by Emlyn Rees
How dare she try to browbeat him like this, over something that was essentially none of her damn business? ‘What is this?’ he demanded. ‘Let me guess: you’ve been taking a correspondence course in armchair psychology, right? Because that’s what it sounds like to me: a load of old –’
Again, she cut him off. ‘You don’t need to go on a course to see what’s there right in front of your eyes,’ she said. ‘And do you know what I’ve seen every day since I started working for you three years ago? I’ve seen you pushing people away, Ned, anybody who tries to find out anything about you and what makes you tick. You do everything you can to put them off the scent. You keep them out. You’ve done it to Ellen. You do it to everyone.’
‘Everyone?’ Ned scoffed. ‘There is no everyone. None of what you’re saying makes any sense. Everyone, who?’
‘Exactly, Ned. That’s the point. The reason there’s no everyone in your life is because you’ve already locked them out. I found six wedding invitations in the kitchen table drawer. Six, Ned …’ She slowly shook her head. ‘That’s six couples whose friendship you’ve rejected. And then there’s your parents. You never call them, do you? And whenever they call you, you answer their questions like a robot and don’t ask any in return. And it’s me who always has to drive Clara over to see Mary’s parents and me who has to pick her up afterwards – because you act as if they don’t even exist.’ Debs’s eyes didn’t falter from his for so much as a second. ‘It’s like there’s this huge part of your life that you won’t let go of and won’t show anyone, Ned … But don’t you get it? It’s not even life, it’s death …’
Ned knew he should be shouting at her. He should be telling her she was wrong, proving to her just how wrong … And yet … and yet he said nothing, because he’d run out of words to defend himself with.
‘I’m not doing this to hurt you, Ned,’ she then said, the harshness now gone from her voice. ‘I’m doing this because I care. You’re thirty-six years old. Not ninety-six. I see you with Clara. I see how much love you’ve got to give. You’re a wonderful man, Ned. But you’ve to get over what happened and start a new life.’
Ned felt as though the room were darkening, as if a cloud had slid in front of the sun. Suddenly, all he wanted was for this confrontation to be at an end. He wanted to be buried in his work, or drinking from a bottle, or back in his bed in the cottage, lying in the silence and the dark, not having to justify himself or his behaviour to anyone, not even having to think.
‘People can change their lives for the better, Ned,’ Debs said. ‘It happens every day. Look at Ellen. Look at what she did. Look at the future she opened up for you both, which you then chose to shut down.’
Ellen? What future? ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘She risked everything for you, Ned,’ Debs told him. ‘She looked at her own life and she looked at you and she chose you. She finished with him, you know, her boyfriend. She broke it off with him, because you’d made her see that there were better lives out there to build.’
Ned couldn’t listen to this any more. ‘Leave,’ was all he managed to say.
He glanced across at Alexander Walpole’s confession, at the story of wasted love, the story he now so wished could have ended happily. He waited for the sound of the door being opened and closed behind him, the sound of isolation.
‘She’s finished her work here now, you know,’ Debs said. ‘She’s going back to London and you haven’t even bothered to say goodbye.’
Ned felt the news almost as a physical wrench. For the first time he allowed himself to face the possibility of never seeing Ellen again, to focus on this fully and accept what it would mean. It filled him with hopelessness and dread.
This was how he’d felt when he’d seen the electric cable leading into the bathroom and had known that Mary had killed herself: like death, like he’d been dying himself, like his whole world had started slipping from his grasp, sliding out of focus, ceasing to exist. Only this was even worse. Because it had been him who’d driven Ellen away. Because he could have made it all so different.
The door clicked shut behind him.
He turned to the evenly spaced columns of figures on the screen. But he couldn’t read them any more. The numbers seemed to be melting on the screen, as if they were made of ice. Holding his hand to his face, he felt the tears trailing down his cheeks. But instead of feeling bad, it felt good. He felt lighter by the second, as though the tears he was shedding were made of lead.
And then the great knot of confusing, conflicting emotions he’d been feeling for Ellen – his desire, his fear, his hope, his sadness and his joy – all at once started to make sense. Because, suddenly, Ned realised that what he felt for her wasn’t a tangle of emotions at all, but one emotion. And what’s more, it was the one emotion he’d told himself he’d never feel again.
Standing, he wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt, then turned and walked towards the door, knowing exactly what he had to do next.
Chapter XXV
ELLEN’S HEAD WAS throbbing as she drove up to the Appleforth Estate for the last time on Monday evening. She scowled as she turned the Land-Rover into the lane leading to the gate, noticing that a new brown heritage sign had been driven into the ground next to the hedge.
She’d been trying to leave Shoresby for hours. She’d wanted to drive back to London in daylight, but despite helping her load everything into the Land-Rover, Scott had kept stalling her until he’d eventually insisted that she come up to the house to collect a monitor he’d left. Ellen had muttered under her breath the whole way up to the house. Scott knew things were difficult for her, so why couldn’t he have had the courtesy to be organised today of all days? As if she didn’t have enough on her plate without coming to the one place she didn’t want to be. And now it would be gone midnight before she’d finally make it back to London.
Ellen was desperate to get away, not least because Scott had been annoying her for the last couple of days. He’d decided to stay on for a few weeks in the cottage so he could be near Debs. Ellen didn’t blame him for it, but she’d felt invaded and taken over. Feeling as fragile as she did, she couldn’t cope with Scott’s relentless optimism and cheeriness. And Debs? Debs was altogether too much for Ellen. Too young, too in love. But most of all, too connected to Ned.
She hated to be bitter, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been trying not to think about Ned, but it was impossible. She could still barely credit how much he’d hurt her. There’d been the shock of what he’d actually said to her, the callous way in which he’d let her know how little he’d felt for her, but worse, she’d finally seen the terrifying gulf between her expectations and his. And the pain of that knowledge had multiplied with every minute that had passed since.
Ellen had even shocked herself at the strength of her feelings. When she’d gone to see Ned on Monday, she hadn’t had any inkling of the depths to which they ran. But now, now it was even worse. Because what Ned had told her, the way he’d done it, well now, she couldn’t even fight for him. Because she was nothing to him. He felt nothing for her. He’d made that quite clear. He probably didn’t even care if he never saw her again in his entire life.
Ellen turned off the engine and sat in silence for a few moments, looking out into the dark night. I’m a mess, she thought. I’m a mess and a dreadful person. Steeling herself, she forced herself to look towards Ned’s Portakabin. Not that it was any use. He’d dashed her final hope. He hadn’t even bothered to turn up to the concert to say goodbye. Now she just wanted to leave, to give him what he so obviously wanted and put as much distance between them as possible.
Just sex. Ned’s words echoed in her head. How could she have been such a fool? What had happened had been her fault. She’d instigated it. Ned had told her all along that he wasn’t available and she hadn’t listened. She was the one who had stacked up their relationship with misconceptions and exaggerated feelings. But she’d only fooled herself. Ned didn’t trust her. He never
had. He hadn’t even trusted her with the truth about Mary – even when Ellen had slept with him.
The lights were off in the Portakabin. Ned would be at home with Clara, where he belonged. How long would it be, Ellen wondered, before he realised that she’d left for good? Would it even bother him?
If there was one thing she was thankful for, one small glimmer of salvation, it was that she hadn’t told Ned that she’d finished with Jason. So at least she could still hold on to that one shred of dignity. Even though Ellen had confided in Scott, she’d sworn him to absolute secrecy and made him promise that he wouldn’t breathe a word about her break-up with Jason. She wanted to make sure that Ned never found out. She didn’t want Ned to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d completely ruined her life.
Wearily, Ellen pulled out her mobile phone and, steeling her nerves, dialled Beth’s number. Sim, her husband answered. ‘Sim, it’s Ellen. I –’
‘I’ll get Beth,’ he said, a horrible rude taunt in his voice. Ellen physically recoiled at his tone. She knew that Jason and Sim were friends, but surely she could expect a little bit of loyalty from her best friend’s husband.
‘Where are you?’ Beth asked after a second. ‘George and Harry have been waiting for you to have supper.’
Ellen rubbed her eyes. She’d entirely forgotten that her godsons would be excited about seeing her. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned. ‘Beth, I’m sorry. I’m still in Shoresby.’
‘Still there!’ Beth exclaimed. ‘You could have called earlier.’
‘I know, I know. It’s just been so hectic packing up. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’m sorry. Give the boys a kiss from me and tell them I’ll see them in the morning.’ There was a pause and Ellen knew that she hadn’t been forgiven. ‘Oh, please don’t be cross,’ she begged. ‘I’m so grateful you’re putting me up. Really. I’m sorry.’
‘Jason came round today with your stuff,’ Beth said stiffly. ‘Your clothes … things … they’re all in the spare room.’
Ellen blinked back tears. Even though she owned the flat with Jason, it had been she who had decorated it and looked after it, and it had always felt more like hers than Jason’s. They hadn’t even discussed her moving out of the flat. But now Jason was moving her things out and they’d hardly spoken. She didn’t have to, to know how upset he was. ‘How was he?’
‘Devastated would cover it.’
Ellen closed her eyes. She felt appalling about what had happened and Beth’s anger made her feel worse.
‘I just don’t know how you could …’ Beth continued.
‘How I could … what?’
‘Throw away the best thing that ever happened to you, over some idiot you’ve known for five minutes. Well, I hope he’s worth it.’
‘We’re not together, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Then why?’
‘Beth, do we have to discuss this right now?’
‘You were our best friends,’ Beth said and Ellen could hear tears in her voice.
Ellen had turned to Beth because she was her oldest friend and ally, but in the ten years that she’d been with Jason he’d become Beth’s friend and ally, too. Now Ellen realised that she didn’t have exclusive rights on Beth’s friendship and, what was more, Beth wasn’t offering them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Just get here as soon as you can,’ Beth said, ringing off.
Ellen opened the car door and stepped out into the wind, savouring the salty breeze for the last time. She knew it would take every ounce of her remaining strength to go back and face Jason.
She knew that he was angry and hurt, and it would take him a long time to calm down. She also knew that telling Jason that she and Ned were never going to be together wasn’t going to help. There was no way Jason would ever forgive her, and anyway, she’d come to realise that she didn’t want to go back to him. She cared about Jason still, loved him probably, in the way that she always would. He was a part of her, her history, her one formative relationship. But the love she felt for him was no longer an active kind of love. She’d spent too much time waiting for him. Waiting for him to be there for her, waiting for him to give her some sort of signal that he was hers. And when he had, it had simply been too late. Even if she could skip back in time to Jason’s proposal on Sunday, in the full knowledge that she and Ned were over, she still wouldn’t have accepted. How could she live with Jason, when she knew that potentially there could be someone else like Ned, who could make her feel that kind of passion?
But the thought of being single in London filled her with dread. What if she never met anyone like Ned ever again? Maybe she’d turn into one of those clichéd thirty-something women with cats that everyone talked about. And what if she grew old alone and became a wizened old spinster, who lived for the memory of one night of passion?
Ellen shivered. Concentrate on the present, she told herself. She would have enough time to contemplate the future once she was back in London. Right now, she might as well get this over and done with, she thought, forcing herself to walk towards the house. Scott had assured her that one of the workmen would be up at the site and would be able to give her the monitor. It should only take a few moments.
Ellen pulled up the brand-new brass knocker that had been fitted to the front door and banged it several times. She’d never been into the house via the front door and it struck her that this would be the last time she would ever come here. She looked up at the window above the door, with its fan of ornate glass. She would so loved to have seen the whole place finished and to have met Jonathan Arthur when he came to inspect Ned’s handiwork. But she knew it was never going to happen. Her time here was over. She would never see the house finished.
For a while nothing happened, and she was about to knock again when she heard footsteps. Slowly, the door opened.
Nothing could have shocked her more than the sight that greeted her. Scott was dressed in Jimmy’s costume from the shoot. Ellen stood dumbfounded. She’d spent ages saying goodbye to Scott, not an hour before. Why and how was he here? ‘What are you doing?’
‘This way, madam,’ Scott said in an absurd attempt at a posh English accent, sweeping back the door and bowing her inside the house.
‘What?’ Ellen asked, confused. Oh, God, she thought, with an inward groan. What if Scott has organised some kind of wrap party? Surely, after everything she’d confided in him over the last week, he couldn’t be that insensitive. Could he? Confused, Ellen cocked her head and stared at Scott, but when he still didn’t react she stepped inside.
The hallway was festooned with tea lights, the tiny metal candles flickering up the staircase. Debs was standing by a set of double doors, in Verity’s costume. She bobbed in a curtsey when she saw Ellen. ‘May I take your coat, ma’am?’ Scott asked.
Truly alarmed now, Ellen hardly felt it as Scott gently took the ripped fake fur coat from her shoulders.
‘This way,’ Scott continued, walking past Ellen towards Debs. Together they took one door each. Ellen stared between them, her heart pounding.
Then they opened the doors.
Inside the dining room the billiard table was covered by a cloth, with a vast silver candelabra in the middle, bathing the half-decorated room in soft candlelight. The table was laid up with silver cutlery and china place settings at either end.
‘This way,’ Scott urged, guiding Ellen towards the table. He pulled out a packing crate with a cushion on it and she sat down.
Ellen looked at Scott, but he was keeping up the charade. ‘Is this … is this … a joke?’
Scott didn’t say anything, but as she looked into his eyes she could see that he was smiling. Scott poured her a glass of wine, then bowed his head and walked backwards away from her. A second later Ellen heard the doors close.
Unable to breathe, Ellen sat alone in the vast room, watching the tall candles. Could this really … could this really mean …
‘I thought you might like some dinner.’ It was Ned’s voice.
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Ellen looked around the candelabra to the other end of the room, where Ned was standing in the shadows. Then he stepped into the pool of candlelight and Ellen gasped. He was dressed in black tie and he looked handsome in a way that he’d never looked before. Ellen was so used to seeing him in old work clothes or his scruffy corduroy jacket that she was amazed by how sophisticated and debonair he looked. He looked younger, too, without his glasses and Ellen remembered how he’d looked in the cottage the night they’d nearly kissed. As he gave her a suave smile, something inside her began to flutter with excitement.
Then the side door opened and Debs and Scott wheeled in a trolley.
Without a further word, Debs brought a plate of smoked salmon and asparagus to Ellen.
She gazed up the table to where Ned had been served by Scott. He seemed so far away.
‘I hope you’re hungry,’ Ned said, nodding to Scott and Debs, who withdrew silently.
Ellen stared at Ned and then down at her plate. What was this all about? Was this Ned’s excuse for an apology?
‘Ah, sod this,’ Ned said, standing up. ‘I can hardly see you!’
Ellen let out a short burst of laughter and covered her mouth, as Ned dragged a packing crate across the floor to her end of the billiard table. He was wearing work boots with his dinner jacket and she realised she loved him more right now than she ever had.
‘I meant to get some music,’ he said, sitting down next to her. ‘Sorry.’
For a long moment she stared at Ned. There was something so different about him. Something soft as he stared at her. ‘Ned, if this …’ she began ‘… if this is some sort of –’
Ned silenced her, putting his hand over hers. ‘I owe you so many apologies,’ he said, ‘but mainly I’m sorry because I lied to you. I lied to you about Mary.’
Ellen looked down at his hand over hers.
‘I know you know,’ he said, ‘but I wanted you to hear it from me.’
Ellen looked up into his eyes, as Ned sighed.
