I’ve got a lot of explaining to do I know.
Last time I left you, I was in the midst of sorting out an almighty breakdown, I’d spent an entire week looking after my darling kids all by myself and I was at my absolute wit’s end.
Thankfully, Harold returned from his business trip and I was able to send him and the kids off to his Mum and Dad’s for the weekend.
I remember just shoving him out the door with the kids’ bags in his hands, Alex and Milly following along. It’s weird, looking back now, I don’t remember packing their bags. All I can recall was slamming the door behind them and just bawling my eyes out.
Well, I did that for about 10 minutes or so, until I remembered that I had a new face mask to try and that there was still a bottle of Prosecco left in the fridge from the party the month before. So I got myself all pampered up and sat down in the front room with the Prosecco, chocolate and a whole season of Gilmour Girls to catch up on.
The sun coming in through the window woke me up at 11. Something didn’t feel quite right, other than the awful headache and whiny chat of Rory and Lorelai, who had been auto-playing through the night. Then I realised that Harold had taken the kids and I had nothing to do all day but nurse my hangover! Sweet, blissful peace and quiet – it was like music to my ears.
I spent that day truly indulging in myself.
I ordered in some delicious Thai food, tried catching up on the Gilmour Girls and promptly fell asleep on the couch again. When I woke up this time, it was the street light outside streaming through the window that woke me up. The Red Thai Curry that I’d been spooning into my mouth had spilled a little onto my dressing gown and the fragrant smell of lemongrass and garlic hung in the air. My hangover had gone, but this time something was definitely not right.
I found my phone between the sofa cushions and saw what was wrong. No messages, no missed calls, no notifications. Nothing from my friends, nothing from my family, nothing from Harold. It had been 24 hours since I’d heard from anyone, or since anyone had heard from me. What was happening?
I threw my dirty dressing gown in the bin and tidied a bit, sipping from the left-over Prosecco bottle as I went. That’s when I noticed the envelope on the kitchen counter. My name was written on it in Harold’s handwriting – a gift maybe? A reward for all my hard work this year? Flights to some where sunny?
My hands trembled as they felt inside the big brown envelope for the contents. I found a thick wad of papers, almost too thick to pull out with one hand and tugged them out onto the counter.