The Secret To Happiness. Jessica Redland
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showering, Alison slathered herself with some expensive body lotion she’d received from Secret Santa at work. Gazing into the small mirror above the sink, she carefully applied her make-up then spritzed herself with perfume. Looking good. Smelling divine.
Back in the bedroom, she opened the wardrobe door, angling her body so she could ignore her reflection in the full-length mirror. One glance was all it usually took, but not today. She was feeling positive today. She was taking control.
Running her hand along the hangers from right to left, Alison’s jaw tightened as she rejected each item. Baggy. Frumpy. Black. Too tight. More black. Out of fashion. Dave hated it. Grey, dark grey, navy, black. She screwed up her eyes, stamped her feet, and released a frustrated squeal.
When she opened her eyes, she was facing the mirror. The unforgiving mirror. She slammed the door shut and strode across the landing to the bathroom, shaking her head. What was she thinking? If Dave even noticed – a big if – he’d probably wrinkle his nose and say, ‘What’s that stench?’ or curl his lip and say, ‘What’s that muck on your face?’ Or both.
She wiped her face clean, scrubbed at her wrists and neck to remove all traces of perfume, then returned to the bedroom where she pulled on a comfortable greying bra, a pair of giant belly-warmer knickers, some leggings, and a baggy grey T-shirt. She’d made his favourite meal and brought out the Denby. That was more than enough.
Dave arrived home shortly after six. ‘Something smells good. Is that what I think it is?’ he called from the hallway, a rare note of pleasure in his voice.
‘It might be,’ Alison called as she spooned hot fat over the roast potatoes, which were crisping to perfection. ‘How was your day?’
‘Shite.’
One of these days he’d surprise her and say ‘good’. Or perhaps he’d ask her how her day had been. Yeah, right.
When Dave re-appeared fifteen minutes later, he sat down at the kitchen table without even looking at her.
‘What’s this?’ His voice was terse as he picked up the brochure she’d laid on his placemat.
Draining the water from the pan of carrots, her heart raced. It could go one of two ways. Please let it go well. ‘Holiday brochure.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you said we should book a holiday.’
‘I didn’t.’
Alison put the carrots down and picked up the pan of peas. ‘Maybe not book one, then, but you said you’d rather go abroad instead of doing the kitchen and it got me thinking that—’
‘Jesus, Ali, make your mind up,’ he snarled. ‘You keep nagging me to fit the kitchen, you’ve got a million other jobs you want me to do too, and now you want to go off gallivanting to Greece. You can’t have it all. And how do you think we’re going to pay for a holiday? With fairy dust?’
‘We’ve got plenty of savings.’
‘Which was your idea in case of emergency. “Not for extravagant holidays,” you said.’
‘I know, but Corfu was six years ago. I think we need a break.’
Silence.
Alison dished up the food. Should she push it again? No. Clearly, he’d had more of a ‘shite’ day than usual. Maybe tomorrow. Forcing herself to smile, she placed his loaded plate in front of him. ‘And for dinner tonight, the chef is delighted to present all your favourites.’
Placing her plate down opposite him, Alison pulled her chair out but stopped when she clocked his expression: eyebrows knitted, lip curled in apparent disgust.
‘What’s wrong now?’ she demanded, her patience worn thin.
Dave pointed at his plate. ‘This. I thought you said it was all my favourites.’
Had she forgotten to dish up something? Alison scanned the plate. Nope. She looked up at Dave, shrugging.
‘Horseradish,’ he prompted.
‘Sorry. Of course. I’ll get it.’
But as she opened the cupboard door, Alison had a sinking feeling she’d forgotten to add it to her shopping list. She shuffled a few jars and bottles around, stomach churning. Crap. Slowly closing the door, she turned to face Dave. ‘We’ve run out. Sorry. All your other favourites are there.’
‘Which will taste like absolute shite without horseradish.’ He pushed back his chair, making an ear-splitting screech across the floor. ‘Nice one, Ali. I’ll have to order pizza instead.’
After she’d slaved away all afternoon? No way. ‘You’re not going to die from horseradish deficiency,’ she snapped. ‘Get it eaten and stop being so bloody childish.’
His eyes widened. ‘Childish? I’ll show you childish.’
It seemed to happen in slow motion. Dave knocked his plate with his hand as he rose to his feet. It spun across the table, crashing into hers, jettisoning both plates towards the floor. Gravy flew in every direction, covering the floor, the units, and Alison. Peas and carrots dispersed, and dollops of mash and roasties splatted onto the concrete floor like islands in a sea of gravy.
Her precious plates shattered, fragments scattering across the floor.
With an anguished cry, Alison sank to her knees, reaching for the nearest shards.
‘My plates,’ she sobbed, looking up at Dave helplessly. ‘My beautiful plates. What…? Why…?’
Dave stared at her, his eyes cold and uncaring. He picked up the travel brochure and tossed it towards the recycling crate by the back door. ‘Greek Islands? You in shorts or even worse, a bikini? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’
When he slammed the front door, the whole house seemed to shake. Alison slumped back against the fridge-freezer, heart thumping, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. What the hell had just happened? He was grumpy and he had a short temper, but he’d never been violent. Never.
She stared at the pieces in her hand. Had Dave pushed the plates off the table deliberately? No. He wouldn’t do that. He knew how much they meant to her. It had been an accident.
Hadn’t it?
5
Danniella
‘Here you go, 6 Cobalt House is officially your new home,’ Aidan said.
Danniella smiled at the ‘I love Yorkshire’ keyring he handed her. ‘Thanks, Aidan. For everything.’
‘As I said before, you’re doing me a favour. Good tenants are hard to find.’
‘How do you know I’m going to be a good tenant? I might be planning to set up a cannabis farm or bury a few bodies under the floorboards.’
Aidan raised an eyebrow. ‘I think someone’s been editing too many crime novels.’
Danniella laughed out loud at Aidan’s comment. The sound seemed so unfamiliar. She hadn’t laughed since… She shook her head. ‘I’d best start moving in then.’
Aidan nodded. ‘I was thinking we could take a couple of bags or cases up now, I’ll run through a few things with you, then help you bring in the rest.’
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’ve done so much already.’
‘Honestly, it’s not a problem. Unless you really want to do ten trips up three flights of stairs on your own.’
She smiled once more. ‘When you put it like that… Thank you. Again.’
Lorraine stopped by later that afternoon.