She left over a period of a few months. A little at a time, her things were gradually separated from all that surrounded them and put into the caravan. It was winter and there were no plans to go anywhere in it.
Nobody noticed her things going.

Very few things were thrown out although she did try. Some envelopes of typed letters perhaps, but nothing hand-written. The batteries of her Walkman had run down so they could go but not before trying them in smaller appliances. She noticed then that she had two of various things – cameras, clock radios, torches and travel hairdryers.

She had accumulated few things of significant size. She had many books and could account for the new gaps by way of a charity shop run.
Clothes were easy. It wasn’t as if anybody particularly noticed what she wore.

As she continued to leave, her issues became less effecting. This made life at home much more pleasant. She dragged out her leaving for this very reason. It had been quite a while since she could say that life was pleasant.

Her husband said that he had noticed a difference in her, she’d lightened up. He always said that a change of attitude could make all the difference. He remained the same which was just what she wanted him to do.

Her car was never used to tow the caravan. It was too small and not powerful enough. So, one afternoon she crashed it into a tree and got a bigger one with the insurance money and a bit she had saved. She was unhurt but the shock of it took some time to wear off. It became a small smile and a barely noticeable shake of her head at times when she could see beyond her days as they were. Who would’ve thought it?

As she went along, everything was put directly into the storage space of the caravan. Sometimes after college her son went in there to have a bong. She didn’t want him to find out what she was up to. At this time, she didn’t feel sad or guilty or anything. She had too much to do, as usual. It was part of the list of chores that she made every morning amongst the breakfast paraphernalia.

Her lists were always extremely detailed as if preparing for someone to come in and take over from her. It had not escaped her notice that this had never happened even though she asked. She styled her hair using the reflection from the microwave door. The reflection was more flattering than that of a mirror.

In the drawer under the microwave were carrier bags, plastic things that keep cans together and bottle tops of all kinds. She’d been recycling but sometimes she became confused about what to do with these things. They were somehow complicated, made up of different materials so she wasn’t sure what box to put them in. She decided she might just leave them there when she left.

Whenever she made lists at the table, her husband would come into the kitchen and tell her something that he needed from the shops.
“Some chops, love and the telly book” he would say to the top of her head as he made his way to the fridge. He would eventually think back to times like that when he was just an eye-stretch away from knowing exactly what was going on.
She would try and remember these things in her head. Her lists were of more vital aspects than shopping. They were a recent idea and they kept life neatly wrapped up. Surprises were of no use to her and without the tie of these lists, she may sit down on the floor with unusually long gaps between blinks.

Her eyes were dry because of this and she would often look like she was suddenly starting to cry but it was not the case. When she did cry, she would scream as well. The floor was fake-tiled with clammy feeling plastic, brown and cream.

She had never liked the floor and had now taken to walking only on the brown squares. She did this with such confidence that it was barely picked up on by her family. If she did find herself on the cream ones, there were difficult days ahead and she would take some extra tablets in preparation.

Bill, her husband, was now satisfied that all was returning to normal and he was pleased that he no longer had to try and understand something which he didn’t like. Just as long as Edwina took her tablets, all would be well.

Her medication box, with the days divided up, was kept on top of the fridge. Her other stashes were kept:
A) In the caravan
B) Behind the dustbins
C) In her sewing box
She periodically changed these places to avoid discovery. The lists helped her keep up with details such as these. Her G.P, her support worker and her psychiatrist were unaware of the Private G.P. He had unknowingly been providing her with extra medication for the best part of six months.

All this would come out in the wash.

Whilst Edwina was in hospital, she had met some new friends and had stayed in touch with one or two of them. Today she was going to see Rachael. They were meeting in a café. They had arranged to meet several weeks ago and hadn’t spoken since as neither of them had mobiles. The landline was always clogged up with internet. Bill had taken to spending much of his spare time on the internet and parcels would sometimes arrive. Edwina had absolutely no idea what was in them.

“Will you make your way round to the Post Office when you’re out, Ed?”
“I’ll not be going that way”, she replied.
“Off to see your mentalist pals again. There are plenty of people you could get to know at the social club. Just leave it, woman. You’re not there anymore and neither will you be again.”

Increasingly, their lives took different turns. He used to take her ballroom dancing and she would dance around the hall on her own, sometimes, she was so happy. He would just lean back in his chair and make comments like, “She’s always been so graceful” and “My wife, y’know” to those about him. He was never quite sure what she was so happy about, though. When he asked her, she hadn’t realised that she was. Naturally happy, they presumed.