The Broken Ones

CHAPTER 2

Please note that I edited the little girl's name from Gemma to Emma to avoid confusing myself. I mentioned this in an Author's Note at the end of Chapter 1, but some of my early readers may have missed it.

GWEN

It's the little things that don't fit, the little things that niggle at the back of your mind, that lie waiting, ready to pounce, waiting for the right moment to rip you apart.

SIX MONTHS AGO

March

"I've got it!" Noah shouts at the doorway, drawing me into a bear hug. "They want me!"

"Congratulations!" I beam, laughing as he twirls me round and round the hall in a happy dance. I understand what it is like to like your job. I am happy with mine as an assistant curator at Fairfax Hall, a modest art gallery on Castle Street.

They is the new job Noah had applied for, as a corporate financier at Chesterwick Inc., a big London-based financial investment firm which has recently set up a branch office in Norwich. Noah has been working for the past ten years in the same small company he had started work at after he graduated from university. It is well-paid, but boring --- zero challenges, in Noah's own words --- and he has been grumbling about his deadend job ever since the day we got married.

"Mummy!" Emma, her mouth and nose smeared with mashed potato, comes barrelling out on her little legs and throws herself at me. I scoop her up and give her a smacking kiss on her soft dewy cheek. She smells of baby soap. My baby. My darling. My heart squeezes. She squeals in delight.

"Daddy has a new job! Are you happy?" I ask her, bouncing her in my arms.

"No!" Emma shouts. No is her latest favourite word. Last week, it was Yes.

"Get back to the dining table, young lady," Molly, my nanny from Heaven, warns. "You haven't finished your dinner. Oh, dear, you've got potato smears on your mummy's suit."

"It's fine, Molly."

Molly passes me a damp towel. "Back to the table this instant, Emma."

"No!" Emma toddles back obediently.

I look at Molly gratefully. What would I do without her? She's Emma's nanny; she lives nearby and drives over early every morning, fetches Emma to and from nursery school (half day, 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 noon, Mondays to Fridays) in her trusty old Toyota Corolla, and leaves at eight in the evening. Her cousin Kathy is another godsend; she is just a phone call away, and babysits for us when Noah and I go out some nights for dinner, to catch up with friends, or watch a movie. Both Molly and Kathy are a year younger than me --- I'm twenty-seven this year. Molly came highly recommended by Noah's married female co-workers --- they've all used Molly's services at one time or other, and they have all declared her an angel on earth, every working mummy's dream child minder --- and the moment Molly walked into our house and picked baby Emma up with a confidence I didn't have, held our daughter in her arms so naturally, I knew she was it. I heaved an enormous sigh of relief. Emma would be fine. I applied online for a job vacancy as an assistant curator at a local art gallery, and received an offer the very next day. The following month, I started my very first job at Fairfax Hall.

Emma is asleep.

"To good times," Noah says, grinning.

"To good times," I echo, and we clink glasses. I sip my champagne. Noah smiles. My heart catches. For a fleeting moment, I fancy there is a glimmer --- the tiniest glimmer of Lucian in that smile. I blink, and it's Noah again. I inhale sharply. What was I thinking? There is only one man in my life now, and that is Noah, my husband.