Chapters (48)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Also by Tricia Stringer
- Title Page
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- Excerpt
- One
She made the bed, paused at Milt’s side, his reading glasses perched on his current book, something about the explorer Hubert Wilkins who’d been born just up the road. Milt often shared little snippets of information he discovered from his reading. Natalie traced her fingers over the cover and felt a sudden yearning for the luxury of time to read a book. It would be the first thing she’d buy when she got to the airport. Excitement fuelled her now as she tipped out the clothes she hadn’t unpacked from her Victor Harbor trip and repacked with clothes better suited to the warmer climate in Brisbane.
“Mum?”
She froze at Laura’s call as if she was about to be discovered doing something illicit.
“I’m taking coffee up to Dad, back in a while.”
“Okay.”
Natalie rushed, determined to be gone from the house before Laura returned. She’d ring Paul and Brenda from the car once she was down the highway.
She typed a text for Milt.
Have decided I need a break to clear my thoughts. Going to have a week or so with Brenda in Brisbane. Haven’t told the girls. Will leave it to you.
Her finger hovered over the arrow to send. She doubted he’d look at his phone until morning tea but just in case she decided to wait until she was on the road before she sent it. She re-read her text and felt like a coward but there was also a small dash of pleasure in that last statement. It was always her job to fill in the girls. He could do it for a change.
At the bedroom door she paused, a bundle of dirty clothes tucked under her arm and her suitcase handle in the other hand. Nothing out of place. She hurried down the corridor, risking a glance in the other bedrooms, both with unmade beds, and came to a stop at the kitchen. She should go in, clean up. It was a big job for Laura on her own, but if she stayed Laura would come back and find her and then she’d have to explain.
And there it was again, The Model Wife, controlling her. She couldn’t do anything unless the house was clean. Or could she? Natalie took a deep breath, turned away from the plates and cups still spread across the table, and the pans and more plates and mugs piled around the sink, dumped her dirty clothes in the laundry as she passed and let herself out the back door. She paused to give Bubbles a pat, glanced over her patch of gerberas. There were few flowers on them now; they didn’t like the cold. Before she could succumb to more backward glances she loaded her case and drove away feeling as if she was escaping, or more truthfully running away from home.
