Could she forgive what they had done, and so keep her marriage and her and Martin's lives together as best she could? Or should she leave the marriage, and turn her back on both of them?

Perhaps the kind and proper thing for her to do would be to let Martin go his own way, if that was what he truly wanted.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

SCRAMBLING UP FROM the carpet, Martin took another peek through the lounge window.

'Stop worrying!' Paula tugged at him. 'I expect she's decided to stop over at Kathleen's after all.'

'I hope you're right, but I'm not sure of Lucy's intention.' In a lower voice he added regretfully, 'She hardly talks to me these days.'

'So do you want me to go?'

'You know I don't.' He grabbed her into his arms. 'You little witch! I'm sorry I ever let you in. I should have sent you packing.' Grabbing her to him, he kissed her long and hard. 'Truth is, I can't seem to get enough of you.'

'Is that a bad thing?'

'For us, no. For Lucy, not so good.' Not for the first time, he felt a pang of conscience.

Paula wrapped herself about him. 'Do you want to end it?'

'You know I don't.'

'So ... do you want us to make a life together?'

'Yes, but it's not easy, is it?'

'Just tell her!'

Martin thought he would find it hard to be that cruel, and evaded her suggestion. Running his two hands over her bare skin, he said, 'Look, I have to be up and away at six tomorrow. Watch out for me later on.'

'I could stay here with you tonight.'

Martin was adamant. 'No, Paula. We have to be careful until it's all out in the open. Think about it: Sam might suddenly decide to come home from Anne's, and for all we know, Lucy could be on her way as we speak. You know what a homing pigeon she is.'

Paula laughed. 'Homing pigeon? OK, tomorrow then.' Getting up off the carpet, she collected her dress from the arm of the chair, slid it over her head and shoulders and wriggled into it. 'Do me up, will you?'

When Martin grabbed her by the waist, she started squealing and laughing, and then they were fooling about, he trying to zip up her dress and she wriggling away.

Having secured the zip, Martin then grabbed his trousers and pulled them on, Paula doing everything she could to stop him from securing his belt. 'Aw, come on ... we've got time.' She was all over him.

Martin pushed her off. 'Like I said, I'll see you tomorrow.'

'When exactly?'

'I'm not altogether sure. I've got that big roofing job on, and I can't leave it unsafe. It'll probably take me up to midday before I secure it. So, let's say I'll be with you around one o' clock. That'll give us a good hour together before I need to get back.'

'Suits me. But we need to talk, Martin,' Paula reminded him. 'You never did give me an answer about making a life together.'

'OK. Like I said ... tomorrow. We'll talk then.'

Paula was not ready to leave. 'Are you really throwing me out?' she whined.

'Yes, I am!' he told her, though he was enjoying the attention.

Sensing his weakness, she clung onto him.

'Paula ... no!' Each time he pushed her away, she came back at him, playfully teasing and laughing, until Martin threw himself into the fun.

Lost in the moment, neither of them heard Lucy let herself in through the front door.

Entering the front room, Lucy was shocked to see them rolling about on the carpet. For one moment she stood in horrified silence. Then filled with an uncontrollable rage, she ran across the room. She grabbed Paula by the arm and yanked her upright, forcing her out of the room and down the hallway to the front door.

She screamed at her, 'Shame on the pair of you ... carrying on like wild animals and in my house! You're disgusting!'

'Get your hands off me!' Paula fought like a wildcat. 'It's not my fault if you can't keep hold of him. The truth is you'll never be able to keep him. You're not right for him and never were. If he hadn't been forced into it, he never would have married you!'

Lucy gave as good as she got. 'You're no better than a woman of the streets. No, I take that back ... because even a woman of the streets would have more decency than to break up her sister's marriage.'

'Huh!' Kicking and struggling, Paula laughed in Lucy's face. 'If your marriage is broken, all I can say is, it couldn't have been very strong in the first place!'

Ignoring her spiteful remarks, Lucy continued, 'I'm ashamed to have you as a sister and, as much as I desperately miss Mum and Dad, I'm thankful they're not here to see what a shameless tramp you are!'

Struggling to break free from Lucy's iron grip, Paula yelled at her, 'At least I've got the guts to go after what I want. You, though ... you're too timid to strike out. You're too scared and worried ... and while you're hiding away, life is pa.s.sing you by. One day soon you'll turn round and you'll be old. Do you hear me? You'll be old before your time!'

She laughed in Lucy's face. 'You think I've stolen your man, do you? Well, trust me, he didn't need stealing. You see, it was him who came after me the first time.'

She yelled out, 'Tell her, Martin! Tell her what you told me that you've never loved her ... that you always wanted me. Tell her, Martin!'

Never before had Lucy been in such a rage. Her heart was beating so fast, she could hardly breathe. She felt like a different woman; capable of anything.

In a clear, decisive voice she informed Paula, 'From now on, you are not welcome in this house.'

'Huh! That's not what Martin told me.'

'Well, I'm telling you now. What the two of you have been up to is bad enough, but how could you so easily forget that we've only just buried our mum and dad?' She fought to keep back the tears. 'From now on I don't have a sister. Do you hear me? I don't know who you are any more.'

Breaking away, Paula ran off, cursing as she went. Seeing Lucy in such a temper had shaken her. Now, though, she took pleasure in hurting her. 'You're mad! You can't even see what's right in front of you. Martin doesn't love you. He loves me. We love each other. But you wouldn't understand, would you ... because you're unlovable ... and cold. Those are Martin's words, by the way, not mine.'

She took great enjoyment in the flush of pain that flitted across Lucy's face. 'Y'see, Lucy, it's like this: Martin needs the kind of partner who sets him on fire. No one would ever blame him for wanting a real flesh-and-blood woman in his arms!'

'Get away from here!' Lucy went after her. 'Don't ever let me catch you round here again ... do you hear me?'

Paula was already out of reach, her manic screams echoing through the darkened streets. 'Get used to it, Lucy, girl! You've lost him! He doesn't want you any more. He wants us to live together, d'you hear? Martin asked me to move in with him.'

These cruel words brought Lucy to a halt for a moment, her face bleached white with anger. But this was no time for tears. This was a time to stand up for herself, and to h.e.l.l with the consequences.

With the door firmly closed against Paula, Lucy made her way back along the narrow hallway and into the front room.

Martin was standing by the fireplace, looking pitiful and staring at the carpet, his head bowed low to his chest, and his hands clasped in front of him. He seemed unable or unwilling even to look at her.

Lucy stood for what seemed an age, studying this man who had been her life since she was little more than a child. Even now, after everything she had seen, she could not deny that she still loved him. He was her husband, and the father of her two children. That meant something to her; even if it meant nothing to him.

Sadly, there seemed nothing here for her now, especially knowing how Martin felt about her: 'unlovable ... and cold'. So revealing. And much too cruel.

She waited, hoping he might say something that would show he still loved her, and that Paula was lying for her own ends.

Another agonising moment, and still he did not look up. Nor did he speak.

At last turning away, she told him sadly, 'Do what you like, Martin. I don't care any more. Set up a new life with my sister, if that's what you truly want. I promise I won't get in your way. But whatever happens now, this sham of a marriage is well and truly over.'

When it seemed he was about to protest, she cut in sharply, 'No, Martin! I don't want to hear what you've got to say. I only know what I've seen with my own eyes ... and I can't forget. I might have forgiven you the first time, but not now. I think it's best if we go our own ways.'

Unwilling to look on him a moment longer, she took a deep breath and walked away.

At the door, she glanced back. 'Just now, the whole world must have heard what Paula said: that you actually wanted you and her to live together.' She gave a sad little smile. 'Don't let me or the children stop you and her from doing whatever you want. The truth is, Martin, the two of you deserve each other.'

For one last, aching moment, against her better judgement, she felt the need to linger.

Martin, though, remained silent.

So, with a heavy heart she left him there, to contemplate his future.

Upstairs in the bedroom, she went straight to the wardrobe.

Searching out a small suitcase, she swung it onto the bed and threw open the lid. She paused awhile, the tiniest bitter-sweet smile touching her lips. She remembered where the suitcase had been a holiday in Blackpool, when the children were just little tots. Then, two years later, it went with them to a caravan in Brighton.

In her deepest, fondest memories, Lucy could picture the babies playing on the sands, while Martin and herself sat by and guarded them.

'They were good days,' she whispered to herself, 'a time to be happy.' Thinking about it now, she could recall only a few such happy times. Each one was incredibly precious to her, and always would be. The question flooded her mind: could there be more good memories made if she stayed with Martin? But if she felt that the marriage was over, and there was no hope of reconciliation, what then would be the consequences? Maybe Anne and Sam would feel that it was her doing if the marriage was ended. They might blame her for splitting up the family.

Suppressing the nostalgia, she grabbed a few items out of the wardrobe. She then scoured the room to collect a number of private things photographs and personal toiletries, as well as her small bag of make-up. Whatever happened in the future, Lucy realised that today was not only changing her life, but all their lives.

Lucy had never really mastered the art of making herself look good, but she did like a touch of colour on her lips, and a dash of cover-up for the freckly blemish that sat below the brow of her left eye. She smiled wearily.

Now, as she quickly placed the items into her case, the truth of what she was actually doing hit hard.

'I never dreamed I would walk away from here,' she murmured softly, 'This is my home. It's where my children grew up. If I go, the family may never recover. Is what Martin did bad enough that I should allow it to damage our lives for ever?' Yet she knew that one way or another their lives were already changing.

For the moment she had no idea where she might end up, and so took only the bare necessities: clean underwear, a couple of pretty nightgowns, the old, worn slippers, and a bag of general toiletries.

When the lid of the suitcase was eventually closed, she sat at the dressing table and cried.

After a while she looked up, staring at her image in the mirror. Hmm! You're not much to look at, are you, Lucy? She gave a wistful smile. Lovejoy. Well, there's a contradiction in terms for a woman without love or joy.

She stole a moment to study herself in the mirror.

Her mid-brown hair was unkempt as usual, and her brown eyes were heavy with sadness.

Critically observing herself, she gave a wry litle smile. 'Shapeless figure, dressed in shapeless clothes, no sense of style. Hair is too mousy, too wild and too unruly ... eyes too small, and they aren't even one colour, being neither brown nor grey.' She gave a sorry little laugh. 'Truth be told,' she concluded, 'there's nothing outstanding about you at all! You're a bit of this and a bit of that. You're not exciting, or clever. You have no sense of adventure, and you have no backbone. You should be more a.s.sertive, but people walk all over you because you let them.'

In that moment, she loathed herself. 'And now look what you've done! You've put yourself out of house and home, instead of standing up and fighting for what's yours!'

But then she reminded herself, 'What would be the point, when your cheating husband would rather be with your sister than with you? And who can blame him? She's younger and prettier, and she has a natural excitement about her that you never had, and never will!'

After ranting on, she felt suddenly calm. She collected a few last, private items: her notebook and pen; the wallet carrying photographs of Anne, Sam and her small grandson. There was one of Martin, but she took it out and laid it on the bed.

After checking the money in her purse, and raiding her bag and bedside drawer, she was somewhat relieved. She had enough to keep her going for at least a week.

Now, though, she had a dilemma.

Should she go to see Anne, and tell her the ugly truth? Or should she lie, and make up some excuse as to why she was going away? She agonised as to how she could sensibly deal with the situation. It was an uncomfortable truth that, however she might choose to explain her departure, there would be awkward questions.

After much consideration, she promised herself that she would not tell her children the whole truth, at least not yet. For now, she would explain just enough for the family to know that she would not be around for a while, but that she would be in contact.

Folding her arms onto the dressing table, she leaned forward and laid her head to rest on them. With her eyes closed and her heart aching, she was suddenly swamped with all manner of doubts.

What on earth are you doing, Lucy? she asked herself. What's going to happen to you? You're not even sure where you might go. And what about your job? You're bound to lose it now. Oh, and what if Martin brings Paula to live in the house? If he did that there would be no way back for you, not even if you wanted it. And what would the children think?

The worries came thick and fast, each one bringing another.

But ... what if the minute you're gone, he moves out of here, and into Paula's house? What would happen to this house, and where would the children go to visit ... if they wanted to? The idea of this house standing empty, or being filled with strangers, sent a pang of regret through her.

So now, she began to have doubts about leaving. After all, it was a huge step, and she had never been away from home on her own before ... except for that one time when her mother was poorly and she stayed over for a few days to help her father cope.

'You stop it right now, Lucy Lovejoy!' She wagged a finger at herself in the mirror. 'Just remember, you're not the one in the wrong. If this house is lost, it won't be your fault!'

Anger surged through her. 'Don't be a coward, Lucy. Do what you need to do, and don't give them a second thought!'

Just then, on hearing the front door close, she scrambled off the stool, and ran to the window. There was Martin, hurrying away, in the direction of Paula's house. Hmm, that said it all!

The grim truth hit hard: He wants her so much, he couldn't even wait until I'd gone? Seeing him run to Paula like that, was Lucy's wake-up call.

Within a matter of minutes, she was ready to leave, though she was not at all easy about it, feeling truly fearful of what might happen to her now.

Deep down, she was afraid of being lonely; and of never again finding a place to call home. Her greatest fear, though, was that she might lose the love of her children.

She suddenly realised that it was the constant love and presence of her children and her beloved parents that had kept her content for these many years.

Their characters were so very different that she and Paula had never really been close, even as children. As for Martin ... well, he was just there, being Martin; expecting a clean shirt for going out, and a meal when he came home.