HOME ALONE
Rain lashed the windscreen as Stella drove through the darkening gloom towards the small Cornish village, her heart as heavy as the sky above.
The traffic on the motorway came to a halt and she sat drumming the steering wheel, her small car wedged between the enormous wheels of the juggernauts on either side of her.
She felt sick with apprehension. This was the worst ordeal she’d faced since leaving Maurice 10 years ago. The closer she got to the house, the more intense the memories became.
Three hours later, weary and strung out, she pulled into the driveway of the old stone cottage where her 20-year marriage to Maurice had come to an end.
Moss had grown on the surrounding wall and the rusty iron gate still wobbled on its hinges.
She stood for a few moments, breathing in the salty tang of sea air and the sweet smell of the damp grass beneath her feet. Then, as she fumbled in her bag for the key, her whole body began to shake.
On the day she left, Maurice had told her to keep the key to the house.
‘You may change your mind and decide to come back,’ he said with a hopeful smile.
She shook her head sadly, knowing that she could never do that. Yet the key had remained in her handbag through all the years.
THIS WAS THE WORST ORDEAL SHE’D FACED
She hadn’t been back, not until today. And only now because Maurice had told her
