She felt sick. Physically and mentally. She didn’t know how she’d got here, nor did she care. She wanted out of it. She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, and looked at the screen. The hospital again. She looked back at the bowl, still sitting in the place she’d left it, quietly waiting to see what food it would be paired with today. She was sure she’d never admired a piece of ceramic in quite this way before, but the fact of the matter was bowls just got on with it. They didn’t worry about thoughts and feelings. They were never betrayed — other than in favour of another bowl, but she very much doubted that ever worried them.

She jumped at the loud click and rumble of Mark sliding open the patio doors. ‘Morning. Or afternoon, should I say. How’d it all go?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘No luck?’

‘To say the least.’

‘Wasn’t it him?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Has he been released then?’

‘Yes. I think so. Look, do we have to talk about this now?’

Mark looked wounded. ‘No. I guess not. I just wanted to check you’re okay, that’s all.’

‘I’m fine. I just want five minutes’ peace. Is that too much to ask?’

Mark raised his hands in mock surrender and headed out into the garden. In that moment, Caroline felt closer than she ever had to crumbling completely.

44

The rest of the day had passed in a blur. Once mid-afternoon came around, Caroline had innocently suggested they fire up the barbecue and share a bottle of wine. The sharing aspect hadn’t quite worked, and she’d drunk most of it herself. That had, naturally, led on to cider and beer, before spirits in the evening. Mark had mostly abstained, choosing instead to quietly berate her for drinking too much. But she really didn’t care. She’d enjoyed the calm sense of relief the alcohol gave her. The next morning, though, her head was feeling something very different indeed.

She was woken by the sound of jangling keys. It was a sound she recognised, but not one she’d expected to be woken by. She rolled over and opened one eye, watching as Mark took the keys from the bedroom dresser and put them in his jacket pocket.

‘Mark? What’s going on?’

‘It’s alright. Go back to sleep. I left you a note downstairs.’

‘A note? What for? What’s going on?’

Mark sighed. ‘I’m taking the boys to see Mum.’

‘What? Without me?’

‘She hasn’t seen them in ages,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘It’ll do us all some good.’

‘Mark, what are you saying? Are you planning on staying there?’