* * *
✉︎ To Curtis
I miss you, but my liver doesn’t! I swear it took me till Wednesday to recover. I haven’t been in touch with Stevie. I was hoping he’d make the first move
* * *
✉︎ From Curtis
He’s probably thinking the same about you. Remember you were the one who propositioned him & you were the one who ran out on him. Be brave. Don’t lose a friend over this xx
* * *
✉︎ To Curtis
Easier said than done. I feel like a prize idiot, but I also feel hurt and humiliated. What’s wrong with me?
* * *
✉︎ From Curtis
Nothing’s wrong with you. Except your timing. Chin up xx
I put my mobile down on the worktop and returned to the task of washing up the breakfast pots. Curtis was right. It had been a great weekend and, other than the incident with Stevie, it had been exactly what I needed. Waking up late on Saturday morning, my head had felt like it may spontaneously combust. Thankfully a walk round The Headland, a bottle of Lucozade, and a bag of hot sugared doughnuts from the seafront returned me to the land of the living. Curtis promised to be gentler with me the following evening so, after a quick trip into town to buy him some fresh clothes, we had a Chinese followed by a walk along the beach.
He wouldn’t accept my story that I’d left Stardust because I felt sick. Eventually I confessed, cringing as I re-lived my failed attempt at seducing poor Stevie. I still had no idea why I’d done it. I could only plead drink-induced temporary loss of sanity. It wasn’t like I fancied the guy. He was just a friend. Although he did have cute dimples, very sexy eyes and gave the best hugs ever.
My mobile beeped again. I wiped my hands on a tea towel and checked my texts:
✉︎ From Sarah
Can you meet me at The Chocolate Pot at 2pm today? Got some exciting news!
My stomach churned. It had to be wedding news. Perhaps they’d found a venue and set the date. Feeling very guilty after her comments in Minty’s at the weekend, I’d dropped by Seaside Blooms after school on Wednesday like I used to and had asked how the plans were going. Sarah had refused to talk about it at first, but after I managed to convince her that I wasn’t about to collapse in hysterical sobs at the mention of anything wedding-related, she’d admitted that there was very little news. Sherrington Hall was fully booked for the next eighteen months, as expected, so she needed to get over that disappointment before she started looking for alternative venues. She didn’t want to go dress-shopping or plan anything else until she had a venue and date.
I read her text again. It had to be wedding news. Something had obviously changed and, as I’d recently experienced, a heck of a lot could change in the space of a few days. I replied to say I was free and, after a light lunch, took a slow meander towards town.
I’d just reached the top of The Old Town when my phone beeped. Gary. Which meant one thing: the final valuation on the house was complete and he’d made a decision as to who would sell 9 Abbey Drive. This was it; the next key step in our separation:
✉︎ From Gary
Lawtons have just gone. The agent from there seemed most switched on so I’ve instructed him to put the house on the market. He took the measurements and photos while he was here. Don’t panic – I got my act together and cleared up after you came round! I’ll get the details to approve by the end of Tuesday so the house could be on the market by Thursday at the latest. Are you sure you want this?
* * *
✉︎ To Gary
I’m sure. Thank you. Keep me posted on viewings. This is it then
* * *
✉︎ From Gary
Looks like it. Feels strange
* * *
✉︎ To Gary
I know
I put the phone back in my bag and sat down on a bench overlooking The Old Town and the harbour. Above me, fluffy white clouds floated across the blue sky and seabirds squawked as they caught the thermals and soared into the air. Below me to the left was the River Abbleby, where sailing boats jostled for space with small powerboats and canoeists. In front of me, the tide was in on South Bay beach and the remaining stretch of sand was packed. The Ferris wheel turned in Pleasureland and one of the jet boats bounced across the waves beyond the harbour. I couldn’t hear them, I couldn’t properly see them, but I knew that everyone would be having fun in the sun while I struggled with another key milestone in the collapse of my marriage while on my way to meet my best friend to no doubt talk about the start of hers. Could the timing be any worse?
‘Thank you for all for coming,’ said Sarah.
As soon as I spotted Clare, and Nick’s sister, Callie, at a table with Sarah, my suspicions about it being wedding news were confirmed. My heart sank and I admonished myself immediately. Don’t be so selfish. You know how much she’s longed for this day. Be happy for her. You’ve managed to be supportive for Jess. You can do the same for Sarah.
I plastered a smile on my face. ‘You’re welcome. I take it you have wedding news.’
‘I do,’ Sarah said, giggling at the wedding pun. ‘We’ve set a date.’
Callie squealed and clapped her hands together. ‘Please tell me it’s next year. I can’t bear to wait until the one after.’
Sarah grinned. ‘As you all know, Nick and I have been venue-hunting over the past few weeks and we’d set our hearts on Sherrington Hall, but they were fully booked. However, they phoned on Friday with a cancellation, which nobody seems to want. It’s quite a bit sooner. We’re not having a spring wedding anymore. We’re having a winter one. We’re getting married on the twenty-first of December. This year. Can you believe that?’
Callie squealed again and hugged Sarah. Clare offered her congratulations and all I managed to say was, ‘That’s a bit close to Christmas, isn’t it? People might not come.’ I looked at three shocked pairs of eyes. Did I really just say that out loud? ‘That came out wrong. I meant that’s probably why nobody wanted it. I’m sure all your guests will come. I’m delighted for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, just like Gary’s smile on all those photos at home. I’d hurt her. Again.
‘I’m so excited,’ Callie said. ‘Have you booked the church too?’
‘Yes. All done…’
Sarah gushed about the church she’d booked, what time the service would be, what time the reception would be, their thoughts about going to Canada for their honeymoon. I felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience throughout the discussion, as if my usual ‘nice Elise’ persona was floating above me and this nasty, bitter individual was left in her place, pretending to be delighted for her best friend. I hoped desperately that the feeling wouldn’t continue for five months of planning because if it did, I knew I would screw up my friendship with Sarah forever. This was a woman who’d dreamed of her wedding day since she was a little girl – a woman who, after finding her single uncle dead when she was only thirteen, had made it her mission to find her soulmate so she didn’t end up all alone like him. How could I begrudge her a perfect day, especially when I’d enjoyed twelve years of happy marriage myself? Or so I’d believed. No, they were happy. Or ten of them were. Even Gary admitted that. I had to stop thinking about the whole thing as a disaster.
‘I have a little surprise if you’re all free for another hour or so,’ Sarah said when we’d finished our drinks.
We settled the bill, headed out of the café, and turned left along Castle Street. Sarah stopped a few paces later outside The Wedding Emporium, a wedding dress shop that had opened earlier that year next-door to The Chocolate Pot. She knocked on the door.
Callie squealed. ‘Have we got a private appointment?’
‘We shop owners like to do each other a favour or two,’ Sarah said as a petite dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties opened the door and welcomed us inside. ‘Thanks for doing this, Ginny.’
‘No problem at all. Thanks for that great d
eal on my sister’s wedding flowers.’
Callie squealed again and grabbed Sarah by the hand, dragging her across to a mannequin wearing a big sparkling wedding gown – the sort of dress I envisaged Sarah wearing. I felt my throat tighten and my eyes moisten. Don’t cry. Not now. Pull yourself together. Smile. Play happy bridesmaids. I reminded myself that I’d longed for this day too. How many hours had Sarah and I spent over the years talking about her dream wedding? This was the start of it. Join in. If you can’t do it genuinely, act your heart out!
A cool hand touched my arm, making me jump. ‘I know that this will be hard for you,’ Clare whispered. ‘But can you not just pretend? For her sake?’ There was a tenderness to her whispered tones that suggested she really did understand.
‘Gary’s just put the house on the market,’ I whispered back. ‘I’m feeling a bit sensitive.’
‘Ah, that’s just bollocks. I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Champagne is served, ladies,’ Ginny announced.
‘How lovely,’ I said, reaching for a glass. Smile. ‘So, Sarah, what’s the plan? Wedding gowns or bridesmaid dresses first? Or all together?’ I glanced across at Clare. She nodded her head approvingly. I could get through this. It was only an afternoon. I did it for Jess. I could do it for Sarah. Just as long as nobody announced they were pregnant because that might just tip me over the edge and no amount of acting could cover how I felt about that.
14
✉︎ To Curtis
Been bridesmaid dress shopping with Sarah. Not an easy afternoon, especially as Gary texted en route to say the house is now on the market. Another brick in the wall. Now feeling guilty for being so unsupportive towards Sarah
* * *
✉︎ From Curtis
And she probably feels guilty for doing wedding stuff, but you don’t expect her to put it on hold, do you? Chin up, Red, one day at a time. What colour are the dresses? Are they fabulous? xx
* * *
✉︎ To Curtis
Champagne and teal. They’re gorgeous. We’ve all got the same skirt, but a different style top. I’m having halter-neck, Callie’s having floaty sleeves and Clare is having strapless. I’ll send you a picture later xx
* * *
✉︎ From Sarah
Tried you at Auntie Kay’s, but you’re not home. Your mobile’s switched off so sorry for the informality of a text. I’m worried about you. I know you said you were OK about wedding stuff on Wednesday, but that was when you expected me to get married next year. I’m concerned that this afternoon may have been insensitive and too soon for you. I didn’t mean it to be, but I had to kickstart things because of the date. I promise not to witter on about the wedding all the time. I know it’s hard for you at the moment. Please let me know you’re OK and I haven’t screwed up xxx
Whoops! Curtis was absolutely right. Poor Sarah. I’d better call her. Then I stopped. I couldn’t do it. If I spoke to her, I’d cry, and I needed to stop crying. Wallowing wasn’t doing me any good. I’d have to text her and I was going to have to lie. She’d be devastated if she knew I’d deliberately ignored her calls earlier.
✉︎ To Sarah
Went for a walk round The Headland. Must have been no signal as my phone’s on. It’s not the easiest having my two favourite people getting married while I get divorced, but I want to be involved. I may not look it, but I promise I’m over the moon for you. Please keep telling me your plans and slap me if I start to wallow! The dresses are stunning. Can’t wait to see which dress you finally select. I hope I didn’t spoil your afternoon. Gary texted to say the house had gone on the market on my way into town so I was a bit distracted. I’ll come to the shop after school on Wednesday as usual if that’s OK xxx
* * *
✉︎ From Sarah
No! So sorry to hear that. Why didn’t you say? Glad I haven’t messed up. Remember that, just because I have a wedding to plan, it doesn’t mean I’m not here for you with a big hug and shoulder to cry on any time you need me and you don’t have to wait till Wednesday if you need me sooner than that xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
How guilty did I feel? I suspected she’d gone home and cried because of my behaviour. It wasn’t only Gary and me who were affected by our break-up. It was affecting my friendships too and that wasn’t fair.
A sharp knock on the front door echoed and made me jump. I reluctantly rolled off the bed and headed downstairs as the knock sounded again.
‘Keep your hair on,’ I said under my breath as I opened the door.
‘So it’s true. You are here.’ Gary’s mother pushed past me.
‘Come in, Cynthia,’ I muttered. I looked up and down the street then closed the door. Deep breaths.
I found her standing in the lounge looking immaculate, as always, in a straight navy skirt, crisp white blouse, short-sleeved red cardigan and nude stilettos. Her dark hair was scraped back into a sleek chignon and she wore a slash of red across her lips. Her very angry-looking lips. Which parted and uttered one word: ‘Well…?’
I really wasn’t in the mood for this. ‘Well, what?’
‘Don’t play games with me, young lady. You know why I’m here.’ She crossed her arms and glared at me.
I wasn’t going to make this easy for her but I also wasn’t about to drop Gary in it. I didn’t know how much she knew. ‘I have no idea why you’re here, Cynthia. Why don’t you enlighten me? I’d offer you a drink, but I’m hoping you won’t be staying long enough to need one.’ Go Elise! After years of keeping quiet and accepting her criticisms in order to keep the peace, I no longer needed to and, if it was a fight she wanted, I was going to defend myself for once. I’d stood up to Gary. I could stand up to her. This worm was turning.
Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘I don’t want a drink. I have better things to do than be here. I demand to know what you’re playing at by moving out and leaving my son.’
‘That’s what Gary told you, did he?’
‘Gary won’t tell me anything, but I have contacts and I discovered you’ve been living here for about a month.’
‘That’s right.’ I folded my arms and raised my eyebrows, challenging her to continue.
‘Your place is at home with my son.’
I laughed. ‘Doing his cooking, cleaning and ironing, I suppose?’
‘That’s what a wife is for.’
‘I can’t believe you just said that. What century do you think this is?’
‘Perhaps if you’d concentrated a bit more on those things – and more important things like raising a family with my son – perhaps you wouldn’t be living in a stranger’s spare room.’
My fists clenched and I had to keep my arms tightly folded to stop me from slapping her. ‘Firstly, I’m not living with a stranger and, secondly, Gary and I having children or not is none of your business.’
She narrowed her cold eyes at me. ‘Did you leave or did he throw you out?’
When I didn’t answer, but simply stared at her, I could almost hear the cogs working.
‘You haven’t, have you?’ she said.
‘Haven’t what?’
‘Have you committed the ultimate sin of seeing someone behind his back?’ She gasped. ‘That’s it isn’t it? You dirty little—’
‘I suggest you stop right there and leave my house.’
I hadn’t heard the door open, but I’d never been so grateful to see anyone in my life. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ Kay asked.
I nodded. ‘Cynthia decided to pay me a little visit, but she’s leaving now.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.’ Cynthia’s beady little eyes narrowed to slits to match her mouth. ‘Tell me straight. Have you cheated on my son?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Get out. She’s not the one who’s been cheating. Your precious son’s the unfaithful one.’
‘Kay! Don’t…’ I pleaded with my eyes: don’t tell her about Gary.
Kay nodded. ‘It’s him you should be confro
nting,’ she said. ‘Now leave.’ She marched into the hall and I heard the front door being yanked open.
Cynthia didn’t follow. She glared at me instead. ‘If Gary’s had an affair, it’s all your fault.’
‘How do you work that one out?’
‘You work ridiculously long hours at that school, you’re always out with that friend of yours – the shop girl – and you haven’t given him any babies. Is it any wonder he looked elsewhere?’ She gave me one final withering look then stormed towards the lounge door.
I wasn’t going to let her get away with insulting me like that. Not anymore. ‘Not so fast.’ I grabbed her arm and she spun round; shock etched across her face. ‘I’ll admit to one thing. Gary and I are getting a divorce. If you want to know why, you can ask your son. I’m devastated that our marriage is over because, despite your influence, Gary is a good man. However, I’m also delighted my marriage has ended because it means my relationship with you is over. You truly are a hateful woman, Cynthia. You’re a snob, you’re racist, you’re homophobic, and… well, from what I’ve seen, you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I’m glad we didn’t have children who’d be tainted by a cold-hearted grandmother with prejudiced views. You drove your husband to an early grave and you drove your eldest son away. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up a very lonely and bitter old woman. And when you do, you can look up the word “karma” in the dictionary and you’ll see “Cynthia Dawson” written next to it.’
Finding Hope at Lighthouse Cove Page 11
