Chapter Four

Amanda stared forlornly at the wall of her bedroom. She had stopped watching Netflix, choosing instead to wallow in self-pity and misery. Jack and Evie had long since given up on getting her out of her room. After a week of knocking, pleading and begging, they realised that their mother just would not come out.

That was how long it had been since Stevie had unceremoniously walked out on them. One week. One week spent wondering where things had gone wrong, what she could have done to fix it.

"Mom, Hilda's taking Evie and me to school!" shouted Jack. Amanda sat up. It was Monday morning, the first day of the school year. Jack's first day of high school. She had wanted to be there, to help him get ready for it, but she just couldn't find the strength to get out of bed.

She didn't respond, and Jack shuffled away, despondent. It cut Amanda to the core that she was hurting her children, but she couldn't function if she tried. It was like when Stevie had left, he'd taken a part of her with him.

A few minutes after they had left, her phone rang, and she ignored it, expecting it to stop. However, the phone continued to ring, and she finally picked it up.

"Hello?" she barked, her voice hoarse from crying.

"Amanda, is that you?" the caller asked.

"No, you accidentally dialled Beyoncé," she drawled sarcastically. She blew out a deep breath, and ran a hand through her tangled blonde hair. "I'm sorry Mindy, but it's been a pretty rough week."

"I'm sorry," sympathised Mindy, "but we need you here. Where are you?"

"I'm at home. Some issues popped up, and I...I just need some time to myself."

Mindy paused. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing I can't get out of. Give me an hour at most; I'll be there."

"Okay," said Mindy, before hanging up on her.

~|~|~

Exactly an hour later, Amanda stood in front of the boutique where she worked. Though the pay was meagre, Stevie brought in more than enough to support the family. Or, at least, he had.

She took off her coat and scarf as she entered Chic.

"Glad to see you here, Amanda," said Lucy, one of the clerks.

"I'm glad to be back," smiled Amanda. She loved working there, loved helping people to feel beautiful in whatever clothes they chose.

Chic was a joint project started by Amanda and her high school best friend, Mindy. They had established the boutique ten years before, and a decade later, business could not have been better. Amanda was in charge of selecting the clothes, picking out the ones that would catch the eye of customers. Mindy was more into the business side of things.

"Oh Amanda, I've missed you!" The lady speaking was Mrs Calloway, one of the boutique's regular customers.

"The others couldn't recommend the fabrics that complimented my skin well, you see? I've been waiting for you to return!"

She latched onto Amanda's arm like a leech, before dragging the helpless woman into the masses of fabric. Amanda shot a desperate glance at Lucy, who giggled, shrugged and went back to work.

"This blue silk makes my eyes pop, but the white is so angelic, don't you think?" Mrs Calloway rambled on, and Amanda nodded absentmindedly. Her mind was drifting.

"Amanda! Amanda!" Lady Calloway waved a hand in front of her face several times. "Amanda, are you quite sure you're alright?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs Calloway, I'm quite fine," said Amanda.

"Oh dear, I may be several years older than you, but that does not mean I am your grandmother. Please, call me Fiona."

"Yes Mrs Call—Fiona."

"Now, I didn't come all the way here on a beautiful Monday morning to talk about clothes, though I do love them. What's going on with you and your husband?"

"What?" Amanda shook her head, not completely sure she had heard her correctly.

"What is happening? You and Steven?"

"Mrs—Fiona, I'm afraid I don't quite understand..." Amanda was flustered. How had news travelled so fast? She hadn't even spoken to anyone since Stevie had left.

"Gerald and I were at Pierre's last night, having dinner, when we came across Steven and a certain young woman. Naturally, we were curious as to who the lady was, and we went over to introduce ourselves."

"Oh Steven, how nice to see you here!" exclaimed Mrs Calloway.

"Mrs Calloway, pleasure to meet you too," replied Stevie, though from the way his words were slurred, it was obvious he was either drunk, or well on his way to being intoxicated.

Mrs Calloway sent a sideways glance to the woman seated next to Stevie. She was pretty enough, if one looked past all the gunk she had plastered onto her face. She was scantily dressed, exposing more cleavage than the older lady considered appropriate.

Her expression twisted in distaste.

Why on earth is Steven here with this woman? she thought. And where is Amanda?

"If I may ask, where is Amanda?" queried Mr Calloway, eyeing the woman seated at Stevie side with displeasure.

"Amanda? She's probably getting her hair done, or painting her nails, or getting the kids ready for bed." Stevie spoke bitterly, and Mrs Calloway sensed she had hit a sore spot, so she deftly changed the subject.

"Who is the charming lady seated beside you?" If Stevie noted the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't comment on it as he slung an arm around the woman's neck, and kissed her cheek.

"This is Lydia Parker, my bride-to-be," he said tipsily, thrusting up a wine glass, and sloshing some drink onto the tablecloth as he did so. "A toast—to the new and improved Mrs Winnows!"

Lydia chuckled uneasily, and slid an arm around his waist.

"He's had a lot to drink tonight; just wanted to relax a little before heading home," she explained to them, struggling to hold Stevie aloft. Her dress—if it could pass for a dress—slipped down slightly, causing Mr Calloway to avert his eyes and cringe.

"We must get going, I'm sorry to say," she said, dragging Stevie along with him. He looked like he was about to collapse. Diners stared at Lydia as she pulled him away, cheeks burning.

"Well then," whistled Mr Calloway, looking at his wife in shock. "That was...unexpected."

"Quite so." The latter pursed her lips in displeasure, making up her mind to speak to Amanda as soon as the chance arose.

Amanda stared at Mrs Calloway for some time after her narration, the sighed.

"I'm afraid Stevie stormed out of the house in a fit of anger about a week ago, and I haven't seen him since. Guess I know where he is now, don't I?" She uttered the last sentence under her breath, and although Mrs Calloway heard exactly what she said, she decided not to comment on it.

"What are you going to do Amanda?" she asked, genuinely concerned for the younger woman. Amanda was like a daughter to her, and she couldn't stand to see her hurt.

Amanda bit her lip, a nervous habit of hers she found difficult to break.

"I honestly don't know any more Fiona...I don't know. I've got to stay strong for the kids, but I can't believe that he'd actually do this..." She trailed off, looking like a lost little girl, her grey eyes swirling with confusion.

Mrs Calloway gave her a brief hug, and looked her in the eye.

"I know that you think you're down, but you know that God's going to give you strength to go through this right? His grace is sufficient to take you through--"

Amanda interrupted her mid-sentence. "Mrs Calloway, you know I don't believe in all that church baloney."

Fiona sighed, and straightened her shoulders.

"Soon enough, you're going to realise that you can't carry the whole burden on your shoulders, Amanda. You need help."

"And I can get it from my fellow human beings, not some mystical being in the sky." Her tone signified that the conversation was over.

"Okay Amanda. Now do tell me, should I take the blue or the white? The blue is ever so..."

~|~|~

Amanda sighed in relief as the last of the customers finally left. Almost all of their regular customers had made an appearance, and enquired of her health. She assured them all that she was fine, and assisted them in picking dresses that would complement their complexion and flatter their figures. She had an eye for beauty.

She slumped into her chair, placing her head on the desk. She was on the verge of drifting off to sleep, when a knock on the door woke her up.

"Come in," she said wearily, lifting her head up

Two heads popped up, one belonging to Mindy, the other to Lucy.

"Hey girl," said Mindy. Amanda groaned, and placed her head back the table.

"I'm going to pretend I wasn't insulted by that extremely rude gesture," sniffed Mindy, as she perched on the sofa in the office. Lucy just sat on the extremely soft purple carpet.

"Go away," moaned Amanda. "Disappear. Hocus pocus. Abracadabra."

"Last I checked, I wasn't the Great Houdini, so no, I'm not going anywhere." Mindy crossed her legs and placed them on the coffee table.

She brushed a curly lock of chestnut brown hair from her freckled face. She liked her freckles, and didn't see the point of covering them with makeup.

"We came here to help her, not hound her," scolded Lucy, though her twinkling blue eyes spoke for her. She was much younger than Amanda and Mindy, at twenty five, but the older women treated her like an equal.

"You seemed pretty off today," mused Mindy.

"Off?" queried Amanda.

"Usually, you're so happy to help someone find the perfect look, but today, it seemed as though someone had sucked the energy out of you with a bendy straw."

Lucy glared at her.

"What?" Mindy shrugged. "I like bendy straws." Although Mindy was older, Lucy was definitely more mature.

"What my dear friend Mindy was trying to say is that, we're here for you, if you need it. Call on us any time."

"Except for any time from ten to six in the morning," said Mindy. Amanda and Lucy glared at her.

"What? I like my beauty sleep!" Amanda rolled her eyes.

"You guys are great friends, beauty sleep, bendy straws and all," said Amanda, getting up to give her best friends a hug.

"We love you, Mandy," said Lucy and Mindy.

"Aw, I love you guys too!" she cooed.

"Look at us, getting all sentimental, like old ladies," remarked Mindy.

Lucy and Amanda conveniently ignored her. Amanda's phone rang just then.

"Let me take that," she said, extricating herself from the hug. She picked the call without checking the caller ID.

"Hello," she said, breezily.

"Amanda," said a deep, masculine voice.

"Stevie?" She frowned.

"Amanda, I'm not calling to chat."

"Then why are you—"

"I want a divorce."