Finding Grace
K.L. Slater
One
Lucie
Sunday afternoon
I stir from my nap, feeling something soft on my cheek. When I open my eyes, my husband Blake is crouching down at my side, his fingertip gently tracing down my face.
‘I made you some tea,’ he says. ‘You seemed restless, were you dreaming?’
I shake my head. Try to push away the memories that managed to steal up on me while I slept, but then panic seizes me.
‘What time is it? Grace…’ Still feeling a bit groggy from sleep, I struggle to sit up.
Our daughter has been on a trip to Alton Towers with her best friend Olivia and her parents, Bev and Mike, as a birthday treat for her turning nine years old yesterday.
‘Relax! Oscar’s at your dad’s, but Mike just called and that’s why I’ve woken you. They’re back now from Alton Towers and he says Grace will be setting off to walk home in two or three minutes, so I’m just going outside to watch for her.’
We live on the same street as Bev and Mike, but it’s a long road and our houses are separated by a steep bend. Grace’s constant mithering finally paid off at her birthday party, when I caved in and agreed she could walk home unaccompanied. Unbeknown to her, Mike and Blake will be watching her every move.
‘How long have I been asleep?’ I bend my arm up in front of me and squint at my watch. ‘Two hours!’
I definitely feel a bit off through sleeping so deeply and for too long. I shuffle around until I’m comfy and pick up the hot drink.
‘You must’ve needed it. Mike said they left the park early in the end as it was dropping cold.’ Blake stands up and heads for the hallway. ‘Right. I’m going out to hide behind the hedge to monitor her. God help us if she sees me watching. She’s “nine years old now”, you know.’
I grin at his impression. It’s been Grace’s favourite phrase since her birthday; she’s making full use of her new status while several of her friends at school are still eight. I take a sip of my tea. It’s hot and sweet and I feel instantly better.
It’s been a difficult week for one reason or another and I’m ready to put it behind me.
I set my favourite Ed Sheeran playlist going on Spotify, put my cup down and relax back into the cushions.
It’s the last few quiet minutes before Grace will rush in like a tornado. I’ll hear everything about the day in that wonderfully vivid way she recounts things she’s loved doing, so I’ll feel almost like I’ve been there with her.
I’ve been unsettled since the upset this morning in our local café with Mrs Charterhouse. It feels like anxiety is always just a heartbeat away from pouncing, and once it gets a hold, it’s hard to shake off.
But what Barbara Charterhouse said and did can only keep its power if I continue to analyse her words and constantly turn them over in my mind. She was completely out of order, there’s no doubt about that.
But she obviously just saw red and is probably already ruing her spiteful words and actions.
I can’t wait to cuddle Grace and feel everything in my world is right again.
I decide to quickly pop to the bathroom, so I can give my daughter my full attention when she bounces through the door telling me all about her day out.
I turn up the music a little so I can still hear it and haul myself up from the couch, singing along to one of my favourite tracks. I jog upstairs for the extra exercise, thinking how much better I feel now, after my sleep.
I’m so lucky to be back here in my lovely home after this morning’s upset. And when Blake picks baby Oscar up from Dad’s, I’ll be ready to spend an evening with the people I love the most in the world. I feel resolved not to let that bitter Charterhouse woman spoil it.
I wash my hands, apply a little Molton Brown hand cream and take a moment to enjoy its luxurious creamy feel on my skin. I splashed out on it on a recent shopping trip, reasoning that it’s the little things that give the most joy. That’s what I told Blake, anyway, and he doesn’t have to know how much it cost.
I inspect my skin in the small mirror over the sink, twisting my mouth to one side and then the other. I can’t spot any new spots or wrinkles.
I know I’m lucky. Blake never forgets to tell me he loves me before leaving for work each day, and I always feel so grateful for that. My only problem continues to be truly accepting that someone could genuinely care for me, but I’m working on it.
It’s been a long road, but I do believe I’ll get there.
Blake has been outside for a little while now, so I’m expecting to hear Grace thundering in any moment, bursting with excitement and stories of terrifying rides.
I hear the song begin to fade out, but just as I’m about to leave the bathroom, I spot an errant eyebrow hair sticking out at the wrong angle. In the short pause before the next track starts, I open the cupboard and reach for my tweezers.
And that’s when I hear it.
‘Lucie!’ Blake sounds startled, his tone containing rising panic. ‘Lucie, come quick!’
I drop the tweezers in the sink and dash to the bathroom door, dread nipping at my throat.
I think I hear him shout again.
‘Coming!’ I bound downstairs and rush to the front door.
My husband is standing at the open gate, one hand supporting him on the post. He looks odd, like he’s winded.