They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

94 June 2017

I have the cash to buy this house. OK, a bit mad, really, to buy my own house, but I can sort all the financials out with Roy in the fullness of time.

The car reeks of our cheeseburgers — although Bruno has eaten most of mine because I don’t have much appetite — and greasy fries. I’ve got a clear view through the windscreen of the entrance to the gated townhouse development where Cleo lives. With my husband.

Of course at some point Roy was going to move on with his life — what the hell had I expected? But all the same it hurt so much. If I could just tell him the reasons I had to leave, maybe he could forgive me. He knew how dangerous Albazi was. There’s no way I could’ve stayed. He’d understand, if I could just explain. But now it worried me he was trying to dismiss his past with a single wave of his hand. Among the many reasons for having me declared dead was so he could be free to marry that woman.

I looked again at the particulars of our house. Our forever home. It was on the market now, and it might never come back on again for the rest of our lives, because it was the kind of house people might live in for years. The kind of family home where people could grow old together.

Where Roy and I could grow old together.

That had been the plan when we’d bought it. What kind of an old couple would we have made?

‘Mama, how much longer do we have to stay here?’ Bruno asked suddenly.

I looked at him. Roy had always said he would be happy whatever the sex of our children. Was Bruno his son? I was about to reply to him, to tell him not much longer, when I saw a man striding down the street towards us. He was dressed in a dark suit and carrying a bulky case.

Oh my God.

It was nearly ten years since I’d last seen him — for certain anyway — but in this fading light it could have been just twenty-four hours. His trim figure was just the same and his face had barely aged. Only his hair was different, cropped short and gelled. It suited him. And he looked happy.

Shit. So happy.

I knew there was no chance of him recognizing me — I was wearing a baseball cap pulled low, large dark glasses and my hair was completely different. But even so, I lowered my face, a thousand thoughts going through my mind.

How happy was he with Cleo? How long had they been seeing each other? Did they bicker like we used to?

What do I do next?

I raised my head and had a cautious peep. He was tapping on the entry panel keypad. Then he pushed the wrought-iron gate open and entered. Moments later it swung shut behind him with a clang I heard.

It swung shut on me.

Locking me out of his new life.

I watched until he had walked out of sight.

Then I twisted the key in the ignition so hard I thought for a moment I had snapped it in half. The engine fired. Then I accelerated away so furiously it sent Coke spurting over Bruno, who protested loudly.

I can’t remember ever feeling so low in all my life.