by Emlyn Rees
‘It looks like a scene out of Whisky Galore!,’ she said, ‘or Scott of the Antarctic.’
‘We’ve both got far too much movie trivia cramming up our heads, you know. It can’t be healthy.’
‘Maybe we’ve both just had far too much time on our hands.’
She wasn’t wrong, not as far as he was concerned, anyway, because the truth was that the main reason he’d ended up watching so many films on his own was because he’d had so much time on his own to spend. He wondered if the same were true for her.
‘Maybe there’s a link between loneliness and watching movies,’ he said.
‘Maybe there is.’
A dog barked in the distance and Ben turned up his coat collar, remembering yesterday again, remembering how he and Kellie had huddled together for warmth, during their yomp to the village from Hell Bay.
He could have put his arm around her now. It would have felt, to him, like the most natural gesture in the world. But to touch her now would be different, intimate, not practical – and he remembered how quickly she’d sat up on the sofa inside, how abruptly she’d terminated their game.
‘So Marie and me,’ he said, returning their conversation to where they’d left it in the cottage. ‘The reason we’re no longer together is because . . . because she’s with someone else. Someone I used to know.’
‘A friend?’
‘An ex-friend.’
Danny. The ex-friend’s name was Danny. Ben had found out from Danny’s wife. She’d suspected Danny of having an affair and had hired a detective to discover who with. She’d shown Ben photographs of Marie and Danny kissing by the statue of Peter Pan in Regent’s Park. The image still sickened Ben. They looked as if they’d been together for years.
‘I’m surprised,’ Kellie said.
‘At what?’
‘I thought it would have been the other way round. I thought it would have been you who left her.’
‘Why?’ he joked. ‘Have I got the look of a wild adulterer about me, or something?’
‘Actually, the opposite.’
‘You mean I look safe?’ he asked, unsure how to react.
‘No. You look confident and composed. I suppose it’s just that I find it difficult to imagine you in a situation you’re not in control of, that’s all.’
Ben laughed.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Just, if you could have seen me this time last year . . .’
‘It’s been tough?’
‘Yeah, and I’ve been a mess. Totally out of control, as a matter of fact.’
‘Well, you look as if you’ve come out the other side to me.’
‘Thanks,’ Ben said. ‘And, yeah, I’m starting to agree.’ As they continued to walk, he told her, ‘It was never meant to be about control, Marie and me. It was meant to be about partnership, and equality, right from the start.’
‘Isn’t that what everyone strives for?’
‘Yes, but we really made it happen. At least, we did for a while. When we came home from our honeymoon, we both quit our jobs, me at a film company, her in advertising. We set up our own company and called it Roundabout. The idea was to make enough money from doing something we liked, so that it would then enable us to enjoy the rest of our lives. So that we’d never have to be wage slaves. Or work weekends. Or do any of that stuff that our original careers had entailed.’ He smiled. ‘Marie got this logo done of a circle of people holding hands. That was what it was meant to be about, cohesiveness, harmony, cooperation . . . It was meant to be fun. We were going to make people happy by turning their memories into films, and in the process we were going to end up happy ourselves.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘No. The way it all turned out, we’d have been better off calling the company Seesaw. Because that’s how it ended up, with Marie and me fighting like cat and dog over every company decision we made.’
‘And let me guess,’ Kellie said. ‘It eventually spilt over into your home life.’
‘Work has a habit of doing that, especially when you work together, don’t you think?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s different for different people. I imagine that sometimes working together can make for a fantastic relationship.’
‘Perhaps.’
They watched as a gull landed on the ice and slid across it, before coming to a confused standstill.
‘What happened . . . between Danny and Marie . . .’ Ben said. ‘It really hurt. The fact that I knew him made it twice as hard.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘It made me ask myself a lot of questions – about who my friends were, but about myself as well. About who I was and what I wanted.’
‘And what conclusions did you reach?’
‘That I’d actually been unhappy for a long time. Even though it was Marie who left, to be with Danny, she wasn’t the one who ended it. It was over – we were over – long before Marie and Danny did what they did. And you know what?’
‘What?’
‘I’m never going to let that happen again. I’m never going to just sit back and watch something that could have been wonderful die. That’s what I did. And I’ve finally figured it out – that’s what has been getting me down ever since. I became a quitter. I became something I thought I’d never be.’
‘I don’t see you like that.’
‘Good,’ he said, ‘because I’m not any more. I’m leaving all that behind. I’m moving onwards, and up – and whoever I end up with next, I’m going to give them everything I’ve got.’
They reached the other side of the harbour and stood with their backs to the harbour wall, looking towards the village.
‘You seem remarkably sorted about it,’ she said. ‘Considering . . .’
He smiled. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think things through. It’s been a long divorce. You know how you lawyers like to string these things out,’ he joked.
‘Hey.’ She punched his arm. ‘It’s only a job. And anyway, divorce isn’t my thing.’ She peered into his eyes. ‘Has there been anyone since?’ she asked. ‘I mean since you and Marie split up?’
The last time he’d had sex had been nearly three months ago now. It had been the second person he’d slept with since breaking up with Marie and it had been a clumsy awkward disaster. He’d woken the next day in an ex-work colleague’s bed, with a hangover and her hand holding his. He’d unlinked their fingers and, by the time she’d woken up, he’d already been dressed.
‘A couple,’ he said. ‘Flings. An old girlfriend from way back and a woman I used to work with. Neither of them serious, though. I’ve been stumbling around, I suppose, trying to find my feet.’
‘Have you got a photo?’ Kellie asked. ‘Of Marie?’
He was surprised by the directness of the question. ‘What, like in my wallet? Why?’
‘Well, it’s always a good way to tell . . .’
‘To tell what?’
‘Whether someone really is over someone else, or whether they’re still holding up a flame to them, after all.’
Ben took his wallet out of his jeans pocket and slid out a passport-sized photo of Marie from behind a stack of credit cards. She was blonde, smiling in that contrived kind of way that people always did for photos they knew they’d have to have around for years to come.
‘Exhibit A,’ he said, handing it over.
‘She looks very young,’ Kellie observed.
‘She was. So was I. It was taken years ago, in Australia. She had to get a new passport after her bag got stolen on the beach.’
‘She’s beautiful,’ Kellie said, ‘but that doesn’t surprise me. You’re a good-looking guy.’
It was the first compliment she’d given him and it made her frown. She handed him back the photograph.
‘Thanks,’ he said, and held out his arm, letting the wind whip the photo away.
Kellie gasped, watching it spin over and over through the air. It landed on the icy harbour surface. ‘What
did you do that for?’
‘Because it was only you asking me that made me remember that I still carried a photo of her at all. And because there’s probably nothing better to douse an old flame with than a few hundred tonnes of frozen seawater.’
They watched as the photo flipped over a couple of times in the breeze, and then seemed to stick to the ice. Ben blinked and then could no longer see where it was. He felt glad about that.
‘And here my tale of Kramer versus Kramer-style divorce woe comes to an end,’ he said. ‘Leaving me young-ish, free and single. With one ex-wife, one ex-best friend, too big a movie collection, and no real girlfriend to speak of. Not even,’ he added, choosing his words carefully, ‘a sort of one. . . .’
She rolled her eyes, as if he’d just told her a very bad joke. ‘Which brings us neatly back to me . . . to my sort of boyfriend,’ she said. ‘I can’t exactly compliment you on your subtlety.’
‘It never exactly was my strongest skill.’
She wrapped her arms around herself and stared out across the translucent mosaic of water and ice.
‘The man I’m seeing,’ she said. ‘He’s married.’
Ben nodded his head as everything slotted into place: her being here alone . . . because her ‘sort of’ boyfriend was with his wife; Kellie wanting to get away from Christmas . . . because her lover had chosen to spend it with somebody else. Ben had already guessed that there were complications with whoever it was she’d got herself involved with, but he’d assumed it would be to do with where the other man worked or lived – not who he was living with.
‘So that’s why he’s “sort of”,’ she said. ‘Because he’s not completely mine. Not yet.’
‘But he will be soon?’
‘He’d better be. He loves me, and I’ve waited long enough.’
‘How long?’
‘A year.’
Ben said, ‘If he loves you so much, then why hasn’t he already left his wife?’ But as soon as he’d asked, he knew the answer. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Kids.’
‘One. A daughter.’
‘Who he doesn’t want to mess up, right? Which is why he’s had to put off leaving his wife for so long . . .’ There was a sarcasm to Ben’s voice which he hadn’t intended, but he meant it, every word. He suddenly felt angry, not at her, at him – at this man he’d never met who’d left Kellie dangling like a puppet from its strings.
She told him, ‘I don’t feel good about this, you know, so please don’t moralise.’
‘But isn’t the whole point about being with someone that you do feel good?’
‘What I mean is that I don’t feel good about the circumstances. I wish he wasn’t a father and I wish he wasn’t married. I wish he’d been single when we met, the same as me. But he and his wife were breaking up anyway. They would have separated, whether I came along or not.’
Was this how it had been for Marie and Danny? Ben suddenly wondered. Had they talked about him then, in the same way that Kellie was now talking about her lover’s wife: as an inconvenience, as somebody better off out of the way?
‘So how come they hadn’t already separated? How come they still haven’t? How come he’s just keeping you hanging on?’
‘You’ve got no right,’ she told him, suddenly angry. ‘You don’t know how any of this really is. He loves me, Ben. We’re in love.’
It didn’t sound like love to Ben.
‘I know it sounds bad,’ she said, ‘but . . .’
Words formed in his mind and he found himself speaking them, before he’d a chance to consider their effect.
‘If you were mine,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t keep you hanging on, not even for a second.’
She stared at him in silence.
‘But I’m not yours, Ben,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said, ‘but if I were to . . .’
‘What?’
And what exactly was he going to say? he thought, as the wind picked up and he stared into her eyes. Because what exactly was there to say? Because she’d already said it all. We’re in love; that’s what she’d said. She’d told him that she was in love with another man.
And this was why the words, But if I were to kiss you now, then I know you’d kiss me back had died, unwanted, on Ben’s lips.
He stared across the water, and the village beyond became a blur. What did he know about love? He, who was already divorced. He, who’d only ended up spending any time with this woman at all because of a quirk of fate.
But I’m not yours, Ben.
It felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘We should get back. It’s cold.’
They started walking, side by side, back past the boatsheds towards the Windcheater’s annexe. Cold thin rain began to fall. Ben opened the bright red umbrella he’d brought with him and held it up above their heads. They huddled beneath it, like commuters in a lift.
He remembered how he’d watched her in the pub last night. He’d felt proud of her, and proud to be associated with her, and to be assumed by the others to be her friend. He remembered how charming she’d been to Jack and Toni and the others, and how smoothly and easily she’d fitted in. Maybe that’s what had got him confused. Maybe she’d just been charming to him as well, and maybe it had been so long since someone new had taken a shine to him like this, that he’d mistaken it for something more.
He could feel her looking at him now. He knew it was wrong to allow this sudden awkwardness between them to last. It had been a wonderful afternoon. He mustn’t let it end on a sour note. He forced a smile.
‘Did you ever hear the joke,’ he asked, ‘about what the inflatable teacher in the inflatable school said to the inflatable boy who had a pin in his hand?’
‘No?’
He put on a school-matronly voice: ‘You’re going to let me down, and yourself down, and the whole school down.’
But as she laughed at the punch line, he knew that the biggest joke of all was him.
Chapter 20
Kellie stood alone in the cottage kitchen, washing the dishes from lunchtime with tepid water and shampoo, her mind occupied with Ben. Everything had gone wrong between them. Ever since she’d admitted to her affair, everything had changed. A barrier had gone up, and the easy banter they’d shared earlier had disappeared.
She felt embarrassed now that she’d opened up about Elliot, because it was obvious that Ben disapproved – and no wonder. After his wife had left him for a friend of his, to hear about any affair must be tough. Still, she thought, he’d been wrong to judge her the way he had, and she was glad she’d stood up for herself. He’d had no right to make all this about himself.
Yet she still couldn’t help thinking that, perhaps, if she’d only explained more about her relationship with Elliot, Ben might have understood. She should have done more to convince Ben that she and Elliot really were in love. She should’ve explained Elliot’s home-life situation and stopped Ben thinking that she was just some kind of selfish home-wrecker.
It was too late now, and maybe it was safer this way, having this barrier up between herself and Ben, preventing them becoming any closer than they already had. Because she had to admit, today had been amazing. Nobody had ever done anything so . . . so romantic for her.
But there. That was the problem. The word romantic. Involuntarily, instinctively, she’d thought it herself – and if she was thinking it, then maybe Ben was too.
Was that what he’d been about to say, when she’d told him that she wasn’t his? Was he going to say something about their relationship? Was he going to admit that he had feelings for her? She didn’t know, and now she never would.
She shook her head, annoyed that she was even thinking about it, annoyed that she felt so confused. Why did it matter what Ben thought of her? She was with Elliot; whether Ben found her attractive or not shouldn’t have any relevance to her whatsoever.
‘Who are you talking to?’
She jumped, turning
around to see Ben in the doorway. She felt herself blushing.
‘Was I talking out loud?’
‘More muttering incoherently.’
She shrugged, embarrassed but relieved as well. He’d be horrified if he really knew what was going on inside her head. ‘I must be going mad.’
‘You’re sure you don’t need a hand?’
‘There’s not really enough room for us both,’ she said, ‘and you’ve done so much already. I’m fine.’
He nodded, putting his hands in his back pockets. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it. I’m off to the pub.’
‘Oh, OK,’ she said, biting her lip. He wasn’t staying to keep her company, then.
He turned to go.
‘Ben,’ she began.
He turned back. ‘What?’
His eyes were hard. Not unfriendly. Just hard.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
The moment he left, she felt more lonely than alone. But it was better like this, she reminded herself, better that they re-establish their own space. She finished the washing up and tidied everything away. Then she took down the Happy Christmas sign and bunched it up, before throwing it on the fire. She watched it burn. It shouldn’t mean anything – and she’d make sure that it didn’t.
As she stood by the door in her coat, she looked at the empty cottage, trying to remember lounging by the fire with Ben, feeling content and happy just a few hours ago. It seemed like a dream.
Back in their cottage next door, she flicked through an ancient Country Life magazine, bored and irritated. But what else was there to do? She couldn’t go to the pub, because Ben was there, and even if she did now want to join him – which she didn’t – he’d made it pretty clear that he wanted to go alone. For the first time since she’d arrived on the island, she now felt truly stranded.
She thought about Elliot and his precious family Christmas. She tried to picture him at home, imagining everyone laughing by a warm fire. They were probably all drinking sherry and playing games. She wished now, more than ever, that she could just march in there and tell everyone about her and Elliot and end this ridiculous charade. But Elliot had promised her that he’d do it on his own terms and she had to trust him.
