The Girl in the Picture. Kerry BarrettЧитать онлайн книгу.
overlooked the sea and, on the cliff top, a slightly skew-whiff To Let sign.
‘I wish we could live here,’ I said, pointing at the sign. ‘Up there. Let’s rent that house.’
Ben squinted at me through the spring sunshine. ‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that a bit spontaneous for you?’
I smiled. He was right. I’d never been one for taking risks. I was a planner. A checker. A researcher. I’d never done anything on a whim in my entire life. But suddenly I realized I was serious.
‘I nearly died when Stanley was born,’ I said, sitting up and looking at him. ‘And so did Stanley.’
Ben looked like he was going to be sick. ‘I know, Ella,’ he said gently. ‘I know. But you didn’t – and Stan is here and he’s perfect.’
We both looked at the edge of the sea where Stanley, who was now a sturdy almost-three-year-old, was digging a hole and watching it fill with water.
‘He’s perfect,’ Ben said again.
I took his hand, desperate to get him to understand what I was trying to say. ‘I know you know this,’ I said. ‘But because of what happened to my mum I’ve always been frightened to do anything too risky – I’ve always just gone for the safe option.’
Ben was beginning to look worried. ‘Ella,’ he said. ‘What is this? Where’s it come from?’
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Just listen. We’ve lived in the same house for ten years. I don’t go on the tube in rush hour. I wouldn’t hire jet skis on our honeymoon. I’m a tax accountant for heaven’s sake. I don’t take any risks. Ever. And suddenly I see that it’s crazy to live that way. Because if life has taught me anything it’s that even when you’re trying to stay safe, bad things happen. I did everything right, when I was pregnant. No booze, no soft cheese – I even stopped having my highlights done although that’s clearly ridiculous. And despite all that, I almost died. Oscar almost lost his mum, just like I lost mine. And you almost lost your wife. And our little Stanley.’
‘So what? Three years later, you’re suddenly a risk taker?’ Ben said.
I grimaced. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Still no jet skis. But I can see that some risks are worth taking.’ I pointed up at the house on the cliff. ‘Like this one.’
‘Really?’ Ben said. I could see he was excited and trying not to show it in case I changed my mind. ‘Wouldn’t you miss London?’
I thought about it. ‘No,’ I said, slowly. ‘I don’t think I would. Brighton’s buzzy enough for when we need a bit of city life, and the rest of the time I’d be happy somewhere where the pace of life is 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.’