, happy together. A real family. There will have been laughter and all the noise a family should make, none of the tense silences now characterising our home.
    It should be enough that James is happy, that he made the choice to be with me, to marry me. But it’s not. Not when his first choice will always be Lauren. It is strange to think it but I probably would have liked her. From everything I’ve heard people say about her – and there is no shortage of participants eager to share their stories – she sounds like a woman it would have been impossible to hate. James insists she was far from perfect and her need for control exasperated him, but she was just right for him. I can tell from their family pictures that what lies beneath the surface of smiles and poses is something pure. How can I compete with that? No photos of the four of us exist; the boys would rather be skinned alive than stand in such proximity to me.
    But you are here now. That’s all that matters. Isn’t it?
    The afternoon is almost over by the time I’ve finished painting and clearing up, but I have done the right thing. Dillon is taking Luke straight to football after school so I’ll have even more time to myself. James insists the boys aren’t coming home first because they want to go to homework club but he is just trying to see the best in them. I suppose that’s what any father would do.
    I have worked up an appetite and crave chocolate and crisps so I head to the shop, pretending I can’t see Mrs Simmons pulling her net curtain aside and watching me from her window.
    As desperate as I am for junk food, I now have no idea what I want to eat. I walk aimlessly up and down the aisles, picking items up before putting them down again when they don’t feel right. The cashier eyes me from behind the counter and doesn’t smile when I look up at him. I know he just wants me to hurry up and make a purchase, but once again I’m finding it difficult to make a decision. About something as insignificant as food. I sigh at my stupidity.
    Finally I give up and head to the bakery next door. But the same thing happens and with even more choice in front of me, I still cannot make a decision. I look at the young woman behind the counter; she is busy taking some pasties out of the small oven by the back wall, but it won’t be long before she’s exasperated like the man in the shop.
    “I’ll have a sausage roll, cheese pastry, ham salad roll and pork pie,” I say to her back. She spins around and begins gathering up what I have asked for, probably assuming I am collecting an order for family or work colleagues. “Oh, and an apple turnover and chocolate doughnut,” I add, fishing in my purse for some change.
    When I reach home, Mrs Simmons is still at her window, this time holding the curtains as far back as she can manage and waving frantically to get my attention. I wave back and she points to her right, jabbing her finger towards my house.
    There is someone on the front doorstep. I take a step closer and am surprised to see it is Dillon’s friend, Rhys. Seeing me, he stands up, pulling his headphones from his ears and stuffing them in his pocket.
    “Hi, Mrs Harwell. Sorry, I was just waiting for Dillon but he’s not home yet.”
    Feeling apprehensive, I walk