by Emlyn Rees
And all of this – all of it, and all that had followed – without a single word having been spoken between them.
What the hell had he been thinking of? That’s what he wanted to know now.
Or had he even been thinking at all? Had he just done instead?
There was certainly plenty of evidence. His cock twitched, charged, raring to go again, in spite of the marathon it had just been through. Because there was something about this woman that made him feel like a hormonal teenager – not to mention act like one … Because, by God, that’s what he’d just done, wasn’t it? He’d allowed testosterone to get the better of him, packed his brain off on holiday and allowed his penis to run the show for a while.
He’d forgotten himself. She’d somehow made him forget. He’d forgotten he didn’t do this sort of thing any more. He’d forgotten he was a grown-up who lived in a world of responsibilities and balanced decisions. He’d forgotten he was a father – Christ, it suddenly occurred to him that Clara could have woken up and walked downstairs into the kitchen while he and Ellen had been …
Ned groaned softly. Up above him, a neat rectangle of starry sky filled the glass of the dormer window, looking like a paused image on a TV set, as if he could press a button on a remote control and set it into motion. But life wasn’t like that. You couldn’t just stop it or start it whenever you felt like it, any more than you could rewind it and make something that had happened not so.
The last time he’d rampantly dived into bed with someone he’d still been an Architectural History student at De Montfort University. It had been a disaster, he now recalled, and one he’d easily been able to walk away from.
But this hadn’t been a disaster, had it? Quite the opposite. Because it hadn’t been this way for Ned even with Mary; he’d known her for months before anything had happened, and even then the sex had taken months more still to get this good. Whereas with Ellen, he’d met her – what? – seven times, maybe eight? And he’d known her for how long? Three weeks?
Should they talk about it? He didn’t know. Is that what people did after sex? He couldn’t remember. Because the truth was he hadn’t had sex with anyone since before Clara had been born. And then it had been with Mary. And then, before she’d become ill, sex had been something they’d done all the time, so they hadn’t needed to talk about it, just do it whenever and however they’d wanted.
Ned glanced across at Ellen, searching for a clue. She didn’t look as though she wanted to speak about anything just now. Her eyes were closed and her face was expressionless, merely beautiful.
Ned stared back up at the night sky and considered that even if he did attempt to speak about it – this thing that they’d done – and even if she did agree, then what would they say? Because there was certainly no point in discussing the pros and cons of whether or not it was a good idea, because the dirty deed had already been done. So would they merely thank each other? Would they compliment one another on their various skills? Might they even offer suggestions for improved techniques and increased future enjoyment?
‘You’ve gone quiet on me,’ she said.
‘You’re not so loud yourself.’
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
He didn’t want to know what she was thinking. ‘I’m thinking about getting a glass of water,’ he said. ‘Do you want one?’
‘OK.’
‘OK.’
He rolled across the mattress and sat on the side of the bed. Behind him, he could hear Ellen breathing evenly and he hoped she was falling asleep. He grabbed some trousers from the bedside chest of drawers, pulled them on, and walked out of the room and down the corridor into the bathroom.
He locked the door behind him. Once privacy was attained, relief swamped him and he opened the bathroom cabinet and reached up to the top shelf, the one which Clara couldn’t reach – even when she stood on tiptoes in the washbasin, as he’d once caught her doing. He pulled down the old tobacco tin – his ‘hash stash’, as he always referred to it – and rolled himself a joint. Then he opened the bathroom window and stood leaning out of it and smoked.
There’d been a time in his life when he would have done this in the bedroom, when he would have done this in bed, a time before Clara had been born, when he and Mary had often seen themselves off to sleep at night with a soothing J. But he didn’t want to share this with Ellen. It was oblivion and isolation he was after now, not talk or a sense of communion. All he wanted was to be able to get back into bed and close his eyes and disappear into the dark.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel. He felt so much right now. He felt the last traces of sexual exhilaration still dancing like tiny electric charges through his veins. He felt the ghost of Ellen’s body still pressed up tight against his. He felt the accumulated sadness of the years he’d spent without physical contact. He felt – and resisted – the urge to follow his instincts: to go back into the bedroom and lie down next to Ellen and cradle her in his arms until dawn, as he’d cradled his duvet every night for years now, wishing it had been someone he loved. But above all this, he felt what he knew to be true: that he shouldn’t feel; that where relationships were concerned, he was a burnt-out case.
He liked Ellen all right. She was strong, intelligent, challenging and beautiful, and maybe in a parallel world – a world where Ned had never met Mary – the two of them might have stood a chance. But not in this world. In this world, Ned had met Mary. And in this world, Mary had killed herself. And in this world, Ned was frightened of what love had done to his life. And so in this world, he and Ellen had no future. She would return to her boyfriend in London and he would return to Cheltenham. And soon it would be as if none of this had ever happened.
Beneath the bathroom window, Ned could see the cottage’s back garden, illuminated by the kitchen lights. It was the size of two tennis courts laid end to end, and was enclosed by a mossy stone wall, which was in need of repair and would collapse, Ned had guessed, if not this winter then the next. At the end of the garden, next to a gnarled old pear tree, was a dilapidated wooden-framed greenhouse and, beyond that, away down the lane, the windows of the town houses glowed like torch beams in the night.
Somewhere among those streets and houses and late-night TV shows were Scott and Debs. That’s why Ellen had called here in the first place this evening, because she’d lost her keys to her cottage and had wanted to catch Scott and Debs before they’d headed out on their date. And that was why Ned was giving Ellen time to fall asleep, because he knew he couldn’t ask her to go home and that he couldn’t cope with the conversation about whether it was OK if she stayed and what that might or might not mean to them both.
What had happened here tonight had been wonderful. Ned knew that. But he also knew to his core that tomorrow it would seem no more real than a dream. Because only the kind of people who still hadn’t found a reason not to fall in love could sustain the kind of passion he’d felt with Ellen earlier. Only people like Debs and Scott, and anyone else out there who still believed in the omnipotence of love.
Chapter XVIII
ELLEN WAS STILL in a state of euphoric shock when she returned to the cottage on Sunday morning.
‘Where were you last night?’ Scott asked with a yawn, as he opened the door.
Ellen didn’t answer. She couldn’t even look at him. It must be so obvious, she thought, as she stepped inside the cottage. She felt as if she had a neon sign above her head, pulsing with the facts about what had happened. ‘Oh, I … er … left my keys. I was locked out.’ Absently, Ellen threw her coat over the chair and turned her back on Scott to avoid a further explanation. ‘I think I’ll take a bath.’
In the bathroom, Ellen twisted the hot-water tap and watched the water gush into the dark-blue plastic bath. Still fully clothed, she leant back against the door and slowly inhaled the rising steam.
So, she’d slept with Ned. But how she was feeling wasn’t about the sex. It was more than that. Much more. Her infidelity had been far gr
eater. It had been total. It was an infidelity of the heart. Slowly, she sank down against the door, until she was sitting. She hugged her knees, the steam swirling around her. It had been wordless, passionate, wild beyond even her wildest dreams. She hadn’t known before last night that it was even possible for human beings to feel like that. She’d thought that she’d already known what sex could be about, but now she realised she hadn’t had a clue.
Ned had felt it too. He must have. Surely it was impossible to connect with someone that deeply and not be equally rocked?
In the night, Ellen had woken in his bed and watched him sleeping for hours. Even in deep repose, she’d been drawn to him, this damaged, intelligent, beautiful man. Ellen had absorbed him, feasting her eyes on him, staring at him so intensely, as if she might have somehow poured herself into his dreams.
But still she hadn’t woken him. She hadn’t wanted to break the spell, because in the peace of the night she’d realised that everything was possible. In that starlit bed, Ellen had dared to believe in a magical future where she could be the person she was with Ned all the time.
Ellen stood up as the water level rose in the bath. For a long moment, she watched as it settled and the drips from the taps subsided.
She couldn’t wash Ned away. Not yet. She needed him on her body. She couldn’t let the essence of him dissolve in the water.
Ellen stared at her reflection in the water. She thought about Ned’s wife, Mary, and how she’d died. Looking into the deep bathwater, she thought of the despair that must have filled Mary’s heart and the hope that now filled her own. Ned’s past was so complicated. Could she really make his future simple?
Outside, Ellen walked slowly along North Beach near the shoreline, her footprints dissolving in the sand behind her. Hugging her arms across her and staring at the harbour entrance, she took a deep breath, thinking of how much she’d grown to love this place.
She stopped, watching the lifeboat bob on the waves. She’d been feeling so confused yesterday, but now, in the light of day, she was calm. She watched the spray, as the lifeboat hit the waves. She’d been rescued, too. She’d been rescued by Ned.
When she’d woken up in her flat in London yesterday morning, still hugging Ned’s jumper, she’d abandoned her plans to go into the Soho editing suite and, instead, had shoved everything back in her bag and had caught the train to Shoresby.
She hadn’t even known what she was going to do. All she’d known was that she were acting on impulse, as if a force other than her own will power was operating and dictating her every move. Then, when she’d gone to Ned’s house, she’d known why she was there. She’d told Ned that she’d lost her keys, but they’d been in her pocket the whole time. She’d been there because she was meant to be with him.
Ellen’s phone bleeped with a text message, wrenching her back to the present. Nothing can matter, she told herself as she retrieved the phone from her pocket.
But she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Ellen slunk back away from the crowd waiting in the noisy Arrivals Hall at Heathrow. The wide gangway was lined with people. Families bustled around the barriers, crying babies and excited kids, old people, teenagers. Bored cab drivers stood stoically with name boards. Anxious tourists and airport staff all jostled for position – everyone watching the electric double doors at the far end of the gangway, as the tannoy announcements boomed out around them.
Since Jason’s text message earlier asking her to pick him up at the airport, Ellen had been suffering from a sustained anxiety attack. She’d known that Jason was planning on being back some time in the next few weeks, but his early arrival had completely thrown her. Since she’d found herself on Ned’s doorstep last night, Ellen had known in her heart that there would inevitably come a time when she would have to confess her feelings for Ned to Jason. But it had seemed so far off in the distance. Not now. She wasn’t prepared for it now, not even remotely. To make matters worse, she hadn’t been able to get hold of Ned to tell him she was on her way back up to London to meet Jason, and his lack of response to her text message had thrown her into her current state of panic.
She thought back to this morning, when she’d woken up in bed with Ned. They’d been cuddling so tightly that Ellen hadn’t known where she was for a minute. But in that split-second before she’d moved and Ned had woken up, she’d felt happier and safer than ever before in her life.
Of course, after that, it had all been awkward. Ned had been nervous about Clara finding them, so much so that Ellen hadn’t felt able to broach the subject of what had happened between them. She’d sensed that with Ned, as with her, the line they’d crossed would take some time to come to terms with.
She’d been longing to say something, desperate to validate their night of passion, but she’d known how fragile Ned was, and if she’d pushed him into some sort of verbal commitment he’d only have run away. Besides, what they’d experienced together had been greater than words, surely?
Ellen’s stomach flickered with nerves, as a stream of weary travellers started to move down the arrivals gangway, pushing trolleys laden with luggage. She hadn’t planned out what she was going to say to Jason. She was hoping that somehow the words and the moment would present themselves at the right time.
Then she saw him and her sense of fate deserted her, replaced only by dread. There were no words for what she’d done. There was no way she could articulate what had happened. Every instinct told her to flee. But it was too late.
Jason waved as he saw her, his eyes lighting up in his tanned face as he rushed towards her, but Ellen stayed rooted to the spot watching him. She felt sick. Here was Jason. Her rock. Her life. The man who had been her future for as long as she could remember. As she watched him racing towards her, all her resolve disintegrated. He was so real and solid and happy. And he was hers. There was no baggage, no children, no dark secrets. Only the promise that he would love her always.
In that moment Ellen realised the horrible truth. She couldn’t tell Jason about Ned. She would have to keep it a secret. She felt guilt slithering around, as tangible as a snake, threatening to crush her.
‘You’re here,’ Jason said, dumping his rucksack and racing forward to hold her in a tight hug.
Ellen’s senses had been filled up with Ned, but now they were totally overshadowed by the familiarity of Jason. His smell, his tall, lean frame, the way she slotted into his tight hug as if she were the last piece of his jigsaw.
Panic gripped her and she could feel her knees trembling beneath her skirt, as Jason squeezed her tighter and then let her go.
‘You’re back early,’ she said, her voice husky. She couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she looked at the pendant he wore round his neck. She leant forward to touch it, feeling the small piece of ebony, as if it were her own. Her heart ached with fear and sadness.
Jason smiled. ‘I was so worried about you after you rang, I decided to cut things short.’
‘Worried?’ she said, remembering the phone call. It was only a week ago, but it felt like a lifetime. As if the person who’d called Jason in desperation was someone else entirely.
‘You sounded so low,’ he continued. ‘I felt so desperate. All I kept thinking about was what you said. That we should be together.’
‘You did?’
Ellen felt her throat constricting, but Jason didn’t seem to notice.
‘Oh Christ,’ he said, trying to smother a grin. ‘I thought I’d wait. But, hell, there’s no point!’ He laughed, before opening a small pouch in the combat jacket he was wearing.
‘Jase,’ Ellen implored. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you …’
But Jason wasn’t listening. ‘Wait, wait,’ he said excitedly. ‘Here.’ He handed her a small black pouch.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Take it, take it,’ Jason urged.
Ellen pulled open the string on the pouch. Inside there were three small diamonds. She tipped them out on to her palm an
d looked at the stones sparkling against her skin. This can’t be happening, she thought. This can’t be happening.
‘I thought we could design a ring together,’ Jason said, grabbing her hand, so that her fist closed round the stones. ‘What do you say?’ He looked like an excited child as he grinned at her, his eyebrows raised in happy expectation.
‘What?’ Ellen managed, hardly able to comprehend what he was saying.
‘I had some time to think,’ Jason said, his words tumbling out. ‘And you’re right. I’ve been so wrapped up with work that I didn’t realise how unhappy you were until you asked me whether I wanted a future with you. Then it hit me that I’d be lost without you. Oh, Ellen, baby. That’s why I came home early. I wanted to tell you … to tell you straight away that I want it all. With you. Everything. I always have, but I want the future to start right now.’
Ellen hadn’t even realised that she’d started crying, but now she felt sobs racking her.
Jason drew her to him, cupping her cheek with this hand. ‘Oh, Ellen, my love,’ he said, smoothing her hair. ‘It’s OK. I’m here now. I’m here.’
From far away, Ellen remembered the words that Ned had spoken in the moonlight. ‘Do you want to know what the worst thing about life is?’ he’d said. ‘Timing,’ he’d told her. ‘Sometimes its timing is shit.’
It was nearly lunchtime on Monday, by the time Ellen drove up to Appleforth House and parked next to the vans and cars. Now that the house was very nearly complete, all the furniture was being delivered this week, she knew, and there seemed to be people everywhere.
Ellen flipped down the sun visor and checked her face in the mirror for the third time, and combed her hair with her fingers. She remembered doing the same thing on the first day she’d come to check out Appleforth House and had discovered Ned in the site office. Could that really only be three weeks ago?
