by Emlyn Rees
Opening her handbag, she took out her small bag of make-up and delved inside for the tube of Touche Éclat cover-up. Looking again at the dark lines under her eyes, she skilfully applied the make-up and puffed her face with more powder. She had hardly slept in the last forty-eight hours and she felt almost giddy with exhaustion. But no one was going to suspect. Especially not Ned.
Ellen got out of the car and walked towards the house. She knew that Ned was probably going to be busy, but she had to see him. There was no way she could spend a minute longer without knowing how he felt and where she stood.
She still hadn’t spoken to him since she’d left his house yesterday morning. Since then, she’d been on the biggest emotional roller coaster of her life. Only Ned would be able to make her feel steady again.
As she rounded the far wing of the house, she saw Ned and her heart lurched. He was over by a large lorry and several workmen were backing down its ramp, carrying what looked like a billiard table. He was wearing old jeans, boots, a faded red sweatshirt and a hard yellow hat. Ellen watched his profile, seeing how he smiled and talked to the men inside the van, co-ordinating them as they backed down the ramp. She felt a shudder of relief run through her.
Ellen stood, smiling at Ned and holding her hand up to greet him. She’d been so consumed by this man that she almost expected him to be telepathic and look up at her. How could he look so normal, so unaffected?
She moved towards him, but he still didn’t see her. He couldn’t have seen her, otherwise he would have smiled, or waved back, wouldn’t he? Ellen stepped closer, not stopping until she was right behind him.
‘Hi,’ she said, tapping him on the shoulder.
Ned was holding a delivery note in his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Ellen. ‘Oh, hi,’ he said, as if they were still just colleagues and he’d seen her a few minutes before.
Ellen cleared her throat. She followed Ned’s gaze to where the workmen were carrying the large table between them towards the house. Ned continued to watch them, paying no attention to Ellen.
‘Ned?’ Ellen asked, confused.
‘Yep. Go on. I’m listening,’ he said, but he didn’t turn round.
‘Um, well …?’
Why didn’t he look at her?
‘Well … don’t you think we should, you know … er … talk …?’ she tried, but Ned had darted forward to remove a post in the ground, before one of the workmen tripped over it.
Ellen trailed off as she watched him. Why should she force this? This was the wrong place and the wrong time. He was busy. What was she doing here?
‘Sorry,’ Ned said, with a brief smile at her, but he still didn’t look at her fully. ‘You were saying …?’
Ellen prickled. Why was he treating her so … so normally? There was nothing normal about what had happened between them. She waited until the workmen had moved out of earshot. ‘Well, I … I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression,’ she tried again.
As soon as she said it, she knew it sounded all wrong. It sounded as if she were being defensive, or dismissive. But if she didn’t want him to get the wrong impression, what was the right impression? What did she mean? Should she tell him what had happened since she’d last seen him? Did she have the courage to admit to him how she really felt? ‘We … we –’ she tried, her voice rising in desperation.
‘We had sex,’ Ned said decisively, smiling over his shoulder at her briefly. ‘There! It’s not so difficult to say.’
Ellen stared at him. How could he be so matter-of-fact? ‘Just sex?’ she managed.
‘No, actually, it wasn’t just sex,’ he said, turning to her, his tone terrifyingly friendly. ‘It was good sex. Well, I think it was great sex. I hope you did, too?’ Ned smiled, as if he were stating the obvious, as if he were asking her opinion about a takeaway they’d eaten together.
And then Ellen realised that he meant it. It was sex. Not raw passion. Not a meeting of two kindred souls. It was just sex. Impersonal and easy.
Sex.
Ellen felt a blush start right in her heart and spread all over her skin. It wasn’t only embarrassment, though. It was a healthy dose of humiliation, too.
‘Hold up, fellas!’ Ned yelled after the workmen, before hurrying towards them.
Ellen stared after him, dumbfounded. She watched as he followed the workmen inside the house. She realised then that he had no intention of coming back out to her to finish their conversation. That was it. That had been all Ned had to say to her.
Ellen ran to the car and once she’d shut the door, let out a strangled yelp, before covering her mouth. For a moment, she thought she was going to be sick.
How could he? How could he have done this to her?
She rested her forehead on the leather steering wheel, too mortified to cry. It would have been better if Ned had shouted, or been cold. It would have been better if he’d hit her.
Of course it was just sex to him!
Livid, she turned the ignition, not even able to look at the house, but putting her arm over the empty passenger seat and reversing out of the drive. She had to get away.
How could she have thought it would be any different? She’d slept with the man who didn’t believe in romance, or love. This was the man who thought Caroline Walpole deserved her fate. What was it he’d said? ‘She put her faith in love and she got burnt … romance is bullshit. Because it never works out. Not for real.’
And now he’d proved it to her.
*
Back at Quayside Row, Ellen parked the Land-Rover and walked past the cottage to the semicircle of concrete at the end of the harbour wall. Hoisting herself up so that she could sit on it, she looked out to sea, listening to the waves slap against the stones below her. She felt like a zombie. She could hardly believe this was happening to her. She could hardly believe what she’d done. Feeling a wave of desolation swoop over her, her mind snapped back to the Arrivals Hall the night before, reliving the torment of her conversation with Jason.
‘It’s too late,’ Ellen whispered, wiping her tears on her sleeve and gently pushing Jason away. There were people all around them, jostling their bags and greeting each other, but Ellen could only see Jason’s look of anguish and confusion.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ he asked, staring down at her. ‘I thought … I thought –’
‘I’ve met someone else,’ she said quickly, her heart seeming to leap into her throat as she spoke.
Jason stared at her for what seemed like an age. She watched his expression turn from confusion, to disbelief, to anger. Every trace of softness left his eyes and, as they hardened and narrowed, Ellen felt the force of what she’d just said hit her like a bullet. As he stepped back a few paces from her, she realised the magnitude of what had happened.
‘You’ve got to be joking, right?’ Jason demanded, his voice raised, so that other passengers turned to face them. He paced away from her, clutching his hair, and then back to her.
Ellen stared at the floor, hardly able to believe this was happening. She squeezed the diamonds in her hand hard, pressing them into her flesh to keep herself focused. She shook her head. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘I don’t fucking believe this!’ Jason exploded.
‘Please,’ Ellen begged. She’d never seen Jason angry before and the force of his fury terrified her. ‘Please let me explain. Can’t we go somewhere where we can talk?’
Jason’s face contorted with suppressed rage. ‘Who is he?’
‘You don’t know him.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It’s just … His name is Ned Spencer. I met him in Shoresby.’
Again, Jason stepped back, as if he found her physically repulsive.
‘So that’s why you called me? Because you were feeling guilty?’ Jason said. ‘Is that it? You were having some sordid, shitty little seaside affair and –’
‘Jason, please,’ she implored him, holding on to his arm. ‘I didn’t mean for anything to happen between us. I tried and tr
ied to fight it –’
‘Oh, bully for you,’ Jason spat.
‘Jase, please,’ Ellen implored.
‘I’ve never been unfaithful to you. Never. Not once! The only thing I’ve done wrong is to have a job I give a shit about. And I’ve even put that on the line for you.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,’ Ellen said. She watched as Jason covered his face with his hands.
When he looked up, his eyes were filled with tears. ‘Do you love this guy?’ he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.
‘I suppose so.’ She was crying now, as well.
‘You suppose so! You suppose so! What the hell does that mean?’
‘I do, but … but …’
Jason picked up his rucksack. Then he wrenched open her hand and snatched back the diamonds. ‘You know what, Ellen? Fuck you! Fuck you and your stupid games! I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Jason!’ Ellen cried, holding on to his sleeve, but he shrugged her off. He didn’t look back as he pushed past the crowd of people and out of her life.
Now, sitting on the harbour wall looking out at the uncompromising sea, Ellen felt the full impact of the mistake she’d made. It was all her fault. She knew that, but it didn’t make it any better knowing that she didn’t have anyone else to blame. She could see now what she hadn’t seen before. That she’d believed in the romance of Caroline Walpole and her story. That she’d become hooked on the heightened emotions of a legend that wasn’t real.
What was real was pain. The pain that would always prevent Ned from being able to see what he could have. The pain she’d caused Jason. And the pain she felt now. That was real. She’d detonated her life on a whim – on the strength of a feeling that was nothing more than a fantasy. And now it was too late ever to get back what she’d lost.
Ellen wept, her heart breaking as her tears splashed on to the wall where they would eventually merge with the sea. She wept for the life she had given up and the even lonelier one she would now have to face. She wept for her foolishness and she wept for herself. And yet, all the way through her grief, a childish part of her longed for Ned to find her, for her to fall back into his embrace. But she knew now that it was never going to happen.
‘It’s useless,’ she yelled angrily, digging a tissue out of her pocket. ‘It’s bloody useless.’
Chapter XIX
JIMMY WAS HANGING around outside the main entrance to Appleforth House, making a show of tying his trainer laces, the same as he’d been doing for the last five minutes. His back was starting to ache, and his neck, too, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything right now, other than putting his plan into action.
It was Thursday afternoon and nearly a week of careful preparation had gone into his plan, and this casualness he was feigning now, this accidental meeting with Verity Driver he was attempting to engineer, was the key to its success. He wanted the sequence of events that happened to Verity next, the sequence he’d planned to happen to her, to come to her as a complete surprise. It was only afterwards that Jimmy wanted her to realise how much care and thought had gone into everything. Because that was what Jimmy wanted most of all: for Verity to be surprised by him, by who he was and by what he was capable of.
‘Fight with your brain …’ Marianna had said, ‘… your heart … show her who you are … what you like … what you do … Show her who she’ll be missing out on if she stays with him …’
Well, Jimmy had followed that advice to the letter. If he failed to impress Verity today – a fresh pulse of adrenalin tore through him – then he wouldn’t know where to turn next, because he’d already have given it his best shot. But he wouldn’t fail. He wouldn’t. Ignoring the pain in his back, he stayed kneeling there in the dry dirt, like an athlete primed in starting blocks, ready to run the race of his life.
And then – without warning – Jimmy’s race began. The front door of Appleforth House swung open and Verity Driver stepped outside.
‘Hi,’ he said, slowly standing upright, smiling at her with a confidence he didn’t feel. He smoothed down the thighs of his freshly laundered jeans and cocked his thumbs behind his new black leather belt.
‘I thought you’d already left,’ she said.
He couldn’t tell whether she was pleased he was still here or not. Be patient, he urged himself. You’ll find out soon enough. ‘It’s too nice an evening to be rushing about,’ he said.
Verity looked past Jimmy, across the gardens, as if checking out whether what he was telling her was true. He found himself studying her, the way he always did when she wasn’t looking directly at him.
She was wearing black Reeboks with red laces, a full-length flared denim skirt and a buttoned-up fox-brown coat with its collar turned up. She’d tucked her curled hair up under a brown and cream knitted ski hat, which she’d pulled down low at a rakish angle over her brow, so that only one of her curved fawn eyebrows showed. Her cheeks were flushed after spending so much of the day outside and her lips – well, Jimmy still found it difficult to think about her lips at all without blushing.
He watched as she closed her eyes for a second, breathing in the earthy scent of the lawns and flower beds around them. The grounds were still wet from the afternoon’s series of showers, which had now given way to a crisp, clear evening. Water dripped from the wide bent branches of a nearby Scots pine, and Jimmy watched as a grey squirrel darted up the blood-red bark of its trunk.
They’d been filming on the Appleforth Estate since noon. First Ellen and Scott had got Jimmy to act out Leon Jacobson’s betrayal of Caroline Walpole, with a local amdram actor called Seamus standing in for Caroline Walpole’s father. Then they’d filmed Verity over on the cliff-side near Lost Soul’s Point, waiting hopelessly for the man who’d already betrayed her. And finally they’d done a sequence of Verity running towards the cliff, after having been confronted by Seamus, before ending with a shot of Seamus picking up Verity’s glove and staring forlornly out to sea.
Verity scrutinised Jimmy’s face and smiled kindly. ‘You look as tired as I feel,’ she told him.
But if he looked it, he certainly didn’t feel it. Even though he’d been up half the night – worrying about today, and running various scenarios and potential conversations through his mind – now that he was actually alone with Verity, he felt more alert than he had done in his entire life.
Reaching out tentatively, she brushed her finger tenderly across his eyebrow where the swelling still showed. ‘Does it still hurt?’ she asked.
‘No.’ And it didn’t. Right now, it felt amazing. The touch of her finger had seen to that.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to speak to you in private all day, but what with us not doing our scenes together and –’
Jimmy had been avoiding being alone with her today, the same as he’d been avoiding her all week at school. He’d been saving up whatever intimacy lay between them for now, for when it really mattered, for when it was just the two of them. He’d wanted to preserve the tension that had existed between them when she’d briefly apologised to him last Friday in the corridor at school. He’d been desperate for Verity not to think that everything they had to say to one another had already been said.
‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’ he now asked.
‘About what happened, of course, about what Denny did … about why he did it …’
A part of Jimmy didn’t want to talk to her about Denny and wanted Denny to be the furthest thing from her mind. But another part of him – a weaker, more insecure side – needed to know if they were still together or whether what Denny had done to him had been enough to break them apart. He put it bluntly, because he wanted it over with quickly: ‘Are you still going out with him?’
‘Yes, but …’ She looked into his eyes. She looked as though she wanted to say more about Denny, as though there was more that Jimmy should hear. But her sentence died on her tongue.
Jimmy looked away in an attempt to c
onceal from her the chasm of disappointment he suddenly felt himself teetering towards. He stared hard at the ground, telling himself that it wasn’t over yet, and reminding himself that he still had a plan and therefore every reason left to fight on. He forced himself to look up and he forced himself to smile. And as Verity smiled back at him, he felt the chasm seal up once more and disappear.
Then her expression wavered. ‘I should get going,’ she said, putting her shiny silver mailbag down and taking her fingerless woollen gloves from her pocket and pulling them on. ‘I’ve got this essay I need to hand in tomorrow, and –’
‘“Discuss the nature of ambition in The Great Gatsby …”’ Jimmy said, having the same essay left to do himself. ‘Riveting stuff, eh? Personally, I can’t wait.’
She looked him over with curiosity. ‘I thought you liked that kind of thing,’ she said.
‘I like reading it, not writing about it.’
‘You still get good marks,’ she pointed out.
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
There was a pause between them, as if she were waiting for him to elaborate. But Jimmy didn’t want to talk about school, or books. None of that stuff seemed important to him right now.
Verity swung her bag up over her shoulder. ‘Well …’ she said, looking down the long, curved driveway that led to the estate gates.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he remarked quickly, gazing inland to where the sun hung low on the horizon, determined to keep the conversation going.
And it was beautiful. The sky was iridescent, beginning to bruise into purples and mauves and blacks, and the stone of Appleforth House glowed like lamplight in the dying day. The three-quarter moon was already visible. Jimmy’s heart beat faster as he waited for Verity to reply.
‘Incredible,’ she half said, half sighed. ‘I always used to look over in this direction from the hotel and think how pretty the coast looked,’ she went on, ‘but it wasn’t until we started doing the filming that I realised how much more you could see from up here.’
