6

I hold my breath as he steps up the ladder where it leans precariously against the guttering, and wobbles when he reaches the top.

“No, Chris,” I shout up, too nervous to see him continue. “Come down, I’ll go up and put the tarpaulin on the roof. I’m worried you’ll fall and hurt your wing even more.”

“Not at all,” he looks down, laughing, “if I can fall thousands of feet and only damage a wing, I’m sure a fall from this height won’t hurt much. Besides, I’m feeling particularly capable today.”

As he says this he begins to wobble, and I shriek.

“Get down, you maniac. Your wing won’t heal at all if you frigging break it in the shrubbery.”

Sighing, he steps down slowly, slipping on a wet rung and righting himself at the last minute.

“You’re so bossy,” he smirks, “I like it.”

“You really are a freak,” I snort. “Now, hold the ladder steady.”

“Alright, but when you get down I have a surprise for you.”

“Surprising people my age can cause instant death. I knew someone who was so surprised to find an extra doughnut in her twelve-box special that she exploded right there in the doughnut shop. Frosting and cinnamon covered the county for a week.”

“Bullshit,” he laughs.

I snigger as I tuck the folded tarp into the back of my jeans, ready for the climb.

Making my way up the wobbly ladder, my knees begin to shake as I reach the top and carefully begin my crawl on the snow-covered tiles towards the gaping hole in my roof. As I start to slip I whimper and stretch full length on the snowy rooftop, pulling myself up by my gloved fingertips, inch by inch.

“You’re doing great,” Chris shouts from the ground, “only a few feet to go.”

Panting like I’ve run a marathon, my heart racing, I stretch and inch, stretch and inch, until I can see the broken beams. Finding one that’s still intact, I gingerly slip my feet over the edge of the tiles and rest them on the timber as I begin to unfold the tarpaulin.

“Tell me about your job,” Chris shouts as my fingers tremble so hard I find it difficult to hold the cable ties.

I know what he’s doing, trying to divert my attention, but I play along.

“I’m a ceramic artist,” I shout back as I manoeuvre around the hole and stretch the tarpaulin, cable tying it to whatever debris I can find. Even as I’m doing it I realise that if the snow gets heavier the tarp will just collapse. We really need to fix the roof ASAP. This tarp idea is a temporary fix, at best. A stupid idea at worst.

“What kind of artist is that?”

“I make bespoke ceramic collections,” I murmur around the spare cable ties I’m holding in my mouth to keep both hands free. “At the moment I’m making twelve hand-painted Christmas baubles for a Russian oligarch, although I’m behind with my deadline. I expect he’ll send a hitman shortly.”

“Is that bullshit?”

“Yes,” I smirk, losing a couple of cable ties.

“Have you always done ceramics?”

I put on the final tie and lean back to study the shoddy, half-assed job I’ve done.

“Yes, but I used to lecture. I’m completely self-employed now,” I turn to look down at him. “I have a studio out back.”

As I say this I thank God for small mercies that the angel hadn’t crashed into my workshop. Now that would have been a tragedy. A literal bull in a China shop.

I wonder, though, if that’s what I’m supposed to teach him. It seems unlikely, but I’ll have to ask.

Having secured the tarpaulin, I rest for a minute, panting and putting off the return trip down the sloping roof to the ground — which now seems much further down than it did when I was looking up from terra-firma.

“So, you spend your days painting, alone?”

“I enjoy the quiet,” I frown, judging the distance to the ladder, “and I told you, I prefer my own company. I have no patience for small-talk or pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d do that,” his brow creases slightly. “Are you thinking about how to get down?”

I grimace. Talk about stating the obvious.

“Yes.”

“Jump. I’ll catch you.”

“Like hell.”

Turning, I begin to shuffle towards the ladder, but the snow has melted from my body heat as I squirmed along the tiles like a snake, and it’s become a slick slide. I scream as I slip straight down towards the ground, my hands grappling for purchase on the icy tiles, but finding none.

“Oh no. Fuuuuuuuck,”

I close my eyes just before I hit the ground, but the pain I’m expecting doesn’t eventuate as I land in a pair of strong arms.

“Gotcha,” he chuckles, as I open my eyes and meet his beautiful gaze.

“Thank you,” I gasp, unable to believe his strength, not just to catch me, but to hold me as though I weigh nothing. “You can put me down now.”

His arms tighten around me.

“I told you I’d catch you.”

I shake my head. I can’t remember the last time a man held me like this. Perhaps on my wedding day when I was carried over the threshold, but even then I was worried James might drop me. I don’t have that fear now, though. The angel’s arms are so strong around me that I know he won’t drop me, and I momentarily relax and smile as he holds me.

My smile dies on my lips as I see a familiar truck pull into the drive.

“Put me down,” I murmur as my husband steps out of his vehicle, leaving the engine running. His girlfriend is in the passenger seat, and violent thoughts immediately flash through my mind followed swiftly by the thoughts I’d managed to brainwash myself with over the past few weeks; ‘she deserves him, once a cheater always a cheater. I’m better off without him.’

Still, seeing them together hurts my heart and I wouldn’t be averse to a truck explosion right about now.

Chris sets me back on my feet but stays close by my side.

“It’s James,” I murmur under my breath.

“Merri,” James says as he reaches us, nodding dismissively at Chris, “Tom said you had some damage to the roof.”

I look into his eyes, frowning. It still seems weird to me to hear him call me by my name. For years I was ‘honey’ or ‘darling’ or ‘doll.’ Now I’m just another woman, it seems, and my name is just another name.

I shrug.

“It’s nothing.”

“We have it under control,” Chris says, extending his hand.

James shakes it briefly before returning his attention to me.

“Tom said you’d decided not to get it repaired.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Good,” he nods, as though he’d just asked out of curiosity and damage to our marital home is now of absolutely no concern to him. “I just came for the other half of the couch. Wendy thinks we need it after all.”

“Wednesday can go fuck herself.”

Chris chuckles and James turns to scowl at him.

“Don’t you have some work to do? I assume she’s paying you by the hour.”

“Paying me?” Chris smiles, putting his arm around my waist to pull me closer, “you could say that. Any time spent with this beautiful lady is payment enough.”

I blush as James scowls, but inside I’m revelling at his reaction.

‘How does it feel, you cheating bastard?’

“What’s this about?” James growls.

“This,” I glare at him as I rope my arm around Chris, gaining strength from his proximity, “is Chris. He’s moved in.”

“Moved in?” James sneers, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sure.”

Without another word he walks around us and heads towards the house, and I stiffen at his invasion of what is supposed to be my space now, my home, my sanctuary.

“James,” I shout angrily, “you can’t have the couch, or anything else from the house. We’re done. We agreed on the assets we’ve split and the house is mine now — as is everything inside it.”

“It’s OK,” Chris murmurs, “just wait for it.”

James returns momentarily, his face red, eyes hard.

“You changed the lock.”

I stare at him, saying nothing. I didn’t know Chris had even attempted this.

James shakes his head and walks back to his truck without another word. I can see Wednesday gesticulating and him shaking his head as he roars off down the road, and I grimace. He’s wildly angry. This is the first time I’ve really stood up to him since the whole affair had smashed my life, and I don’t know what I was thinking, intimating I was sleeping with Chris. It was beneath me to have tried to make James jealous, and I’m ashamed and embarrassed that I’d done it.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” I murmur, my eyes on my feet, “for suggesting you and I were living together.”

“We are,” Chris chuckles.

I turn and look up at him, shaking my head at his grin.

“You know what I mean. And why are you smiling? What can you possibly have to be happy about from that interaction?”

“My first lock actually worked — surprise!”