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Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

Joe gave me the kind of look that he used to give Daniel when he suspected Daniel of lying about something and I looked away.

That evening, I washed myself as best I could with a basin full of lukewarm water, soap and a flannel and put on the long, grey dress. I didn’t have much of a tan compared to Joe, but my skin hadn’t burned, and what colour I had, the dress showed off. I put my hair up into a messy bun and threaded a pair of earrings I’d found in Anna’s dressing table drawer into my ears.

I stood in front of the dressing table in my bedroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Despite the freckles that covered my face, and my scruffy hair and unkempt eyebrows, I looked better than I had when I’d arrived in Sicily. Younger, healthier and less stressed. The place had been good for me. Perhaps getting away from the cocoon I’d built around myself in Bristol, my small, safe world, perhaps that had been good for me too.

As I went down, I met Joe coming up the stairs with his shaving razor and a can of foam in one hand. He had a towel around his waist, but otherwise was naked. It was the strangest feeling, but I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to see that I was strong and that I was okay. I wanted him to look at me and really see me, because I had the feeling that every time he looked at me, what he saw was the woman I’d been ten years earlier, the bitter, furious woman who wouldn’t listen to him and who had cursed him and humiliated him and left him. I believed what he saw was anger and resentment and judgement and cruelty, and who wants to look at that?

He glanced at me, but his eyes didn’t settle, they skated over me as usual. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said and walked past me into his bedroom and closed the door.

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