Read Online Looking for Trouble by Cath Staincliffe - Free Book Online Page A

large semi-detached houses, each a different design. The car pulled into a driveway. I sped past, stopping at the next junction to mark the spot on my A – Z. Then I worked out my route home.
    It was after three when I got home. The birds were clamouring away. I longed for a hot bath, but didn’t dare wake the household. I made a cup of tea, took two Paracetamol and got ready for bed. I sat up in bed sipping the tea and staring into the middle distance. Shattered.
     
    As I clicked off the light and slid under the duvet, an unmistakable wail from Maddie made my stomach lurch with anxiety and my heart seethe with resentment. I marched into her room.
    She sat in her bed, face creased with tears.
    ‘C’mon Maddie.’ I gathered her up and took her to my room.
    ‘In your bed?’ Her eyes were wide with surprise. I’d broken all the rules about nightmares and what we do. I simply couldn’t face another half-hour getting her back to sleep in her own room.
    ‘Yes. Now lie down, be still, don’t kick and no talking. Straight to sleep.’ I snapped off the light.
    ‘Mummy.’
    ‘Sleep.’ I admonished.
    ‘Yes. I like your bed.’
    ‘Good. Now sleep.’
    We did.

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    Maddie woke me with a swift elbow jab to the nose. I shouted at her. She burst into tears. I apologised, explaining how much it hurt. I wished it would bleed, to prove my point. I took her downstairs and left her with Ray and Tom.
    ‘You look awful,’ said Ray. ‘Any luck?’
    ‘Yes and no. I’ll tell you later.’
    I snuggled back under the duvet and shut my eyes tight. Sleep wouldn’t come. I ran a hot bath, added scented oil and climbed in. Put a facecloth over my eyes. When the water cooled down, I topped it up. When the wrinkles on my fingers and toes began to look revolting, I climbed out.
    At least I was clean. I had that spacey, see-through feeling that comes from too little sleep. Vulnerable. A cross word and I’d weep like a child.
    I ate a huge breakfast. Digger lay in the hall, a spot he’d claimed as his own. He deserved a walk. I called him and he sprang to attention. Tail wagging, ears pricked up. I took him into the front garden first. If he was going to shit, I wanted it to happen in private, behind the tall privet hedges. The kids never played in the front. Was this how other dog owners managed? For years, I’d railed against dog dirt in the streets, the park, the playground. Now I had a dog. Thankfully, he did his business to order. I waited, squirming with embarrassment in case the next door neighbours were peering down at us. I recoiled at having to gather up the results and traipse down to the cellar toilet. Give me slug traps any day.
    It was a warm, still day. Picture book clouds hung isolated in the blue sky. The scent of wallflowers and cut grass mingled as we walked the half mile to the park. I’d found an old tennis ball that Digger liked to fetch. I watched him run. He was a stereotype dog. Pointed nose and ears, brown fur, long tail. Having rescued the dog, I was now ashamed at my lack of affection for him. Was it something that grew with time, as happens with babies sometimes?
    Ray had often talked of getting a dog. I’d always opposed him. All that responsibility, all that shit. It was Ray who sorted out dog food and bowls, leads and worming tablets in the first day or so while I still reeled around in shock.
    Digger had quietly recognised Ray as his new master. Sitting in the cellar while Ray worked at his carpentry, emerging at his heels with a frosting of sawdust on his fur. The kids were all over him and he was tolerant of their prodding and patting, slinking away when he’d had enough.
    The phone was ringing as we arrived back.
    ‘Is Clive there?’
    ‘No, he’s not. We were expecting him back last Thursday actually, but...’
    The young man on the other end sighed. ‘Look, can you tell him Pete rang? Tell him the cheque bounced, will you? You don’t know where he is, do you?’
    ‘No,