by Emlyn Rees
‘Mm-hm,’ Ned mumbled, concentrating on the floor.
Ellen tapped Caroline Walpole’s diary in her hand, wishing he’d look at her. If he wouldn’t look at her, how could she start a conversation with him?
She thought about telling him about the drama with Denny, Jimmy and Verity, but when Ned didn’t say anything, she lost heart. ‘I brought back the diary,’ she said, holding it up. ‘I thought you might want to keep it with the other papers.’
Ned looked at her then, his face neither unfriendly, or friendly, just terrifyingly neutral. As their eyes connected across the sun-filled room, Ellen’s heart seemed to jump, but Ned betrayed no emotion. ‘Thanks. You can leave it there by the door.’
This is intolerable, thought Ellen, tempted to run across the tiles and shake Ned until he listened to her. But she knew that would be hopeless. Slowly, she crouched and put the diary down, stroking the leather cover. She couldn’t stand this atmosphere between them. She had to say something. ‘Ned,’ she began as she stood up. ‘About the other night –’
‘I must remember to give you back the quilt. Clara’s quite taken with it.’
‘No, not that,’ Ellen implored. ‘About –’
‘I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, Ellen,’ he said quietly, looking at his shoes. ‘I meant what I said about there being no second chances for me.’
When he looked at her, Ellen felt as if he’d punched her, just like Denny had punched Jimmy. He’d already run away from her once; he wasn’t supposed to push her away again! How dare he think she was coming on to him, she thought indignantly, when she’d come to tell him just the opposite.
‘I’m with Jason,’ she said, almost spitting the words out at him. ‘And I intend to be with him for ever.’
‘Good. I hope you’ll be very happy,’ Ned said.
The note of finality in his voice made her nose sting with tears. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. When she looked up, Ned had disappeared through the door and she was alone.
Ellen was still smarting from her meeting with Ned when she and Scott drove back down into town and, at Scott’s suggestion, stopped by the Mr Chips near the arcade for some late lunch.
‘Yes, you can borrow the car,’ Ellen said to Scott with a sigh, as she pushed against the shop door. Immediately she walked into the steamy interior, her nostrils were assaulted by the delicious smell of fresh chips and she realised that Scott’s idea to come here had been a good one.
‘I won’t if you don’t want me to,’ said Scott, following her inside, but Ellen knew that he didn’t mean it. Ever since Scott had finally been out on a date with Debs last night, he’d been plotting where to take her next. Tonight’s venture involved a moonlit drive by the sound of it.
Ellen knew she was being mean, but the truth was that she was a little jealous that Scott was so happy about Debs. And she was worried that things were about to change. She liked it when he was around at the cottage, and, even though it was she who’d suggested that he combine the filming with a holiday, she hadn’t expected him to spend his time going out on dates.
‘It’s OK. I’ll go back on the train,’ Ellen said, looking up at the chalk board menu on the wall behind the counter, but inwardly groaning about the journey back to London. ‘I think there’s one in an hour.’
‘You’re making me feel bad. I’ll buy you chips to make it up to you for being such a fabulous boss.’
Ellen glanced at Scott, who was grinning at her. ‘Creep,’ she said. ‘You don’t feel bad. You’re too loved-up for that. It makes me sick.’
‘You’ve got to admit she’s incredible.’
‘Enough already!’ Ellen exclaimed, having heard nothing from Scott apart from Debs’s virtues all day. She was beginning to regret her ideas of matchmaking him and Debs, even though she hadn’t had to do anything. Ellen had only dropped a few hints and before she’d known what was happening, Scott had already asked her out. She had to admire his forthright attitude. ‘I admit that Debs is very pretty and, from what I’ve seen of her, she seems … nice,’ Ellen conceded.
‘Nice!’ Scott scoffed. ‘She’s more than nice!’
‘Yes, well, pity she works for such a pig,’ Ellen grumbled.
‘I thought you and Ned were getting on.’ Scott said, looking confused, before ordering chips from the girl behind the counter.
‘We were,’ Ellen said with a sigh as they waited. She was tempted to tell Scott what had almost happened between her and Ned, but she was too embarrassed. Now that he and Debs were an item, she couldn’t guarantee that Scott wouldn’t say something that would get back to Ned. ‘Forget it, it’s a long story. Let’s just put our differences down to emotional baggage.’
‘It sounds like Ned’s got a carousel full of it.’
‘Is that what Debs says?’ Ellen asked despite herself. She was determined to forget Ned and that anything had ever happened between them. After what he’d said in the ballroom earlier, Ellen was convinced that her initial impression of Ned Spencer had been the correct one: he was conceited and arrogant. He always had been and he always would be.
‘Debs says he doesn’t talk about things much. Especially not her.’
‘Who? Mary?’
Scott nodded his head. ‘Poor guy. He’s been through a hell of a lot. Fancy finding your wife like that …’
Scott accepted the two cones of chips from the woman behind the counter and handed one to Ellen. Then he started to move towards the door.
‘What do you mean?’ Ellen asked, stopping him.
Scott munched on a chip. ‘Ned’s wife. Mary. He found her electrocuted in the bath,’ he explained. ‘She did it with a hairdryer. I guess you don’t get over that in a hurry.’
Ellen dropped the small wooden fork she was holding. Her mouth fell open, as Scott opened the door and she was hit by a blast of cold air. But that was nothing compared with the physical sensation that was going on inside her. She felt her stomach lurch, as if she’d driven fast over a very large bump in the road.
‘I thought you said Ned talked to you,’ Scott said, frowning at her.
‘He said … he said … she died of a brain disease,’ Ellen mumbled. ‘He didn’t say that she’d …’
Ellen’s confusion over Scott’s revelation had only increased as the train sped through the countryside into the dark outskirts of the city. She snuggled down in her seat and tried to read her book, but she’d read the same passage over and over again without concentrating. Beside her, the aisles filled up with commuters, men and women in suits with tired expressions, and the air became muggy and soporific with bad moods and condensation from dozens of damp umbrellas.
By the time the train pulled into Paddington, Ellen felt weary and dirty. After nearly three hours of travelling, all she wanted was a hot shower and to go to bed. She’d only been sitting on a train, but she felt as if she’d crossed a continent and her day in Shoresby now seemed like a memory from a different planet.
As she walked along the platform, Ellen felt unnerved by the number of people purposefully striding past her, their faces set with determination. It’s so unfriendly, she thought, as a woman shoved past her to get on to the escalator down into the tube. Ellen could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, as she was sandwiched between two people, her bag pressed against her, so that she could hardly breathe.
On the tube, Ellen held on to the overhead rail, trying not to look at two drunk city boys who were telling crude jokes in the seats below her. She’d always been able to glide around the city, ignoring the ugly facts about it, making it her own. But now she noticed the filth and the dirt, and it made her want to run away.
Even when she made it off the tube and walked the familiar route to the flat, she felt uneasy. Usually, she was so sure of her home and her roots, but now she felt slightly unstuck, as if part of her was adrift.
The heating hadn’t come on, so it was cold in the flat when Ellen got inside. She could see the answerphone blinking with messages, but
she couldn’t face any of them. Flicking through the mail, she walked into the kitchen to the fridge, but she already knew before opening it that there would be nothing edible in it. She chucked the unopened letters on the side, grabbed the corkscrew and pulled out a bottle of wine from the rack.
In the living room, Ellen shoved all the papers and magazines off the sofa on to the floor, then, flopping down, she flicked on the widescreen TV. Yet still, after a few more glasses of wine, she couldn’t relax. She’d thought that coming back to the flat would help her focus. She’d thought that being in the space she shared with Jason would make everything better. But it only made her feel more alone.
From her vantage point on the sofa she looked around her, taking in the tastefully framed prints and large glass lamps. She’d decorated it. This was all her work. There wasn’t one thing visible of Jason’s to remind her of him. Even the books were hers.
In the bedroom she opened her bag, letting the contents spill out on the bed. It was then that she saw she’d brought Ned’s jumper, the one that he’d lent her the day she’d rescued Clara. It must have been in the bottom of her bag, and she stared at it, unable to believe that she’d subconsciously brought a piece of Ned back here into her home.
As the jumper lay across her and Jason’s bed like a flattened-out hug, all the times she’d shared with Ned, all the conversations they’d had, filled her head.
Why hadn’t Ned told her? Why hadn’t he trusted her with the truth? Ellen sat down on the bed and picked up the jumper. It all finally slotted into place – Ned’s anger at her documentary, his need to get blind drunk. It was all because he was still grieving over Mary’s suicide.
And that was why he’d pushed her away. That was why he didn’t want any second chances.
Ellen closed her eyes, sadness and confusion overwhelming her. This wasn’t fair, she thought. All she was trying to do was her job. She hadn’t expected her whole life to be turned upside down. She hadn’t done anything physically, but everything had changed. Everything she’d always taken for granted in her life now seemed to be slipping away from her.
Ellen felt tears welling up in her eyes and a dull ache spreading inside her chest. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so sad? Was she sad for Jason or for Ned? Was she missing the man who loved her, or the one who never would? Hugging Ned’s jumper to her, she curled up on her bed and silently wept.
Chapter XV
‘THE BIG ONE’S a sapphire,’ Marianna Andrews answered Jimmy. ‘And the little ones clustered around the edge are diamonds.’
It was Saturday morning, two days after Jimmy Jones had been punched in the face by Denny Shapland and half an hour before Video-2-Go was due to open. Marianna stepped out of her black lace knickers and walked over to where Jimmy was sitting on the edge of the wooden table in the middle of the stockroom. He was swinging his legs and letting the soles of his trainers scuff along the concrete floor like a kid, and it was only when she reached him that he stopped. She pressed her left hand down on his thigh and splayed her fingers over the denim of his jeans.
‘Do you really like it?’ she asked, leaning forward in such a fashion that the only way in which he was able to examine her engagement ring was by staring directly down between her breasts. The citrus scent of her perfume filled his nostrils and the sapphire sparkled intermittently under the flickering strip light.
‘I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,’ he confirmed, although really and truly, of course, he didn’t either like it or hate it.
Really and truly, her engagement ring struck him as incongruous and fake-particularly when, like now, it was the only thing she was wearing. Really and truly, it made Jimmy feel guilty, the same as the framed photo of Marianna’s husband, Bill, who grinned stupidly down at them from the stockroom wall with a fishing rod in one hand and a dead conger eel in the other. And really and truly, the only reason Jimmy had commented on the ring in the first place had been in an attempt to induce these feelings in Marianna as well.
But Marianna was proving more impervious to Jimmy’s powers of suggestion than he could have ever imagined. Flexing her left hand like a spider, she slowly began to claw her blood-red nails up over Jimmy’s thigh towards his groin. ‘And this?’ she whispered, leaning further forward, so that Jimmy could feel her breath on his lips. ‘Do you really like this, too?’
Jimmy cleared his throat. ‘Listen, Marianna,’ he began, ‘there’s something I think we need to –’
‘Ah-ah,’ she cut him off, pressing her forefinger against his lips. ‘You know the rules.’
But Jimmy didn’t want to play by them right now. ‘No,’ he said, shifting sideways across the table’s edge. ‘Not today. Today I want to’ – he knew she wasn’t going to like this, but he knew he had to say it anyway – ‘talk,’ he stated.
Marianna’s eyes flashed wide as if he’d just asked her to bend him over and give him a good spanking. Strike that, he thought. She was looking at him as though he’d just asked her to do something that she wouldn’t enjoy.
‘Talk? What on earth about?’ She clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘We didn’t come back here to talk, Jimmy,’ she pointed out. ‘Come on: time’s precious. We can talk in the shop whenever we want.’
‘I know,’ Jimmy replied, ‘but …’
‘But what?’ She tapped her bare foot on the concrete.
For some reason the action conjured up an absurd image in Jimmy’s mind of Marianna as a snorting bull getting ready to charge and himself as a hopelessly inadequate matador. With an effort of will, however, he dismissed the thought. He was determined not to let Marianna dominate the situation. He wasn’t going to chicken out now, no matter how awkward she made him feel. He had to forget the fact that she was his boss. He had to forget the fact that she was twice his age. He slid off the table and stood facing her. ‘This has got to stop,’ he announced.
There, Jimmy thought, that wasn’t that hard, was it?
Only Marianna wasn’t going to make it that easy. ‘Stop what?’ she protested. ‘We haven’t even started yet.’
‘Us,’ Jimmy insisted. ‘All this … what we’ve been doing … it’s over. It’s time for it to end.’
Marianna’s whole body stiffened. ‘Says who? Says you? You say it’s over? You say it’s time? You are saying that to me?’
‘Listen,’ Jimmy tried to explain, ‘there are some things that … things in my life,’ he went on, ‘that have changed …’
Marianna’s expression relaxed. ‘Oh, that,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Your grandmother. How ill she’s become.’
Jimmy was confused. ‘I don’t think –’
‘It’s OK,’ said Marianna. She folded her arms and leant up against the table, exactly the same as she did against the shop counter whenever she was chatting to a customer – only there, of course, she did wear clothes. ‘I know all about it,’ Marianna explained. ‘I bumped into Rachel yesterday afternoon and I asked her if you were feeling any better …’
Jimmy reddened. He’d called in sick yesterday morning, leaving messages for Marianna at Video-2-Go when he’d known damn well that she’d be out, telling her that he’d got food poisoning. He’d been putting off coming here, putting off the very conversation he was having now.
‘And after she’d told me that there was actually nothing wrong with you,’ Marianna continued, ‘the two of us sat down and had a chat. And she told me all about your grandmother and about how much stress you’ve been under lately. Not to mention your accident the day before yesterday …’ Marianna stared knowingly at Jimmy’s eye, still swollen from when Denny had smacked him.
Jimmy had assumed that the wound would have proved an asset in busting up with Marianna, what with it making him look as much like Quasimodo as it did, but she hadn’t even mentioned it up until now.
‘Debs told me about that, too, about how you fell off your bike and hit your face on a beer can that someone had dropped on the street.’
&n
bsp; ‘Yeah, sure,’ Jimmy said, his lie sounding even less convincing when repeated by someone else.
‘So it’s hardly surprising if your libido’s taken a bit of a battering, is it, love?’ Marianna continued. ‘Stress and trauma do that, don’t they? And if you want us to take a break for a week, then of course I’ll fully understand … but let’s not overreact. When you’re feeling better, we can pick up where we left off. There,’ she concluded. ‘I can’t say fairer than that.’ She smiled at Jimmy coolly, before turning her back on him and walking towards where her clothes lay in a pile.
Watching the jagged scar on her right buttock stretch and straighten as she bent down and picked up her bra, Jimmy considered leaving the issue there. He could act complicit, take the break she’d offered him and just extend it every week. He could let her down softly over time and avoid a full-on conflict altogether.
Her back arched as she started to fasten her bra.
But he didn’t want to string her along like that. He didn’t want to leave her with the false impression that he still belonged to her. Because he didn’t. He belonged to someone else now: Verity. Even if Verity didn’t know it yet. Even if she didn’t yet care. Because that was what this was really about. It was about honouring the way he’d felt during that brief, brief moment he’d kissed Verity. This was about wanting to be with her and no one else.
‘I’m in love with Verity Driver,’ Jimmy said. ‘And that’s why I don’t want to have sex with you any more.’
Marianna slowly turned and stared at Jimmy for what must have been five whole seconds. He thought that perhaps she’d stopped breathing, or was contemplating such a lengthy verbal assault that it was taking her this long just to prime her lungs. She wore the same look that his stepbrother Kieran did when he was about to launch himself into a screaming fit.
However, what Marianna actually asked was, ‘The girl from the hotel? She’s the same age as you, isn’t she?’
