Breach of Faith

by Andrea Hughes

  He coughed, “your reaction –”

  “Reaction? To what?”

  “Me.” Frank pulled off the highway, the slip road lit up like a Christmas tree, and trundled to a stop.

  “I think we need to talk.”

  *

  The salad sandwich looked surprisingly good, the coffee mediocre at best but the choice was easy as my hand went instinctively to the white mug. So far I had managed to avoid looking at Frank, his own plate of sandwiches also untouched.

  The roadhouse diner was busy as the weather closed in again, and I shivered. Maybe stopping here had been a blessing in disguise, the roads would be treacherous right about now.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I kept my eyes on the window, it seemed easier, and sipped my rapidly cooling coffee. “The rain,” I replied, “I was thinking it was a good idea to stop. And alcohol. I wish I had a stiff drink.”

  Frank snorted then went silent. Finally he sighed. “I was thinking about you. You’re a very beautiful woman, Kate Robson. Very beautiful and just a little bit … strange.”

  I frowned. “Strange?”

  “Elusive, mysterious.”

  Mysterious?

  He reached out and gently turned my head to face him. “Why, Kate? Why did you react like that? When I touched you, when I….” He leaned towards me, full of passion. “You wanted me too.”

  His gaze was unblinking and I desperately tried to concentrate on a blow-fly washing its legs on his shoulder.

  I failed.

  “I don’t know,” I was shaking.

  Frank’s fingers entwined themselves in mine. He studied my face then smiled, squeezed my fingers and released my hand, severing more than just the physical link between us.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, a little too brightly. “Let’s forget it ever happened. It was just a game, right? A bit of fun.”

  A vague feeling of disappointment flitted through me, but I ignored it. Not important, not now. Easier this way.

  Frank grinned, “the storm seems to have passed. Let’s take the chance and go home.”

  “Which way you going, mate?” We looked up into the weathered face of the roadhouse owner, a polite smile creasing his features.

  Frank was frowning, “towards Rowley.”

  “You won’t get there, mate. Coast road’s flooded. Happens every time.”

  Frank’s frown deepened.

  I thought for a moment, “well, we can take the inland road.” I looked at Frank and his frown fell away.

  The owner shook his head, “no go, buddy.”

  Frank’s face fell again, “why on earth not?”

  “Fallen tree. Just before the Rowley Road. Storm knocked it right out of the ground. You’ve got just the two choices, mate.”

  Frank groaned, “go on.”

  The man grinned, “snuggle in your rust-bucket,” he gestured at Frank’s car, “or – “ He gestured vaguely behind himself, “got a motel out there.” He glanced out of the window where the weather had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. “Your choice, buddy.”

  Frank pulled a face and looked at me. I shuddered, “I’m not sleeping in your car, not for all the money in the world.”

  Hands in the air, Frank surrendered. “How much for two rooms?”

  The roadhouse owner looked apologetic. “Sorry, mate, only got the one left.”

  I looked at Frank in horror.

  He shrugged. “We don’t have a choice. Unless you fancy the back seat of my car after all.”

  “But –”

  Frank winked conspiratorially, “I did promise to keep my hands to myself.” He shook the owner’s hand. “We’ll take it.”

  Chapter nine

  15 October

  Martha took a gulp of tea and looked shrewdly at me. “You really are very pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I smiled faintly, sipping my own tea in response. “I’m fine, just a bit tired.”

  Martha hesitated then a little light flickered on behind her eyes and her mouth dropped open. “You’re not –”

  The annoying little voice giggled quietly and I sighed.

  “—you’re not pregnant, are you?”

  I smiled, but without humour. “No, of course not. I can’t be.”

  “Why?” Then Martha’s face fell. “Oh no, Didn’t it work?”.

  “Didn’t what work?” I shook my head, confused by the obscure question.

  Martha lowered her voice, one conspirator to another. “Last time I saw you, you were planning a night of passion and seduction with Will. Don’t tell me he turned you down? Man must be gay.”

  “NO! Of course he’s not.”

  Surprised, Martha examined my face. “I’m kidding. I haven’t seen you in ages and I assumed the sexy undies would work.”

  Clutching gratefully at the chance to change the subject, I pasted a bright smile in place of the furtive expression I imagined was currently on my face. “I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve had a chat. Where have you been, I’m getting withdrawal symptoms?” I giggled merrily, hoping Martha didn’t see through the bad acting.

  She did, of course.

  Martha stared at me for a good fifteen seconds then shrugged. “My dad was sick so I went to look after him. I popped over just before I left and Will told me you’d been caught in the storm and were stuck in Hughenport. What on earth happened?”

  I sighed, “when we left the cooking demo it was pouring down. We stopped at a roadhouse for … a toilet break and found out the roads to Rowley were closed. We had to stay the night in the motel there.”

  Martha frowned, “Will said it was a writer’s conference?”

  “Men. They never listen do they.” My cheeks were getting hot again. “It was politely suggested to me the other day that I could learn a few things from other professional bakers.”

  “Other professional bakers?” Martha’s hand shot out, her fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist, “Kate, what’s going on?”

  So over tea and chocolate biscuits I told Martha almost everything. Will’s sexuality; the link between that problem and my recent dreams; and Frank.

  Martha took a deep breath. “Bloody hell. Are you sure about Will? He doesn’t really strike me as gay.”

  I shrugged, “all I know is what I saw that night. It did look pretty damning.”

  “I suppose it’s too early for a stiff drink?”

  I smiled wryly and checked my watch, “it’s only ten thirty and, to be honest, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Not sleeping well?”

  “Not really.” I rubbed my eyes.

  Martha jumped to her feet, “I’m sorry, Kate. I’ll go. You get some rest.”

  “Don’t go!” My eyes were begging, I could feel it. “I don’t need rest, I just need to talk.”

  Martha sat back down, “Kate, why did you lie to Will about where you went that day?”

  “There’s no fooling you, is there.” I sat back in my chair, “because of who I went with.”

  Martha groaned.

  “It was just a day out at a cookery demonstration, not a hot date.” I could hear my defensiveness and made a conscious effort to tone it down.

  “But, you spent the night with him, Kate.”

  Frustrated, I took a bite of my chocolate biscuit, scattering crumbs everywhere.

  Martha gasped loudly in horror, “oh, Kate, no wonder you don’t want to be pregnant. That night with Frank would have been around the same time you and Will –”

  “Why on earth do you assume I slept with Frank? Just because we got stuck in a motel together, doesn’t mean we had sex.”

  “So you didn’t share a room?”

  I faltered, “well, yes we did –”

  “Oh?”

  “—but he slept on the floor. We didn’t have a choice; there was only one room left. It was either share that or sleep in the car. He said he’d sleep on the floor and he did. And I’m glad he did. He’s a bastard.�
��

  Martha didn’t know what to say, “okay, now you’ve lost me, I thought he was your new best friend? Did he … try to force you, or something?”

  I licked my lips, “no, nothing like that. He did kiss me but –”

  “Kiss you?”

  “—but it was just a little one and it didn’t mean anything. Anyway, that was before.”

  Martha waited but I couldn’t go on.

  “Before what?”

  I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t tell her the whole unadulterated truth.

  Good use of the word adultery there.

  “Before he told me he’d killed his baby.”

  Chapter ten

  15 October

  Eyes closed, shaking fingers wrapped tightly around my steaming brew, my mind’s eye could still see the roadside diner, the rain pounding on the window, the motel room with just one relatively clean bed.

  And I could still see Frank.

  “What happened next?” Martha urged. Opening my eyes, I continued my story.

  “When I woke in the morning, Frank was already dressed. “‘Wakey, wakey sleepy-head’, that’s what he said. Wakey, wakey —”

  *

  “—sleepy-head.”

  Frank was grinning, a tray full to over-flowing with bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast clutched in his hands. I rubbed my eyes and yawned.

  “That smells wonderful.” I sat up against my pillows and Frank lowered the tray onto my lap before sitting on the bed beside me sipping a coffee.

  “They assured me it was edible and I’m inclined to believe them. Then again, anything would look good to me this morning. After last night I’m starving.”

  I laughed, “that goes double for me.” I grabbed a rasher of crispy bacon and stuffed it into my mouth.

  As we ate, I surreptitiously studied Frank. He had ultimately turned out to be the perfect gentleman. Kind, considerate, sexy, always treating me with the utmost respect. I wiped a dribble of egg from my chin. “Frank? Why are you still single? You’re a wonderful bloke, professional, easy on the eye, why hasn’t a gorgeous young filly snapped you up yet?”

  Frank grinned, “why’d you want to know? Keen to put in an order for yourself are you?”

  I ignored that comment. “I know you were married, so why didn’t you ever tie the knot again? Was it really that painful?”

  A shadow flashed across his eyes. “We met at school,” he began. “Cassie was beautiful, funny, caring. We married young and after just a couple of years she fell pregnant …” Frank fell silent and I knew he had returned to that time. The haunted expression had gone, now he just seemed empty.

  “Cassie loved kids, all kids.” He chuckled suddenly, surprising me with the unexpected mirth. “She always said not to call them kids, because a kid is a baby goat.”

  I smiled and nodded. That was one of my pet hates too.

  “She was so excited when she hit the first milestone,” Frank continued, “twelve weeks, no problems. We started to tell everyone; Cassie would have shouted it from the rooftops if I’d let her climb up there.”

  Frank hesitated, the torment had returned, and impulsively I reached out my hand, entwining my fingers with Frank’s, comforting with a touch. Frank’s mouth twitched in what could have been a smile and he squeezed my fingers gratefully.

  “I got into a habit of going out for a drink with mates a few times a week. With everything that was going on, I needed some space to relax; be around people who thought Cassie’s pregnancy was the toughest thing happening to me. One night I must have lost track of time,” he shrugged, “and drank too much again ’cause by the time I got home I was totally knackered, a bit unsteady. You know how it is?”

  I nodded understandingly, “what was going on at the time?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Frank looked sharply at me, then his expression softened. “Suffice to say, the alcohol wasn’t helping me forget like it was supposed to, even though I was drinking way too much. When I got home, I was tired and feverish, my head pounding.” Absently he rubbed his temples, “it was hard to concentrate and all I cared about was reaching my bed as soon as I could.”

  “Were you sick? Was it the alcohol?”

  Frank shrugged; not so much an indication of doubt, more a brush-off. None of my business. He sighed, “we lived in a townhouse with the bedrooms upstairs. I remember feeling angry, at everything and everyone, it was totally irrational but I felt like crap.

  “I went upstairs and as I came out of the bathroom, someone was standing in front of me, blocking my way.”

  “Cassie?”

  Frank nodded. “I can’t remember what she said to me, everything’s a blur, all I remember is staggering into the bedroom and falling into bed. The anger had gone and I just felt … relieved.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” One look at Frank’s face though and I wasn’t so sure. I pressed lightly on his fingers.

  “I found her a few hours later,” he spoke so quietly I could hardly hear the words. “At the bottom of the stairs; there was blood everywhere.”

  “Oh, God –”

  “She’d lost the baby, almost her own life as well. They told her she’d never conceive again; never be a mother. Never have the one thing she truly wanted.”

  “Oh, Frank,” I gave him a quick, hard hug, my cheek pressed to his. I didn’t know what to say. No words could ever heal this wound.

  Frank gripped me tight then pushed me away so he could look into my eyes. “I blame myself, Kate. I know I should have seen someone about my problem sooner and if I had, maybe I wouldn’t have lost my balance. And, oh God, that damned alcohol … I was numb.

  “I found out later what had happened. Apparently I’d lost my balance as I lurched past her. She said I was spaced-out; those were her words, spaced-out again, like a drunkard. I didn’t even seem to see her.”

  He fell silent and I watched him, vaguely confused. Spaced-out like a drunk? Again? My eyes opened wide. “Frank, are you an alcoholic? But last night … last night you were drinking. Would you have hurt me too? Do you remember? Do you remember last night at all?”

  Frank smiled sadly, “I remember,” he said simply.

  I rounded on him, my eyes blazing, “are you denying you have a problem?”

  Frank sighed, “I have a condition, Kate, but –”

  “You killed your baby,” I held the bed sheets up to my chin. “You got drunk and pushed your wife down the stairs. You could have hurt me too. Get some help, Frank, before you do any more damage.”

  *

  “What happened next?” Martha’s quiet voice broke through my ruminations, bringing me crashing back to reality.

  I shrugged, “I told him to go, to get out and leave me alone.”

  “You don’t think that you could possibly have over-reacted?”

  “No.”

  “But, Kate, alcoholism is a disease. I’m sure Frank was suffering as much as you, if not more.”

  My voice sounded cold, detached. “It was his own selfish fault. He admitted he should have got help and if he had, none of this would have happened. It was his decision to go and get drunk with his mates again, instead of giving his pregnant wife the respect she deserved.”

  Martha grasped my hand, giving my fingers a squeeze. “I understand you’re upset but I think you’re being way too hard on him.”

  I stared at Martha. “I was with him while he was drinking. If the alcohol affects him so terribly that he’d hurt the love of his life like that, then he could be capable of anything. It frightened me, Martha. What if he’d hurt me?”

  Martha studied my face. “I understand what you’re saying, Kate, I just don’t get why you’re this upset. Are you feeling guilty about spending the night with him?”

  I remained sitting at the table after my friend left, resting my chin on my hands. As horrible as I felt about lying to her, there was no way I could tell Martha the rest of the story; the whole story about my night with Frank. Sighing, I push
ed my chair back and stood up. Will would be home for lunch soon and there was something I needed to do while I was still alone.

  Pulling a package out of my handbag, I ripped open the paper and glanced dispassionately at the small box inside. I hadn’t had to use one of these for years but nothing much seemed to have changed. You just pee on the stick, right?

  “You’re reacting like a lover, not just a friend”. Martha’s parting accusation hovered in the air like a mosquito; never quite close enough to squash. And as I slid through the toilet door, pregnancy test kit clutched tightly in my hand, I shivered.

  Guilty? You don’t know how right you are.

  Chapter eleven

  31 October

  I needed to blow the cobwebs out of my brain…what was left of it. I’d been sitting in front of that damned computer, almost non-stop for the last two weeks and all I’d written was … nothing. Bloody great journalist I was going to make.

  Frank.

  Time to take control. I’ve got to get out of here.

  Frank.

  Walking down the hill fifteen minutes later, my handbag banging gently against my hip, I felt sane again. I could almost believe that the events of the past month had happened to someone else.

  Almost.

  They did happen to you, though, didn’t they?

  “Yes,” I scowled.

  They’re still happening, aren’t they?

  “Yes,” I was getting defensive, “shut up.”

  The dreams –

  “I dream about lots of stuff.”

  —the sex—

  “Hang on.”

  —the lies and deceit –

  “Hey, steady on.” I was getting annoyed.

  When are you going to tell him? When are you going to tell them?

  “KATE! I thought it was you. How have you been?”

  A red mass of curls was bearing down on me and a genuine grin of warmth lit up my face as I recalled the friendship offered to me by Paula and her husband, Stuart. And she’d managed to scare away the voice in my head. Bonus!

  “Kate, you look wonderful. You’re positively blooming. What on earth have you been doing to yourself to glow so brightly? And could you please share your secret with me?”

  I laughed, “Paula, it’s good to see you again. What brings you to Rowley?”