Page 4 of Six Steps to Happiness
“Your signature, should you choose to add it, is an undertaking that states, yes, you’re going to leave them alone.”
Ronnie rolled her eyes as she looked down at the transcript. Despite what he’d written, he had to know how unfair the situation was. Anyone with half a brain could see thatshewasn’t the baddie, her neighbours were. She took in his signature,PC Shenton, a name she wouldn’t forget in a hurry, before returning her attention to the man himself. Hoping to spot even a glimpse of understanding, much to her frustration none was forthcoming.
“It’s up to you,” he said. “I don’t mind which course of action we take.”
Ronnie glared in response, but the last thing she wanted was to spend the night in a jail cell. “You’re all heart,” she said, realising she’d no choice but to scribble her name in the notebook and give it back.
“Twenty-five years,” Ronnie suddenly added, as she watched him check over her signature.
PC Shenton looked up from his reading. “Sorry?”
“To the day.”
He appeared confused.
“They left that bit out, did they?” She plonked herself down at the kitchen table. “If they’re going to paint me as some kind of lunatic, you may as well know why.”
PC Shenton shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with her attempt at full disclosure. But Ronnie didn’t care about his unease. As far as she was concerned, her neighbours had given their side of the story, so it was only fair she gave hers.
“That’s how long we were married. Exactly twenty-five years.” She sighed at the absurdity of her situation. “We weren’t much more than school kids when we met. Bloody kids when we tied the knot. Now look at us.”
She recalled the evening he left.
Unlike her, Nick hadn’t wanted a big celebration. After months of putting in extra hours at work, he said he didn’t have the energy for anything fancy, and not being a party animal at the best of times, much preferred a quiet dinner at home, just the two of them. Naturally Ronnie was disappointed, twenty-five years was, after all, a milestone. But instead of feeling sorry for herself, she set about organising the perfect evening. She bought champagne, cooked his favourite meal and even sprinkled the dining table with heart-shaped sequins. And while Nick was upstairs getting changed after another day’s grafting, she set the mood with a romantic playlist and numerous candles.
“Oh, Nick,” Ronnie said, her heart leaping when he finally appeared in the doorway. She took in the suitcase at his side, packed and ready to go, all the while asking herself how she could have doubted him. Excitement enveloped her. No wonder he hadn’t wanted a party, he’d secretly been planning to whisk her off on a celebratory getaway.
Throwing her arms around him, she froze, suddenly confused. His whole body felt tense; it was like hugging an ironing board. She stepped back, his hard expression telling her everything she needed to know. The only person going anywhere was him.
Ronnie shook herself back into the present. “Who does that, eh? Who leaves their wife on their actual wedding anniversary?”
Unsurprisingly, the police officer didn’t have an answer.
“And if that’s not bad enough, for the bloody woman next door?” Ronnie played with her wedding ring, twisting it around her finger, first one way and then the other. “She calls herself Gay with ane, for goodness sake. That’s how she introduces herself.” Ronnie feigned laughter, mocking herself more than anyone else. “It was no doubt going on for a while and I was just too blind or stupid to see it.” She fell silent, before lifting her gaze. “So, tell me. What am I supposed to do? How doesanyonehandle a situation like mine?”
PC Shenton’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult.”
Ronnie smiled an empty smile. At least he had the grace to look like he meant it. “Some of us aren’t the wallowing type,” she carried on. “Despite what happens in the movies, ice cream and break-up songs don’t always cut it.”
3
According to the cookery book, Ronnie’s cake mix should have been smooth and creamy, not the lumpy mess she found herself faced with. Staring into the bowl and then at her recipe, she couldn’t understand what had gone wrong; she’d followed its instructions to the letter. Ronnie knew she’d never been what anyone could call a natural baker, but what she lacked in skill she more than made up for in enthusiasm and never one to give up, she plunged her wooden spoon back into the mixing bowl and stirred even faster.
As her arm began to ache, she recalled some of the more memorable homemade cakes that had gone wrong over the years. The unicorn that ended up with less of a horn and more of a phallus sticking out of its head; the princess that looked anything but regal thanks to her boggly eyes and menacing smile; and then there was the so-called Minnie Mouse… The reason cake-making duties were taken away from Ronnie. She didn’t think her daughter would ever get over the nightmares after that particular cake fail. When it came to Ronnie’s baking, expectation versus reality couldn’t have been further apart.
Thanks to Minnie, Ronnie only ever encouraged her inner Mary Berry when she was stressed. During difficult times she found baking therapeutic, all that egg cracking, whisking, and beating were perfect for getting rid of negative energy. She looked around at the state of her kitchen; flour, spilt milk and eggshells covered almost every surface. Still reeling from the previous night’s pizza shenanigans, it was no wonder she’d spent the morning producing enough dodgy cake to feed a small country.
The sound of the front door opening and closing caught Ronnie’s attention and she stopped stirring for a moment, frowning at the unexpected interruption. She wasn’t anticipating any visitors.
“It’s only me,” a female voice called out.
Recognising it as belonging to her mother-in-law, Bea, Ronnie relaxed in response. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Entering the room, Bea stopped, suddenly grabbing the door frame in exaggerated horror. She took in Ronnie’s efforts. “You’re baking.”
“I am.”
“Again.”
