Free Peppercorn Street by Anna Jacobs Page B

books.
    When the doorbell rang at quarter to ten she jerked round in shock. Had one of the boys come home? Or Sam? What would she say to them?
    But when she opened the door, she found two young guys in jeans and thigh-length overalls with ‘Mini-Movers’ written in big red letters against the beige twill.
    ‘Mrs Gainsford? We’re a bit early. Is that all right?’
    ‘Fine with me.’
    They moved her things into the van more quickly than she’d expected and she had to rush out of the house to go and let them into the flat. She’d have to come back to the house to finish off.
    The whole move took less than two hours. How could an earth-shattering change happen so quickly?
    After the men had gone, she stood in the living room of her new flat, surrounded by piles of bulging bin-liner bags and a jumble of furniture, tears rolling down her cheeks.
    When she was a little calmer, she went back to the family house to make a final check, gathering together more of her little treasures, in case those got smashed as well. Shetiptoed round, feeling like an intruder in the place that had been her home for nearly twenty years, jumping at every noise.
    Working quickly, she went into each room, taking extra small items now, a cushion, another pillow, a Persian rug that had been her grandmother’s. She raided the kitchen cupboards systematically, taking spices, herbs, a few of her special jars and tins. It wasn’t as if the others were going to be doing any fancy cooking, after all.
    As an afterthought she went into the garage and took a few tools: a hammer, screwdriver and some bits and pieces for cleaning the car. She was shocked at how dusty things were there. Sam couldn’t have touched his workbench for months, though he’d still been coming out here. What had he been doing? Why had he changed so much?
    Carrying the final few things in a bucket, itching now to be away and done with what felt like pillaging, she walked out of the house, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw her neighbour of ten years looking over the fence.
    ‘Oh, it’s you, Nicole. I was just checking. I didn’t see your car in the drive and thought you’d be at work. You can’t be too careful these days, the number of burglaries there are.’
    ‘I took my car round the side to load things, because … I’m leaving.’
    Her neighbour’s mouth dropped open. ‘No! Oh, my goodness, I—’
    Nicole didn’t linger to explain or discuss it. They weren’t close friends, after all. As she put the bucket into the car boot and slammed the lid down, it occurred to herthat the reason she wasn’t better friends with any of their current neighbours was because Sam didn’t like getting too close to them. And lately he’d been avoiding social events altogether, saying he was tired, even with their long-time friends.
    He’d not looked well, but had refused point-blank to go and see the doctor so she was helpless to do anything.
    Getting into the car, she backed out down the drive. When she hit the gatepost, she yelped in shock and jumped out to inspect the damage. Fortunately she’d been going so slowly there was only a small dent and a scratch. Sam would have gone mad at that. His car was his most treasured possession, a glossy, well-polished beast. She wouldn’t bother to get this tiny bit of damage to her car repaired.
    She was thoughtful as she drove to her new home. And sad, so very sad. It was as if leaving Sam had opened the lid to problems she’d been avoiding dealing with for a long time. She hadn’t stood up for herself as she should have done. Compromise was one thing, giving in to your partner was another thing altogether.
     
    Sam was late home that evening. He was sick of meetings and yet more meetings, and beyond reason tired. His head was aching again. It seemed to have been aching on and off for weeks. Perhaps Nicole was right and he should see the doctor, or start taking vitamins … or something.
    It had been a hell of a day and he’d