Beyond Broadhall (The '86 Fix Book 2)

by Keith A Pearson

  “Precisely. But neither of them has made any effort to address their problems. Maybe their marriage is beyond fixing, who knows. What I do know is that I don’t want to wake up in thirty years time and discover we’ve become my parents.”

  “Right. Fair point.”

  “And I’m guessing you don’t want that either?”

  She grimaces and shakes her head.

  “So, for better or for worse, this is the right decision. I think we both know that.”

  We stand, facing one another, both trying to find words that might do justice to the finality of the moment. There aren’t any, not really. Megan steps forward, places her hand on my arm and plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “Thank you,” she says softly.

  “For what?”

  “For making this as painless at it could possibly be. Not many husbands would have been so…reasonable.”

  “I just want you to be happy, Megan.”

  And I genuinely mean that. Without me, Megan might one day live that life I envisaged for her while I lay on my bed at Broadhall. She could marry the right man and together they could adopt a couple of kids. Maybe that big house with a farmhouse-style kitchen isn’t beyond the realms of possibility. I hope it’s not.

  As for my own future, that’s still very much in the balance.

  Megan flashes a weak smile and clacks out of the room. I slump back into my armchair and let the relief wash over me. I’ve imagined the conversation we just had hundreds of times. Not once did I imagine we would behave like adults and calmly discuss our problems, let alone reach an amicable agreement. All those years of hiding away from the problems in our marriage, wasted. I might feel relieved but it comes served with a side order of annoyance.

  With little appetite, I head into the kitchen and force down a bowl of cereal. Keen to keep the peace with Megan, I wash up my bowl before I head upstairs for a shower.

  Getting undressed in the bathroom is not a pleasurable experience. For the first time in a long while, I get to see all seventeen stone of my naked bulk. I step into the shower and, with my body occupying so much space, it feels claustrophobic. I resentfully lather up my flabby folds and pine for the feel of my slim body, my taut skin and toned muscles. It actually feels like I’m washing a small car but serves as a motivator to get my slim body back again.

  Megan does her best to keep out of my way but we pass on the landing and swap uncomfortable smiles. She’s already moved her toiletries into the spare bedroom. I don’t know how long we can live like this, but for now we’ll both have to deal with the awkwardness.

  I get dressed, and rather than endure the strange atmosphere in the house, I decide I’ll leave early and take a slow walk to Lucy’s. Beyond the fact it’s still pleasant outside, I may need to partake of some alcohol to put a tick in my final box of the day.

  I leave the house and begin my slow saunter to Partridge Lane.

  Inevitably, it doesn’t take long for my mind to drift towards the subject of my impending divorce. It still doesn’t quite seem real — I’m going to be divorced soon. My twenty-five year marriage will be over. Finished. Terminated. I know plenty of people who’ve been through a divorce but I never imagined I’d one day join their ranks. It’s always been Craig and Megan. It’s always been us and we. But very soon, and for the first time in our adult lives, it will become I and me. I know we’re doing the right thing but you can’t just turn a relationship off, like a tap. It’s going to keep dripping away for a while, I suspect.

  I push my thoughts towards the practical aspects. I don’t know how long it takes for a re-mortgage to go through but I’d imagine it’ll take at least a few weeks for Megan to sort out her finances and to complete all the legal paperwork. It’s just a guess but that would take me to mid-August, and about three months before my bet pays out. It looks like I will have to rent somewhere in the short term. It might be dead money but it’s a drop in the ocean compared to my impending windfall. I’ll live with it.

  With my thoughts elsewhere I pay little attention to my journey, and before I know it, I’m plodding down Partridge Lane towards Lucy’s cottage. Only now does it strike me that maybe I should have invested some of my attention in deciding what I’m going to say to Lucy. Too late now but maybe that’s no bad thing. Perhaps for once in my life I might be better off letting my heart lead my head.

  I’ll soon discover if that’s a good call, or not.

  32

  Lucy’s garden and front door look no different to how they looked yesterday, or how they’ll look in eleven months time for that matter. I skirt up the path and rap the knocker, feeling more nervous than I did yesterday when I was greeted by a woman who I hoped to have sex with. I don’t think there will be much sex on the agenda this evening. Actually, putting the presumption aside, I’m not sure I even want to have sex with Lucy in my current form.

  Lucy opens the door and grunts a half-hearted greeting before she turns to walk away. Not the welcome I was hoping for. I follow her into her poky kitchen at the back of the house. It’s a far cry from the stunning, open-plan kitchen I sat in yesterday.

  “Coffee, or wine?”

  “Wine, please.”

  She pulls a glass from a cupboard that looks like it was installed during Thatcher’s tenure. There’s already a half-full glass on the side, next to an open bottle of Pinot Grigio. She fills the glass and hands it to me before plucking her own up.

  “Cheers,” she says, with little enthusiasm.

  I raise my glass a few inches, and take a mouthful of the tepid wine. I watch Lucy as she mirrors my actions. Her look this evening is the polar opposite of last night’s. No skimpy summer dress, just jeans and a light-grey sweatshirt. Her auburn hair is tied into a loose ponytail and I don’t think she’s applied any makeup. She still looks every bit as beautiful though.

  She doesn’t waste any time in getting to the point.

  “I don’t want to appear rude, Craig, but I’ve got a lot to do this evening. What is it you wanted to chat about?”

  It’s clear from the boxes and piles of newspaper scattered around the kitchen that Lucy has already started packing for her move. Maybe I’ve left it too late. Now I’m stood here, I feel significantly less confident, especially in this body.

  “Um, sure. About Brighton.”

  “What about it?”

  “You’re definitely going?”

  “I’ve already accepted an offer for the house, and as you can see, packing is underway.”

  “Right.”

  I take another large gulp of wine, hoping to bolster my ailing confidence.

  “And you definitely think it’s the right thing to do?”

  She opens a cupboard and starts pulling out random items of kitchenware.

  “Who knows, but there’s not much worth staying in Farndale for.”

  Say it Craig. Just say it.

  “There’s me.”

  She snatches a Pyrex jug and lays it on the pile of newspapers. Plenty of aggressive wrapping but not much in the way of a reply.

  “Did you hear what I said, Lucy?”

  “I heard you.”

  “And?”

  She lets out a sigh and deposits the newspaper-cocooned jug into a box.

  She turns to face me. “No offence, but I’m not sure my friendship with a colleague, sorry, former colleague, is reason enough to stay.”

  No amount of Pinot Grigio is going to help me here. I only have one last card to play before I admit defeat.

  “Even if that former colleague really cares about you?”

  Lucy starts to chuckle away to herself. It quickly develops into a belly laugh.

  “Oh, Craig,” she says between peals of laughter. “You’re priceless. You care about me? Like a pet hamster? How quaint.”

  Not the reaction I expected. I don’t know what to say, and I certainly don’t know how I’m supposed to react.

  “Sorry, this was a mistake. I’ll leave you to your packing.”

  T
he laughter stops in a heartbeat, and her face takes on a red hue. I‘m guessing I chose the wrong reaction.

  “Fuck you, Craig,” she snaps. “How dare you turn up here, screw with my head and then run away.”

  “Look, Lucy. Can we just pretend this never happened? I’m sorry if I offended or upset you.”

  Her face is now crimson. “Which one are you apologising for? Upsetting me or offending me?”

  “Eh? Um, both.”

  “You don’t know if I’m offended or upset?” she says, her voice dripping with indignation.

  I stare at the floor. I don’t know how to answer her without upsetting her further. Or offending her. Or both. Who fucking knows? Clearly I don’t.

  “See, that’s your problem, isn’t it?” she snipes. “Craig Pelling — the man who can’t see the obvious.”

  What is obvious, even to an idiot like me, is that Lucy is close to tears. If I had to commit, I’d wager she’s upset.

  “Okay, before I do or say anything else that either offends or upsets you, can you clarify what you mean by that?”

  A plump tear rolls down her cheek.

  “Tuesday,” she sniffles. “I asked you if you thought I was doing the right thing, moving to Brighton.”

  Oh, shit.

  “And you said it was.”

  “Yeah, but I only said that because I knew you were going to be made redundant.”

  “You’re a bloody idiot.”

  Why do people keep calling me an idiot?

  “What? Why?”

  “Do you really think I gave a damn about my job?”

  “Err, I don’t know.”

  “I wanted you to tell me to stay. I wanted you to beg me to stay.”

  “Ohh.”

  “But you didn’t. You let me walk out of that office with the impression you couldn’t have cared less.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”

  “A lot, I guess.”

  “Yes, a lot. And do you know why?”

  A void develops in my head, and a penny teeters on an edge, ready to drop through that void. It doesn’t, and I stand with my mouth agape while I wait for an answer to come.

  Lucy jumps on my indecision. “You see my point? You don’t know why, do you?”

  Seconds pass and the penny wobbles but steadfastly refuses to drop.

  “Um, err…”

  Lucy throws her arms in the air. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  Clink.

  “Are you saying,” I gulp, “what I think you’re saying?”

  “Yes, you stupid, stupid man. I’m in love with you, okay? How the hell could you not see that?”

  A few quids worth of pennies drop through the void.

  “Christ. Really?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  I feel like I should don a dunce’s cap and stand in the corner for a while.

  “I honestly didn’t know, Lucy.”

  “Well now you do. And if you don’t mind, I’ve got packing to get on with.”

  She returns her attention back to the pile of newspaper.

  “But…”

  “But nothing, Craig,” she interjects. “Clearly it’s not mutual.”

  How could I have been so monumentally stupid? All that time, and not only did I ignore my own feelings for Lucy, I totally failed to recognise how she felt about me. I am an idiot. A twenty-four karat idiot.

  “It is mutual, Lucy. Totally. I…I love you too.”

  She stops wrapping and stares up at the ceiling.

  “Well, that’s just great,” she sighs. “You love me, I love you. You’re married, and I’m going to live in Brighton. How’s that for a happy ending, folks?”

  “I’m..not married,” I stammer. “Least I won’t be soon. We’re getting divorced.”

  She turns and faces me. “What?”

  “I talked to Megan and we’ve decided to get a divorce.”

  “Really? You never said anything. When did this happen?”

  “About two hours ago.”

  “Oh. Should I offer congratulations or commiserations?”

  “Both, I suppose. But it’s what I want.”

  It feels like an appropriate moment to reflect, and we both take a silent moment to gulp down the content of our wine glasses.

  “I didn’t imagine it would be like this,” Lucy says as she refills our glasses.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I imagined some romantic scene where you confess your undying love for me. You know, all hearts and flowers, soft light and violins.”

  “You’ve actually thought about it?”

  “Course I have. I didn’t imagine we’d be stood in my kitchen, me looking like shit while knee-deep in newspaper and boxes.”

  “You don’t,” I chuckle. “Look like shit, I mean. You look the absolute opposite of shit.”

  “Gee, you really know how to woo a girl don’t you? I’m sure there was a compliment in there somewhere.”

  “Sorry, I’m just not very good at all this.”

  “You don’t say,” she sniggers, but her smile quickly fades.

  We both know there is still a sizable elephant sat in the corner of the kitchen — Brighton. While I’m clearly not blessed with the ability to recognise or articulate emotions, I can at least try to address the practicalities of our situation.

  “So, Brighton?”

  “Yes, Brighton,” Lucy replies.

  “Can I ask, do you really want to go?”

  “I never really wanted to go, if I’m honest.”

  “So, stay then.”

  “You know the reasons why it’s more complicated than that.”

  I probably did know the reasons. However, what with the eleven months’ detour I took between Tuesday’s conversation and now, they’ve kind of slipped my mind.

  “Shall we just recap the issues, just so I’m clear?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I may have been a little distracted when you told me.”

  “Fine,” she groans while rolling her eyes. “My sister has bought the house next door to her hotel. There’s a detached annexe building in the garden of that house which I’m going to buy. My sister will use that money to pay for the renovations on the main house. Got it?”

  “Okay, understood.”

  “So, if I don’t sell this place and buy the annexe, she won’t have the money to do those renovations.”

  “Right.”

  “And I’ll be dropping her right in it.”

  “Can’t she get a bank loan?”

  “That’s the real bitch. The bank will lend her the money, but only once the house is renovated and she’s doubled the hotel’s occupancy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. It’s a crazy catch-twenty-two situation, so you see why she needs my money.”

  “How much does she need.”

  “Ninety grand.”

  “So let me get this right. She needs ninety grand for a few months in order to renovate the house, and then she can get a bank loan once those renovations are complete?”

  “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “And what about the job offer that came with the annexe?”

  “I think maybe that was just a token offer; a sweetener to convince me to move down there. Claire is more than capable of running the place, with or without my assistance.”

  “So it’s just your money she really wants?”

  “When you put it like that, I guess it is.”

  Perhaps the Gods have finished shitting on me, and are now smiling down.

  “I’ll lend her the money.”

  “Really? Where will you get that sort of money from?”

  “Megan wants to buy my share of the house, so I’ll have at least ninety grand in the bank in a few weeks time.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that, Craig.”

  Now is your chance Craig. Prove to her how much you want this.

  I step towards Lucy and take her
hands in mine. Strange really, I’ve already gone a lot further than hand-holding with Lucy, but for this version, it’s the first time I’ve ever shown her any physical affection.

  “I’d give away my last penny if it meant there was a chance of us having a future together.”

  She stands motionless, almost dazed by my confession. “Do you actually mean that?” she squeaks.

  “More than I’ve ever meant anything.”

  Lucy suddenly darts forwards and throws her arms around me, all seventeen stone of me. I try not to flinch. How can this beautiful creature not be repulsed by my flabby body? She eventually releases her hold on me and we stand, facing one another.

  “I don’t wish to ruin the moment, Lucy, but there’s one minor issue I need to resolve. If I lend your sister the money, it sort of removes my funds for renting somewhere to live.”

  “I think I can help you with that,” she replies with a grin.

  “How so?”

  “Perhaps in a week or two, we might be able to find a space for you upstairs. You know, once the dust has settled.”

  “You sure?”

  “Totally. I think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?” she whispers, just before she leans in and kisses me gently.

  Our first kiss. Well, sort of.

  “But I too have a minor issue to resolve,” she adds as our lips part.

  “What’s that?”

  “A small thing called a job.”

  Suddenly a picture of Lucy, stood behind a desk at Senior Connections, drifts into my mind.

  “You could work for yourself. Start your own business. That’s what I’m planning to do.”

  “Funny you should say that. I’ve been kicking this idea around for a few years but, and you’re going to think I’m a soppy cow, I didn’t want to leave RolpheTech because I got to see you every day. Now, seeing as that’s no longer a problem…”

  “Go for it. Whatever it is, I know you’ll be a success.”

  It’s not just rhetoric, I know for sure it will be a success.

  We seal the deal with another kiss; a long lingering kiss, a decade in the making.

  “Can I abandon the packing now then?” she asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank fuck for that. It’s tedious.”

  We laugh, and kiss again.

  “And does this mean…”