The Missing Husband

‘Probably,’ she said. ‘I’m in a weird mood, that’s all.’

‘It’ll be your hormones. When my sister was pregnant she blamed everything on them.’

‘So what was my excuse before I got pregnant?’ Jo asked but didn’t dare wait for an answer. ‘Now, have you drafted the Simon Harrison letter yet?’

‘Sorry, I’ve been digging out personnel files for Gary’s meeting this afternoon.’

It was Jo’s turn to follow Kelly’s gaze towards the open plan office where Gary was peering over his PA’s shoulder as she typed away furiously. He looked up and caught them watching him. When Jo scowled he lifted up his hands by way of an apology. As Head of HR, Gary was her immediate boss but he wasn’t beyond reproach for commandeering her assistant’s valuable time.

‘He’s known about that meeting for three weeks and he still leaves everything until the last minute,’ Jo said, still glaring at him. He winked; she smiled. All was forgiven. Gary might be disorganized but he was good at his job and with twenty years’ experience on her, he was a great mentor who would be the first to admit he could learn a thing or two from her organisational skills.

‘At least it’s Jeanette’s turn to be harassed now, so I can get on with the letter. I’ll have it finished by the time you’ve finished your lunch.’ Kelly raised an eyebrow, daring Jo to recognize the veiled threat.

‘Thanks, Kelly.’

Left to her own devices, Jo made a start on her sandwich but the bread lodged in her dry throat. She told herself she was being ridiculous. Someone had to be the bigger person; David had tried to make the first move so why couldn’t she?

‘You are such a child, Joanne Taylor,’ she told herself. ‘Stop sulking.’

She picked up her phone and dialled but the call was immediately put through to voicemail. Jo hung up, not sure what she should say. She couldn’t stop thinking about her husband’s mysterious plans and was desperate to know what they were. Her obstinacy was showing again but this time it was working in David’s favour – she wasn’t going to give up that easily. She had started to compose a text message when her mobile burst into life.

‘David?’

‘No, it’s Lauren,’ came a cheerful, almost lyrical voice.

Lauren was Jo’s favourite and only niece and, at fifteen years old, it was unlikely to be a social call. ‘What are you after?’ Jo demanded.

‘Who says I’m after anything?’

‘What are you after, Lauren?’

Lauren sighed heavily and Jo imagined her raising her eyes to the heavens. ‘I’ve been picked for the Christmas pantomime.’

‘And?’

‘I need to design and make my own costume.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Jo said dismissively.

‘Jo …’

‘What?’ Jo asked, tapping her keyboard loudly to let Lauren know she was busy and in no mood for playing games.

‘I was hoping my most favourite, most talented aunt in all the world would help me. Mum’s hopeless at that sort of thing,’ whined Lauren as the child within let herself be known. ‘Please, Jojo.’

‘I presume by help you mean that I do everything and you take the credit?’

‘Thank yoooooo!’ Lauren squealed.

Jo was laughing too much to point out she hadn’t agreed to help yet but they both knew she would. Lauren was right: Steph would be hopeless.

With the arrangements made and the call ended, Jo sat staring at her mobile. There was another matter that took precedence over any school production. She was going to take her time composing a text message to David and she was going to make every word count.

The message had been exceptionally long in its early drafts but by the time Jo was ready to press send, it was direct and to the point.

Sorry, hope you didn’t get too wet.

Will pick you up from Lime St if you want.

What plans?!!?

J x

Her finger hovered over the send button as she recalled lying in bed that morning listening to him leave. They were at loggerheads with each other but Jo had never lost sight of the one thing that still held true. She inserted a new line.

I do love you.

Rather than wait for an immediate response, which was unlikely given that David would be engrossed in his seminar again, Jo slipped her phone out of sight in her handbag. Even without knowing his reaction, the act of sending the text message alone gave Jo a sense of release and the impetus to focus fully on her work for the first time that day.

‘Ready to sign these?’ Kelly asked. She slipped into the office while Jo was poring over the draft minutes of a meeting she had attended the week before, and when Jo looked up, she was surprised to discover the office awash in artificial lighting. Outside, sullen clouds had drawn a steel grey curtain across the sky, bringing a premature end to the day.

‘What time is it?’

Handing over a folder, Kelly said, ‘It’s gone five. I was planning on leaving soon if that’s OK?’

‘Yes, of course. I should be going too,’ Jo said, opening the folder and skimming through the letter Kelly had prepared for Simon Harrison. She had already seen the draft and made a few corrections and the version in front of her was almost perfect except that there was a comma where there should have been a full stop. She glared at the offending punctuation mark and willed herself to let it go. She needed to leave soon so she would have time to call in at the supermarket on her way home to pick up ingredients for the special supper she was planning for David.

‘What have I missed?’ Kelly asked, picking up on Jo’s inner turmoil.

‘Full stop,’ Jo said regretfully, pointing out the error.

‘I’ll be two minutes.’

Jo pulled the folder out of Kelly’s reach. ‘Oh, no, I’m the one being picky. I’ll pull the file up and amend it myself. You go.’

Kelly feigned an objection but didn’t put up much of a fight. She had her coat on and was waving goodbye by the time Jo had sent the amended letter to the printer. It was a two-minute job and in no time at all Jo was pulling on her own coat. Only when all her work had been dispensed with for the day did she allow herself to check her phone. Her heart fluttered a little when she saw the message alert.

No need for a lift. Will make my own way.

Phone about to die so switching off.

D x

It was impossible to gauge from his pithy reply if his refusal to accept a lift was due to his own stubbornness – he could be guilty of that too – or because he was trying to make amends. She would also have felt better if he had said he loved her too but all of that didn’t matter: they were reaching a turning point; she could feel it.

3 (#u8eb7d500-1860-53ed-9e77-063a6ba9f7cf)

The normally harsh street lighting along Beaumont Avenue had been muted by an undulating mist that was hopefully the last damp remnant of the day’s storm. The headlights of Jo’s car picked up a golden river of sodden autumn leaves that flowed along the tree-lined avenue, leaving no distinction between grass verge and pavement as she pulled into the drive.