by Elise Ramsay
“Oh, who?” Hugh’s attempt at amused exasperation was the most blatant piece of acting that Bridget had ever seen.
“Esme Palmer. I know that voice. She doesn’t even work in your office anymore, so why was she there?”
“She was just....” Hugh stopped himself, realizing that he had dropped himself in it up to his neck.
“Just what? A moment ago, you were all alone working late and I was a pathetic paranoid girlfriend, so typical of all women!”
“For God’s sake Bridge! I couldn’t tell you she was there… I knew how you’d react.”
“Amazing. You’ve insulted me, lied to me and somehow you’re still trying to make this my fault!”
“Insulted you?”
“The typical paranoid girlfriend! Have you got any idea how damned belittling that is? To hide your lie, you felt totally justified in questioning my emotional stability.”
“That’s going a bit far.”
“No, actually, it isn’t.”
Bridget headed off for the bedroom, suddenly feeling a clear plan of action wash over her. Bridget reached high over her head to grab the handle of the largest of their suitcases. As she began to pull it towards her, Hugh’s strong arms hove into view above her head. Grabbing the suitcase down for her, Hugh was helping on instinct before his brain had registered the reality of what the suitcase signified.
“What? Wait a minute, Bridge. What are you doing?”
“Is it not obvious, Hugh?”
“Well, yeah. You’re threatening to leave. You’re trying to get me to apologize.”
“And you’re trying to save face.”
Bridget snatched the handle from his grasp and laid the suitcase down on the bed. Hugh watched her with a smirk as she calmly packed an assortment of clothes, underwear, and books. Catching a look at his face, Bridget knew the self-satisfied smile of old. Hugh was already thinking himself the winner. Bridget was just being silly and he wasn’t going to fall for her empty threat.
How dare he?
Hugh was treating this as some sort of game to be won. A game where he already saw himself as the victor. The fact that he had undoubtedly been cheating on her seemed almost incidental. The fact that Bridget’s very heart was being crushed was secondary to his need to have her back down.
Hugh had always been a flirt and had forever talked to her about how pretty this woman was or how toned that woman was, all to see how she would react. Bridget had never taken the bait, knowing that it was loaded with accusations of jealousy and low self-esteem. Reflecting bitterly that she had suffered from neither of the perceived faults, Bridget was furious to have the insults leveled at her now. Especially since now was the time she really knew he had been unfaithful to her. His whole demeanor gave him away. Hugh thought he had got away with it, Bridget could tell by the way he had leaned languidly against the door frame watching her. Hugh had thought that he was covered. He had only hidden Esme’s presence in the office because Bridget was a silly, jealous little woman with a propensity to overreact. Bridget wondered quite why he had always wanted to see her actually behave that way. His taunting over the years seemed to have increased in his efforts to undermine her. Why on earth would somebody want to engender feelings of insecurity and jealousy in their lover? Whatever his reasons, this time, he had gone too far.
How could he have cheated with Esme Porter? Bridget couldn’t bear the woman. For years, she had suffered Esme’s pinched middle-class tones at every company event she had been forced to endure. There was not a person in the accounting firm with whom Bridget could identify. They all offered smart little opinions when they found out she was a freelance book illustrator. Esme, in particular, treated her as if she was some kind of under-achiever. Esme, the office typist! She seemed to roll around in the reflected glory of her colleagues. If a boring bunch of accountants could indeed achieve such a thing. For glory, read money!
“So, where are you going, my dear?”
“My cottage.”
“What cott... Oh, God! That old place your mother left you? Hugh had let out a loud blast of laughter.
Bridget was so angry that tears sprang into her eyes again.
“That’s right.” Bridget kept her voice calm and avoided his gaze. Concentrating on her packing, she blinked furiously until the tears had dissipated.
“You’ve never been! You don’t even know how to get there!”
“Don’t I?”
Still Bridget would not look at him. It was nearly midnight and she wanted to get packed and away before her determination to leave waned into nothing.
“Do you?” Hugh sounded surprised and concerned as if suddenly recognizing that she might, in fact, leave.
“Yes.”
“But you’ve never been there!”
“So?” Bridget surprised herself. She almost sounded bored with the conversation. The effect, however far from the truth, was not lost on Hugh.
“Well, you, erm... Don’t know where it is.”
“I have the address.”
“I know but...”
“But what? I guess you think that us silly, paranoid little women are totally unable to find places we’ve never been to before without the aid of a big, clever man.”
“But it’s in Scotland!”
“Well, they drive on the same side of the road, don’t they?” His sudden panic left Bridget feeling somewhere between annoyed, guilty, and amused. It wasn’t in her nature to hurt, but neither was it in her nature to be cheated on and lied to. Bridget dropped the lid of the suitcase down with a slap and set about zipping it up. Walking around Hugh, Bridget left the bedroom in search of her art supplies. Seeing her begin to pack her pads and brushes into the huge, battered old leather holdall she used for carting her art gear around, Hugh’s expression changed from slightly arrogant to the look of a spoiled and scared little boy.
“Bridge? You don’t mean it.” It was as much a question as a statement.
“Tell me the truth.” Bridget had turned to face Hugh full on, her eyes fixed firmly on his.
Hugh looked away briefly before looking back at her in what he clearly thought was an earnest manner.
“I’ve already told you the truth.”
Bridget’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. She had been certain of his betrayal, but in that split second, she had seen it in his eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she looked back at him and she could tell that he knew exactly what she had seen there in his lying little face. Suddenly, the calm attitude deserted her. Bridget began to hurriedly throw her art supplies into the holdall. Her breathing had become ragged and she knew she needed to get out of the apartment. Hugh stepped towards her, his arms wide as if he was going to scoop her to him for an embrace. Bridget backed away from him.
“Don’t you ever, ever touch me.” Her voice was surprisingly low and threatening.
Hugh’s bluff arrogance and cocksure smirk were all gone. Finally, he had realized that he was sunk and he stood as still as a statue with his mouth hanging open and his arms still spread wide. Bridget thought he looked like a man starring in a west end musical, about to burst into song. She almost laughed when the inappropriateness of it all hit her. Taking a deep breath, she zipped and buckled the old holdall.
“I don’t have the address,” Hugh said quietly.
“What?” Bridget felt sluggish and worn out as if she had been running through molasses.
“The address for that cottage.”
“You don’t need the address, Hugh. You’re not going there, I am.”
“But...”
“No buts. I’m going.”
From that moment onwards, Bridget’s emotions had swung more wildly than she’d ever experienced in her life. One moment she was ragingly angry, the next she was full of sadness and regret. Bridget and Hugh had been together for so long that his arrogant tendencies had not been obvious to her. Rather they had crept in slowly over time and gone largely unnoticed. From time to time, Bridget ran over odd things in her mi
nd which had annoyed her, but for the most part, she had let some of Hugh’s worst excesses of supreme self-confidence slide. He was a man after all. Like that’s some kind of excuse.
As she drew nearer to Marwick Loch, Bridget began to wonder if Hugh wasn’t right in his doubts that she could find the place. Letting the car roll down the steep mountain road into the valley below, the suddenness with which the Highlands seemed to have appeared took Bridget by surprise. It was beautiful, rugged, and harsh. A place she had not been to since she was a child but still it haunted her dreams. Purple Heather clung to the hillside and gave the place a fairytale feel. Yet in the distance, jagged mountains reached up to the clouds. Their peaks covered in a dreary haze were dark and forbidding. Closer to her a waterfall tumbled over rocks and delighted as it shimmered in a ray of sunshine. This place was like her emotions dark one moment and buoyant the next.
In truth, she had not been concentrating as hard as she should have been. She had been letting the sat-nav do all the work while she wallowed in her self-pity. It wasn’t until the stentorian male tones of the sat-nav confidently declared that she had reached her destination that she had rocketed back to the present. Unless her destination was at the side of a very steep road on a windswept mountainside, Bridget very much doubted that she had arrived.
“You have reached your destination,” he declared once more before Bridged poked the screen hard with her index finger.
“Oh shut up! What do you know?”
As the light faded and the screen went blank, Bridget felt suddenly alone. How stupid! The sat-nav was not going to get her to Greenlyn Cottage, even if she asked it nicely. Bridget pulled the car over and studied the map once more. Surprising herself, she found the spot where she was almost immediately. Running her finger over the smooth page, Bridget traced her route.
“Aha! I’ll never find it, ay Hugh?” she whispered triumphantly. Bridget set off hurriedly whilst the route was still fresh in her mind. Rounding the very base of the rough, jagged mountain, Bridget spotted the unmade road, just where the map had indicated it would be!
Hoorah!
Slowing to a crawl, Bridget eased her car along the bumpy and pitted track. After some minutes, and just at the point where she began to doubt herself once more, the cottage finally hove into view. It was like something off the front of an old biscuit tin. It was small and sweet with ivy growing wild around the walls. The windows were the tiny squares of children’s drawings. Pulling up outside, Bridget took a moment to sit and listen. Nothing but birdsong. It was almost utterly silent. What a strange sensation true silence was. Having lived in London for most of her life, Bridget could not remember such quiet, even in the middle of the night. In London there was always a car, always a plane going overhead, always someone calling in their damned cat. This was truly amazing. Bridget wondered for a moment if it was, perhaps, too quiet. This was the kind of place where you could be alone with your thoughts. All well and good if your current thoughts were nice ones. Yet, the tumult of horrible imaginings and emotions which had sparked her very reason for being there were not thoughts Bridget was so sure that she wanted to be left alone with. Dismissing her gloom for a moment, Bridget decided to replace it with the excitement of looking around her cottage for the very first time.
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The End.
