Highly Commended - Short Story Competition 2012

"One Step at a Time" by David Wass

 
Jenny opened the front door to Peter. He fixed her with his dark brown eyes. She frowned. Her estranged husband seemed different this morning.

It wasn't only that he'd normally trudge away to wait for the twins. Or that he'd put on weight. She was the one that had lost it, down from a tight fourteen to an easy twelve. No, there was an air about him, a new confidence. And something was missing. Yes, of course. The smell.

She was reminded of how he was in their early years, when it was love on a shoestring, scrimping and saving for the deposit on a house, making plans for the future.

Then, they weren't aware of how life could get in the way of long-term plans. Then, each day was full of love and laughter...

'Oh, come on, Jen,' he'd say, sitting up in bed and grinning down at her in the dawn's half-light. 'You know you're desperate for a holiday.'

She'd turn her back on him to hide the smile on her face. 'Don't you dare use me as an excuse to blow a hole in our savings.'

It's not an excuse. It's a fact that everyone needs a break now and then. Even when they're madly in love.'

She'd face him again. 'Oh yes? And how do I know you're madly in love?'

'Come here and I'll show you.'

Getting up late meant they'd have to rush; she to the bakery, he to the garage. And later that day she'd agree with him about the holiday, so they'd arrange time off to go find some sun, sea and sangria.

Never mind that their baby fund was building up at nowhere near the planned rate. They were happy living a carefree life.

Until her announcement reshaped their future.

'Twins? But how ... I mean, when ... ' Peter hadn't seemed to know whether to laugh or cry.

'Spain: she'd said, because he either couldn't or didn't want to work it out. 'The night we found that deserted cove. You said why not take a chance for once. Remember?'

He'd paced the lounge, hands fluttering. 'No ... Yes ... It's just that I didn't expect ... Oh, Jen ... '

Then had come the hug, the loving words, his expectation that she could cast aside her doubts, forget his reaction as if it had never occurred.

Along came maternity leave, closely followed by the arrival of Amy and Luke. And, not long after, a tactfully written letter from the bakery spelling out the detailS of her redundancy package.

Peter had sounded far more confident than she'd felt. 'Not to worry, love. There's plenty of overtime at the garage.'
 
After that she'd hardly seen him. Time switched to fast forward. The twins grew into a handful and they were back to love on a shoestring. Only this time it was stretched very, very tight.

'Stop it, Amy! No, Luke! You wait till your father gets home.'

Of course, by the time he did get home they were fast asleep in their beds. As she usually was.

Soon the twins became more than a handful, and Peter was still never around when she needed him. They were nearly four when the string finally snapped.

It was late evening, one of those rare occasions when they'd had some time together. She could see two haggard faces in the bedroom mirror; tired eyes, features drawn. Nothing like her vague memory of bronzed lovebirds on golden sands.

'What's this?' She was holding up a half empty bottle of vodka.

'It was left over from the dinner party.'

'But why in the wardrobe?'

He'd shrugged away the question.

A few weeks afterwards she'd found another part-used bottle. Only this time it was wet from the water in the cistern.

'Get off my back!' he'd snapped. 'It's my business, not yours.'

She'd looked up at him in despair, suddenly aware that seven years of marriage could be flushed away as easily as the contents of a bottle.

But not that it would lead to a Saturday morning ritual. where he always rang the bell and moved away in case she smelt his breath.
 
'Amy! Luke!' she'd call upstairs. 'Your father's here.'

Her shout was part of the ritual. As was the yell of, 'Race you to the gate!' and the five year olds dashing past them, laughing and screaming, unaware of the tension arcing between their parents.

The children never knew where they were going. It might be to visit the seaside, or the zoo, or something else he'd thought up.

The last time it had been a trip to the pictures. Peter had watched them sprint down the path to the gate, while behind him Jenny had once again debated whether to say something other than the usual, 'Have them back by seven,' or, 'Make sure they're kept warm.' But conversations had died when he'd moved out of the house.

Yet things were definitely different this morning, so without losing eye contact Jenny dared to start a conversation.

'Where are you taking them?' she asked, slowing her breathing to ease the thudding in her chest.

There's a new film. One with dinosaurs.'

'Oh, right. They'll like that.'

'They might,' he said, the smile as captivating as ever. 'I'm not sure I will. It could be terrifying.'

'You don't look as if you could be terrified of anything,' she said. 'You look sort of .. .'

Jenny left it there, not sure of how to describe the change she'd sensed in him.
 
Broad shoulders lifted and fell. 'Well, I thought I ought to ... I mean, I've joined a group.'

'A group?' Jenny cheered inside. He'd done something positive. A tingle of excitement raced up and down her spine.

He nodded. 'You stand up in front of people who are in the same boat and talk about things. Problems. We help each other.'

'Really? And have you ... You know.'

'Not a drop. It's been a while now.'

'That's good.'

She ran a tongue over dry lips, wondered whether to invite him to stay for dinner when he returned with the twins. No, it was early days yet. One step at a time.

'Right, then. See you at seven.'

'Seven it is,' he said, then broke the moment by swivelling away.

Jenny stayed on the doorstep while he rounded up the twins. And, as she watched the three of them leave hand-in-hand, she felt a warm glow of optimism slowly push its way into her welcoming heart.