The Artist In Penmarris Cove (Completed)

The Artist in Penmarris Cove

By

Rebecca Alderson

A Penmarris Cove Story

Chapter 1 : Not Exactly the Welcome I ExpectedI arrived home tired, irritable, and in desperate need of a drink, even though I’ve never really been able to hold my alcohol. I parked the car on the drive next to Mark’s and walked up the gravel path to the front door, my heels crunching with every step.

It was good to be home.

Or at least, it should have been.

The journey had been the usual horrendous stop-start crawl on the M25. I’d been doing that commute for seven years now and, despite all the road widening schemes, nothing had improved. Eight-plus hours in an office for a company that didn’t really care about me or any of my co-workers left me jaded at the end of every day, and the commute just added to the joy that was now my life.

You would have thought that since my father-in-law owned the company I might get treated with a little more respect, but dear Daddy-in-law wasn’t the type to play favourites. He also wasn’t what anyone would describe as warm or affectionate.

As I opened the front door, all I wanted was a hug, a kiss, and a cheery smile from my husband. Then I planned to go upstairs and change into something a lot more feminine than the boring grey skirt suit I had to wear at the office.

Mark and I used to be close — as close as any loving couple could be. We had great times, both in and out of bed, and we had a big network of friends who shared our fun lifestyle. But all that had gradually ended about a year ago.

Mark started to go cold on me after we found out I couldn’t have children. We stopped going out as much, and he slowly withdrew into himself, always saying he didn’t have time or some other excuse that sounded lame even to him. We hadn’t had sex in ten months, and we were drifting further apart every day. I didn’t know what to do about it. I still loved my husband and would have done almost anything to turn our lives around. I had tried to talk to him about it, but he always refused, just saying things would get better soon.

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I had actually finished work a bit early today because I had some things to prepare at home for a meeting in London tomorrow morning. Our company loved meetings. Nothing was ever really decided at them, but everyone exchanged business cards and pretended important things were happening. Some of my colleagues loved them — networking, they called it. I found most of them boring.

Mark, however, loved meetings. He went to far more of them than I did, often in far-off places, sometimes even abroad. Occasionally, I wondered if they were just an excuse to stay away.

I closed the front door behind me and called out, ‘Hello?’

Silence.

Maybe he was upstairs.

I went up the carpeted stairs and checked the bathroom. Empty. I was just about to call out again when I heard laughter coming from the spare bedroom.

Smiling to myself, I walked quietly down the hallway, thinking I might surprise him. I reached the door and opened it.

The smile disappeared instantly.

Mark was on the bed, completely naked, with a woman underneath him. They hadn’t heard me come in. They were far too busy.

For a moment I couldn’t see the woman’s face — she was slim, with blonde hair — and then she turned slightly and I felt the world drop away beneath me.

It was my sister Olivia.

I tried to scream but nothing came out. I just stood there, frozen, staring at them while they carried on, completely unaware that I was only a few feet away.

In hindsight, I suppose I could have stormed in, shouted, thrown things, slapped them — something dramatic. But I didn’t. I just felt numb. Empty. Like someone had switched me off.

After a few seconds, I quietly closed the door.

I went into our bedroom, took two suitcases from the wardrobe, and started packing clothes, shoes, and anything else I thought I might need. I took some personal items from the safe, zipped the cases, and left the room, walking past the spare bedroom again. I could still hear laughter and moaning. They were completely oblivious.

Tears burned in my eyes as I went quietly downstairs.

I tried not to picture my husband in bed with my sister. I didn’t want to think about how long it had been going on. I picked up my wallet, phone, and car keys from the kitchen table, walked out of the house, and closed the door behind me for what I knew would be the last time.

As I drove away, I glanced at the house in the rear-view mirror. Tears blurred my vision. I loved my husband, but he clearly didn’t love me anymore. I had always thought I was close to my sister, and her betrayal hurt almost as much as his.

Life, as far as I was concerned at that moment, stank.

I drove for about an hour before pulling into a Little Chef near a roundabout. I sat at a table and ordered coffee and a toasted teacake. I wasn’t hungry, but I thought maybe if I ate something, the sick feeling in my stomach might go away.

My phone rang. Mark.

I answered. ‘Hello?’

‘Samantha, where are you?’

I didn’t want to confront him yet. I needed time to think. It took all my strength to make my voice sound normal.

‘On my way to a meeting. I’m going to be away for a few days.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

And you didn’t tell me you were sleeping with my sister.

‘I left a message on the answer machine,’ I lied.

‘You know that’s playing up. When will you be home?’

‘I’m not sure yet. It’s a big deal and I’m needed to smooth things over.’

‘Oh. Dad never said anything… When will you let me know?’

‘Let you know what?’

‘When you’re coming home.’

Does it matter? You’ve got Olivia now.

‘I’ll let you know when I know,’ I said.

‘It’s funny,’ he continued, ‘I thought I heard your car earlier, but when I looked out the window there was nothing there.’

‘Look, I’ve got to go now. I’ll contact you when I can.’

‘Sam… are you all right? You sound a bit funny.’

Not half as funny as you sounded earlier.

‘I’m fine. Just tired. I have to go. Bye.’

‘Okay. Drive safely. Bye.’

As if you care.

I switched my phone off, not wanting any more calls, and forced myself to eat the teacake.

After I finished, I sat in the car for a long time. Eventually the shock began to wear off and the reality of what had happened hit me like a wave. I tried to hold it together, but I couldn’t anymore. I burst into tears — huge, uncontrollable sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside me.

I cried for my husband. I cried for my sister. I cried for the future I thought I was going to have.

When the tears finally stopped, I felt empty and exhausted. My marriage was over, my family felt broken, and I was stuck in a job I hated.

I couldn’t just sit in a car park for the rest of my life. I had to do something.

‘Come on, Samantha,’ I said out loud. ‘Pull yourself together.’

First things first — I needed to get as far away as possible.

I didn’t have a satnav, just an old road atlas. I opened it to the page showing the whole of the UK, closed my eyes, and jabbed my finger down onto the map.

When I opened my eyes, I laughed for the first time that day.

My finger was in the middle of the North Sea.

I tried again and looked down.

South Devon. Near the Cornish border. A small place called Penmarris Cove. It looked like a tiny fishing village.

‘That’ll do,’ I said, starting the car and following the signs that pointed west.