Free Healers by Ann Cleeves Page B

Heather’s hall of residence bed sit making love in a single bed while the thump of other students’ music came through the walls. She found it hard to picture Charles, so obsessive, so concerned about his privacy, performing in such circumstances, but perhaps these Monday nights had become part of his routine, and if Heather cancelled one he would be as put out as he was with her missing dinner on Saturday.
    Usually on Monday nights James was waiting for her. Often he’d have cooked the supper and have a bottle of wine open. He never mentioned the tension between her and Charles but he knew how things stood.
    “Come on, Mum,” he’d say. “You need spoiling.”
    Now he was away on a week’s geography field trip, roughing it in a youth hostel in Keswick. Oh well, she thought, tonight I’ll have to spoil myself.
    The house was not large but it was detached and set back from the road. When they had bought it they had scarcely been able to afford the mortgage but Charles had been determined to have it. It suited his need for privacy and reflected his self-importance. There was a small car she did not recognize parked in the road outside the house. Most of James’s friends had cars and she wondered if someone had come to visit him, not realizing he was away, but the driver’s seat was empty and she thought no more about it. As she pulled her car into the gravel drive the security light came on, illuminating the high holly hedge that Charles had encouraged to separate the house from the street. Although it had been Charles’s choice she had come to like the house too. Was that why she still put up with him, she thought, because she couldn’t face moving?
    The front door bad two locks, a Yale and a mortice, and she juggled with keys and an armful of books to get it open. Inside, she felt herself relax and made up her mind to put off any decision until later. She would not upset her prized husband-free evening with gloomy thoughts. She always enjoyed Monday evenings: the appreciation of the women from Fullertons, the sense that after all she was achieving something worthwhile at work, made her feel like celebrating and she didn’t see why she should miss out on that tonight.
    She dumped the exercise books on the kitchen table and wandered through to the living room to switch on the television. She must be later than usual because the serial had already started. As she drew the long curtains across the patio doors she thought there was a movement in the back garden. The cat, she thought. The light always attracted him. She expected any minute to hear the cat flap in the utility room door and to feel him rubbing against her legs for food.
    She left the living-room door open so she could watch the television from the kitchen. Did youth hostels have televisions these days? she wondered. James had always liked the programme too. It occurred to her that soon he would be away to university and she realized for the first time how much she would miss him. That would be the time to break away from Charles, she thought. She’d discuss the idea with Magda. Magda would know what to do.
    She did nothing elaborate for supper. Toasted cheese covered with thin strips of smoked ham, and mayonnaise to go with it. She put the plate on a tray and carried it through to the living room, then returned to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. The thriller was twenty minutes in and the adverts had started. There was still no sign of the cat. She opened the back door and called to him but the signature tune of the programme attracted her back. She ate the meal and drank half a bottle of wine before the ten o’clock news. The worry of the day now seemed slightly ridiculous. It was all a fuss about nothing.
    She might even have started to doze because the front doorbell made her jump, although when she looked at the clock it had still only just gone ten.
    Bloody Charles, she thought. That’s all I need. She imagined him rejected for some reason