This is the sequel to ‘Homecoming’ and it took a long time to construct. Even before I finished writing the story I knew that I couldn’t abandon the main character to her fate. I hope to complete the trilogy by the end of the year so watch this space!

The flowers had arrived but the lilies were a mistake.

Their powerful scent was starting to make her head ache and she got up from the chair and pushed open the bedroom window; the cool draught of air was welcome and she rested her head briefly on the glass as she looked down at the driveway. The wedding cars had arrived and the drivers were talking to her father, their voices low and relaxed.

She returned to the dressing table and sat down carefully. She felt drowsy and dull, her movements slow and deliberate. She looked around, trying to concentrate on her surroundings. The large bedroom was dressed elegantly in shades of pink and cream; the flowers had been arranged in oversized vases on every surface and hand-tied bouquets and buttonholes lay in lined boxes on the comfortably upholstered chairs.

She had been excited about the wedding preparations and had asked if they could choose the flowers together. He had watched while she lingered over the soft hues of the meadow flowers but the restraint in her choice had angered him and he had ordered lilies for her bouquet and the room – the extravagant and dramatic blooms thickening the air with their perfume.

She could hear the excited chatter of her family and her friends downstairs and strains of music from the wedding play-list. Recognising the slow beat of a favourite ballad, she tried to smile at her reflection in the mirror; she had complained of a headache earlier and that she needed some time in her room to rest.

Her phone was set to silent but it shuddered and she flinched. He had called and messaged her numerous times through the day as her friends helped her to get ready; short, brisk texts with reminders and instructions that she had deleted quickly. Her friends had laughed and made playful remarks about his eagerness to become her husband but she remained quiet and had managed to avoid their curious gaze.

She could hardly remember her old life. Bringing up a child alone and facing challenges almost every day at work and at home. He had appeared as her daughter had found her independence and she had felt the relief of finding him. He had praised her appearance and changed the way that she looked at herself – at her shape, her size and those features that she had always been so critical of. She had enjoyed the intelligence and intensity of his gaze and the way he made her feel. Other than her father he had been the only man that had truly listened to her and she had been intoxicated by the sensation of having his complete attention and of being able to share her dreams and desires.

He had mentioned marriage the first time they had made love and within weeks they were engaged.

He had suggested that she give up her job and live with him. His company had been downsized and he had suggested that there would be benefit from her working alongside him in his home. Working with him was not as she expected. The house was spacious and expensively furnished, with deep thick carpets that muffled any sound. They worked together in the study. He was formal and unsmiling and she knew to be quiet and wary of him; she was unsure if he was pleased with her work and her anxiety led her to make careless mistakes that would anger him. They would sometimes move to his bedroom and make love during the day but she would be confused at how easily he was able to resume their working arrangement when they returned to his study. He was shorter than her, and slight, but she recognised his power and had begun to realise that she was afraid of him.

She leant forward and continued to study her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognise herself. Her hair was swept up and secured with a jewelled hair fastener drawing attention to the length of her neck. The stylist had applied her make-up and her skin appeared smooth and younger than her years. Her dress was cream satin and had been meticulously cut and fitted to perfection. He had attended the fittings with her and she had noticed how he was treated with respect by the assistant as he made suggestions for small alterations to the design.

He was proud of her slim figure. There was a fully equipped gym in the house and she knew that he expected her to use it. They would eat out regularly – he was a familiar figure at his local restaurant and he would choose for them both from the menu. She noticed how he spoke to the serving staff, asking for their recommendations but always making an alternative choice when he ordered, in what she came to understand was an exquisite show of authority and control.

He had been admiring of her ability to cook and manage a home at first and when she had moved into his house she had enjoyed taking on some of the household duties. He had introduced her to the shops that he normally used, driving them both to the town and waiting in his car for her to gather the groceries from the list that he had prepared. At the beginning she had felt the relief of his protection but he had soon become critical of her choices. She had learnt not to change a brand or add any extras to her shopping basket and would watch his face anxiously as he checked the receipts carefully when they returned home.

Her phone vibrated again. He expected a response but she didn’t reply. She traced the shadows under her eyes with her fingertips and glanced at her wristwatch. She felt a thrill of defiance as she realised that today, it was her privilege to make him wait but she knew that he would find a way to punish her and her head drooped in resignation.

The watch was a present from her father and she adjusted the strap carefully so as to conceal the smudge of a bruise on her wrist. She had kept her father at arm’s length in recent weeks, making excuses not to visit and avoiding any opportunity for more than a brief telephone conversation regarding plans for her forthcoming wedding. Her time was no longer her own. He kept her close, their days having a regularity that had felt safe and comfortable. But when she made arrangements to meet with friends the rules would change. He would question her closely when she returned home or would greet her with a punishing and prolonged silence.

The music stopped and there were sounds of movement and purpose downstairs. Her daughter called up to her and she stopped breathing. Her throat tightened and she crossed her hands and pressed them into her neck. Her hands betrayed her age; the skin creased and dull against the glint of her ring.

She knew how life had brought her to him; the years of struggle and uncertainty, the exhaustion of raising a child alone, the anguish of failed affairs and the shame of desertion. Her failures rose and bled into each other as she stared at her reflection in stricken silence.

Her daughter called again but she remained quiet, still, waiting.

She heard the tread of feet on the stairs and stood up quickly, losing her balance and staggering backwards, overturning the chair. She was gasping now, clutching desperately at the edge of the dressing table. It tipped forward and the vase of flowers capsized – the water splashing and darkening her dress, the dull orange stamens smearing the cream satin

The door opened and she fell to her knees amongst the broken stems and bruised petals. The lilies were a mistake.