He hoped everything was alright with Eliza. He felt sure everything would work out in the end. Her not answering the phone was just a blip. They were destined to be together. They had already experienced more good times than bad together, they just needed to work out how to talk to each other, rather than sulk, or make siloed assumptions about stuff that wasn’t true.
He ran up Primrose Hill, stopping at the top to look over the London landmarks. Hundreds of years ago it had been a site for duels between quarrelling men. A gauntlet thrown down over a disagreement, or to win a woman’s hand. The duels would have taken place at this time in the morning, pistols drawn before crowds gathered or law enforcement officers became aware. Jonny wondered how many lovers fought over women here, losing their lives rather than give up their love. He wasn’t sure if loving a woman now was any simpler than back then. Love always seemed complicated.
Spurred on he sprinted down the Hill and along the high street, passed all of the closed up shops. The newsagent was putting out the display of Sunday morning papers. The picture on the front page caught his eye. Eliza. Her golden hair a magnet to his senses.
Without looking for traffic he jogged across the street towards the image. The newspaper seller handed him one of the papers and went silently back inside his shop. Obviously not wanting to share in the shame this latest poor media target had to endure.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Eliza in an embrace with some tall blond Dutch guy.
His hackles rising, he flung the paper down onto the pile and walked in the direction of home. He couldn’t run. He could hardly breathe, let alone run.
When he got home he could see that he’d had a missed call from Eliza. He was too angry to speak to her. He went to shower, to cool himself down.
What the hell was happening? How much more shit could be thrown his way? He thought he had it sussed. That they just needed to talk, to iron out the tension between them. This just added another dimension to it though.
He stepped in the shower, letting the water attempt to wash away his stress, but it just made him feel wet.
He noticed water leaking out of the door and pooling on the floor. He yanked on the door handle but it wouldn’t stay shut. It hadn’t been fitted properly and kept popping back open. The builders hadn’t been on site since the whole paparazzi thing. Excuses galore, moving onto another job whilst things calmed down. Leaving their ensuite bathroom, and every other project in the house half finished. There was no working kitchen, the walls were back to bare brick. The foundations for the new kitchen extension were in, but the bricky had let them down so they were behind on that. The skip outside the front door was full of crap and his life, like this house, was falling apart.
He yanked on the handle again, this time the whole door snapped off the hinges. In frustration, he flung it across the room. The glass shattering into a million jagged pieces across the newly tiled floor.
“For fucks sake,” he roared.
He stomped across the glass, the sound of it crunching into his feet a sure sign that it was slashing the hell out of his soles. So what. He didn’t care. “Do your worst,” he cried out at the offending weapons.
He hobbled across the carpet to the bed, lowering himself down gingerly to pick out the fragments of glass from his feet and toes. Blood stains marking his tracks.
He pulled on some boxer shorts and joggers and went in search of plasters. Wincing with every step he took.
The phone rang again, this time he answered it.
“Jonny?”
“Eliza? Are you okay? Why didn’t you text or ring I’ve been worried sick about you?”
“I’m sorry. I’d forgotten that you’d broken your phone. I’ve been ringing your old number.” She paused for a few seconds. “Jonny, please don’t believe what’s in the papers today. I’m presuming you’ve seen it?”
“I’ve not read the report, but I’ve seen the photos. And photos don’t lie Eliza.”
“It wasn’t like that. We need to talk. I need to explain. It wasn’t what it looks like. Nothing happened. I promise.”
“Convince me.”
“I need to see your eyes Jonny. I need to see that you believe what I say to you. I’m coming home.”
“When?”
“Now. I’m waiting for the taxi and I’ll be back home this evening.”
He let out a long sigh. Not sure how he felt about any of it.
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”
He hung up without a proper goodbye. He hated doing that, and despised the way he felt about Eliza right now.
Looking down at this feet, he watched the blood pooling onto the hardwood floor and seeping into the cracks between the boards.
***
He heard the mechanics on the gates whirring and then her feet displacing the gravel. Little brisk taps up the stone steps and then the key rattling in the door. A fresh breeze entered the hallway and drifted into the living room. The door banging shut and the letter box cover clinking a second later.
She was home.
The mix of emotions made him feel queasy. Like a cocktail with too many spirits.
Angry. Rum.
Sad. Gin.
Frustrated. Tequila.
Relieved. Whiskey.
Nervous. Absinthe.
Hopeful. Champagne.
The outcome would all be down to the words that exchanged between them. Probably the fewer the better.
Words between lovers are often like a virus, multiplying out of control. The more said the more vicarious they become. Never quite finding the right one. The wrong choice, innocent enough, and the conversation heads in a terminal direction. Back tracking and counter explanations. Windows flung open on stories that were never meant to be aired. Tortured screams behind trap doors. Old issues, supposedly dead and buried, reincarnated in an incendiary flash.
Poisonous words. Selfish words. Mutilating words.
The outcome.
That’s what mattered.
He’d thought about that for the last few hours. Sat on the sofa in the living room, staring up at the sky through the large bay window. Watching the heavens turn from blue to white to orange to now a navy that was almost black.
The outcome he wanted, was for there still to be a Jonny and Eliza. That’s it. No more and most certainly no less.
He pushed himself up to his feet.
“Ouch,” he cursed, limping towards the door.
She stood still, framed by the hall light. Illuminated from behind, like that first time he saw her at the Marquee. Lit up before him like an angel.
“Shit Jonny what have you done?” Looking down with concern at his bandaged feet.
“Oh it’s fine. Looks worse than it is.”
The look of distress mixed with an obvious timidness was apparent on her face and told him she still cared; that everything was going to be alright.
“Come here.” He outstretched his arms to her. “I don’t think I can come to you,” he half laughed.
She ran into his arms and let him engulf her with his hug. Snuggling into his chest she hooked her arms around his back and squeezed with all her might.
“I love you Eliza.”
“I love you too Jonny. I’m sorry. Really nothing happened, please…”
He silenced her, placing an index finger to her lips and pulling on her hand, leading her towards the stairs.
“Don’t we need to talk first Jonny?”
“No. Words aren’t nearly good enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jonny went to the post box, mounted on to the inside of the electric gate. He had been waiting for the letter to come from the laboratory for days now and was getting desperate. He was due to see Isaac again later that morning. Having put it off a few times now since their first trip out. Helen was getting shirty. He had paid across a few thousand pounds to stop her from bitching.
The process had been a bit more complicated than his mother had lead him to believe. Not that s
he was an expert on the matter or anything, nor could he blame her for the mess he was in right now. He knew she was only trying to help and had his best interests at heart. It was just more complicated than he thought it needed to be.
Damn, everything in his life seemed to be more complicated than it should. Whatever happened to those teenage years, when everything was plain sailing? This grown up stuff was serious.
He had to decline the counselling the DNA laboratory recommended went with the paternity testing and also had to lie about the mother knowing about the test.
He felt like it could unravel at any time.
There it was. In his trembling hands. A result that could change his life forever.
He turned the envelope over a few times before going into the house. Eliza was sat at the table eating toast laden with jam and peanut butter.
The last week had been good between them. The stresses they had each endured at the hands of the papers worked through and dealt with. They were strong now, ready to face whatever life was going to face at them. Eliza ready to accept Isaac into their lives and Jonny undoubting in his trust of Eliza.
The only thing he hadn’t told her was about the paternity test. He didn’t want to build up any false expectations and then there to be a regret of any kind if it was confirmed that Isaac was his.
“What’s that?”
“This is…this is.” He couldn’t explain it. He needed to know what it said first.
He slid his finger in under the fold and ripped it open. Quickly scanning for the result, passed all the disclaimers, it was there in black and white.
He sat down and grabbed her hands. Butter and jam squishing through his fingers. He held her gaze.
“I love you Eliza.”
“What is it?” she asked anxiously.
“It’s proof that Isaac is not my son.”
“Proof?”
“Yes it’s the paternity test result. I didn’t tell you ‘cos it was when you was in Holland and I didn’t want to concern you with it when you got back. We’d had to deal with all that shit in the papers about you and that dickhead baseball guy. Anyway, that’s not the point. He’s not mine. Whatever crap Helen thinks. It’s not true.”
For a moment Eliza just sat opposite him. Then she unexpectedly pushed back her chair and lurched off down the hall.
Just as Jonny was about to turn and grab her, desperate for her not to lock herself in the bedroom or to run away out of the front door, one of the builders barged in. Distracting Jonny. “We’re just gonna shut the water off. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
In that split second he lost her, she’d run upstairs.
He went off in search of her. Jesus Christ was it because he should have told her? It couldn’t be because she wanted him to be the father was it?
He could hear retching noises from the bathroom upstairs.
“Eliza are you ok?”
He bound up the stairs and into the bathroom.
“Are you ok? What’s wrong?”
She sat up. “I’m fine. I’m not sure what’s caused it, probably that toast I was having.”
“Yeah looked disgusting. Who in their right mind puts peanut butter and jam and butter together. Are you sure that’s all it is?”
She looked around at him wild eyed. “Yeah, why?”
“You’re not shocked by my news?”
“No Jonny. That’s wonderful news. Well for you and us. Not for that poor little kid though.”
“Here.” He offered her a wetted hand towel to wipe her face.
“Why don’t you go back to bed. I’ve got some things to sort out.”
“Okay.”
He lifted her up and carried her to bed.
His voice is soft. “I love you Eliza and now this cloud has been lifted we can get on with our lives.”
“I love you too, Jonny.”
He went downstairs to ring Jim Bob.
“Hey. I’ve had the results back and the kid’s not mine.”
“Phew.” Jim Bob let out an audible gasp of air.
“So how do we deal with this now then JB?”
“Depends if you wanna play dirty or not. We can just release a copy of the paternity test result to the papers and let them do their worst, or, you can discuss it with the mother and then put out a sensitively worded press statement.”
“We’ll go for the last option. She’s probably been convinced all these years it was mine, so no point in being nasty about it all.”
“No problem. I’ll get the PR agency to draft something up whilst you talk to her.”
***
Sat across the table from her. She was so different to the last time they were in a café and she told him she was pregnant. Back then she was scared, innocent looking. Now she was cocky and far from innocent.
He pushed the folded piece of paper across to her.
“What’s this?” she asked defiantly.
“Open it up.”
She snorted and grabbed the piece of paper. Unfolding it, she laid it out on the table and smoothed it flat with her perfectly manicured fingernails. He looked up to her face. Yes, she was perfectly made up all over. New haircut, beige tartan Burberry outfit. Even a Louis Vuitton bag plonked on the table next to her. He wondered whether she had spent all of the money he had given her on herself.
She re-folded the piece of paper and pushed it back at him.
“It don’t mean a thing. Isaac’s still yours.”
“He’s not Helen and you know it.”
“Yes he is. You got me pregnant and then deserted me. Left me to fend for myself.”
“Look, you’re gonna have to change your story because you’re not fooling anyone. This proves it definitively. But not only that, I know he’s not mine. I’ve got no connection with him. I just don’t feel it.”
“I’m going to fight this Jonny. You can’t just abandon us like you did before.”
“Fine Helen. Whatever. He’s not mine, end of.”
He got up and then bent over to her.
“Don’t you do this to that boy. He’s the one that will end up suffering over this. Not me.”
He left the cafe and called Jim Bob on his way back to the car.
“I’ve told her, but she’s not having it.”
“Okay well I’ve got the press release from the PR agency. Do you still want to go ahead?”
“What does it say.”
“It’s simple but should do the job. Just denies the story, states that you’ve got proof. The papers will buy it, there’s no way they’ll risk a libel case if they’re convinced you’ve got infallible evidence.”
“Okay, yeah let’s run with it.”
“I’ll release it now. Just don’t give out any comments if you run into any reporters. And Jonny, I’m sure she will come round once she realises that she’s not getting anywhere with this story.”
On the way back he pulled into one of the parking spaces in front of the small row of shops on the high street. He darted into the flower shop, peering out of the window every few seconds to make sure the paps weren’t about to pounce on him. The flower arranger quickly working her magic on a huge bouquet of freesias whilst he popped into the delicatessen next door.
Eliza was still in bed when he got back. He went straight upstairs with the flowers.
“Oh wow. They smell gorgeous.” She leant across and wrapped her arms around him.
“Are you feeling ok now?”
“Yeah just a bit tired.”
“How was the meeting?”
“It was fine. Jim Bob’s gonna release a press statement. That should be the end of this whole sordid episode.”
“Good.”
“How about we go out to celebrate.”
“Yeah that sounds good.”
“I’ll sort some stuff out whilst you get ready. The water’s back on now by the way.”
“What?” She hadn’t even realised it wasn’t. He’d gone.
She showered
and went down to Jonny waiting impatiently in the kitchen. He lead her straight outside and opened the car door for her.
“Where we going?”
“Beach.”
“Beach? Really? What near London?”
“Yeah. Is that hard to imagine?”
She settled back into the captain’s chair of their Range Rover. Jonny pressed play on the Thin Lizzy CD he had just bought. “Parisienne Walkways” filtered out of the speakers.
“Awesome,” he said, turning it up so he could enjoy the full experience of driving whilst engulfed in the legendary guitar playing that was Phil Lynott.
The busy commercialised streets of London gave way to small towns with busy high streets full of people going about their everyday business, and then on to pretty little English villages where time had stood still, before finally single track lanes with nothing but fields of wild flowers on either side.
The landscape changes suited his mood. The stress of the last few weeks melting away with the drive. The music soothing and elevating his emotions.
They reached the coast and aptly, the CD finished.
He parked up on the road at the side of the beach and got out a wicker hamper and rug from the boot of the car.
“Come on.” He held her hand whilst she jumped down to the pavement.
“Wow. When did you organise all of this?”
“This morning whilst you was asleep. I’ve not gone mad ‘cos I know you wasn’t feeling too good earlier, but the deli guy has packed a range of stuff, so hopefully there’s something that takes your fancy.”
They walked onto the blustery deserted beach.
“It’s lovely here. In fact, it’s very much like the beaches in Holland.”
“Well this is the English Channel not the North Sea.”
She laughed. “English Channel?”
“What’s funny about that?”
“You English are so territorial?”
“We’re territorial,” he snorted, “I think you’ll find the Dutch were amongst the first to start claiming other people’s lands and seas as their own.”
Loving his ANGEL Page 18
