Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats Read Free

along the line to Leagrave, Harlington and Flitwick.
    The station was comparatively quiet at that time of night, save for a few nattily dressed teens with carefully structured quiffs, uber-tight jeans, and tweed jackets that made them look part pheasant beater, part chemistry teacher. It made her smile. When she and Tom were at university, he used to think he’d done well if he’d managed to put on a clean T-shirt; she had to remind him to brush his hair and couldn’t imagine him or any of his mates going to this level of effort for a Friday night on the town. You must be getting old, Grace.
    The single lamppost gave off a modest orange glow as she tried to locate her car keys. When it came to handbags, she fitted the female stereotype perfectly: the bigger the bag, the more junk she could fit in it. She sifted through bits of make-up and items of electronic wizardry that made her accessible no matter how remote she was from the office. Her fingers fumbled over wet wipes, and books and toys on hand to amuse Chloe at a moment’s notice; chewing gum, notebooks, several pens and a box of cornflour. She had no idea how that had got in there, but could probably at a push name her prime suspect.
    Finally she found the keys, running her finger over Chloe’s photograph, which had been made into a key ring. It was a cheesy gift that her mum and dad had bought as a souvenir of their day at the seaside. Tasteless, yes, yet that two-inch square gave Grace pleasure on a daily basis. She thought again of Chloe, who had been to pre-school that morning, which probably meant another masterpiece for the kitchen wall. They would soon have to find another ‘gallery’ as the kitchen was already groaning under the weight of macaroni glued onto card, paper chains, coloured-in handprints, and bells and stars made of painted salt dough. Her art portfolio was growing weekly. Chloe, darling, sweet, chubby Chloe…
    Grace approached the car and pressed the button. Popping the hatch, she threw her briefcase into the boot and slammed it shut. It was bloody cold. The large 4x4, with its leather seats and softly glowing interior light, looked invitingly warm and comfortable. She considered what music to listen to on the journey home, deciding on Ryan Adams, with whom she would duet.
    It was a twenty-minute drive via a series of high-hedged lanes to Nettlecombe, where her family would be waiting. Despite losing herself in the lilting lyrics of ‘Gimme Something Good’, her mind whirred through her never-ending to-do list. It was this virtual catalogue that routinely kept her awake into the early hours, caused her to lose her thread of thought when in conversation, and was responsible for the random shouting of words as she remembered something urgent that she’d forgotten. Must get milk out of freezer as we’re running low. Shit, I didn’t return Ruthie’s call. Her school friend had left her two messages asking about lunch. What can I get Mum for her birthday? I could organise a bouquet, but that feels a little like I haven’t bothered to put any thought in. I’ll ask Alice if she’s got any ideas. Must get Jayney to send the proofs off to Nell, if we’re going to make the lead-time. Did I reply to Angharad about the final cost? Need to check that. Wonder if Tom has packed Chloe’s bag for Monday. What will she need? Not much, I suppose. I’ll have to check. God, I’m tired.
    Grace dipped the headlights and pulled up to the house in darkness. Their solid, red-brick, Edwardian home sat in the centre of the circular driveway, a later addition that allowed cars to turn and park. The evening had become still. No breeze ruffled the wintry shrubs, but the air was crisp. A large moon lit up the back of the house, their brick oasis, their haven, a place of peace and belonging. Their lovely home.
    A light shone over the garden, casting a honey-coloured glow. It came from the kitchen, in the extension to the right of the property. Grace sat taking