The Secret To Happiness. Jessica Redland
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Yet I can’t seem to stop eating. What’s wrong with me?’ Tears tumbled down her flushed cheeks.
Sarah held her arms out and Alison gratefully accepted the hug. She was used to Dave’s grumpiness and could usually laugh off incidents like the one at reception. Just not today. She clung onto Sarah as sobs wracked her body.
‘Thank you,’ she said when she’d calmed down.
Sarah nodded. ‘Anytime. If and when you’re ready, I’d love to help you.’
Alison wiped at her smudged mascara. ‘Thanks, but I think I’m a lost cause.’
‘No, you’re not. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself. You can do this, Ali.’
Someone believed in her? For that brief moment, Alison felt inspired. ‘Okay. You’re on.’ She removed another chocolate bar from her blazer pocket and handed it to Sarah. ‘Amnesty time.’ She could do this. She really could.
‘Chelsea told me what anniversary it is,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m so sorry. I remember it happening. You must have been quite young.’
‘Twelve.’
‘I’m here for you if ever you want to talk about it.’
‘Thank you. It means a lot.’ Especially since Dave clearly didn’t care.
Back home that evening, Alison found Dave sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV, shouting at the football and guzzling lager. The house smelled of the lasagne she’d prepared the night before. Had he actually taken the initiative and put it in the oven? Wow! Wonders would never cease.
‘I’m home,’ she said, when he didn’t look up. ‘Did you have a good day?’
Dave punched his fist in the air. ‘Thank you, ref! Told you that was offside.’
She coughed loudly.
‘Did you get my lager?’ he asked, eyes still glued to the TV.
‘No. Was I supposed to?’
‘I texted you. Told you to get a case on your way home.’
‘I didn’t get a text.’
He sat upright, jaw clenched. ‘Jesus, Ali! You’re winding me up, right?’
She shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you go on your way home?’
‘Because you always do the shopping. This is my last one.’ He took a final glug from his can then crushed it and dropped it onto the threadbare carpet. ‘I can’t watch the footy without a drink.’
She hesitated in the doorway. Stay? Go? Either way, she’d ruined his evening and he’d be in a foul mood for days. In all honesty, she couldn’t bear to be near him right now. The old Dave would have held her while she sobbed and reassured her that he was her family and he’d never leave her. But the old Dave had barely been around for the last four years.
‘I’ll go now if you like,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful.
He’d already turned back to the TV. ‘Damn right you will,’ he snapped. ‘You can take the van,’ he added in a gentler tone, as though he was doing her a huge favour. ‘And you might want to get something for your tea while you’re there.’
‘What about the lasagne?’
‘I’ve eaten it.’
Alison’s eyes widened. ‘All of it? That was four portions.’
‘Shoot! No! You pussy. You kick like a girl.’
Her throat tightened. Had he forgotten or was it simply that he didn’t care anymore? She wasn’t sure which was worse.
Thirty minutes later, Alison sat in Dave’s van in a deserted corner of the supermarket car park and prised open the flap on a five-pack of custard doughnuts. Saliva filled her mouth as she breathed in the sweet vanilla scent.
She paused as she pictured Sarah’s eager expression when she’d reassured Alison that she wasn’t a lost cause. Closing the bag, she took a deep breath. She could do it. Starting now, she was taking control back. Then she pictured that familiar look of contempt on Dave’s face that morning and that tiny flicker of self-belief fizzled out. Sorry, Sarah. Maybe another day.
‘To family,’ she whispered, taking a doughnut out of the packet. ‘I miss you all so much.’
Six minutes later, Alison licked her sticky fingers and stared into the paper bag. All that remained was a small dollop of custard and a sprinkling of sugar.
No wonder.
2
Danniella
Danniella crept down the stairs of Sunny Dayz Guest House, eyes fixed on the front door, ready to sprint back upstairs if necessary. Pulling her loose dark cardigan across her slender frame, she peeked around the corner into the spacious dining room. Seated in the bay window were the elderly couple from Liverpool who stunk the place out with their daily kippers. At the other end, a woman in her mid-twenties tucked into a bowl of cereal while a toddler mashed banana into a highchair food tray.
Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Danniella tucked her dark brown bobbed hair behind her ears and tiptoed across the room towards her favourite table by the fire exit.
The proprietor, Lorraine, burst through the door from the kitchen, holding a cafetière. A curvaceous woman in her mid-fifties, she beamed at Danniella as she poured the coffee. ‘Have you seen that gorgeous sunshine, my dear? I was beginning to think the rain was never going to stop. I was just saying to my Nigel last night that we might have to start building an ark.’ She giggled at her own joke.
Danniella smiled politely. ‘Can I have some wholemeal toast, please?’
‘There’s nothing on you, my dear. Are you sure I can’t tempt you with something more substantial? A poached egg, perhaps? Some beans?’
‘Just the toast, thanks.’
‘As you wish.’
Danniella pulled her cardigan across her chest again and closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lip. Poor Lorraine. Every morning she tried her best to open up a conversation only to be cut off. Danniella hated being aloof towards such an affable woman, but she had to maintain that distance. If she didn’t, there’d be questions and she couldn’t go there. Not yet. Possibly never.
Opening her eyes again, she spied a copy of Bay News abandoned on the next table and flicked to the properties section.
Lorraine re-appeared and placed a rack over-loaded with triangles of thick toast on the table. ‘Enjoy your breakfast, my dear.’
‘Thank you.’ If Danniella managed to get half a slice down her throat, she’d be doing well. She pushed the paper aside, selected a triangle, then froze, heart thumping, at the creak of the front door opening. Straining to listen, she could make out heavy footsteps in the lobby.
‘Delivery for Lorraine Thorpe,’ called a woman’s voice, and Danniella breathed again. Every morning. Every single morning. She couldn’t go on like this.
After buttering the toast, Danniella took a bite, but it felt like gravel scraping down her throat. She managed about two-thirds before giving up and picking up the paper again.
The woman with the toddler left, followed soon after by the kipper couple.
‘The property section, eh?’ Lorraine asked as she cleared the vacated tables. ‘Buying, renting or browsing?’
‘Renting, hopefully.’ Sod it. She could talk about flat-hunting and, if that led to questions about the past, she’d simply make an excuse to leave.