Diary #1: Early signs.

Diary entries from the year before the disclosures.

Sunday

I’d just come back from a work trip. Technically it was a festival, so I’d spent a good chunk of it avoiding clients, sipping gin with Fever-Tree, and dancing to Jo Whiley. Felt groggy for the handover with Liam, but nothing unusual—until Lola said something that made my stomach drop.

She told me she didn’t want to go to the New Forest with C tomorrow. Said she didn’t like it when they went to Thorpe Park because he’d slept next to them naked.

Naked.

I felt sick. Off-balance. I didn’t want to overreact, but I also couldn’t ignore it.

Quick Whatsapp check-in with my closest friends. Most said their husbands didn’t wear much to bed, and a few said they’d never even thought about it—until now. I could feel them shifting uncomfortably, the same unease creeping in.

I spoke to Mum. She’s worked in schools, knows how to keep a level head, and she didn’t hesitate. “Show them the NSPCC PANTS video,” she said.

So we did. The girls loved it—dancing cartoon pants and all. They didn’t seem worried watching it, which gave me a sliver of reassurance. Maybe Lola’s comment was innocent? But it still didn’t sit right.

I rang Liam. He screamed, then hung up. Par for the course. His phone was off all afternoon. I was nervous—imagining the worst. Eventually, he agreed to come round in the evening to talk before he took the girls away.

By 9pm, he was calmer. Claimed they’d had separate beds at Thorpe Park, that Lola couldn’t have known he was naked. He sounded convincing.

Still, I planned to check in with her again in the morning. Because with Liam , nothing is ever straightforward.

Monday

This morning I casually brought it up with the girls over breakfast — “Did you and Daddy have separate beds at Thorpe Park?” Lola didn’t even blink. “Oh yes,” she said breezily. “We did have separate beds.”

She seemed totally unfazed. No weirdness. No tension. Just normal. So maybe… maybe there really was nothing?

But then came the goodbye.

As Liam drove them off on their trip, they both screamed from the car window. Loud, desperate, guttural screams.

Is that normal?

I stood there, heart thumping. Trying to tell myself I’m overthinking it. That I’m just projecting all the reasons I can’t live with him — the OCD, the criticism, the constant emotional warfare. But they’re little. They shouldn’t be feeling this kind of dread, right?

And yet… they’re clever. Lola, especially, picks up on everything, she can mimic C’s passive-aggressive tone with alarming precision.

Maybe they already know. Maybe they’ve always known.