He Will Find You

by Diane Jeffrey

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,’ Hannah says, adding, ‘although that’s not a very nice thing to say, the bit about you having two left feet.’

  ‘Well, it’s an accurate assessment,’ my sister says jokingly. ‘You would have been in the dance-off on the very first round on Strictly.’

  This makes me smile. I used to go round to Julie’s to watch Strictly Come Dancing on Saturday evenings. Kevin always hated the show and went to the pub with Daniel, but Julie and I are fans.

  Hannah opens her handbag and takes out a packet of tissues. She hands me a tissue and takes out another one, which she wets under the tap and uses to wipe away the smudged brown lines running down my cheeks. ‘I knew you’d cry on your special day,’ she says.

  ‘You probably just got overwhelmed by all the excitement,’ Julie says and I feel myself nodding. ‘You have a wonderful husband, and you’ll have a beautiful baby,’ she continues. ‘Don’t let a throwaway comment get you down.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say. It had felt disparaging, that remark about my clumsiness, but now I feel childish and silly. I’ve overreacted. And, as my sister pointed out, I’m no Ginger Rogers or Darcey Bussell.

  ‘It was probably the Prosecco talking,’ Hannah agrees. ‘Strange place,’ she says, changing the subject completely, for which I’m grateful. She looks around her as if seeing the room for the first time. I follow her gaze. The washbasins are built into what appears to be the outside rock face.

  ‘It’s very unusual,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, the toilets really know how to rock,’ Julie says.

  That makes all three of us laugh.

  As we head back to the others, I identify the tune of ‘Hound Dog’. I cringe, hoping I won’t be called on again to demonstrate how bad I am at dancing.

  But as we enter the reception room, I spot Alex dancing with Mike’s girlfriend, whose name I don’t even know. They’re the only two people on the dancefloor, and clearly, she knows how to jive or gyrate, or whatever they’re doing, as well as he does. Everyone else has their eyes riveted on them.

  I study her. She has quite long, layered blonde hair, which she’s flicking about all over the place like a model from a Head & Shoulders advert as Alex guides her through her steps. In my mind, I’d like to describe her as whippet-thin, but if I’m honest with myself, I envy her for her hourglass figure, which her short blue sheath of a dress shows off to perfection. Watching her with Alex, I feel a stab of jealousy.

  I scan the room for Mike. He’s sitting at a table talking to some of the other triathletes and as I catch sight of him, he throws his head back and releases a hearty guffaw, which even lifts my mood a little. If he’s not jealous, then I don’t need to be.

  As the band finishes their Elvis cover, Mike and his friends start clapping, and everyone else joins in. My new husband and his dancing partner take a little bow. Then Alex comes over to me and kisses me on the lips.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asks. ‘I was getting worried.’

  ‘I was talking to Hannah and Julie in the loos.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re well worth a visit,’ Hannah adds.

  Alex puts his arm around me. He squeezes my shoulder a little too hard, or maybe it just seems that way. It occurs to me that he may have drunk a bit too much. Perhaps he’s using me to hold himself up after spinning around on the dancefloor. But he’s hurting me and I pull away.

  After that, Alex stays glued to my side. He’s caring towards me, and charming with everyone else. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else lying beneath his behaviour; that the animated expression on his face is a veneer, stretched thin and about to crack.

  I can’t say exactly what gives me that impression. Maybe it’s as we sit down when I imagine I see a flash of fury in his eyes as they lock onto mine. But if there was any anger there, it’s gone in an instant and I wonder if I saw it at all.

  At around midnight, Alex and I bundle the guests into taxis. As I give my dad a big hug, I notice Jet licking Alex’s hand. He snatches his hand away and wipes it on the trousers of his smart suit. Jet has a habit of licking people’s hands and he does it for all sorts of reasons – he seems to sense when you need to be comforted or pacified, and, of course, he licks Dad’s hand when he wants to remind him it’s dinnertime.

  When everyone has gone, Alex grips me firmly by the wrist and leads the way upstairs to a large bedroom with a wooden floor and a four-poster bed. He lets go of me, and I sit on the bed, rubbing my wrist. At first, I think he doesn’t know his own strength. But then I see the rage in his eyes again. This time it’s etched all over his face, and he makes no effort to hide it. I remember Jet licking his hand a few minutes ago. He was trying to calm him down.

  I feel the baby kick hard from inside my tummy, just once. I’m usually overjoyed when I feel our baby move, but this time it’s almost as if it’s in warning.

  ‘The baby has just kicked,’ I tell Alex. ‘Come over here and put your hand on my tummy.’ I hear my voice quiver, and Alex doesn’t move. His eyes are burning into me.

  ‘Where – is – it?’ he shouts.

  ‘Wh … where’s wh … what?’

  ‘The necklace?’

  ‘Is that what’s upset you? I’m so sorry, Alex. We couldn’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Hannah and Julie helped me look for it.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘And Daniel and the boys,’ I add, more quietly.

  ‘So everyone knows you’ve lost my necklace. You’ve made me into a laughing stock for your entire family.’

  ‘I don’t see how, Alex,’ I say. I can barely hear my own voice now. ‘If anyone looks ridiculous, it’s me.’

  For a moment, he’s silent, and I think it’s over. I reach out my arms and he starts to walk towards me.

  But instead of allowing me to hold him, he pushes my arms down, leans down towards me and takes hold of the pendant of my mother’s necklace.

  ‘So where did you get this? Did some ex-boyfriend give you this?’

  ‘No! Julie lent it to me.’

  Alex straightens up, and as he does so, he pulls on the pendant. At the back of my neck, I feel the gold chain break, leaving the necklace in his hand.

  Tears prick my eyes. Alex stares at the necklace and then at me. He looks as shocked as I am. Was that an accident? Surely, he didn’t mean to break it?

  Then he about-turns purposefully, and marches towards the bathroom. I leap up and race after him. The bathroom door slams in my face as I get there.

  ‘Alex, that belonged to my mum,’ I shout at the closed door. ‘Alex—’ I am aware that I’m wailing now ‘—that was my mother’s necklace.’

  I fall to the floor, sobbing.

  I’m not sure how long I lie there, but when Alex emerges, he’s wearing only his boxer shorts. He helps me to my feet. He’s gentle now, and the expression on his face is dispassionate.

  ‘I’ll get it fixed,’ he says, guiding me into the bathroom.

  I watch, incredulous, as he opens my washbag, squeezes toothpaste onto my toothbrush and closes my hand around the handle. I see his reflection in the mirror and, catching my eye, he gives me the ghost of a rueful smile. Then he turns and goes back into the bedroom, closing the bathroom door softly and leaving me inside.

  I clean my teeth and pee. It can’t have taken me long, but when I get back into the bedroom, I can hear Alex’s light snoring. He’s curled up in bed.

  I struggle out of my wedding dress, only just able to reach the zip at the back. I didn’t bring any nightclothes – this was to be our wedding night, after all. So I climb into bed in my underwear.

  Alex has his back towards me. I lie on my back with my hands on my tummy feeling our baby kick, more softly this time. Tears roll down my cheeks. We’ve never gone to sleep side by side like this before. We’ve always kissed and said goodnight, even on the evenings we haven’t made love, and then we’ve fallen asleep either holding hands or with me in Alex’s arms.

/>   I don’t dream about Louisa that night. Or about Kevin. Or anyone or anything else. I don’t sleep at all. All I can think as the tears flow out from behind my closed eyelids is that our marriage hasn’t been consummated.

  In the middle of the night, I suddenly become aware of heavy breathing. I turn towards the stranger lying next to me, thinking I may have woken him up with my sobbing, but then I realise with shock that I am the one who is panting. I force myself to take deep breaths as my heartbeat races.

  Although we went to bed late, the night seems long. And yet I don’t want it to end.

  To: kaitlyn.best@newzmail.co.uk

  From: alexanderriley9987@premiernet.co.uk

  Sent: Fri, 11 Nov 2016 at 07:55

  Subject: COMMUNI-KATE WITH ME?

  Dear Katie,

  Clearly, you have taken my last email very badly. I’m sorry if you took offence at what I said. I don’t think you interpreted what I wrote in the way I meant it. I didn’t bring up my exes in order to make you jealous or to make you feel you have to compete with other women in my life. Firstly, they’re not in my life anymore, and secondly, you would win anyway! Hands down! No contest!

  I’m happy to discuss this further if you want to, but I think it’s just a misunderstanding. Maybe our emotions are spiralling a little out of control after the wonderful night we spent together. We’re overreacting and seeing things that simply aren’t there.

  Shall we ring or FaceTime soon? Far better to communicate that way. That’s if you still want to talk to me. Emails are completely devoid of tone, so it’s easy to read too much into casual remarks that are really intended only as jokes.

  I love you, and I hope to hear from you soon,

  Alexxx

  Chapter 5

  ~

  Alex sleeps soundly until about half past nine the following morning, and when he wakes up, he reaches out for me and puts his arms around me. I feel wooden and cold in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head.

  ‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ he says.

  I open my mouth to object to the ‘if’, but I stop myself in time.

  Instead I say, ‘I’m sorry, too.’

  ‘I think I had one too many,’ he offers by way of an explanation. ‘It was an emotional day.’

  Hannah’s words as I was applying the mascara yesterday echo in my head. She’d predicted – correctly – that I’d cry yesterday. I should have realised then that it would all affect Alex, too.

  He gets out of bed and stretches. He’s still wearing only his boxers and as I gaze in admiration at his toned body, I can feel myself thawing.

  ‘’S’OK,’ I mumble.

  He pecks my cheek and heads for the bathroom. And just like that, peace returns. It seems trivial all of a sudden, almost as if we didn’t fall out. I’m left feeling I’ve made last night’s disagreement out to be far worse than it really was.

  When he has showered, Alex reappears in the doorway, drying his dark curls with a white towel. He has another one around his waist.

  ‘Shall we walk home?’ he asks.

  ‘How far is it?’

  As soon as the words have left my mouth, I regret asking the question. Alex has discouraged me from doing any sport since I’ve moved in with him. I like running, swimming and cycling, although, unlike Alex, I’ve never been tempted to try out any of those activities competitively, but apart from the walk we went on together when I first arrived in the Lake District, I’ve hardly been out.

  Alex even expressed his disapproval a few weeks ago when I walked the short distance into the village of Grasmere. I know he’s concerned about me, but lately I’ve been feeling cooped up.

  ‘About four miles. Part of it is along the same paths we took when we did the Coffin Trail the first weekend you were here.’ Alex is standing at the mirror in the bathroom, the door wide open, and I watch him rub moisturising cream into his face. ‘We both brought casual clothes,’ he continues. ‘Have you got some decent shoes?’ He doesn’t pause for me to answer. ‘I could pick up our stuff later. It would certainly help clear my head.’

  I’m not sure if he means he’s hungover or if he still needs to get our argument out of his system.

  ‘And it would save us paying for a taxi,’ he adds, as if he’s trying to win me over and that will clinch the deal.

  ‘Alex, I think walking home is a great idea.’

  ‘Hmm. On second thought … it wouldn’t be good for the baby.’

  ‘Alex, the baby’s fine.’

  As if to confirm this, the baby pushes my tummy, ever so faintly, from inside.

  ‘But you lost so much blood.’

  ‘I didn’t lose a lot. It was in early pregnancy. It happens sometimes, apparently, and it hasn’t happened since. The baby is all right. Really.’

  ‘If you’re sure. Have a shower and then we’ll go downstairs and get some brekky.’

  Alex has used both large hotel towels, and he has dropped the one he dried his hair with on the floor in the bathroom. With a little difficulty because of the size of my bump, I bend down and pick it up, resisting the temptation to make a comment – it’s only a bit damp after all – and seconds later, the hot water gushing out of the shower jet is washing away the tension from my shoulders.

  I keep thinking Alex will change his mind. He has been very worried about the baby, and I’m convinced he’ll phone for a taxi instead of going through with his suggestion. But after breakfast, we arrange to leave our suitcases at the hotel and set off for home on foot.

  As we walk, Alex chats about the weather and about his mum. I’m not sure if he’s excited or wired, or merely trying to avoid an awkward silence. He doesn’t seem to need much input from me, so I tune out and try to sift through my thoughts.

  I wonder if Alex reacts badly to alcohol. Some people lose their temper or their self-control when they’ve been drinking. At least Alex wasn’t violent. I try to imagine everything that happened from his point of view. He’d probably been pleased with himself for buying me that present. Perhaps he’d put a lot of thought into it and the red heart was deliberate rather than a coincidence. If that was the case, then he must have been hurt to see that I wasn’t wearing it.

  The fact that we didn’t make love on our wedding night shouldn’t matter to me, should it? It would have seemed inappropriate after our row and, anyway, the idea that I had in my head all through the night – that our marriage hadn’t been consummated – is an old-fashioned concept. It belongs to a time when people didn’t have sex before marriage. I glance down at my tummy. We did, and look what happened. And Alex stepped up to the occasion. He asked me to move in with him and marry him so that we could be a family.

  ‘Any ideas?’

  His question interrupts my thoughts. I haven’t got a clue what he has been talking about. I give him a blank stare. ‘Sorry. I was miles—’

  ‘I was thinking “Leo” or “Liam” if it’s a boy.’

  He wants to discuss baby names. I’m not keen on Leo. ‘I like both of those,’ I say.

  ‘Liam is an Irish name. It would go well with yours. Kaitlyn and Liam. And mine, come to think of it! Liam Riley!’

  I smile, a little wistfully. ‘My mum would have liked that. Her Irish heritage passed down to her grandson.’

  ‘Oh God, he might have ginger hair, the poor thing,’ he says, elbowing me in jest.

  I don’t find it funny, but I smile, a little tightly. He’s right, though. Louisa and I got teased at school – even bullied a few times – just because of our hair colour.

  ‘What about girls’ names?’ he asks.

  ‘I love the name “Chloe,”’ I say.

  ‘I do, too,’ Alex says. He takes my hand.

  Well, that was easy. Alex is back to himself this morning. So, why do I feel the need to weigh up every word I say before I speak? Why do I get the impression I’m walking on eggshells with him?

  ‘Do you still want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?’ Alex asks.

  Why is
he asking me that? I look at him, trying to second-guess what’s going on in his head, but his expression is inscrutable. When I’d gone for the first scan, alone at the Musgrove Park Hospital in Taunton, it had been too early to tell the baby’s sex. When Alex and I went together for the second scan at Helme Chase Maternity Unit in Kendal, Alex was adamant that he didn’t want to know. I did. I needed our baby to have an identity. I wanted our baby to have a name. I dreamt of buying suitable baby clothes and not having to settle for neutral greys, yellows and whites.

  But Alex said he needed some time. He didn’t want to consider a baby girl as a replacement for Poppy and Violet, or as a second chance at happiness when things had gone so badly with his ex-wife Melanie that he could now no longer see his daughters. He argued that as he’d already had two baby girls, he also had to get used to the idea that this baby might be a boy.

  We went in for the scan, without having come to an agreement, about a month ago now. In the end, it turned out the baby was in a position that made it difficult for the sonographer to be sure of its sex anyway. And that solved the problem.

  ‘It’s too late now,’ I say. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

  ‘A bit,’ he admits. ‘I’m ready now. Either way.’

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ I say, as we stop walking for Alex to tie up his shoelace, ‘and now we know we’re expecting a Chloe or a Liam.’

  Rydal Water stretches along to our left and the views as we walk are so spectacular that any anxiety I’m feeling soon dissipates. Alex holds my hand for most of the way, swinging my arm from time to time or lifting my hand to his lips to kiss it.

  When we get home, Alex opens the front door, but Jet bounds towards him, barking and growling with his hairs standing up in a ridge along his back. Alex quickly closes the door again and we wait in the porch until Dad has calmed the dog down.

  We find Hannah and Julie in the kitchen making lunch. There are dirty frying pans and utensils stacked up next to the draining board and the tiled floor is filthy. I sneak a peek at Alex, biting my lip. I know how much he likes everything to be tidy, but if the chaos in his kitchen annoys him, he doesn’t show it.