Read Online Life Begins by Amanda Brookfield - Free Book Online

always did when agitated.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘You’ve dropped him off, then?’
    ‘Yes, just now. I’m in a hurry I – I’m going to Theresa’s.’
    ‘Fine. See you Sunday, then.’
    They were standing several feet apart, Martin at one end of his car and Charlotte taking small steps backwards towards hers. His hair, youthfully fair still, was visibly thinning and in retreat from his forehead, yet physically he looked in better shape than he had for years, his suit trousers hanging loosely off his hips, his upper body exuding poise and strength that seemed new.
    ‘It might be a bit earlier than usual – I hope that’s okay. Say, four o’clock?’ he added.
    Charlotte bit her lip, weighing up the easy option of agreeing against a small inner shout of protest at being taken for granted. She was visiting her mother on Sunday. The early drop-back would mean rushing home from Kent, having to make sure there was something sensible for Sam’s tea. ‘May I ask why?’
    She saw him tense, a visible bracing of his entire body, as if he was preparing to maintain his balance against the approach of a large wave or a violent gust of wind. ‘Cindy and I have joined a choir. The rehearsal time is five o’clock on Sunday. I need to drop Sam and get back here so as not to be late.’
    Charlotte couldn’t stifle a snort of disbelief. ‘You – a choir ?’
    ‘Just tell me if that’s okay,’ Martin muttered, hugging his briefcase, almost bashful, as if he, too, somewhere deep inside, recognized the incongruity of the old Martin whom she had known so well – obstinate lover of punk rock and Led Zeppelin – offering the services of his scratchy bass to the classical formality of a choir. ‘Can I deliver Sam back at four o’clock on Sunday or not?’ He clenched his jaw, casting a wistful glance at the illuminated window from where Cindy had offered a stagy wave to acknowledge his arrival, then disappeared.
    ‘Yes , yes, I suppose so,’ Charlotte conceded, incredulity giving way to weariness. ‘Four o’clock. I’ll be there. I’m having lunch with Mum that day – probably be glad of an excuse to get away,’ she admitted ruefully.
    ‘I see… Well, thanks.’
    ‘But I do need to talk to you,’ she called, as he turned for the house, the worries about Sam rushing back at her, together with a dim terror at the prospect of daring to ask to borrow money.
    Martin set down his briefcase on the doorstep and folded his arms. ‘I thought you were in a hurry.’ Cindy, studiously not looking out of the window, had stepped back into the frame of the kitchen. Next to her Charlotte could just make out the dishevelled top of Sam’s head and then one of her son’s stubby chewed-nail hands, stained with some felt-pen doodle, pointing at something.
    ‘I am. I meant tomorrow – on the phone. It’s to do with Sam.’
    ‘Well, I assumed that. Why can’t you tell me now, for heaven’s sake?’ A fine rain had started, more like a floating mist, its droplets glittering as they caught the sheets of light streaming from the house. Martin stepped back under the protection of his porch.
    Charlotte put her handbag over her head and ducked towards her car. ‘Not now, there isn’t time.’
    ‘Charlotte.’ The syllables flew through the wet air like missiles, sharp and angry. ‘If it’s important tell me now, for fuck’s sake.’
    Charlotte flinched, remembering all the bad stuff – suspicion, hostility, the desire to be free. ‘Tomorrow, Martin. I’ll call you.’
    A moment later Martin appeared on the illuminated stage of the kitchen, an arm round Cindy’s smooth white shoulders, a hand ruffling the soft straw tangle of Sam’s head. Man, woman and child: the perfect human triangle. But not perfect, Charlotte hastily reminded herself, turning the ignition once and then a second time to get the engine going, because Sam wasn’t their child, Cindy looked drained and Martin would tire of her one day – if he hadn’t