I cleaned the wet footprints before I found the note.
The front door had slammed while I was in the bath, I was halfway through a film on the ipad in front of me and the sudden noise had made me jump. I had paused for just a second, my cup of tea halfway to my mouth and then the baby started to cry. Not a baby, of course, but my baby and I had padded across the landing to her bedroom, scooping her up before she woke her sister in her own bedroom opposite. She had settled within a few minutes, snuffling against my chest as I leant my chin on top of her head, curled in the armchair under her window. I had forgotten about the door slamming, once I was with my daughters, whatever had happened during the day, the world started to fall away. It was only after I had put her back to bed, covering her with her duvet and kissing her lightly on the forehead, that it occurred to me that I didn’t know what had happened downstairs.
I had pulled my dressing gown cord tighter around me as I made my way down the stairs towards the front door. I had stared at it for a moment, but it had looked completely normal. I could see into the lounge, I could see the cushions organised haphazardly on the sofa, one squashed into the corner, a sight that never failed to rile me. I had sighed and turned at the bottom of the stairs towards the kitchen.
‘Tom?’
I had called his name softly, Bea only just asleep, and I had been met by silence. I had repeated the call as I walked into the kitchen that I already knew would be empty. There had been a little steam rising from the spout of the kettle and I had moved my hand towards the side of it, feeling the heat long before my fingers touched the metal. I had drawn my hand back quickly and tucked it in my pocket, the feeling of dread starting to make its way into my stomach.
I had pulled a tea towel from the drawer and walked back upstairs, dropping to my hands and knees at the top, my bare knees cold against the cool wooden floor. I had swiped and swiped at the wet marks my feet had made as I had hurried across the landing a few minutes ago. I had swiped long after the marks had disappeared, long after I had started to cry, a little after I had stopped crying and started to feel the headache pull at my temples. I had stood up, stiff from the unfamiliar hands and knees position and stepped into my eldest daughter’s bedroom. She slept like a starfish and I had taken her bare foot and tucked it back underneath the duvet. I had smoothed her hair from her face then, I don’t know why, tucked my face into the curve of her neck. I had drawn strength from her tiny body, my five year old dynamo and I had been able to stand and make my way to my own bedroom.
The note was on my pillow.
Fairy Lights and Fear 