It didn’t help that she didn’t have the time over the years to do these sorts of things. Not on top of running a household and raising three boys while holding down a full-time job. Frank was a wonderful husband, but he’d never been particularly progressive in terms of helping out with the house or the kids. That’s not to say that he sat on the couch and refused to lift a finger. No, he would read the bedtime stories to the boys, and he’d do the drying while she washed up after dinner. But the bulk of the housework was her responsibility. So it made sense to let him take care of the lawns and the cars and the handyman jobs.

But right now, Jill was wishing she’d been the one to do those sorts of jobs once in a while. At least then she’d know what she was doing with the bloody smoke alarm.

She reached up and attempted to push the screwdriver into the right spot and the chair wobbled beneath her. She probably should have gone and got the stepladder out of the garage rather than dragging a kitchen chair over, but she couldn’t be bothered with the extra effort.

‘Come on, you little bugger,’ she muttered.

The screwdriver finally seemed to fit into place and she started twisting it, unwinding the screw. She pushed a little too hard and her hand slipped, causing her to lose her balance and make the chair wobble harder. Her hands flew down to grab the back of the chair and steady herself. Once she had her balance again, she stepped down off the chair and threw the screwdriver across the room.

‘Fuck it!’ she yelled. ‘Fuck it all.’

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Sunday 6 December

Darren

He kept telling himself that if he at least opened the Word document, eventually something would happen. Inspiration would strike. He’d force himself to sit in front of his computer for hours at a time. Don’t get up, don’t walk away, don’t give up. But invariably his hand would stray to the mouse and next thing, fifteen tabs were open on his browser. Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Goodreads. Amazon Kindle Charts. Email — one Gmail account, one old Hotmail account. Online banking — may as well check his balance. VISA statement — better see when that’s due. Google Maps — maybe if he checked out Street View for the suburb this book was meant to be set in, he’d get some inspiration. Google search results: biggest waves ever surfed — it was sort of research, sort of not. One video led to another. Hours passed. And not a single word written.

Today had been no different. He’d been in front of his computer since 9 am and still the Word document remained blank. Every now and then he’d type out a sentence, but minutes later he’d be backspacing. Delete. Delete. Delete.