*This is the first part in a new series. It starts off fairly consensual but I promise it won't stay that way. Please leave feedback if you enjoy it.
Best wishes.
Thanks to Graymangazer for proof reading and offering advice.
Best wishes, Penny.
*****
31st Nov
Dear diary
I shouldn't be writing this down, but feel compelled to do so. Heaven forbid my husband James finds it and reads it. If he does it will spell the end of our marriage without a doubt. I dread to think what that will mean for me and the kids. Even so, I must write it down, only then will it seem real. If I record all of the events that have happened so far then maybe I can figure out a solution to resolve the situation I now find myself in.
When and where did it all start? Hmmm that's an easy one. I can pinpoint that moment exactly.
August 25th. That's when, as for where, Blancaster, a crappy Northern hillside town. Even more exactly - waiting for the bus to the train station to leave the crappy little Northern Hillside town.
James and I had booked a week with the kids there in some pokey little cottage. Actually, this might have been quite a nice get away except for two things; the typical English Summer, i.e. raining all week, and secondly that the car broke down when we were there, meaning we couldn't even go for days out. Morecambe was just a short drive away, beaches, funfairs, things to do for the kids. But no, we were trapped in a 2 bedroomed cottage. Five days, stuck with three kids and James my husband, and by Friday we'd all developed an unhealthy dose of cabin fever. Everything James said, annoyed me and vice versa. We sniped and bitched, snapped and moaned even when someone said something as innocuous as pass the milk over breakfast. The town consisted of one road with a Co-op and a few touristy shops, and a kids playground. A kids playground that my three were bored with after the first wet afternoon we arrived. Trust me the grey clouds hanging over Blancaster were joined by a few grey clouds hanging over our heads in that cottage. So, by the end of the week we were more than ready to de-camp and head for home. Fortunately the car had been repaired and was ready for the long trip back down the M6. However to add insult to injury it had only cost us the price of the whole holiday for the repairs to be made, which didn't improve James' mood any further.
As a final 'up yours' the weather had perked up, and as we packed the car, the sun had returned from its week in France or wherever it had been and shone brilliantly in the sky. Unprepared for this as I was, I had dressed for the rain in a dirty T shirt, one of James' thick fleecey jumpers and black jeans. I was also sporting underwear I'd definitely worn before that week - since I hadn't been able to do any washing and hadn't packed enough. I broke into a sweat carting bags into the car while my kids bickered and argued until they were all finally belted into place. James muttered something to me along the lines of see you when you get back, and I kissed the kids goodbye. You see dear diary, we'd packed so much crap into the car, there wasn't any room for me to sit. We only had a saloon rather than one of those big minibus style people carriers, so fitting all five of us was a struggle at the best of times, but with all the holiday baggage poor little old me had to catch the train. Waving cheerfully and being waved back to by the kids I smiled inwardly at the thought of a few hours of peace, quiet and solitude. No kids, no husband, nothing but me, my book and my long train journey home. Bliss.
I posted the keys for the holiday cottage through the letterbox and made my way down the path through a sodden boggy field that was a shortcut onto the main street. There, I had to catch a bus to the train station. This, dear diary, is where it all started.
I'd been waiting at the bus stop for a good ten minutes when some old dear approached me and told me that the buses only ran every two hours on a Friday. Of course they fucking do I thought. 'What time's the next one due?" I enquired.
"Well you've just missed the twenty past eleven so it won't be till twenty past one." she replied in a doddery but well meaning way.
The sun beat down on me, and I was sweating and uncomfortable and the thought of sitting here for another two hours didn't exactly improve my mood. Oh well, at least I'm not stuck in a traffic jam with three kids jabbing each other and arguing over whose go it is on the Nintendo what's it.
I headed off to a cafe, which I'd seen during the week. Closed. For fuck's sake. Eventually I settled on the Co-op and bought a can of Fanta. Mooching round the shop killed a few minutes but before long I was back sitting on the wall beside the bus stop waiting for the world's worst bus service.
Twenty or so minutes later some guy turns up and sits down next to me. We smiled an acknowledgement and I continued with my book. I could sense he was looking at me but didn't feel like engaging in conversation. I felt a mess, probably looked a mess, and had had it just about up to here, with this town and its inhabitants. Every now and again, some local would walk past and my fellow traveller would greet them, usually by name, and strike up a bit of a conversation.
After the 5th or 6th time this happened, I almost shouted.
"Do you know everyone in this village then?"
"Well not everyone." he replied. "I don't know you do I?" He smiled rather disarmingly. The edges of his mouth curled up in an endearing manner.
"I'm just a tourist." I said. "Leaving now actually." I pointed to my rucksack on the floor, as evidence.
"That's a shame." He said. "I could show you around."
I laughed derisively.
"What, the Co-op, the old man's pub, the cafe that's closed, along with the post-office and the telephone box that smells of piss."
He laughed.
"So you've seen all the sights then."
I laughed along with him.
"Yep, hell of a town you have here." I added.
We chatted amiably for a while, I explained my situation, having spent a dreadful week here I poured out my soul, and he listened attentively. He had dark hazel eyes with a mischievous twinkle about them, and gazed intently into mine as I spoke. He was younger than me, didn't have any kids, or a wife, and probably still knew what it was to have fun at a weekend.
He told me of the recent scandal at the bakery, where the baker's wife had run off with the milkman, which would he said, keep the gossip mongers going for a good few weeks, along with various other 'village secrets.' As he told me about growing up in the village and everyone getting to know each others' business and some of the sordid secrets he was privy to, I found myself subconsciously twirling my hair in my fingers and thinking about how good looking he was. When I realised what I was doing I blushed. I tried to steer the subject back to buses and trains rather than infidelity. He didn't seem to register my sudden change of topic, and we carried on as before in a comfortable banter about life in general. I shared my stories of meeting James at the first year of Uni, dropping out when I became pregnant and going on to have two more kids. Dan seemed genuinely interested, and laughed enthusiastically at my anecdotes without seeming insincere. Time passed quickly and when I next looked at my watch I realised it was just under half an hour before the bus was due.
Dan checked his watch too.
"That's a shame he said, I could talk to you for hours."
I blushed again. Was he flirting? I was so out of touch with dating I'd no idea. Having gone to an all girl's school till I was 18 I was woefully inexperienced with boys. Before I met James at University I'd had precisely one boyfriend - if you could call him that, I'd met Luke a year before James and been on about three dates before I ran a mile when he tried to put his hand up my top in the cinema, literally running out of the cinema.
"I bet there's one sight you missed on the tourist trail around here?"
"Oh yeah where's that?"
"Come with me I'll show you."
"Do we have time," I replied nervously. I didn't want to miss this bus, James would think I was doing it on purpose.
"Yeah it's two minutes walk."
"Seriously?" I said disbelievingly.
He made the follow me gesture with his fore finger, beckoning me to follow him.
I picked up my rucksack and, slightly intrigued, followed him a short way up the main high street. Alongside a thick hedge Dan sidestepped left and disappeared into a narrow, almost invisible, pathway. The branches of the hedge were overgrown and I had to brush them aside with my hands to avoid being scratched in the face.
"How much further?" I complained.
"Nearly there," he said.
