One Glass Is Never Enough

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  He ran his tongue along the minuscule sausage of paper. “Tell me more about your mother. What about when you and David were small? Was she around then?”

  “Yeah. She was around. She was always around.” Her face tingled. “She was there but she was taken up with other things. I mean she was good – she looked after us and cared for us but my father was awful and somehow…” Gaynor stopped. She felt as though she was ready to split apart with all the unexpressed, half-formed feelings she couldn’t articulate. Her fingers closed up on themselves. “It’s too long ago. I can’t explain.”

  He took hold of one of her hands, slid a thumb into her tightly bunched fist and gently unwound her fingers again.

  “Let it out,” he said.

  She shook her head, shuddering.

  “You’re having a hard time,” he said. “Victor, Chloe, worrying about David…” He took the wine glass from her other hand and put it down on the table next to him. Then he put his arm around her. She had the peculiar sensation of watching herself, sitting there, holding herself so rigidly. Then her face turned into his shoulder. She felt him patting her back as though she were a child. “That’s right,” he was saying soothingly. “Let it all out…”

  She opened her eyes and looked curiously at the ceiling and then woke properly with a jolt. It took some seconds to remember where she was. She lay in her T-Shirt and pants, shivering beneath the quilt. There was nothing much in the room apart from the double bed. White walls, a chest of drawers. Sam had pulled the curtains across but the dawn light came through the gap in the middle, making the room grey with half-light.

  There was a glass of water on the bedside cupboard. She sat up and reached out for it as all at once everything came back – a kaleidoscope of images: her shouting in the wine bar, snapping at Claire, falling sobbing on Sam. Her head ached. She remembered staggering across the room, telling Sam she felt sick.

  A stab of anxiety and shame hit her in the solar plexus so hard it made her cry out. She rocked herself in the bed, desperate to shut out the feelings. The door opened and Sam came in. He was still dressed in the same green polo shirt and faded shorts he’d had on last night. “It’s OK.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, touched her shoulder. “It’s OK,” he said again.

  “No, no it isn’t.” She began to thrash about, one hand clutching her stomach. “I feel awful, I feel terrible.” She was shaking. “I feel ill.”

  “Are you cold?” For a moment she thought he was going to get into bed with her, offer to warm her up. For a moment she wanted him to. But he went out of the room and came back with a towelling robe. “Sit up and put this on.” It was huge. She put her arms in and tried to lift her body up to get it round her. He tugged at her. “Get out of bed.”

  He drew it round her as though he were dressing a child and tied the cord. Then he lifted the covers and she climbed back beneath them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Move over.”

  Yes. He was going to get in to bed with her. She suddenly wanted that more than anything else. With a start she realised she wanted to be held by him, made love to, kissed, caressed…

  She held out her arms as he slid, still in his clothes, beside her – but he put his arm around her, pulling her head on to his shoulder. Heat shot through her body and she pressed against him, her hand moving across to stroke his stomach. His hand stilled hers. Moved it gently and firmly away, folded it back against her body, and hugged her closer.

  “You go back to sleep,” he said, stroking her hair. “You’re all right now.”

  She lay there in his warmth, caught between disappointment and gratitude. Wrapped in the comforting roughness of the towelling, her face buried into his shoulder.

  “Don’t you want me?” she asked, feeling tears well in her eyes again.

  “Shhhh.” He cradled her in both arms. “I’m looking after you,” he said. “You sleep.”

  “I can’t,” she said. But, somehow, the painful knot in her stomach loosened and, safe in Sam’s arms, she did.

  10. Australian Shiraz

  Inviting aromas, rich and spicy with a disappointing finish.

  Gaynor sat in a chair outside Sam’s back door, still wearing his dressing gown, eating the toast he’d made her. The garden here was nowhere near as big as in the front. There was just a small patio area with a square of lawn and a few tubs.

  All the glorious colour was in the front but Sam had led her out here, presumably thinking she shouldn’t sit in another man’s bathrobe in full view of the streams of Folk fans and locals wandering along the cliff top to the town.

  “Won’t Victor have phoned home?” Sam asked. “Won’t he be wondering where you were?”

  Gaynor shrugged. “Probably not. He can phone my mobile if he’s worried, can’t he.” She pulled a face. “But he won’t be. And I don’t much care if he is.”

  She smiled at Sam. She felt strangely peaceful in an odd, pummelled, washed-out way. Like she’d walked twenty miles and just got out of a hot bath or woken after a night of very good sex.

  Which she hadn’t. She didn’t know how long he’d stayed in bed with her. When she’d woken next, the room had been full of bright sunshine and she’d been startled to see from the bedside clock that it was almost eleven. She’d come downstairs to find Sam reading the paper. He’d got different clothes on and had shaved. He’d looked up as if her being there was quite normal. “Tea?” he’d asked, matter-offactly.

  Now he looked at her seriously. “Come on. Be sensible. You’d better get home.”

  She looked at him coquettishly. “Are you throwing me out? Have I overstayed my welcome?”

  He sat down in a garden chair opposite her. “Don’t be silly. I’m thinking of you. I don’t want you to get into trouble – sounds as if you’ve got enough complications there already.”

  Gaynor crunched at the last corner of toast and stretched. “I feel better. I feel very philosophical this morning.”

  “That’s because you’ve had an emotional release. But the facts haven’t changed. You’ve still got a marriage that needs sorting out.”

  Gaynor pouted. She thought about him climbing into bed with her and wished he’d put his arms around her again. “Torchlight procession tonight. Do you like Folk Week or are you glad it’s nearly over?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t know much about it.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “What – don’t you go to anything? But you still see it and hear it – you can’t really avoid it living here, can you?”

  “It’s the first year I’ve been here. I’ve seen the old Morris dancers wandering about – I heard a couple of guys playing in your bar the other night…” He shrugged.

  “Oh, I thought you’d lived here ages.”

  “No.”

  “Let’s go tonight,” she said brightly. “I’m not working

  – Kate and Jack are both on. And Claire’s brother Neill and his mate Seb are staying – they’ll help if things get frantic. Let’s wander around the pubs and see the procession. You’ll love it – it’s a great atmosphere.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows. “Is that a good idea? Should you be walking around with a strange man who’s not your husband?”

  Gaynor shook her head dismissively. “It’s Folk Week – there’ll be thousands of people out and nobody will take a blind bit of notice. Anyway,” she went on, “I’m allowed

  friends aren’t I? He obviously has them!”

  “And do you?”

  She looked sideways at him. “Are you asking if I have affairs?”

  “I suppose I am, though it’s none of my business,”

  “Well I don’t. I think people think I do. I’m quite flirty and cuddly and I mess around sometimes – well, you know that –” She felt herself blush. “But I’ve never – you know.”

  She felt all at once guilty and compelled to tell the truth. She gazed at the scarlet mass of red geranium that burst from an old chimney pot on the p
aving stones and took a deep breath. “I nearly did once. I was drunk –” she laughed self-consciously “– again and this guy I’ve known for ages – he always tries it on – he’s very good-looking and all the women fancy him and, I don’t know – Victor was away and being awful half the time anyway – it was when he started getting all these funny moods and Danny, he was just sort of there…” She stopped and met Sam’s eyes, appealing to him to understand. He looked back calmly.

  “I was out with my friend Lizzie,” Gaynor went on, “and she’s worse than me! We ended up at Lizzie’s flat with Danny and his mate Pete, and Danny made it very clear, you know. I was flattered and I very nearly but…”

  “Is he the one who was waiting for you the other night out there?” Sam jerked his head backwards towards the front of the house.

  She looked at him, alarmed. “Were you watching?”

  “I just happened to look out of the window and I saw him spring out at you. I was a bit concerned – I just watched for a moment in case you needed any help. But you seemed to know him so – ” He shrugged.

  “Yes, he gave me a lift home. Nothing happened…”

  “As I said, it’s none of my business.”

  “No, but I’m telling you it didn’t. I feel bad about the way I behave. You know – I still feel awkward about that first night with you in Greens. I always wake up in the morning and cringe at myself, but I don’t know – when I’ve had a drink I…”

  He picked up her mug. “You’re as you are. No point beating yourself.”

  “You didn’t like it much.”

  “It was a bit of a surprise!” He smiled. “And I’m a miserable old git. But no harm done. The only one you seem to hurt is yourself. More tea?”

  He went inside. She sat in the sunshine and drew her feet up on to the edge of her seat and hugged her knees. She felt peculiar. There was something of the confessional in talking to Sam. Part of her felt a huge urge to tell him all her sins. To hear his soothing tones telling her she was all right really – even if she knew she wasn’t.

  She suddenly wanted to tell him everything…

  But she smiled brightly when he came back. “What made you come to Broadstairs, then?”

  He put a fresh tea down and sat next to her, gazing down the garden.

  “We used to come to Margate when I was a child. When I came out of the police, I was in a bad way. Debra, my daughter, she suggested we came down here for a day out – she was trying to cheer me up.”

  Gaynor laughed. “By coming to Margate? Who needs enemies when you’ve got relatives?”

  He smiled wryly. “She meant well. But it wasn’t as I remembered. I didn’t feel comfortable there at all. But then we drove over here. Just by accident really – just drifted along the coast. Parked on the jetty, had a wander about – Debra wanted fish and chips – and then we came up here and this was for sale…” His voice was distant, almost as if he were talking to himself.

  “It was the garden.” He was staring down at the flint wall at the bottom of the small patch of grass. “It was completely overgrown and neglected but I could see what was there.” He shook his head. “I told Debra I wanted to make an offer on it. I barely looked inside the house.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She told me to think about it. I said I had.”

  “So,” he said, suddenly brisk again. “I sold up and came down here. Nothing to keep me in London any more. My son Joe’s abroad, teaching English in Italy, Debra’s got her own life – she’s very capable and independent – and property prices down here were a fraction of up there. I swapped a flat for this!”

  “How long ago did your wife die?” Gaynor felt hesitant, wondering whether Sam would keep talking or suddenly clam up again.

  “Six years ago, nearly. Debra was sixteen, Joe two years younger. Terrible age to lose a mother. Well, any age is, I suppose.”

  “Is your mother alive?” Now she’d started questioning, Gaynor couldn’t seem to stop.

  He shook his head. “No. Neither of them are now. I think that’s what cracked me up. There was Eleanor dying and having to hold things together for the kids and working all sorts of hours and then my father died and my mother just fell apart. I dealt with that – I had to – but after she’d gone, I fell apart myself. And then –” he gave an odd bitter laugh “– the kids had to look after me. Well they didn’t have to – I told them to get on with their own things but they were wonderful.” He sounded suddenly moved and stood up, picking up their mugs and her plate.

  “I expect that’s because you’d been wonderful to them,” said Gaynor. “I can imagine you being a lovely father.” She suddenly felt all emotional again and turned gratefully towards the cat. “Oh look – hello, gorgeous.”

  A sparrow that had been perched on a tub flapped away in alarm as Brutus sprang up on to the arm of her chair and stepped on to her lap, back arched. She stroked him and he rubbed the side of his face into her with pleasure.

  “Where’ve you been?” Sam dropped his free hand on to the back of the cat’s head and he purred deeply. “You been down the jetty scrounging again? He came back the other day reeking of fish,” he said in an ordinary voice. “Knew straight away what he’d been up to.” He moved his hand to Gaynor’s shoulder. “And that’s what they’ll say about you if you don’t go home!”

  She stood in the kitchen doorway once she was dressed, watching him rinse the breakfast things.

  “So, shall we go out tonight?” she asked shyly.

  He slotted a plate into the plastic drainer. “If you’re sure it’s OK.”

  She nodded. “It’s OK. I’ll go home and get sorted out. I’ll come back at eight or something…” She hesitated for a moment and then crossed the room, put her arms around him and hugged him. “Thank you for having me.”

  A flicker of amusement crossed his face; his hands were wet and soapy but he raised one eyebrow as he squeezed her back with the crook of one arm. And she found herself smiling too. And wondering for a mad moment, as a frisson ran through her, what it would have been like if he really had…

  The house felt strange and empty as if she’d been away a long time instead of just one night. Chloe had left a message on the answer-phone at ten the night before. Gaynor looked at her untouched bed and suddenly felt a stab of guilt – what would Victor say if he knew she’d spent the night in another man’s, however innocently? Suppose he’d phoned the wine bar and Claire had told him she’d gone early? She shook her head. He wouldn’t do that – he’d try home and then ring her mobile. But there was never much signal down at the bottom of the town there so if he couldn’t get through…

  As she looked at it, the phone rang again, making her jump.

  “Where’ve you been?” Chloe demanded.

  Gaynor felt herself spluttering: “When? What do you mean?”

  “I called last night and this morning. Dad’s mobile’s been switched off the whole time and yours…”

  “I was working in the wine bar. Didn’t get home till the early hours,” said Gaynor, making a snap decision to lie through her teeth and hope for the best. “I was late up this morning – must have slept through the phone or been in the shower or something. Victor’s away – there’s a big presentation up in Edinburgh – some radio station pitch or something.”

  “Oh!” Chloe sounded displeased. “I wanted to see when Ollie and I could come down.”

  “Well, anytime,” said Gaynor with forced cheer, adding, “when Victor’s back of course. I don’t know what…”

  “And why’s his phone switched off?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  But it was a very good question, thought Gaynor, dialling the number herself. The answer-phone cut in at once. She slammed down the receiver ready to slap that robotic-sounding operator – she’d heard enough of her lately to last a lifetime.

  On impulse she dialled EBDT.

  “His daughter’s been trying to get hold of him,” she told Ziggy, not wanting
to sound too desperate.

  Ziggy was unfazed. “They’ve got back-to-back meetings all day,” she said brightly. “You want me to get him paged at the hotel? Or I’ll get hold of Laurence?” Gaynor relaxed. So he was at least where he said he was.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll catch him later.” Gaynor made her own voice sound casual.

  “Should all be over by about four,” said Ziggy. “They’re on the 18.10 back to Heathrow.”

  “Oh yes,” said Gaynor, as if she knew already, although her heart began to beat a little harder. “And where is he this evening? He did tell me but…”

  There was the tiniest pause. “Not sure I’ve got that down,” said Ziggy. “Dinner with the client, I’m pretty sure…”

  Yeah, right, thought Gaynor. So why not stay up in Edinburgh another night and have dinner there? Ziggy didn’t know where Victor was going, that was the truth. But playing the good secretary, she was prepared to cobble something together.

  “I think it might be at Crystal’s,” Gaynor said, pretending to remember. Ziggy sounded relieved. “Could well be,” she said cheerily. “Have a good weekend yourself.”

  Oh sure, Gaynor thought as she put the phone down. If it was work on a Friday night then why didn’t Ziggy know about it? And if it wasn’t, then what was he doing that was more pressing than coming home? They’d be clear of the airport by 7.30pm – plenty of time to get back to Broadstairs if he wanted to.

  But as she showered, scrubbed and exfoliated, smoothed scented body lotion along her limbs, took extra care with her hair and make-up and dithered over what to wear, she realised that she was quite glad he hadn’t. Because, right now, she wanted to go out with Sam.

  He’d showered too. He was wearing a soft denim shirt and smelt of soap. She suddenly wanted to feel his arms around her again, to put her head on his shoulder once more.

  “You look nice,” he said.

  She looked down at her pink jeans and cropped T-shirt and ran a hand across her stomach. “I’ve been wondering whether to get my belly button pierced.”