TWENTY-FOUR
Samantha picked out the piece of toast between her fingernails and laid it on the breadboard. She whistled tunelessly, relaxed and relieved to be on her own after so long. The house, without the noise of the children, felt a little strange, but she relished the thought of being able to do what she wanted when she wanted. She buttered her toast, took a sip of her coffee, and went into the living room.
She wore a loose t-shirt and black Lycra ski pants, and blue slippers sporting huge, fluffy rabbit tails on the top. She flopped down onto the sofa and reached for the remote. Steve was three hours into his journey, probably passing through the outskirts of Cambridgeshire by now. There hadn’t been a phone call or a text so all must be going well, she assumed. She put her head bac
