Martha looked at me curiously. “I noticed you visiting Will again yesterday. Are you two getting back together?”
I shrugged, “we’re just taking it slowly. The kids need their dad and it’s been nice spending time with him. A bit like dating again.”
“You were telling me something about the funeral before I almost got run down by a kamikaze cyclist.”
I snorted in amusement. “Angus was at the wake, told me a very interesting story.”
“What about?”
“Something that had happened to himself many years ago. Oh, Martha, I’ve been such an idiot. All that time I thought I was in control but I didn’t have a bloody clue.” I stepped gingerly around a large patch of duck poo. “Can you believe that a dead man I haven’t seen in twenty years knows more about what’s happening in my life than I do?”
Martha laughed, “I’m sorry to say this, Kate, but yes, I can.”
I nudged Martha in the ribs, “great friend you turned out to be.”
“What did he tell you?” Martha gestured towards a shady park bench and we sat down, sighing in relief.
“About the time he was an alcoholic and the problems he had trying to fix himself up. A good friend helped him and they were so close that his family accused him of having a gay affair with this man. By the way, stop me if this is all starting to sound familiar, won’t you.”
Martha gasped, “oh no, Kate. You mean –”
I nodded, my cheeks beginning to heat up with a mixture of embarrassment and mirth. “He was talking about his own experience but there was definitely an … ulterior motive for telling me.” Finding a stray lump of bread in my pocket, I threw it to a lonely duck with a dodgy foot. “Will’s not gay, Martha, and I’ve been acting like a bloody idiot.”
Martha patted me on the shoulder. “Have you spoken to Will about it?”
I giggled, “what a conversation! Hello Will, how are you? By the way I hear you’re an alcoholic … but thank God you’re not gay.”
Martha grimaced, pushing at one inquisitive duck with her foot. “Not quite what I had in mind.”
“Did you know Will turned up at the wake?”
Martha looked askance, “he didn’t make a scene, did he? Oh yuk, that duck just pooed on my foot.”
I shook my head, “actually he was very … understanding.”
*
The Wake
I wandered back into the throng of mourners, a tired smile on my face. After his initial cryptic comment, Angus had been so forthcoming that I’d been quite embarrassed he had known more about me, my husband and my marriage than I had.
“And I thought I was the one in control,” I muttered as the back door closed quietly behind me.
Wrong, little lady. How do you feel now? SUCK-ER.
“Oh, for the last time, shut up,” I shook my head, trying to erase the sound of giggling.
“Kate? Is everything okay?”
I turned wearily, my smile growing as I saw the bubbly red curls of Paula bobbing beside me. “Just a bit tired.” That’s what happens when you let a ghost suck your energy. I waved my hand to ward off Paula’s further questions, “I’ll just be glad when this is all over.”
“Well, if you want me to look at you later, check on the baby, just ask. Now,” reverting back to Pushy Paula, she started to steer me through the house. “You have a visitor.”
I looked sideways at my friend as I was forcibly squeezed through a door. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Paula, I can see at least twenty visitors all vying for my attention.”
“Yes, yes,” Paula shoved me unceremoniously down the hallway, trotting along behind. “But this one’s different.”
Frank.
The thought flitted into my head and before I could stop it, the name managed to squeeze out from between my lips.
Paula slowed down looking shocked, “what? No, Kate, not Frank. He’s… gone, remember.”
I bit my lip and nodded, “sorry, I know. Slip of the tongue.” Ignoring Paula’s worried stare I continued walking. “Who then?”
Paula ushered me through another door and pointed towards the window. “Him.”
“Will?” I stared in surprise at my husband.
“I’ll leave you alone,” and Paula retreated, closing the door and shutting out most of the rest of the world. I licked my lips nervously, still staring at Will. I was really glad he’d came.
He looked worried, unsure, as if he didn’t think he should be here, didn’t know if he wanted to be here.
Why is he here?
“Why did you come?” May as well start with the obvious question, get it over and done with.
Will shrugged, looking sympathetic. “I heard what happened to Frank. I’m sorry, Kate, I know he was a … a good friend of yours.”
Good friend? That’s one way to put it.
The uncertainty was back, clouding his eyes, and I realised why. He was worried, scared even, that I was going to turn him away.
I smiled. It was small and sad, but hopefully it answered his unspoken doubt and welcomed him, both at the same time. Gesturing towards the sofa I sat down, closely followed by Will.
Now what? We were like strangers, not wanting to say or do the wrong thing. I knew what I had to say, knew there was so much I had to explain; but how. So, again, I reverted back to the obvious.
“How have you been?”
Will’s face brightened. “really good. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, made a few decisions, and, well, when you’re ready, it’s time we talked.”
I nodded slowly, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. Was this when he asked for a divorce? Didn’t want to bring up another man’s child? I looked away, not wanting to see the answers to my questions in his eyes.
I felt his fingers touch mine, like a tiny breeze blowing softly over my skin. “Kate? How have you been coping, really?”
I grimaced, “as well as can be expected.” The bulge of my pregnant body seemed to taunt me and I steadfastly ignored it, “I’ve had some good people around helping me.”
I could hear the accusation in my own voice and hated myself for it: where were you when I needed you? Where were you when my baby’s father died?
If Will heard it too he gave no sign, continuing to stroke my fingers in comfort and support. “I wish you’d called me, told me what was happening. You shouldn’t have had to cope with that alone. Although,” He paused, “I didn’t think it appropriate for me to turn up at the funeral.”
The accusation was there too: why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me find out from someone else?
I had thought about telling Will, of course I had, needing his strength, his compassion, his love. But how could I? How could I turn to my husband when my lover had died? How could I expect my husband’s comfort while I carried another man’s baby?
I felt the burning in my cheeks once again and shook off his fingers, standing suddenly and waddling to the window. This was suddenly becoming way too complicated.
“Kate?” I heard the sofa springs squeak and he appeared behind me. Not touching, just there; just in case.
I shook my head mutely and Will continued.
“Kate, so much has happened recently but this isn’t the time or place for accusations or explanations. I can’t pretend forever that nothing has happened but just for today, let’s bury the hatchet? Let me help you. Tomorrow we can talk.”
Running shaking fingers through tangled hair, I turned to face him, wiping my runny nose on the back of my hand. Sniffing through the tears, I tried to smile. “As long as you don’t bury the hatchet in my head.”
Will chuckled, “cross my heart and hope to die.”
At his look of dismay for his badly chosen words, I waved his apology away, hunting for a handkerchief to blow my stuffy nose. Silently, Will pulled a crumpled tissue from his own pocket, glanced at it then offered it to me.
“Thanks,” I blew my nose. Uncertainly I stared at the ragged tissue before finally offering it back to
him.
Will gazed at the sorry specimen. “Keep it,” he offered finally.
I stuffed the tissue into my pocket. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered.
“So am I,” he took me into his arms, holding me tight as my tears flowed again. “Just remember, that was my last tissue.”
*
Martha and I were walking again, watching seagulls fight over a scrap of sandwich on the grass nearby. Martha linked her arm in mine. “Did you see him the following day?”
“Not the following day but yes, we’ve talked.”
“And…?”
I smiled at my best friend, patting her arm with my free hand. “Let’s make our way back to Frank’s house and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Chapter fifty
18 May
I was silent at first, lost in my own thoughts. My conversation with Will had been, well, unusual to say the least. Finally, I started at the beginning.
*
“A gay affair?” Will stared incredulously, the kettle forgotten in his hand, the laughter still fizzing in his eyes.
“Well, you were spending a lot of time down there.” I felt the blood rush to my face and rubbed it furiously. “It seemed like every time I called you, every time I saw you, every time I needed you, you were with Carl. You’d go out and get a pizza and pop in to work; even when you weren’t planning on going anywhere you’d end up going down there to pick up a roster or check your hours or get your payslip, or … or something. So, at first I thought …”
“Yes?” Will plugged the kettle in and sat down opposite, “you thought … what?”
“… that you were with her.”
Will leaned forward over the table, his hand behind his ear, “Who’s “her”?”
“Lesley.”
“Lesley?” Will burst out laughing again.
“What’s so funny about that?” I felt stupid but didn’t understand why.
Pouring boiling water into two cups, Will chuckled as he brought the coffees over to the table, “Kate, I may have my faults but stealing a workmate’s girlfriend is not one of them.
“Workmate’s girlfriend? Oh no, she’s Carl’s girlfriend?” I groaned, “bloody man, why can’t you gossip once in a while?”
Will was still chortling insanely, “that’s not what I meant. Lesley is in a relationship with Betty, our cleaner.”
“What?” My mouth fell open. “You’re kidding? Sexy Lesley is shacked up with Boring Betty? She’s a lesbian? Bloody hell.”
Getting himself under control, Will nodded, “apparently Betty isn’t quite so boring when she’s entertaining her girlfriend.”
I grimaced, “too much information, thank you.”
He laughed again and I joined in, suddenly feeling more at ease with him than I had in a very long time. Still smiling, I stood up to check on Kensie and Tom playing happily in the garden. They were okay, and their little brother or sister was awake, using my bladder as a trampoline again.
Hesitantly, Will put out his hand, “can I?”
Taking his hand I placed it on my abdomen just as the baby kicked hard. “Did you feel it?”
Will’s eyebrows shot up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feel of that.” He removed his hand, keeping his fingers entwined in mine, “come and sit back down.”
We talked for a while, becoming more and more comfortable in each other’s company. Finally Will sighed, “I guess it’s my turn. Tit for tat, your embarrassing secret in return for mine.”
I shrugged, “only if you’re ready.”
Ah, but are you ready, my sweet Katy?
I kept quiet but in the back of my mind I did wonder if I was ready for the truth. If Angus was right, and Will was an alcoholic, then my husband had been lying to me throughout the whole of our marriage. Did I really want to hear this right now?
Will took a sip of his coffee, levelling his blue eyes at me. “I’m an alcoholic, I have been for almost twenty years.”
“Twenty years? Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”
Will thought for a moment. “When I met you I was in a really good place. My life was going well and I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in … God, it would be at least three years. Then you came along and it was like a reward for all my hard work.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So I was a trophy for your cabinet? Thanks.”
Will grinned, “Kate, you’re beautiful and vivacious, a little naïve but very strong and sensual. When you agreed to marry me, I was a bloody idiot, I just couldn’t find a way to tell you.”
I frowned, ignoring his compliments, plenty of time for that another day. “But I’ve seen you drink. We’ve had wine and spirits and …” I paused, thinking hard, “…you’re saying that since we married you’ve been constantly falling off the wagon?”
Will was shaking his head, “God no. I’m not that pathetic. Think about it … when have you actually seen me drink alcohol?”
I opened my mouth to reply then closed it again. He was right, I’d never actually seen him drink alcohol. On nights where we shared a bottle of white wine, he insisted on drinking it with juice, spirits were always mixed, and not once in twelve years of marriage had I poured him a drink, he always made them up himself with the excuse that only he was able to make it just the way he liked it.
He saw the truth dawn on my face and nodded, satisfied. “It’s true, only I could make my drinks the way I liked them … anyone else would put much too much alcohol in.” He grinned, “didn’t touch a drop in all that time.”
“You hid it with all the mixers you used,” I paused, “not a drop, until …”
Will raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at my expanding belly, “exactly.” He held up his hand, “no, that’s not fair. You didn’t put the bottle in my hand, or force me to drink it, I managed that all on my own.”
“But it’s still my fault.”
Will shrugged, “doesn’t matter, Kate. I shouldn’t have given in to temptation, it’s as simple of that.”
I stared down at the table top, running my finger round and round a ring of moisture left behind from my cup. “I’m sorry, Will.”
He reached across and stilled my hand, patting my fingers gently. “I know. And now it’s your turn. How did it all happen, Kate? How did our marriage come to this? You owe me that, at least.”
*
Martha and I turned into my street. Frank’s house was a few doors up on the right and by unspoken agreement we slowed down, giving me time to finish.
“What did you tell him?” Martha’s voice was sympathetic.
I made a face, “everything.” We stopped outside the gate, just as the breeze caught it, slamming it back against the old, wooden fence. I grabbed it to prevent any more damage. “I thought I’d closed this. I told him about the dreams, the lies … everything.”
“Bloody hell, you don’t do things by half, do you.”
I smiled, “if we’re going to have a chance at any sort of relationship again we have to start with the truth. No more lies.”
“Are you going to try again?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “maybe. It’s going to be a long process, though, especially with the birth just around the corner. Only a few weeks to go now.”
Martha smiled, “I’m really looking forward to it.” She studied my face, “you go and get your rest, you look buggered.”
I laughed, “I’ve got a perfect evening planned. The kids are staying with Will so I have a date with a hot bath and all my ghosts and memories.”
“Ghosts? Has Frank been … here, you know, since?”
I shook my head, moving through the open gate and closing and latching it firmly. “No but some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling might be because he’s trying to communicate. I can always hope.”
Waving to Martha, I wandered up the path and unlocked the front door. My blood still ran cold every time I did this; such a simple act which held such ba
d memories. Would I open the door this time and find Frank crumpled at the bottom of the stairs? Sometimes I imagined he was there when the door swung open, lying still and lifeless, waiting to die, the screams of my children echoing in my ears.
“Pull yourself together, woman,” I muttered and pushed open the door.
Is he here?
When would Frank’s ghost finally find a way to come? That he would, I had no doubt, it was just a question of when.
Is he here?
Was that a noise in the sitting room?
Trying not to get too excited, I hurried up the hallway, frowning as I noticed the open back door through the kitchen beyond. Should be more careful, anyone could get in.
I stared with eager anticipation into the room, “Frank?”
“Get out my fuckin” way, bitch.”
I gasped, automatically taking a step back, out of the doorway into the hall. The man was pointing at me, menace in his stance, insanity in his eyes. I froze as I took in the scene before my, the whole room had been trashed. Drawers emptied, coffee tables overturned, photos broken.
In shock, I let out a cry of anger and took a small step into the room. My photo, the photo of me and Frank taken not long before his fall and rapid demise.
The only photo I had of the two of us, together.
This bastard had wrecked it, ground the heel of his boot into the glass. I stared into his bloodshot eyes. “You bastard. Get out of my fucking house, you arsehole.” I took another step towards him.
I had never been an impulsive person before. These last few months had probably been the most spontaneous of my life and stepping into that room was likely the most impetuous thing of all.
And the most stupid.
Too late, I realised the desperation of the man before me. The finger he was pointing, waving from left to right in time with the man’s nerves, was not a finger at all and as the barrel levelled directly at my chest, I had a sudden rational thought: he’s got a gun and I’m going to die.
I heard the bang, sharp in the silence of the room, the bullet shoving me backwards, turning me as I stumbled against the wall. Someone screamed, in pain? In shock?
“Oh fuck. I told ya. I told ya, bitch, don’t get in my way.”
Breach of Faith Page 22
