by Paula Daly
Outside, beneath a quaint, ivory-painted, wrought-iron gazebo, a string quartet played cover versions of popular songs. Sting’s ‘Englishman in New York’ was just ending as we arrived, and Henry said quietly, ‘How long, I wonder, before “Eleanor Rigby”?’
Not long, as it happened. It was next.
There was an uninterrupted view across the lake. Esthwaite Water is a small lake, less than a mile in length, so it’s really only popular with fishermen. A rowing boat was visible bobbing over at the western shore, one lone figure inside.
I must have had a wistful look on my face because a voice to my left said, ‘Wish you could change places with that guy?’
Scott.
I tried to smile. ‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘And congratulations.’
He kissed my cheek, whispering he was sorry he had neglected to pass on my invitation, and when I intimated that it was sensible not to want me here, that I shouldn’t be here, he looked surprised.
‘Of course I want you here,’ he said tersely, though quietly, out of earshot of Henry, who was making conversation with a waiter to his right. ‘It slipped my mind on account of you giving me my marching orders when we last met. That’s why I didn’t mention it,’ he said, and then he turned to Henry.
Henry congratulated Scott, shaking his hand, and Scott said, ‘Twenty-five years,’ his voice booming now, full of good cheer. ‘What is it they say again?’
‘You get less for murder?’ supplied Henry.
‘I was going to say the latter years are the best,’ replied Scott.
I needed to get away. Having the two of them in such close proximity was too much. Henry was smiling at Scott in a way I’d not seen before; it was a smile that conveyed amused disdain. His eyes danced as he regarded Scott, and the result was chilling.
Not that Scott cared.
He already knew what Henry thought of him. Scott glanced at me and I saw the beginnings of a smile. Get this guy, his smirk said. If only he knew who’d been screwing his nice, new girlfriend.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, and slipped away.
My head throbbing, I cut a line across the patio with the vague notion of spending some time in the Ladies. On the way, Petra caught my eye. She was waving madly from over by the musicians. Back in a sec? I gestured, and pointed inside. She waved me off and resumed chatting to a woman I didn’t know.
The Ladies had a number of chrome art-deco vanity units, each with a lamp and an individual hairdryer. It was like a powder room from the thirties: charming, and totally against the current trend. Two of the seats were occupied by well-dressed women who were chattering about switching to Bulgarian housekeepers, because the initial enthusiasm on the part of the Poles was beginning to wane. ‘As lazy as the English now,’ one said to the other.
I took a seat and played with my hair a bit, stalling for time. When I emerged from the bathroom I was aware of a pause in the music and headed outside to see what was going on.
The party was gathered in one spot, a kind of rough semicircle, on the grass just beneath the patio. There were around a hundred people. Nadine was standing on the steps addressing the party, along with Scott, and they had their backs to me. Quickly, I joined the group, mingled in with Petra and Vince. I complimented Petra on her outfit, and she linked my arm. She lifted her chin, hanging on to Nadine’s every word.
Nadine was stunning in a beautifully cut, oyster-coloured trouser suit. She looked slim and lovely, her skin radiant. Scott stood beside her, smiling at his wife.
‘Of course, what Scott doesn’t know about, and what we’ve all gone to great pains to keep secret,’ Nadine was saying, ‘is the trip.’
She turned to Scott and took his hands in hers as though renewing her vows. Scott said, ‘Trip?’, perhaps now a little nervous.
I caught sight of Henry, who was at the far end of the semicircle. He smiled shyly in my direction.
Nadine said, ‘Thank you for a wonderful twenty-five years, Scott. It’s been a wild ride and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Tomorrow, we leave for the Galápagos.’ Scott’s eyes widened and, before he could speak, Nadine said, ‘And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you can’t take time off work. Well, it’s arranged. And you’re coming whether you like it or not.’
There was a small cheer, followed by chants of ‘Speech! Speech!’ before the noise quietened and Scott blustered out a few words. He was overwhelmed to have all his friends in one place, he said, and went on to say how wonderful it was to have his children home. He’d be sorry to have only one night with them, now that they were flying off the following day, but … and he paused.
He paused as though his words were caught in his throat and the emotion of the occasion was all a bit too much.
Then he looked straight at me.
His silence continued, but everyone was still smiling, unaware. Then it began to get painful and, gradually, faces started to fall. A low murmur spread throughout the gathering.
What was wrong?
‘Scott, mate, are you okay?’ someone asked, and he didn’t have an answer.
Nadine turned to him, the beginnings of panic forming in her eyes.
Scott continued to look my way and I became aware of others, following his gaze, watching me also.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ I could hear from a woman behind me. ‘Does he need a doctor?’
And then the worst thing happened.
He closed his eyes, put his hand to his mouth. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he cried. ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.’
‘Scott?’ Nadine said.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ he said.
My breath caught in my throat.
‘Can’t do what? You’re scaring me, Scott. What is it?’ Nadine said.
He rubbed his face with his hands and I was aware of Petra whispering, ‘Oh, no,’ quietly beside me.
‘I’m in love with another person,’ he said firmly, and there was a collective gasp of horror. ‘I’m in love with another person,’ he said again, ‘and I believe – no, that’s not quite right, I know for sure – that this person is in love with me.’
He looked at me and waited.
I couldn’t move.
Petra loosened her hold on my elbow and turned around to see who was behind us. There must not have been an obvious candidate for Scott’s affections because she turned straight back, saying in my ear, ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Roz?’ Scott prompted. And when I didn’t speak, he said, ‘I think it’s only right, don’t you? We have to tell them. We owe them that much.’
My throat closed. Something like a fist clasped tight around my heart and pulled it down through my belly.
Petra unlinked her arm. ‘Jesus Christ,’ she whispered.
‘It wasn’t,’ I stammered. ‘It’s not …’
Nadine wept.
Scott said, ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t want it to happen like this. God, I’m sorry, Nadine,’ and all around there was silence. I stood rooted to the spot as a space formed between me and the others. I was vaguely aware of Vince pulling Petra towards him, pulling her away from me.
I looked for Henry. I caught one glimpse of his astonished, stunned expression before the crowd closed around him.
I found my voice. ‘I do not love Scott,’ I said helplessly. It came out weak and pathetic.
‘That’s hardly important!’ cried Petra now, fighting to get free of Vince. ‘Look!’ She pointed towards the steps.
Nadine was in a heap. Her body lay crumpled on the patio. People rushed forward to attend to her.
Petra advanced on me, clutching hold of my dress at the neck. Her face was inches from mine.
‘It’s not what you think,’ I said.
‘Have you slept with him?’ she hissed.
I didn’t answer.
‘Have you been sleeping with Scott Elias?’ she repeated. ‘Roz, tell me!’
I nodded.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but, Petra, it’
s not what you think. You have to listen—’
But she was already walking away.
There was no music. No music, no voices, no laughter – no sound at all, save for the hushed whispers of the women surrounding Nadine.
I stood alone around twenty feet from Scott. We looked at each other for an extended moment and I mouthed one word.
Why?
I was dazed. Bewildered by what had just occurred. So when he tilted his head, frowned, laughing once to himself, I just didn’t get it.
I walked towards him. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said quietly. ‘I don’t understand what you’re doing.’ I looked around. Everyone was still staring. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘You gave me no other choice,’ he said simply.
‘But look around. You’ve lost everything.’
‘I don’t want it,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want any of it.’
‘But your wife,’ I said. ‘Your kids. Look what they think of you.’
He took a step towards me. ‘I don’t care what they think of me. I don’t care what Nadine thinks. I thought I made that quite clear to you the other day.’
‘Did you plan this?’
He shrugged.
I was wordless. The look on Nadine’s face when he made his announcement was desperate.
‘But I don’t love you,’ I said. ‘Why would you chance—’
‘You don’t love me yet,’ he said.
I glared at him, appalled. ‘I won’t ever love you.’
He took a breath. ‘Maybe you don’t need to love me. Maybe I love you enough for the both of—’
‘You’ve lost your mind,’ I snapped, and I started to turn away. ‘We’re humiliating your wife. I’m humiliating myself. Let’s not do this here.’
He grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t you get it?’
‘Don’t you get it?’ I said. ‘I don’t want you. I don’t need you, Scott.’
I was aware of some activity over Scott’s shoulder. Nadine had been lifted to her feet, and a number of women were pulling her back, restraining her, almost. She forced herself apart from them as they pleaded with her not to do what it was she was about to do.
‘How long?’ she shouted, directing the question at me.
‘Nadine—’
‘How fucking long?’ she yelled.
‘Three weeks,’ I answered.
‘Do you love him?’ she asked.
‘No. I don’t love him.’
And her face collapsed. ‘Then why?’ she cried out, her hand to her throat. ‘Why would you do such a thing? Marriage may mean nothing to you, but that does not mean you can go around screwing other people’s husbands.’
I turned to Scott. ‘Perhaps you could explain to your wife what actually happened.’
Scott looked blank. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.
‘Nadine, I—’ but then Petra returned. Marching across the patio to tell me to go. ‘Just go,’ she said.
Nadine shook her head. ‘No, Petra, I want to hear this. I want to know how she has been able to come here today. I want to know how she has been able to hold a conversation with me, when all along she was doing this.’
I hung my head. What was there to say? There was nothing to say.
Vince was a few feet behind Petra, and I expected, as was his usual way, to try to calm her. But he spoke up. ‘I think Nadine deserves an answer, Roz,’ he said reasonably.
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I whispered.
‘No?’ Nadine shot back. ‘No? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say? You wreck my marriage, my life, and you don’t even have a reason?’
She was pleading. It was so awful. I said, ‘You need to ask Scott.’
‘I’m asking you.’
Eventually, my voice barely audible, I said, ‘I was paid.’
‘He paid you to keep quiet?’ asked Petra, confused and stupefied by such a thought.
I looked at her straight. ‘No, Petra. He paid me to sleep with him.’
Nobody spoke.
The small group exchanged nervous glances.
What did she just say? She didn’t say what I think she said, did she?
‘How much did he pay you?’ asked Nadine, her voice shaking, her eyes now on Scott.
‘Enough to make me agree to do it. I’m sorry, Nadine, but I was broke and it seemed like the answer.’
‘The answer to what?’ interrupted Petra.
‘Debt, Petra. I was in debt. It’s not like you weren’t aware of that.’
And then she slapped me.
‘You weren’t starving!’ Petra shouted. ‘You weren’t bloody homeless! You weren’t so penniless that that was the only option you had! Good God. What sort of woman do you have to be to…’ She couldn’t even say it. ‘Do I know you?’ she said. ‘Do I even know who you are any more?’
I turned to Scott. He watched them attack me, and he did not say one word. Just wore a wry kind of smile as I took the abuse.
Later, in the taxi on the way home, I would wonder why no one attacked him. Why not slap Scott? Why not insult him for paying for sex? For cheating on his wife? Humiliating his family in front of everyone they knew? But they didn’t. For whatever reason, they chose not to. It may have come later, but I never got to ask.
Scott stood on the sidelines and watched, his manner unmoved and detached as I stammered out my reasoning, my confession. It was almost as if he was enjoying it. And then I realized. I realized in that moment, amidst all the craziness, and all the crying, that yes, Scott had planned it. He had wanted it to come out in the way that it did. He had been sincere when he said he didn’t care if he lost everything. As long as I did, too.
As far as he was concerned, if he couldn’t have me, no one could.
And he stood there smiling. He smiled as though nothing had happened.
36
‘NICE AFTERNOON?’ THE taxi driver asked. A woman taxi driver.
She wore a loose orange vest without a bra and had a battered, well-thumbed Regency romance shoved beneath the handbrake.
‘Not exactly,’ I replied, climbing into the front seat.
‘A wedding? God, I’m sick of weddings.’ She rambled on. ‘If I have to go to one more bloody wedding—’
‘Look, I don’t feel like talking. Do you mind if we don’t?’
She did. She raised her eyebrows as though to say, Who the hell do you think you are, lady?
‘Bad afternoon,’ I said. ‘No offence.’
Henry had taken off. At around the time Nadine had wanted answers. When I finally got away, there was an empty space in the car park where his Peugeot had been. I didn’t call him to find out why. He hadn’t stuck around to check on his sister, so the message was clear.
I’d gazed at the empty space and been struck by the urge to explain. Henry had gone away thinking I’d had an affair with Scott, and I needed him to know it was a long way off from that. The thing I’d had with Scott was absurd.
‘Henry?’ I imagined saying to him. ‘You see, you’ve got it all wrong. Scott paid me to have sex with him.’
‘Oh, well why didn’t you say so? Because that changes everything.’
No, Roz, Henry would not want to hear your reasons.
Henry hated Scott. He loved his sister. He had been growing to like me, and I had betrayed everyone.
As the taxi wound its way towards Hawkshead, I relived the scene I’d left behind. Each time I ran through it, I would dwell on a different aspect. So many people affected. So many points of view. I would have to leave the area. Petra would never talk to me again, so there was no reason to stay. And even though I could probably handle being the object of ridicule, and gossip, for the duration, I could not bear the thought of George finding out.
‘You heard about that body in the freezer?’ the taxi driver asked.
‘I heard.’
‘Poor sod,’ she said. ‘Looks like he upset the wrong person.’
‘It’s all very sad.’
‘He w
as pilfering money, you know,’ she said, matter-of-fact.
‘Is that what people are saying?’ I asked, and she nodded grimly.
I told her to pull in a little further along on the right, just in front of my house.
As I waited for my change she gestured to the Jeep, saying, ‘That your car?’, and I told her it was. ‘You’ve got something hanging down from the chassis,’ she said. ‘Best get it looked at.’
Around a hundred yards along the road I could make out a small boy with a dog. My small boy. My heart swelled at the sight of him. I waved, but he didn’t see me. He was lost in his own thoughts, walking with his eyes firmly on Foxy. Celia was right. Foxy walked particularly well for George. Proud almost. Usually, she would be straining at the lead by this point. Desperate to get back, an awful rasping sound coming from her throat. As they got closer, I could see her lifting her front paws up, high, like a miniature dressage horse. George chattered away to her, oblivious I was there.
Afterwards, I would say it happened so fast.
Afterwards, I would say it was instantaneous, but it wasn’t really.
I was aware of something even before I was aware of it, if that makes sense. I was used to the sounds of the village. Used to the flow of cars past the house. And just as when you might hear a distant siren and begin mentally locating your relatives, figuring out if it was at all possible for them to be involved, when I heard the engine gunning from the south-east, and I saw where George was, I knew without doubt it was possible.
And this was when time stopped.
I was too far away to reach him. The sound of the approaching engine told me it was going too fast, and the distance between us was too great.
Still I ran.
I set off screaming, waving my arms, because I knew what was coming. I knew it before I saw it. The Overfinch. The black Range Rover. Three tons of metal hurtling through the village, its driver demented with grief. The cause of that grief: me.
