by Erica James
A quick scan around the bar revealed that she had arrived before Curt. Which gave her time to nip into the ladies and make sure she was looking her best. After a cursory touch-up of lippy and a brush through her hair, she went back out to the bar, ordered herself a glass of Merlot and took it over to a corner table as far away from the window as possible. It had always been one of their many rules when meeting: no window seats. But perhaps after today the old rules would no longer apply.
With its over-the-top kitsch glam and a generous side order of Alice in Wonderland thrown in, the bar could not have been further removed from the kind of place Curt generally favoured. She smiled at the incongruity of him sitting here with her and wondered if his choice was somehow symbolic. Of what, she couldn’t really say.
Tess was in the kitchen baking. With Lizzie in London for the day and Tom and Freddie out feeding the ducks, the house was filled with a much-needed quiet calm. It reminded her of the days when Luke and Lizzie were babies and she’d relish the time while they napped. Goodness, how she’d filled those minutes, squeezing into them as many chores as she could – hanging out the washing, preparing the evening meal for when Tom returned from work, flicking a duster round and doing whatever else it was that needed doing. Invariably, Lizzie would be first to wake and more often than not just when Tess had sat down with a cup of coffee. If she was lucky she would have Lizzie fed and her nappy changed by the time Luke woke.
She often thought she was better organised back then than she was now, when, to all intents and purposes, she had all the time in the world. Or was that an illusion, the mind playing games with the memories, filtering out the worst of the mayhem of living with twins? Tom called it the pick-and-mix of selective memory.
She certainly wished she could be selective with the mix of emotions she felt towards Lorna. The pettiness of the woman wouldn’t be out of place in the school playground. After dropping Lizzie off at the station this morning, Tess had called in at the community shop on the way home and while she was waiting in the queue to pay for some milk, Marian Bainbridge came in.
A bossyboots woman, Marian had long since seized autocratic rule over the village, a despot who loved to take command and offload the work onto the shoulders of others and then take all the credit. Increasingly, when yet again she had fired off a volley of orders and diktats for some village cause or event, she instilled in Tess the ludicrous desire to stick out her tongue behind the woman’s back.
Not surprisingly the woman had been clutching a bundle of papers in her hands – she was either distributing leaflets or, more likely, on the prowl for others to do it for her. With no avoiding her (the shop was much too small for that), Tess had put on her best positive face and braced herself.
‘Ah, just the woman I was looking for!’ announced Marian. ‘Harvest Supper rota. You can add your name to the list of helpers, either to cook or serve.’
‘It’s a bit early to start planning for the supper, isn’t it?’ Tess had replied. ‘It’s ages away.’
‘Preparation is all. Now then, I imagine you’ll want to do the same as last year. But you’ll have to find a new partner, Lorna’s signed up to wait on tables with Rosamund Beccles.’
There was no question as to whether Tess wanted or indeed was available to help – there never was – and suddenly the arrogant presumption of the woman had filled Tess with the horrifying urge to tell Marian exactly where she could stick her Harvest Supper rota. Fearing she might do exactly that, she had marched straight out of the shop, forgetting all about the milk she had gone in for.
With the finishing touches to the lemon drizzle cake now complete, Tess felt ashamed of her behaviour towards Marian. The woman might be the bane of many a life in the village, but she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of such rudeness – rudeness triggered by the hurt Tess had felt at learning that Lorna had chosen to partner Rosamund Beccles and not her. Lorna could not have made her feelings or intentions clearer had she posted a sign on the village noticeboard.
And it was all thanks to Lizzie.
The thought slipped out treacherously, wholly unbidden, and Tess shooed it away guiltily. Lizzie may have triggered the situation in which they now found themselves, but it was Lorna who was taking things to an absurdly spiteful level.
It was with considerable effort that Tess now made the decision, no matter how tempting and instinctive it was, that she wouldn’t stoop to the tactic of two-can-play-at-that-game. She was better than that. Well, she probably wasn’t, but she would take the coward’s way out and engineer things so that she and Tom were otherwise engaged for the evening of the harvest supper.
That decided, she turned her attention to this evening, when Luke and Ingrid would be joining them before taking Freddie home for the weekend. She still felt guilty about the tumble Freddie had taken from his pushchair through her carelessness, and was at pains to prove to Ingrid that her precious son had come to no real harm. Or more importantly, that he was perfectly safe in his grandmother’s care.
The potatoes peeled, and at the sound of Freddie’s cheery sing-song voice chattering away to Tom as they came round the back of the house and into the garden, Tess wondered how Lizzie was getting on in London. It had been good to see her with such a bright and happy smile on her face, but with a mother’s instinct to protect and cherish, Tess hoped her daughter wasn’t underestimating the difficulties ahead if Curt really was about to leave his wife for her. There was no getting away from the crucial fact that the consequences of such a decision, though not insurmountable, would last forever because there was a child involved – a little girl who would effectively become a second grandchild to Tess and Tom if things progressed the way Lizzie hoped they would. Tess hadn’t previously considered the prospect of this with any real seriousness, but now she knew she ought to.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Curt said, pulling out the old wooden school chair across the table from Lizzie. He removed the large leather bag that was slung across his chest and shoulder and dropped it on the floor next to his feet. ‘It’s been a bugger of a morning; Cal’s driving me mad with his constant whingeing. Sorry, forget I said any of that: the last thing you want to hear is shop talk.’
Lizzie smiled; he could recite the phone book to her and she’d be deliriously content. ‘I want to hear everything,’ she said. ‘Give me all the gossip, leave nothing out!’ She shook her head and the smile turned into a laugh. ‘It’s so fantastic to see you. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed being us. If you know what I mean.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ he said. He turned to look around them. Old habits, thought Lizzie, he’s checking for anybody here who might know him. The bar had filled up since she’d arrived and revealed itself to be a popular hangout for hipsters; it was wall-to-wall beards and skinny jeans. ‘I’ve missed you too,’ he said, his gaze now back on her. ‘Work isn’t as fun without you there.’
‘I should hope not,’ she said, sliding her hand across the table, the tips of her fingers meeting his. Touching him after so long, even so slight a touch, was enough to send her senses reeling. That was the effect he’d always had on her: he made everything seem that much more intense and vibrant. As if knowing the effect he was having on her, he lifted his hand, placed it firmly over hers. ‘I want you to promise me something,’ he said, staring directly into her eyes.
Suddenly her chest felt tight and her throat constricted. This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She willed herself not to look too jubilant, to bear in mind how difficult this must be for him. ‘Go on,’ she murmured.
‘I want you to promise that you won’t overreact,’ he said, ‘that you’ll try and understand what I’m about to tell you.’
At the seriousness of his voice, a chill ran through her. ‘What are you about to tell me?’ she managed to say.
‘Promise me first,’ he said. ‘Promise you won’t get upset.’
&n
bsp; ‘Why would I be upset?’ she asked, her heart beating double time.
‘Because, Lizzie, it has to end between us. I can’t see you again. Not ever.’
She swallowed. She tried to say something but failed. But inside her head a voice was screaming a deafeningly loud Nooooo!
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘and please believe me, it’s not what I want.’
‘Curt,’ she finally said, ‘you’re not making sense. If you don’t want it to end between us, then don’t end it, it’s as simple as that.’
He leant forward. ‘It’s not simple, Lizzie. It’s anything but simple. Come on, don’t make this any more difficult for me than it already is; you’re an intelligent girl, surely you can see it from where I’m standing.’
‘What’s changed? You told me you were leaving your wife, that you just needed time to prepare the way. You said you needed space to get things sorted. You came back from your holiday early because you’d told your wife that your marriage wasn’t working, that you wanted a divorce.’ Now that she had found her voice, it had risen sharply and was in danger of rising further.
‘You promised you wouldn’t get upset,’ Curt muttered, his eyes darting anxiously towards the nearby tables.
‘I didn’t promise anything! And pardon me, but I think I have a perfect right to be as upset as I want. What’s more, you haven’t answered my question. What’s changed?’
‘My wife’s pregnant.’
When Lizzie didn’t respond, and as if thinking she might not understand, he said, ‘She’s expecting our second child. So you see, I can’t leave her. It’s just not possible. You understand that, don’t you? Another child changes things. That’s why we came back from Greece earlier than planned. She wasn’t feeling well, turned out she was pregnant and not suffering from some bug she thought she’d picked up at the hotel.’ He frowned. ‘And I don’t know where you got the idea that I’d told my wife while we were away that I wanted a divorce.’
Her mind spinning, and like a drowning person, Lizzie reached out to the only solid fact within her grasp. ‘You told me you weren’t sleeping together.’
He lowered his gaze to the wedding ring on his finger. ‘Don’t be naive, Lizzie, and really, I shouldn’t have to explain myself; she is my wife, after all, we do share the same bed.’
‘And what am I? Or more to the point, what was I? Your mistress? Your easy bit of stuff on the side? The stupid idiot you could shag on your desk when the mood took you, when perhaps your wife wouldn’t oblige?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t try that one with me. You were up for it as much as I was. You knew I was married. You knew what you were getting into, just as I did.’
‘But you said you loved me! You said you were going to leave your wife. None of that was true, was it? You didn’t love me at all, did you?’
‘Would it make it easier for you if I said I did? Would it really make any difference?’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Easier?’ she repeated, stunned. ‘You bastard! You cold-hearted bastard. I really never knew you at all. All the time I had you down as a man who cared. A man who felt things passionately. But I got that wrong. You don’t care a stuff about me. You don’t care that because of you I’ve lost everything. Everything!’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t be melodramatic, Lizzie, it doesn’t suit you. Besides, you’ve found yourself another job without too much trouble, haven’t you?’
This was too much for her. ‘I’m a volunteer in an old people’s home! Do you think that’s what I want to be doing? Do you? Do you really?’
Again he looked around him. ‘Keep your voice down. At least try and behave like the adult you’re supposed to be.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re lecturing me on how to behave. Unbelievable!’
‘Come on, Lizzie, keep it together, for God’s sake. Just accept that it was good while it lasted, but now we need to part on good terms.’
‘Do we? Why?’
‘Because it would be so much better if we did. And think about it, I can’t be that much of a bastard if I’ve gone to the trouble to end it with you face to face – a lesser man would have done it by text. Can’t we part in a civilised fashion?’
She sat back in her chair and contemplated this ruthless stranger before her. Where had he sprung from? This wasn’t the Curt she knew, the fun Curt she had fallen in love with. Or had she got him wrong from the start? Had she deceived herself as much as he had deceived her? Had she really been that dumb?
‘Lizzie? I said, can’t we part in—’
‘I heard you,’ she said abruptly, suddenly seeing things clearly. ‘You want us to part on good terms, maybe even with a handshake, and for no other reason than you’re terrified I’m going to make trouble for you, aren’t you? You’re worried I’m going to turn into some kind of crazy stalker determined to make your life a living hell.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t advise you to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re not that sort of a girl.’
‘Maybe you’ve turned me into that sort of a girl; a nutjob bunny boiler. Frankly after what you’ve done to me, I’d be perfectly justified in turning up on your doorstep one day when you’re at work and letting your wife know what you get up to behind her back.’
He planted his hands firmly on the table and leant across it. ‘Do that and you’ll regret it.’
‘Ooh, scary Curt,’ she said mockingly. ‘Why, what will you do to me?’
‘It’s not what I’d do; it’s how you’ll end up making yourself feel: cheap and full of bitter self-loathing.’
‘And you think I don’t already feel that?’
He shook his head wearily, as though he were dealing with a recalcitrant child. ‘I expected more from you, Lizzie.’
‘I bet you did. Well, go home to your wife and adorable daughter and tell them what a wonderful husband and father you are. I hope you can live with yourself.’ She picked up her glass and, delighting in seeing him flinch, added, ‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t waste a drop of good Merlot on you, you’re so not worth it.’
She raised the glass to her lips and drained it in one satisfying swallow. Putting the glass down on the table with exaggerated care, she stood up.
No stumbling, she warned herself as she made it towards the open doorway and out onto the street. And no tears. Do not, on pain of death, give him that satisfaction.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oh, for pity’s sake, thought Ingrid, was she the only one who wasn’t surprised by this turn of events? A married man ending a sordid fling in favour of not leaving his pregnant wife? Who’d have imagined such a thing! Really, when was Lizzie ever going to grow up and stand on her own two feet? Would she ever stop running home to her family, expecting them to make everything better for her?
None of this Ingrid actually said aloud, but if she had to listen to any more histrionics from Lizzie she might literally burst with the superhuman effort it was taking to keep her mouth shut. The best she could do was offer little nods of sympathy while the diatribe rocketed on, seemingly without end. Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to shout, we heard you say it the first time, the man’s a liar and a cheat and played you for a fool, there’s no need to keep telling us!
An hour later and with a fresh torrent of tears now streaming down Lizzie’s face, Ingrid had had enough. Thankfully so had Freddie. For the most part he had been shielded from the drama by either Ingrid or Tom playing with him in the garden, but now that he was overtired and beginning to play up, Ingrid knew she could get away with calling a halt to proceedings and say it was time they were going.
Driving away from Keeper’s Nook Freddie said, ‘Lizzie sad. Lizzie crying.’
‘Yes she’s very sad at the moment,’ Luke answered him, ‘because she heard something very upsetting today. Perhaps we c
ould make her a card tomorrow to cheer her up, would you like to do that?’
Freddie thought about this for a moment. ‘Big card,’ he said at length and in a sleepy voice. ‘With a atterpeer.’
‘I’m sure she’d love a card with a picture of a caterpillar on it,’ Ingrid said. ‘After all, that will make everything better for her, won’t it?’
Her comment was met with a silence from the back of the car as Freddie’s eyes were now shut, but next to her in the front, Luke gave her a sidelong glance. He said nothing, but she knew what that look meant.
Minutes passed – perhaps Luke was waiting to be sure Freddie was properly asleep – then he said, ‘You really could make more of an effort, you know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know exactly what I mean. You made no attempt to show any genuine sympathy and understanding for what Lizzie’s going through.’
‘That’s not fair. I’d defy anyone to have got a word in edgeways with you all rushing to console her.’
Luke’s gaze flickered from the road to her again, then back to the road. ‘Couldn’t you just once try looking at something subjectively?’ he said. ‘You’re always so detached. It’s as if you’re incapable of—’ He broke off abruptly.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘What am I incapable of?’
He shook his head. ‘Forget it. It’s nothing.’
‘It clearly isn’t, or you wouldn’t be gripping the steering wheel the way you are or looking so furiously uptight.’ And why am I pressing him? Ingrid wondered, knowing that to continue any further with the conversation would serve no purpose other than to dig herself into a deep hole from which there might not be any way out.
