LEAVING GEORGE

Diane M Dickson

Published by

The Book Folks

London, 2015

© Diane M Dickson

A polite note to the reader

This novel is written in British English hence some spellings and linguistic conventions may differ from North American usage. We hope you enjoy the book!

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 1

She’d done it – she’d left him.

She would miss the cat.

The front door slammed as Pauline stepped into the bright day full of sunshine and hope. Her face lifted in a smile. She hardly dared to believe that at last it might all be behind her; the lies, the fear and the fraudulent image that life had become.

As she took the first steps her insides bubbled with a breathless excitement. The thrill was tenuous though; a traitorous worry squirmed beneath the pleasure. She tried to ignore it but the sliver of fear had her glancing at her watch. Even as her feet covered the ground her brain played and re-played the plan and the timings, the what-ifs and maybes.

The little pink phone had blinked from the hall stand as she’d passed. There had been a moment’s hesitation but she could take no risk that he might trace her. She had read that the police, if he went to them, could find the location of a mobile if it was switched on and so she had left it behind.

Perhaps it had been him calling? He had received no answer. What would he do? Maybe she should have answered?

It could have been him and now she had missed the chance to reassure him that all was as normal.

Should she go back?

Perhaps she should go back, call him. She could pretend to be checking the time he was due home.

But a deeper part of herself knew it was too late to go back now.

She mustn’t go back, must never go back. She paused, took a steadying breath. It was essential to remain calm, to be strong.

Her beautiful garden glowed in the late morning heat and she filled her eyes with a last lingering look and tucked the memory away. Haze was already rising from the road surface and so she squeezed her jacket into the top of the bag, she dragged off her knitted hat and pushed a hand through her short brown hair. She had a long walk ahead and although she knew the timings from driving the route; the estimate she had made for the journey on foot was little more a calculated guess. Then her gaze was pulled to the car port and she frowned sadly at the little blue Peugeot snoozing in the shade. It would be so much easier to slide into the plastic scented heat and drive away in comfort.

Yet like the phone, taking the car would only increase the chances that George might find her and so it must be forfeit.

This plan had been forming for years, ever since the first blows, the early bruises. It had begun as a wish, grown into hope and now it was the only way: it was essential that she escape.

As her husband of twenty years snored on the settee she had schemed and calculated. She would leave him, when he was away at the annual conference. She would just pack and go. She would find the strength because if not now then never and her life would be over. All that would remain would be a grey future of depression and failure and fear; always the fear chewing away at her insides…

The metal gates clanged and she turned her face to the hills. How poetic that sounded, but it was necessity, not glamour, taking her left instead of right. The road to the village wound down past Mavis and Simon’s house and on a bright summer day Mavis would be gardening and would want to chat. There was no time now for chat, no time for any delay.

The road to the left climbed to open moor, rounded a bend and then snaked out of sight. There was one farm with a barking dog and some cows who would no doubt glance at her with beautiful, vacant eyes. After that, nothing until the crossroads and the pub where she would wait at the bus stop.

Pauline took a deep cleansing breath, her shoulders twitched settling the bag more comfortably and she strode on, lithe and supple. Her muscles were strong from miles and miles of hiking and from the decorating and gardening she did. Time filling; busy work that numbed her mind and squeezed out the disappointment and the sadness and the nagging, ever present dread.

But now finally it was over. She was free. George would be away until Sunday and it was only Wednesday. Reflecting, she pushed the worry about the phone call away. It would have been sales, as usual. She mustn’t panic. He wouldn’t bother to ring her for a chat; they didn’t have that sort of relationship; hadn’t for years. What he would expect would be a clean home to come back to, a hot meal ready and her obedience in every way, even though she would detect on him the smell of his current mistress; the reek of betrayal.

The smile broadened. After all this time, she had been brave enough to get up and take back her life.

Thank heavens for Granddad. It had felt like a disappointment when her inheritance had been tied up until she was forty. George had bullied and nagged but in the end they had been unable to have the will overturned. “It will come in handy when we get it. We don’t need it now and it’s in a good investment plan. I’m sure Gramps meant well.” The solicitor was adamant and so she had won that little battle by default. George hadn’t been happy about it but there was nothing he could do except to vent his anger on her in his own inimitable, brutal way.

She raised her eyes and muttered into the warm, summer air. “Thank you Gramps. You saved me. I don’t know why you did it this way but I’m so glad you did.”

The trust had matured when she turned forty. She told George it was in hand and convinced him it would be in their joint account by the end of the month. She had crossed her fingers and wagged papers at him praying that he wouldn’t insist on examining them closely. He hadn’t; he was wrapped up in his newest affair and spent so many nights ‘working late’ that he let his guard slip, convinced he had it all under control. It had been scary; so much depended on fooling him but it was over…

But now she had won.

She gave a little skip. He wouldn’t find her. By the time he came back from Edinburgh she would be long gone. In spite of herself she glanced behind, down the road that would bring him home. What if the conference finished early? What if he was unwell and came back? Everything – the whole thing – depended on his being away until the weekend. Her stomach clenched, the urge to run now was overwhelming.