Connie couldn’t think of a thing to say. She looked from one to the other and back again. Roger, in the meantime, had begun to frantically pull on a pair of tiny magenta-coloured underpants, little more than a thong! Whatever had happened to the Y-fronts he always wore? And how had he come by that all-over tan?
‘I didn’t know you were coming back today,’ he said eventually in a cracked voice.
‘That much is obvious,’ Connie said. She had an urge to laugh; she’d never seen anything quite so ridiculous in her life. This was the type of farce you might still see in the theatre, and even in the theatre it would take some believing.
‘This is Andrea,’ Roger said, struggling into a T-shirt and indicating the beauty who had crawled back under Connie’s duvet with its nice new John Lewis cover.
‘Well, this is a surprise, Andrea,’ Connie said at last. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if we don’t shake hands.’
Andrea remained silent.
‘And where did you two lovebirds meet, may I ask?’ she asked icily, amazed at her own composure. Perhaps she was experiencing some sort of numbness, born out of sheer disbelief. This just could not be happening. ‘No, don’t tell me,’ she continued, ‘it has to be golf…’
‘Andrea’s Italian,’ Roger said, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s been working as a steward at the club for the summer.’
‘And he just fancied a lie-down in my bed?’
‘I’m sorry, Connie. We’ll leave in a minute.’
‘No, Roger, no need for you to leave. You stay right here with your boyfriend. Do you honestly think I’d sleep in this room tonight – or ever again?’
Connie knew her composure was now crumbling and she had to get out, and away, as quickly as possible. Shaking, she staggered back towards the front door.
‘Connie!’ Roger followed her, still wearing only the T-shirt and those ridiculous pants. ‘We must talk—’
‘No, Roger, there’s nothing to say. Please get out of my way.’
She headed out of the door with as much dignity as she could muster and, slamming it behind her, stood with her heart pounding, in a state of shock, on the front path.
‘Coo-ee!’ shouted the old bat next door. ‘Have you had a lovely holiday?’
The bile, which had been steadily rising from her stomach, had now reached the point of no return. Connie threw up onto the patch of grass that belonged to Roger, gave an appalled Mrs Henderson a wave, and collapsed into her car.
She had to get away from here. Anywhere would do. Then Connie remembered the large, tree-lined layby on the London Road, just a few minutes’ drive away. She’d park there for a bit and try to come to terms with what she’d just seen. And decide what on earth to do next.
There was only one other car in the layby, where a family with two young children were having a picnic. Why, Connie wondered, would you want to have a picnic in a fume-laden layby on a busy dual carriageway when there were acres of beautiful countryside all around?
She switched off the ignition, opened the window and took a long swig from her water bottle. There was only the hum of the traffic through the trees, and one of the children howling. The world hadn’t stopped; life went on as usual.
Realisation flooded through her veins like the fast-flowing river. This, she thought, must be it. This is what’s been wrong with my marriage, surely. But why had she not known? Once or twice she had suspected he might have been having an affair but could never find proof of any dalliance. No lipstick on the collar, no receipts for dinners out or flowers sent. Was Andrea the first? And how could you live with a man for forty-one years and have no idea that he might be gay or bisexual?
So, why had Roger married her? Perhaps he liked both men and women? Or was it because Roger McColl, that pillar of the community, must always be seen to be doing The Right Thing? And how he’d disliked Freddy! Was that because he thought Freddy might see through the veneer? Had he fooled Freddy too, and would Freddy have told her even if he suspected? So many questions… but perhaps in time they could all talk about it.
Connie took another gulp of water. Oh, Roger! All at once she felt deeply sorry for her husband. Nowadays he could surely be himself. He wouldn’t have needed to hide behind the convention of marriage, or been straitjacketed by his own obsession with the appearance of respectability. Poor Roger! He’d always closed his mind to anything he couldn’t deal with. It wasn’t only Ben’s death.
But what about the children? What on earth do you say to the children? Well, she’d say nothing. Or, perhaps something like, Your father and I have decided to go our separate ways, or some other soothing cliché. Let Roger do any explaining. Connie felt incredibly sad. There was much wrong with the modern world but at least you could be whoever or whatever you wanted to be.
And it had been the right thing to do, to get away; to allow both Roger and herself the space they needed to face up to the lives they really wanted to live.
And now, perhaps, she could also stop feeling guilty, once and for all. In the meantime, she’d need somewhere to stay. Somewhere to plan the rest of her life, even another adventure perhaps! She got out her phone and found Di’s number.
Chapter Thirty-Five
UNCAGED AND FLYING
‘What I don’t understand, Mum,’ said Di, as she mixed two large gin and tonics, ‘is why you won’t tell me exactly what Dad has done? I can appreciate that you want to strike out on your own but this wasn’t in the plan – coming here, I mean. Don’t tell me he’s got another woman?’
‘No,’ said Connie shortly. ‘He hasn’t.’
That would be so much easier to explain. But Roger was their father after all and it was surely up to him to inform his offspring of his sexual preferences. Connie’s instinct had always been to protect her children and there was still a certain loyalty to her husband, even now. The kids would have to find out for themselves. Perhaps. For who knew how Roger would live his life from now on? For herself, she could only feel an overwhelming sense of relief. She was shocked, of course, and she’d have a hard job explaining why she’d left, particularly to Nick and Lou. Because she’d had no idea; never suspected for one moment. But in hindsight she began to wonder if Roger had been living another life alongside the one he had with her.
‘OK, Mum, so you’ve definitely left?’
‘Yes, I’ve definitely left. I’m sorry, darling, but your dad and I were never very compatible and these few weeks on my own have made me realise that I need to move forwards, alone. But I won’t stay here any longer than I have to. I just need a couple of days to sort myself out and decide what to do next. Now, tell me about this man of yours – Mark, is it?’
Diana sighed. ‘Well, Mum, he’s gorgeous! I can’t wait for you to meet him and I’ve been so looking forward to talking to you about everything. The thing is, we’re moving in together.’
‘And are you certain of the way you feel about him?’
‘Well, yes… but—’
‘No buts. If you love him and want to move in with him, do it. You don’t get too many chances of happiness in this world.’
‘I hoped you’d say that, but the thing is I’d really like to keep this place as a bolt-hole, just in case… you know?’
‘I do know,’ said Connie.
‘So, do you think I should rent it out on short-term lets? I just want to know that I could come back without too much delay if I really had to.’
‘Excellent idea, Di. I shall be your first tenant.’
‘You, Mum?’
‘Why not? I’m going to need somewhere for the next few months to sort myself out.’
Di didn’t speak for a moment and then she said, ‘You might not miss Dad, but what about Nick and Lou, and the babies?’
‘Weekends.’ Connie had never thought so quickly and so confidently in her life. ‘I’ll go down and stay with them, turnabout, at weekends. I can look after the little ones so they have some time to themselves to go out for a meal or whatever. It’s another
very good reason to be up here; babysitting will be on my terms from now on. And not every weekend, of course.’
Connie smiled to herself. She could almost hear the rushing and gushing of that icy cold river, the sighing of the wind across the loch, the sound of the Atlantic waves breaking on the sands at Arisaig. All would need to be visited again, along with the friends she’d made along the way. And, perhaps, even a wedding Down Under.
‘I may well have other things to do,’ she said.
Chapter Thirty-Six
TALE END
‘So, you’ve definitely left him, have you?’ Kath asked as they walked, arm in arm, towards the crematorium.
‘Yes, Kath, I’ve finally left him. I’d made up my mind to leave anyway, but let’s just say that my unexpected arrival really clinched it. Sometime I’ll tell you about it, but not here, not now.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘At my daughter’s flat in London. She’s just moved in with her man, and was about to advertise for a tenant.’
‘Blimey, Connie! That was meant to be!’
‘Yes, I think it was.’
They hadn’t travelled up to Newcastle together because Connie had flown and Kath had arrived by train. They’d agreed to meet at the station and take a taxi from there. Much as Connie loved her little red car, she’d had enough of driving for a while.
Huw Davies was waiting for them, clutching a large bouquet of red roses.
‘So glad you made it, ladies,’ he said cheerfully, shaking hands. ‘Just for a minute there I thought I might be the only mourner. These arrived this morning; aren’t they beautiful? But I suppose I’d better notify the sender that there’ll be no need for any more. I thought you might like them.’
Of course! It was the first of October.
‘No,’ said Connie. ‘They’re for Jeannie. They should go with her.’
‘Seems a waste,’ Huw Davies said sadly.
‘It’s what she’d have wanted.’
‘Oh well. The undertaker should be here any minute.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But may I take this opportunity to have a quick word in your ear, Mrs McColl?’
‘Connie.’
‘Yes, OK, Connie.’ He took her elbow and guided her a few yards away. ‘Now, I was her executor as well as her solicitor, so I just wanted to let you know that you’ll be getting a letter in the next week or two with all the details. But I might as well tell you now: Miss Jarman has left half her estate to you.’
‘To me?’
‘Well, it won’t be a fortune as she had very few savings, but the flat should be worth quite a bit. Good area, you know. Oh, and she did say something about you perhaps making a small gift to, er, Petronella, is it?’
Connie was convinced there must be some mistake. ‘But she told me she was leaving everything to some charity or other.’
‘Well, she was. But she changed her mind. They’re only getting half now. Do you remember I called a couple of times while you were there?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘It’ll all be in the letter. Ah, here’s the hearse.’
Kath, who’d been edging ever closer and plainly trying to eavesdrop, looked at Connie enquiringly. Connie, stunned, shook her head and walked back towards the hearse, as the tiny coffin was lifted out and carried into the crematorium, the spray of white roses she and Kath had ordered wobbling on the top. When the coffin was laid down, Connie took the bouquet from Jeannie’s long-dead lover and placed them on top too.
‘Goodbye, little friend,’ Connie said softly as Jeannie took her final curtain call to the strains of the can-can.
Kath could keep silent no longer. ‘What was that all about?’ she whispered as they walked back up the aisle.
‘I’ll tell you that later too.’
Then she linked arms with Kath and they emerged into the afternoon sunshine.
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A letter from Dee
Thank you so much for choosing to read The Runaway Wife and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, and want to keep up with Connie’s adventures, just sign up here. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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Acknowledgements
With many thanks to my fantastic editor, Natasha Harding, for her help and enthusiasm, to my agent, Amanda Preston, at LBA, for her invaluable advice and patience, and to all the lovely people at Bookouture.
Thanks to my husband, Stan, who has patiently endured my long writing sessions, and to all my friends for their support and encouragement.
A special thanks to my friend and critic, Rosemary Brown, without whose expertise and knowledge this book would never have taken shape.
And, finally, thanks to my late mother, Anne (Sutherland) MacDonald, who encouraged me to write ‘wee stories’ to help pass the long Scottish winters. She really was the instigator of all this!
Published by Bookouture
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Copyright © Dee MacDonald 2018
Dee MacDonald has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-78681-354-1
The Runaway Wife Page 26
