The Girl in the Picture. Kerry Barrett
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more relaxed.’
I paused. ‘Can we afford for me to give up work?’
‘I reckon so,’ Ben said. ‘My new job pays well, and …’
‘I’ve got my writing,’ I finished for him. Alongside my deathly dull career in tax accountancy, I wrote novels. They were about a private investigator called Tessa Gilroy who did all the exciting, dangerous things I was too frightened to do in my own life. My first one had been a small hit – enough to create a bit of a buzz. My second sold fairly well. And that was it. Since I’d had Stan, I’d barely written anything at all. My deadlines had passed and my editor was getting tetchy.
‘Maybe a change of scenery would help,’ I said, suddenly feeling less desperate when it came to my writing. ‘Maybe leaving work, and leaving London, is just what I need to unblock this writer.’
That was the beginning.
Ben started his job at the football club, commuting down to Sussex every day until we moved, and I handed in my notice at work. Well, it was less a formal handing in of my notice and more a walking out of a meeting, but the result was the same. I was swapping the dull world of tax accountancy for writing. I hoped.
My phone rang again, jolting me out of my memories.
‘Ready?’ Ben said, smiling at me from the screen.
‘I’m nervous,’ I said. ‘What if we hate it?’
‘Then we’ll find something else,’ said Ben. ‘No biggie.’
I heard him talking to another man, I guessed the estate agent, and I chuckled as the boys’ tousled heads darted by.
It wasn’t the best view, of course, on my phone’s tiny screen, but as Ben walked round the house I could see enough to know it was, indeed, perfect. The rooms were big; there was a huge kitchen, a nice garden that led down to the beach where we’d sat all those months before, and a lounge with a stunning view of the sea.
‘Show me upstairs,’ I said, eager to see the attic room.
But the signal was patchy and though I could hear Ben as he climbed the stairs I couldn’t see him any more.
‘Three big bedrooms and a smaller one,’ Ben told me. ‘A slightly old-fashioned bathroom with a very fetching peach suite …’
I made a face, but we were renting – I wasn’t prepared to risk selling our London place until we knew we were settled in Sussex – so I knew I couldn’t be too fussy about the décor.
‘… and upstairs the attic is a bare, white-painted room with built-in cupboards, huge windows overlooking the sea, and stripped floorboards,’ Ben said. ‘It’s perfect for your study.’
I couldn’t speak for a minute – couldn’t believe everything was working out so beautifully.
‘Really?’ I said. ‘My attic study?’
‘Really,’ said Ben.
‘Do the boys like it?’
‘They want to get a dog,’ Ben said.
I laughed with delight. ‘Of course we’ll get a dog,’ I said.
‘They’ve already chosen their bedrooms and they’ve both run round the garden so many times that they’re bound to be asleep as soon as we’re back in the car.’
‘Then do it,’ I said. ‘Sign whatever you have to sign. Let’s do it.’
‘Don’t you want to see the house yourself?’ Ben said carefully. ‘Check out schools. Make sure things are the way you want them?’
Once I would have, but not now. Now I just wanted to move on with our new life.
‘Do you want to talk to your dad?’
‘No.’ I was adamant that wasn’t a good idea because I knew he’d definitely try to talk us out of it. I’d not told him anything about our move yet. He didn’t even know I’d handed in my notice at work – as far as he was aware, Ben was going to stick with commuting and I’d carry on exactly as I’d been doing up until now.
I got my cautious approach to life from my dad and I spent my whole time trying very hard not to do anything he wouldn’t approve of. I’d never had a teenage rebellion, sneaked into a pub under age, or stayed out five minutes past my curfew. I’d chosen my law degree according to his advice – he was a solicitor – and then followed his recommendations for my career.
This move was the nearest I’d ever got to rebelling and I knew Dad would be horrified about me giving up my safe job, about Oscar changing schools, and us renting out our house. And even though moving to Sussex would mean we lived much nearer him, I thought that the less he knew of our plans, the better.
‘We could come down again next weekend,’ Ben was saying. ‘When you’re feeling well?’
‘No,’ I said, making my mind up on the spot. ‘I don’t want to risk losing the house. We were lucky enough that it’s been empty this long, let’s not tempt fate. Sign.’
‘Sure?’ Ben said.
‘I’m sure.’
‘Brilliant,’ he said, and I heard the excitement in his voice again, along with something else – relief perhaps. He would be pleased to leave London.
‘Ella?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been really happy,’ he said softly. ‘Really happy. In London, with you, and the boys. But this is going to be even better. I promise. It’s a leap of faith, and I know it’s scary and I know it’s all a bit spontaneous, but if we’re all together it’ll be fine.’
I felt the sudden threat of tears. ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘We’re strong, you and me,’ Ben said. ‘And Oscar and Stan. This is the right thing for us to do.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘We’re going to be very happy there.’
From then I barely had time to draw breath, which was lucky really. If I’d had time to think about what we were doing I’d have changed my mind, because the truth was I was absolutely terrified about the move.
On paper, the house was perfect and I trusted Ben’s judgement. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been involved, I told myself, when all my worries about how I’d not even seen our new home surfaced. I’d spotted it first. I’d seen it on FaceTime and on the estate agent’s website. I’d been part of the decision-making from the start.
So, I concentrated on the fact that we’d found a tenant for our London house with almost indecent haste. I worked out whether our battered sofa would fit in the new lounge, and if the boys would need new beds, and I dreamed of having my own study, a haven, tucked away in the attic room.
The one fly in the ointment was Dad. I had to tell him we were moving of course. So one day, a week or so before we finally went and just before I finished work, I took a half-day and drove down to Kent to see him and my step-mum, Barb.
‘I thought we could go for a late lunch at the pub,’ I said when I arrived, thinking that if I told Dad the news in public, it might go better. I breathed a sigh of relief when Barb and Dad agreed, so we all strolled along the road towards their local. Truth be told, I had no idea how Dad would react because I’d never done anything he didn’t agree with before.
‘He might be fine,’ Ben had said. ‘I think you’re overthinking this. He just wants you to be happy.’
But I wasn’t sure. I was scared my whole relationship with my dad was conditional on me doing what he wanted me to do. I knew he would be nervous about the risk we were taking, and he’d expect me to listen to his concerns,