Chapter Twenty-Four
Amber’s Saturday
After saying good-bye to Chrissie and Dee earlier, Amber hadn’t gone home straightaway. Instead she’d diverted to nearby Longfield’s Waitrose and picked up some shopping for the week ahead. She’d also bought some fillet steaks and peppercorn sauce. In her mind, Amber had been plotting: kitchen table laid for two; candle centrepiece lit and flickering ambient light; soft music playing in the background. She’d decided to pull out all the stops and cook Matthew something nice. She’d also trolleyed off to Wines and Spirits and purchased a bottle of her boyfriend’s favourite red.
When Amber arrived home and stepped into the hallway, she knew – as was always the case these days – that Matthew wasn’t in. Usually the empty house greeted her with calm silence, where even the dust motes lay sleeping and undisturbed. But this time the place felt different. It was enough to have her pausing. She stood stock still, shopping bags suspended from both arms, as an invisible antenna extended from her head. It shot up to the ceiling above her, and then grew a bit more until it was up under the eaves of the roof. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. Her ears sought out clues, straining and sifting through the stillness. She frowned. She was experiencing something like…an electrical current. Whatever it was, “it” was unseen by the eye. “It” was soundless to the ear. But nonetheless “it” was being felt. Was there somebody in the house after all? A burglar? Silently, she put down the shopping and slipped off her coat and shoes.
On red alert, she moved slowly and stealthily into the lounge. Nothing. She crept through to the kitchen. A frying pan and two cups were washed and upturned on the drainer. She paused. Two cups? Her eyes flitted around the room. The windows were shut. The back door locked. Her gaze returned to the two mugs. She didn’t remember drinking from either one. Amber decided that Matthew must have simply had two cups of tea, and taken a second clean cup instead of re-using the first. He was a man, and men did things like that. Despite no visible signs of disturbance downstairs, Amber remained uneasy. Quietly, she removed the frying pan from the drainer and crept back to the hallway.
She paused once again, cocking an ear towards the staircase and the landing above. The electrical current seemed more vibrant here. More…buzzy. By the time she’d crept up the staircase, the frying pan was extended like a shield. She’d belt anybody who suddenly stepped out of thin air demanding cash, bank cards or jewellery. This house was her sanctuary. Nobody invaded it!
The bathroom door was open and so was the window, albeit ajar. It was as if somebody had opened it to let out steam and dry the condensation that might have run off the walls. The only time that was ever called for was if a very deep, boiling hot bath had been run. In the old days, she and Matthew had shared such baths. The vapour had swirled like fog over their heads, sticking to the tiles, forming droplets of moisture like rain against a window pane. Had Matthew had a long soak earlier? The towels were hanging neatly over the rail. She touched them. They were damp. Both of them. Her brow knitted. Why had Matthew used her towel? Amber’s antenna was now swivelling left and right, left and right, assessing what she couldn’t yet put into proper words: two cups on the drainer but not left unwashed in the sink; two wet bath towels folded over the rail rather than dumped on the floor; the window considerately cracked open to let out condensation. Amber’s female intuition began to formulate a suspicion. Had another woman been in her house?
As soon as the thought plopped into her brain, she disregarded it. It was that blasted Madam Rosa’s fault! She’d upset them all with her nonsense about affairs and love triangles. Matthew wouldn’t dream of bringing someone here. For goodness sake, she didn’t even know for sure he had another woman! It was simply speculation from a stranger who happened to have a black cat called Merlin, and pretended to know the meaning of tarot cards while making an easy living hosting parties for gullible women like Chrissie, Dee and herself.
Amber tiptoed out of the bathroom. She moved towards the spare room where Matthew had currently taken up residence. Surprisingly, the bed was made and the curtains drawn. She moved slowly and carefully into the room, her nerves fraying slightly as a floorboard creaked. Her eyes fixed on the wardrobes. Both doors were firmly shut. If anybody was hiding in there, they’d need to leave the door on the crack so they could get out again. Carefully she lowered herself down to peer under the bed. Was somebody hiding underneath? Lifting the edge of the overhanging duvet, she came face to face with a pair of eyes that sent her blood pressure rocketing. Mr Tomkin blinked adoringly at her, as Amber waited for her heart rate to settle down.
There was only one room left to check. Her bedroom. Amber immediately felt a sadness, so changed that thought to their bedroom. Just because Matthew hadn’t slept with her for the last week didn’t mean it was now only Amber’s bedroom. She moved cautiously into the larger of the two rooms, and the invisible antenna went berserk. She could almost mentally visualise it, like a cartoon aerial flashing on-and-off in fire-engine-red as a robotic voice screeched, “Warning, warning, you’re doomed.”
Her eyes darted from left to right. The window was locked. Wardrobe doors closed. Bed made. Her eyes swept over the duvet. Amber was a neat and tidy person, but she hadn’t made her bed like this. The duvet was beautifully plumped, as if it had been lifted and shaken vigorously before floating back down over the double mattress. Likewise, the pillows. All four were perfectly banked, as if hands had beaten them into the sort of shape that befitted a bed shop’s showroom. Four colour co-ordinating decorative cushions had been placed with precision neatness in front of the pillows, but that wasn’t how Amber had left them. She always placed the plain ones to the rear and the two florals to the front. These were reversed. Somebody had remade her bed. Correction, their bed. Her brain conjured up a picture of Matthew crawling between the sheets after Amber had left the house earlier, because secretly he was missing her and starting to realise the past week’s ongoing silent row was simply pig-headedness on his part. Amber let her thoughts take her down the path of visualising Matthew wanting to lie where her own body had been, breathing in the faint flowery smell of Amber’s body moisturiser that always clung to the bedlinen. She could see Matthew inhaling deeply and murmuring, “Amber, babe, I love you, I miss you,” and then reaching out and pulling one of the decorative cushions towards him, stroking it like he used to stroke her hair. And then he would have felt rather foolish and leapt out of bed, taking extra care to pull it all back together again so that Amber wouldn’t have suspected he’d been between her sheets. She allowed herself a few more rose-tinted imaginings of Matthew arranging cushions, accidentally placing them the wrong way. However, the invisible antenna above her head wasn’t in agreement with this daydream.
Before she even knew what she was doing, one hand had reached out and yanked the duvet upwards sending the decorative cushions flying off the bed. Amber recoiled. Instead of the whiff of floral body lotion rising up in the air, the smell of recent sex shot up her nostrils. Amber gasped. The buzzer on the invisible antenna was now making one long endless sound. The frying pan slipped from her other hand and fell to the floor with a thud. Amber’s fingers flew up to her temples, almost viciously massaging them. Swooping like an avenging bird of prey, she lunged forward and tore the fitted sheet from the mattress.
Something small and sparkly flew through the air, but Amber didn’t notice. Her focus was on the sheet. Holding it at arm’s length, she moved to the window so the harsh daylight could assist with a thorough inspection. The sheet was covered in stains. Eww! The linen had been fresh on the bed after her recent upchucking episode, and had certainly seen no action from her and Matthew. And then her eyes snagged on something tiny and glittery at her feet. Suddenly Amber thought she might faint, and put out a hand to steady herself. An earring. She bent down and picked it up. It was a stud, with a pretty diamond centre. It looked like the real deal too. No cubic zirconia crap for the rich bitch who’d been rolling around in her chuffing sheets in her chuffing bed with her chuffing boyfriend. Amber felt the start of a howl rising up through her body. It was a mixture of abject misery and red-hot fury. Dear God. Her lying boyfriend had not only cheated on her, he’d brought the tart home. He’d given her one in their bed. That chuffing Madam Rosa had been right all along – the bloody bitch. Bloody witch. Bloody cow. Bloody oracle genius.
The howl bypassed Amber’s tonsils and erupted into the room making a sound like an unearthly being. She was aware of a terrified Mr Tomkin scooting across the landing and down the stairs. Tears were pouring down Amber’s cheeks, running off her chin and dripping onto the stained sheet. How dare Matthew do this to her? Not only had he brought his mistress into Amber’s house, he’d let the bitch use her bathtub, her towels, and drink from her mugs. The bastard. The whore. Well they could both rot in hell.
Amber dropped the sheet and, sucking in great chuggy breaths, leapt over the upside-down frying pan and pile of jumbled bed linen. She raced down the stairs. Finding her mobile phone, hands shaking like an alcoholic needing a drink, she sought out the number of a twenty-four-hour locksmith. Two minutes later she was agreeing to pay an extortionate price for a Saturday call-out.
Amber then dashed back upstairs, taking them two at a time in her hurry. She flung open the wardrobe doors in her bedroom – yes, her bedroom – and began divesting them of Matthew’s clothes. She didn’t bother packing anything, or even shoving garments into black sacks. That would have been too considerate an action for the devious scumbag. Instead, she grabbed armfuls of immaculate shirts and pristine suits before marching into the spare room. Clutching everything to her chest with one arm, she wrestled open the window with her free hand. Then, like a demented Postman Pat emptying a post box in reverse, Amber began shoving all Matthew’s gear through the open window. Despite looking like a madwoman, there was a part of Amber that was incredibly calm and knew exactly what she was doing. Once the suits and shirts were scattered across her front lawn, she started on Matthew’s shoes. Boots and trainers followed. Drawers full of socks and pants were emptied and flew through the air, like strange looking birds wearing Y-fronts. Amber deigned to stuff Matthew’s aftershave, toiletries, toothbrush and a pair of expensive cufflinks into a sports holdall, but then that too was flung from the bedroom window.
Old Mr Jefferies from two doors down strolled past with his ancient Springer Spaniel and stared up at the house in amazement. Amber paused and gave Mr Jefferies a manic smile.
‘Afternoon. Wonderful day for a clear out, eh!’
‘Are you all right, lass?’ the pensioner called.
‘Never better, Mr Jefferies,’ said Amber, as Matthew’s alarm clock landed in the flowerbed below. ‘I’m having a Spring clean.’
‘But it’s January, lass.’
‘In this house, Mr Jefferies,’ said Amber, as Matthew’s tennis racket joined everything else below, ‘Spring has come early.’
‘Oy!’ came a shout. ‘That nearly hit me.’
Amber leant out of the window and saw the locksmith had arrived. He was looking none too pleased at dodging objects.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she called. ‘I’ll be right with you.’
Mr Jefferies shook his head at the locksmith’s raised eyebrows. As Amber moved away from the window, she heard Mr Jefferies say, ‘I think she’s having some sort of breakdown.’
Amber’s feet pounded down the stairs. Shoving her discarded shopping to one side, she greeted a very apprehensive locksmith. She appreciated her tear-stained face and ravaged make-up wasn’t a pretty sight. Her body was still vibrating from the adrenalin-rush of chucking Matthew’s belongings from high above.
‘I’m not crazy,’ were her first words.
‘Course you’re not, love,’ said the locksmith, giving an uncertain laugh. His expression said it all. Lunatic. Humour her. Get the job done and clear off as fast as possible.
‘Please, come in,’ said Amber stepping to one side. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Are you making one for yourself then?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Amber, smiling beatifically. ‘I’m going to open several bottles of wine and get totally rat-arsed.’
‘Ah ha ha ha,’ chortled the locksmith uneasily, and set down his toolbox.
‘I’ll put the kettle on for you, and get a corkscrew for me. Meanwhile, I want the locks to both front and back doors changed super quick.’ Amber lunged forward causing the locksmith to shrink back against the wall. He let out a whimper of relief as Amber ignored him and instead stuck her head through the open doorway. She looked from left to right, scanning the surrounding footpaths. She didn’t want Matthew suddenly turning up. It would be the Law of Sod that he’d come home just when she didn’t want him to. That must not happen. Not yet anyway. The timing had to be right on her part.
Amber was aware she’d had a meltdown, but God only knew what Matthew’s reaction would be when he saw this lot strewn around the front garden. She looked heavenwards. An army of dark clouds were scurrying across a very bleak sky. A big fat blob of rain fell upon her upturned face. Then another one. Oh goodie. In a few minutes Matthew’s belongings were going to get absolutely soaked. Giggling manically, Amber clocked the locksmith giving her an anxious look. At that moment, her mobile phone let out a loud dinggggggg.
‘Do you take sugar?’ Amber asked the wary locksmith.
‘Nah, love. I’m sweet enough,’ he said, giving a strained laugh. Flipping heck. Wait until he got home and told the wife about this bonkers dolly. He’d been changing locks on houses for thirty years and thought he’d seen it all – until this afternoon. He watched Amber stalk off with her mobile phone, and heaved a sigh of relief. The sooner he was finished here, the better.
Amber marched into the kitchen feeling strangely elated. She was calmer now, although her hands still trembled as she filled the kettle. Her body shook with post-rage adrenalin, but she felt almost euphoric at taking charge of the blow her devious boyfriend had dealt her. Amber was a firm believer in revenge – and she’d not wasted a second in taking it. As of right now, Matthew was homeless and clothes-less. A small high-pitched laugh escaped her lips. He was going to go doo-bloody-lally.
Her mobile phone let out a second ding reminding her of the ignored message. Amber tapped on the screen. It was a WhatsApp message under the “Secs in the City” name Dee had set up. Amber’s eyes scanned the messages from her friends.
Girls. It’s true. Josh is having an affair.
So is Andrew.
Her fingers moved across the screen.
And then there were three.