‘By the way,’ said Keith, ‘Patrick phoned. He said he was going to pop round, if you weren’t back too late.’
‘Did he?’
Mandy felt a little flutter of panic. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for what she had to say. But there wasn’t ever going to be a good time. She’d just have to bite the bullet. As the country lanes slipped by, Mandy looked ahead and kept telling herself to keep calm and think of the reward.
It was nearly closing time again when Suzanna finally drove back to the Honeycote Arms. She realized it was the first time she had driven up to it as a potential punter. She had to admit it looked wonderfully inviting. The sign was welcoming: cream with black writing, subtly highlighted in gold leaf and discreetly lit. Stout whitewashed bollards had been placed along the front of the parking area, with garlands of spiky black chains hung between each one. The stone was glowing from the uplighters that had just come on. Conical bushes in square terracotta pots flanked the door.
She drove in more sedately than she had driven out, noticing with a prick to her conscience the marks her tyres had made in the gravel. She’d rake them over in the morning. She drove round the back to park and was amazed to find it was difficult to get a space. For a Sunday night, it was incredibly busy.
She walked in through the lounge bar. Toby and Melissa were serving. There was a mixed bunch of customers: a group of young lads, some older couples who looked as if they were on their way back from a day out, a couple of men enjoying a last moment of relaxation before they set off for the City next morning. Jonty was there too, with some of his mates. He gave Suzanna a wave and came over before she could escape.
‘People keep asking if we’re doing food. We’re going to have to. It’s turning good money away.’
Suzanna smiled.
‘If you don’t mind working Sunday nights.’
Jonty shrugged good-naturedly.
‘It’s all money, isn’t it? I’m going to need as much as I can get when number three arrives.’ He hoped that would placate Meggy. She hadn’t been entirely thrilled when he’d come home for his tea and then gone straight out again. Choir practice, he’d told her, not expecting her to believe it.
Suzanna went to check how things were with Toby, who reported brisk business and seemed delighted. She felt chastened. How could she have been such a selfish pig? All these people wanted the Honeycote Arms to be a success, and had pride in what they were doing. Who did she think she was, jeopardizing it all because she didn’t have the courage? Well, all that had changed.
‘Have you seen Barney?’ she asked.
‘He went out earlier. He got back about half an hour ago. I think he’s upstairs,’ replied Toby cautiously, thinking it best not to mention he’d been four sheets to the wind.
Suzanna went into the cloakroom to check her appearance before she went upstairs. She’d gone out after cooking lunch without a scrap of make-up, and realized she looked pretty wrung-out. She dragged a comb through her hair and put on some mascara and lipgloss, then grinned at her reflection. This was crazy: she was almost nervous about going upstairs to see her own husband. But the thought of what she wanted to tell him was giving her butterflies.
She knew he’d think it was a good idea. She felt sure it was something he’d often wanted to broach with her, but had held back, knowing the time wasn’t yet right. She thought back over what a good father he’d always been. He’d been very hands-on, without being too nauseatingly new-mannish about it. He’d loved giving Ollie his bath; he’d been happy to do bedtime on the days when Suzanna had been catering in the evening.
Not that it was going to be easy. There would be all sorts of emotions to deal with. Getting pregnant wasn’t always easy for a start. Then the hormone thing would kick in. And it would be strange if they weren’t anxious, over-protective. But they had each other. They’d get through it.
She walked out of the cloakroom and through the bar, wondering if she should take a bottle of champagne upstairs with her. Yes, she decided. She was going to go on a strict detox diet as of tomorrow, and if anything needed celebrating it was this.
Bursting with pride and excitement, Patrick arrived at Keeper’s Cottage just after half ten. He knew it was late, but when Mandy and Keith heard his news, they would understand.
He waited in the hall as Mandy came down the stairs to greet him. She looked totally different. She was glowing golden, with a few freckles coming out on her nose. Her hair was in loose plaits, like an Indian squaw. She was in khaki shorts and a little vest with CUBA written on the front. Barefoot and no make-up. Patrick was puzzled. Somehow he’d expected her to come back from her weekend even more polished, surrounded by carrier bags, looking like an ‘It’ girl. He kissed her.
‘You look brown.’
‘We went to Libby’s gym. They’ve got one of those high-speed tanning cabs.’
Patrick nodded, happy to believe her.
‘Listen. I made a radical decision while you were away.’
‘Did you?’ Mandy tried to keep her voice steady.
‘It’s been a tough few months. We haven’t had much time for each other. It made me realize, maybe it’s time…’
He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it, but Mandy interrupted.
‘We had a break?’
‘What?’
He looked up in shock. Mandy ploughed on.
‘It’s OK. I was thinking the same thing myself.’
Patrick was speechless. Mandy went on to explain.
‘I want to get away for a while. Away from the brewery and the Honeycote Arms and Dad and…’
‘Me?’ asked Patrick flatly.
‘Maybe not for ever,’ said Mandy miserably. ‘But I’m finding it really hard to figure out what I want at the moment. All I do know is, I’m not happy.’
Patrick’s eyes hardened.
‘I’m sorry it’s not good enough for you. I’m sorry we haven’t had enough time to give you all the attention you need, but we’ve all been under a lot of pressure.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘Then what is it?’
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. He stepped forward, grasping her arms.
‘Is there someone else?’
She hesitated for a moment before lying. Well, it wasn’t lying. Technically there wasn’t anyone else, yet.
‘No… Of course not.’
His fingers were digging into her flesh. Mandy was frightened. Patrick could be so fierce sometimes. Never to her, but then she’d never tried to dump him before.
‘I just… need to find out who I am.’
‘What?’ Patrick’s sneer was derisive, and rightly so. Mandy floundered as she sought for the right words to explain her predicament, something that didn’t sound quite so flaky. Never in a million years would Patrick be able to relate to a journey of self-discovery. It was probably a reaction to his own mother, who had dropped him like a hot potato when he was small, in exchange for the chance of hitting the hippy trail in India. He’d been suspicious of anything remotely spiritual ever since. Mandy tried to explain her dilemma in terms he could relate to.
‘I’m just extensions of everyone else in Honeycote. I haven’t got my own identity. I don’t make my own decisions, not really. I feel like… nobody. I want to go somewhere where I wake up in the morning and I decide what’s going to happen. I want… choices. I want to know who I really am. I need to find my… niche.’
She was horrified that she’d used her mother’s word. Patrick was staring at her hard. She stepped back with guilt, feeling sure that he could see the imprints left by Rick’s kisses upon her skin. He knew. She was sure he knew. But he couldn’t. Could he? She soldiered on with her explanation.
‘Everything happened so fast last year. And everyone else seems to be happy with where they are and what they are doing. I’m just… not sure. I can’t help it if that’s how I feel. I’m sorry…’
She trailed off rather lamely, and looked to him for understanding.
>
‘So – where are you going? To find this magical answer?’
Mandy realized she hadn’t given any thought whatsoever to the practicalities of her plan.
‘I don’t know yet.’
He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. It was like straw; the sun and the sea had dried it out. He dropped the strand as if it was contaminated and walked out of the room.
Patrick saw Mandy’s shoes by the door as he left. Something made him pick one up. As a trickle of sand fell out on to the doormat, he reflected that the last time he’d been to South Kensington, there hadn’t been any beaches.
Suzanna crept into the bedroom. The bedside lamp was still on. Barney was fast asleep. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed next to him.
‘Barns? Are you awake?’
He struggled to open his eyes. He looked at her, but it was as if he couldn’t see her, the emotionless stare of a dead fish. She caught the smell of booze on his breath. A top note of wine, and underlying it a stronger spirit – she didn’t know what.
‘Fuck off,’ he said flatly, and fell back into a drunken slumber.
Suzanna was shocked. She didn’t think Barney had ever said that to her before. She lay on the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling, willing him to come to, willing his invective to have just been part of some silly dream, willing him to see her and smile and reach out his arm for her to snuggle into.
But he didn’t.
Her heart sank like a stone. She’d pushed him too far; asked too much of him too many times. She’d had so many needs, but forgotten that he had needs of his own. He’d finally cracked under the strain. She’d broken him.
A single hot tear squeezed itself from her eye.
She was too late. Too bloody late.
22
The next morning, Mandy waited till her father had gone off to work, which he always did at a quarter to eight promptly. She was usually at least an hour behind him, so he didn’t think it strange that she wasn’t ready in her usual trouser suit as they shared a quick pot of coffee. Mandy didn’t mention what had happened between her and Patrick last night. She wanted to make sure all her plans were in place before she dropped any bombshells. She didn’t want anyone trying to talk her out of anything, after all.
As soon as Keith drove off, she pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt, jumped in her car and drove to Eldenbury. She put on the Crazytown CD that had been playing on the beach the day before. It reminded her of the heavenly heat, Rick’s head on her stomach, the wicked thoughts she’d had. A little frisson of excitement shot through her. He’d have her now she was free of Patrick. She knew he wanted her. And although she felt guilty about Patrick, the thrill of the unknown was a stronger motivation. Was she selfish? Maybe. But then, you had to be in this life, if you didn’t want to trail round in someone else’s wake, be at their beck and call. And Patrick would survive. He’d find someone else soon enough.
She parked on the high street and bounded up the stairs to Rick’s flat. The smell of last night’s sesame oil still hung thick in the air from the Chinese takeaway downstairs. She rapped on the door, dancing up and down with impatience. The door opened. Mandy’s face dropped when she saw it was Kelly, still bleary with sleep.
‘Is Rick in?’
Kelly opened the door a little wider.
‘You’d better come in.’
Mandy followed her into the kitchen. Kelly went over to the sink and filled the kettle.
‘Is he still in bed?’
Kelly flicked the switch and turned to face her.
‘He’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Mandy frowned. ‘To work, you mean?’
Kelly sighed with the weight of the information she had to impart. ‘Mandy, he’s gone. He packed everything up last night and went off on his bike this morning.’
‘He can’t have. I only saw him last night.’
‘He’s always been impulsive. I don’t know where he gets it from.’
‘Impulsive?’ Mandy didn’t think that was quite the word. ‘But he didn’t say anything. Not a word. I was with him all weekend and he didn’t say a word.’
‘That’s typical of Rick, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Kelly looked at her with sympathy.
‘Were things starting to get… serious between you?’
‘Yes… no. I don’t know. I thought maybe… that’s why I came here. To talk to him.’
‘Look – the trouble with Rick is there’s no room for anyone else in his life. He’s a free spirit. He always does a bunk when things start to get heavy. Believe me, I’ve sat here and picked up the pieces often enough.’
Mandy sat down on the sofa, shell-shocked, trying to take in what Kelly was telling her. Of course, she was probably laying it on with a trowel and loving every minute of it. In her eyes, it was probably a great payback for Mandy stealing Patrick off her in the first place. Not that Mandy had actively stolen him. She’d never realized he was already spoken for.
She thought she knew the truth. Rick hadn’t done a bunk to get away from her. He’d done a bunk because he thought they couldn’t be together. He hadn’t known that she was prepared to give up Patrick for him. And now she was too late.
She sat there, numb with shock, as Kelly pressed a cup of tea into her hands. Mandy took it wordlessly.
Rick had gone. Goodness knows where. And she’d dumped Patrick for him. In the space of twenty-four hours, in the hopes of taking control of her destiny, she’d made a complete and utter mess of her life.
Rick drove his bike through the centre of Honeycote, enjoying the slightly outraged stares as the vehicle throbbed its way through the postcard perfection. This wasn’t Harley-Davidson territory by any stretch of the imagination. But never mind. Soon he’d be back in North Devon, where it would be admired and envied. He’d been offered a job over the weekend, hiring out wetsuits and boogie boards, maybe doing a bit of teaching. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted it at the time, but things had changed. He’d phoned late last night: the job was his if he wanted it.
But first he had to go and tell Damien he wasn’t going to work for him any more. He was sorry. Damien had been a good boss, more than generous, and he hadn’t made too many demands on Rick. But he couldn’t stay around any more. After what had happened yesterday, he’d got to cut loose.
For Rick had come dangerously close to falling in love for the first time, and he didn’t like it. He knew getting involved with Mandy would only end in tears. It would involve her in too many decisions and sacrifices that she would end up regretting, and that he wasn’t prepared to force her into. He’d asked Kelly the night before if she thought he was a coward, and she’d said no, he was very noble, and one day the right girl would come along with no strings attached.
He worried that perhaps he was going soft, letting Mandy get to him. That last moment at the cliff’s edge, he’d never wanted anyone like that before in his life. And Rick didn’t do love. It wasn’t his style. What was the point, when ultimately it could only end in either boredom or heartbreak? Instead, he went for high-octane bursts of lust; little turbocharged encounters that were hugely pleasurable but never had a chance to reach his soul.
More than anything, if he had succumbed to Mandy, he couldn’t have lived with the fear that one day she would find out that the whole thing, originally, had been a set-up. That he’d been trying to lure her away from Patrick out of a desire for revenge. Because the truth would be bound to come out eventually. It had a nasty habit of doing that, in Rick’s experience.
He’d packed up his stuff the night before. It hadn’t taken very long. Rick wasn’t into stuff. Kelly, bless her, had washed his clothes from the weekend, and dried them. He’d held her tight before he left, feeling guilty that he was leaving her in the lurch, but she’d told him not to be daft. She’d cope. They were both copers.
He arrived at Honeycote Grove and pressed the intercom. Damien answered, sounding very
abrupt.
‘It’s Rick. I need to talk to you.’
The gates swung open, almost reluctantly, and Rick drove up the drive. Damien came to the front door. He looked dreadful, as if he hadn’t slept. His clothes, very unusually for him, were crumpled. His hair hadn’t been washed. But there was something about his body language that said ‘Don’t ask’. So Rick didn’t. He just told him he couldn’t work for him any more.
Damien didn’t seem bothered that he was going. It was almost as if he hadn’t taken the information in. All he seemed worried about was that Rick never repeated anything they’d discussed about the Honeycote Arms and him taking it over.
Rick looked affronted. Confidential meant confidential, didn’t it? And he’d always been able to keep his gob shut. That way people told you things.
‘Course not. Strictly between you and me.’
Relieved and grateful, Damien counted out some notes from a wad of cash and handed them to Rick as his final payment.
‘There’s a bit extra. Have a drink for me when you get there.’
‘Cheers.’
It was only when Rick got back on his bike and looked more closely at the roll of notes that he realized how important discretion was to Damien. He wondered what was up with him: he looked really stressed. Really jumpy. Rick shrugged and shoved the money in his pocket. Maybe he’d been on a coke binge all weekend or something. Right now, it wasn’t his problem. He could be on the beach by lunchtime if he got his skates on.
That morning, Barney had done his very best to ignore the spectacular headache that was inevitable after white wine, rum and infidelity. He told Suzanna he was going to London for the day to see a wine merchant: they’d been having problems with their supplier. She didn’t seem bothered. She was very subdued. He didn’t remember her coming in the night before. She didn’t apologize for yesterday’s argument, so neither did he.
He got on the train at Eldenbury, along with all the regular commuters. The carriage buzzed with people hitting their mobile phones, setting up meetings for the week, comparing notes, discussing deals and takeovers and sackings with no apparent regard for confidentiality. Unable to face coffee yet, he leaned back in his seat, feeling like total shite, heavy-headed and light-headed in turn. He shut his eyes to watch the edited highlights from the night before run through his mind. Him and Kitty. Him and Kitty and maybe, after today, a recording deal. Him and Kitty and a recording deal and a new life… Was that what he wanted?
Making Hay Page 37
