Me and Mr Jones

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘Let’s take this upstairs,’ David said, heaving up her weekend bag. ‘We’re in number six this weekend – the other rooms are either being decorated or booked out.’

  Oh, great. Bedroom number six was right next to Lilian and Eddie’s bedroom. If oodles of baby-making sex was to be on the agenda this weekend, they’d have to be extremely discreet. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Emma thought grimly, following her husband up the stairs. And visions of Lilian, or indeed Nicholas Larsson, would not distract her for a single second.

  She quickened her pace as she remembered that there was, at least, an en suite in the bedroom. ‘I wouldn’t mind a shower,’ she said, in what she hoped was a seductive purr. ‘I feel kind of … dirty after the drive.’

  She had an eyebrow arched suggestively, but David was fiddling with the key in the door and, for a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d heard. But then he grinned. ‘Dirty, eh?’ he said, pushing the door half-open, so that she had to press against him to enter the room. ‘Come to think of it, I’m feeling dirty too. Mind if I join you?’

  Mind? She’d practically stripped naked by the time it took him to shut the door. ‘Be my guest,’ she murmured, setting the water running.

  Sex in the shower had never been Emma’s favourite place but, hell, a quick one to serve as a starter suited her just fine. Besides, after missing last month’s ovulation opportunity, she needed to make up for lost time. She planned to ravish her husband every single chance she got. The only small snag was that, immediately after he’d come inside her, the tiles cold against her back, water pouring over her gasping face, she just wanted to be on the bed, bottom up, thighs taking the strain as gravity helped guide the plucky sperm on their way to victory. She did not want to be standing upright in a shower, letting all the little fellas drain down her inner thighs.

  ‘That was great,’ she said, extricating herself carefully from his grasp. Hang in there, little swimmers, hold tight! Then she threw a towel on the bed and dived onto it, stark naked and sopping wet, lifting her bum up in the air, as she’d been advised by all the fertility websites. Would a conception-assisting headstand be too much? she wondered. Hell, why not – anything was worth a try, she thought, launching herself into an ungainly upside-down position.

  ‘What the … what’s going on? Don’t you want to wash your hair or … ?’ David was leaning out of the cubicle, looking confused. Then he clocked her contortions and his face sagged slightly. ‘Oh, right,’ he said, without a great deal of enthusiasm.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said with a smile, hoping he’d see the funny side, but he vanished back into the cubicle, and then all she could hear was the sound of running water for a while. She rested her feet against the wall, suddenly feeling cold and exposed and extremely self-conscious. It would be different once she was pregnant, she reminded herself, the blood draining to her head. It would all be worth it.

  This weekend they were sharing Mulberry House with a whole new bunch from the odd squad. There was a young couple down for a sailing weekend, who had the poshest accents Emma had ever heard. There were two elderly sisters, Joan and Nora (or Moan and Borer, as David rather meanly christened them), who seemed to lurk around every corner of the garden, waiting for an opportunity to show off their horticultural knowledge. Then there was a family of four – two adults who were down for the True Light Christian Conference in Weymouth, and their decidedly ungodly teenage sons, who had already faced the wrath of Lilian for smoking out of the bedroom window.

  After a smoochy early-morning bunk-up (with another sneaky headstand afterwards while David was in the bathroom), breakfast on Saturday morning reminded Emma of a social experiment that had gone badly wrong. Moan and Borer had plonked themselves down at a table with the Hoorays and were earnestly quizzing them about the bedding plants they were planning for the forthcoming summer. ‘Terribly chalky soil in your neck of the woods,’ Moan (or was it Borer?) kept saying authoritatively. ‘You’ll never grow a decent rose in chalky soil, you know. Don’t even think about geraniums!’

  ‘Scabby potatoes too,’ Borer (or perhaps Moan) added, like the Gardener of Doom.

  ‘They don’t want potatoes in their flowerbeds, dear,’ Moan chided.

  ‘I was just saying, dear!’ said Borer.

  ‘We were thinking a Zen garden, to be honest,’ Mrs Hooray said. ‘Lovely white gravel, a fountain, a meditation zone …’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said Moan. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Borer. ‘One giant litter tray for all the local moggies. Bad idea, darling. Bad idea.’

  Meanwhile, over on the other table, the Christians were saying grace – well, the adults were anyway. Their teenage offspring, dressed from head to toe in black, were rolling their eyes and muttering, ‘For fuck’s sake,’ to each other.

  Emma couldn’t help a smile as she walked through to the kitchen. The more awful the guests, the better as far as she was concerned – just extra ammunition in her attempt to bring David back home again.

  Unfortunately, despite this latest collection of nutters, David didn’t seem in any hurry to leave Mulberry House, as she soon found out. Emma had brought along details of various houses for sale in Bristol that she was keen to view, as well as two job ads she’d clipped out of the newspaper, but he barely gave them a second glance.

  ‘Things are going really well here,’ he said, as they headed into Lyme for the afternoon. ‘All the returning guests love the new decor, and we’ve already had some people rebook for next year. We reckon the holiday chalet will be ready to let soon too – Charlie and I are about to start decorating inside now.’

  ‘You’re taking bookings for next year?’ Emma said. ‘Isn’t that a bit … ?’ She frowned out of the car window. ‘What if your parents decide to sell up? I mean, they definitely want to move out, right?’

  He glanced at her sideways. ‘It’s an ongoing business, though,’ he replied. ‘And if they do end up selling, then any new buyers will be pleased to have bookings in the diary.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, listen, if neither of those job ads I brought grab you, I was wondering: have you considered setting up as a freelance architect? I had to call one in the other day, and it made me think – well, you could do that, couldn’t you? You must have loads of contacts, and—’

  He parked down by the Cobb and cut the engine. ‘Em … Just let me do this for now, yeah? I’ve got my hands full with the B&B.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘Yes, but for how much longer? It’s getting ridiculous. I feel as if we’ve split up, like I’m not married any more. You haven’t been home for weeks!’

  He was looking out at the sea, his eyes faraway. ‘I know, but …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s complicated. They need me right now. I can’t leave just yet.’

  ‘They need you? I need you, David! I’m your bloody wife, remember!’

  He sighed. ‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s not exactly ideal.’

  ‘You’re telling me!’

  ‘But that’s just how it is at the moment. Okay?’

  It was not okay. It was many miles from okay, and if Emma hadn’t been counting on at least three more shags before the end of the weekend, then she might have pursued the argument and said so. Instead she nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said, putting a hand on his. ‘I just miss you, that’s all.’

  He turned his hand over and squeezed her fingers. ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘Enormously. Like you wouldn’t believe.’

  They got out of the car and she breathed in lungfuls of briny air. With a bit of luck she’d be pregnant by Sunday and then – then – she’d have the best reason of all for forcing him home.

  To: aliciajones104@teachermail.co.uk

  From: emmaj@HughesMcPheeInteriors.co.uk

  Re: Babies

  Hiya,

  Hope you don’t mind me emailing. I was just wondering: when you got pregnant with your three, did you feel different very quickly? I’ve got another week before my period’s
due, but I’ve just got the strangest feeling that something’s going on. I keep needing the loo, and I haven’t been able to stomach breakfast for the last few days. I don’t want to get my hopes up too high, but… !

  Love Em x

  To: emmaj@HughesMcPheeInteriors.co.uk

  From: aliciajones104@teachermail.co.uk

  Re: Babies

  OOOH! How exciting. Yes, I did feel different very quickly each time. I swear I even felt the implantation of Raffy and Matilda, both about a week after conception. Can’t explain it – just a strange sort of twingey ache. And yes, I think you do ‘just know’ sometimes. Keep me posted anyway. Crossing my fingers for you.

  Lots of love

  Alicia

  PS Just a week until Paris now. Whoopee!!

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few days after Hazel spoke to Gary on the phone, Izzy and the girls came home from school to discover that they’d had a visitor. An egg had been thrown at one of the windows and a handful of dead flowers dangled from the letter box. Izzy went cold all over. She actually thought she might faint right there on the doorstep. Violence and peace offerings within seconds of each other – it was Gary all over. Had to be.

  Her heart thumping, she rushed the girls through the front door of the building and locked it. Then she hurried them up the stairs and into the flat, sliding the new bolts across and locking the mortice once she was over the threshold. She checked the window locks, then pulled all the curtains across, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps as if she’d been running. Shit. SHIT. She should have known it was too good to last. She’d been expecting something like this ever since the call. It looked like he’d tracked them down at last.

  She held on to the kitchen table, trying to breathe deeply. There were brick walls around them now; he couldn’t get in. Do you understand, Gary? You’re not coming in, however much you huff and puff.

  She wished more than ever that she hadn’t smashed her phone like that the other night. Right now she could do with it, to text Lou or even Alicia.

  ‘It’s too hot indoors,’ Willow moaned, coming into the room. ‘Can’t we go to the beach?’

  ‘Can we play in the garden?’ Hazel asked, appearing too.

  ‘Not now,’ Izzy said, trying to keep her voice even and normal-sounding. ‘Let’s … do some baking,’ she added desperately. ‘We could make Easter cookies for your teachers as an end-of-term present.’

  Hazel wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t we make them for us?’

  Grateful for the chance to laugh, even if it felt as if there was a desperate hysteria rising behind the sound, Izzy hugged her tight. ‘That’s an even better idea. Let’s make cookies for us.’

  And so, with a whirl of hand-washing and ingredient-finding and flour-sieving, she found a kind of temporary comfort, blocking out as best she could the worries beating about her brain. All the same, the peace was uneasy. A storm was on its way, and she knew it was closing in. Any moment now, it would hit her fragile ship and they’d be in all kinds of trouble.

  The cookies – vaguely rabbit-and egg-shaped – had only just gone into the oven when there was a knock at the door. ‘Anyone in there?’

  It was him. He was right outside the flat, having got into the building somehow – no doubt that idiot Jonah, of the low-slung jeans, had left the front door hanging open again, even though she’d made a point of securing it earlier. Izzy felt her insides contract and put a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say anything,’ she warned in a raggedy whisper. If they just kept quiet and brazened it out, he might think there was nobody home and give up.

  ‘That sounded like Daddy,’ Hazel commented, eyes wide. ‘Was it actually … What?’

  ‘Shhh,’ urged Izzy, panic spiralling inside her. Go away, Gary. Leave us alone.

  The knocking came again, louder this time. ‘Girls, are you there? It’s me, Daddy!’

  ‘Daddy!’ squealed Hazel joyously. ‘I knew it was you!’ And before Izzy could stop her, she’d leapt away towards the front door.

  ‘Don’t let him in!’ Izzy screamed, running after her. ‘Hazel – stop!’ She caught hold of the little girl just as she was reaching for the latch. Willow, who’d followed, hung back, more cautious.

  Izzy swallowed. ‘Gary – what are you doing here?’ she called through the door. Her vision swam dizzily with the stress, and she could feel a full-blown panic attack just waiting to descend.

  ‘What am I doing? I’ve come to see my girls – what do you think?’ he replied. ‘Are you going to let me in, or what?’

  ‘No,’ Izzy replied, clenching her fists. ‘No, I’m not. This is not a good time. You can’t just turn up like this.’

  He ignored her. ‘I saw you walking up the road,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘Proper little beach girls, aren’t you? Hazel, you’ve got so many freckles now! And Willow, you must have grown a whole inch since I saw you.’

  Willow was still hanging back, wary, but Hazel was like a puppy, bouncing with excitement. ‘Oh, Daddy, have you come to live with us?’ she cried happily. ‘We can show you our school and all our fossils and …’

  ‘No,’ Izzy put in quickly, conscious of everything that was at stake. ‘Girls, go and wait in the kitchen, I’ll be two minutes. I need a word with your dad.’ She refused to refer to him as ‘Daddy’. That sounded too nice, too cosy.

  Neither girl moved, both seemingly transfixed by the idea of their father standing on the other side of the door. ‘I was thinking, maybe we could go out for a pizza tonight …’ he said coaxingly, and Hazel spun round to Izzy, thrilled.

  ‘Can we?’ she begged.

  ‘No,’ Izzy replied. ‘Go on – into the kitchen, both of you and shut the door. Now, please.’

  Willow turned and left without another word, but Hazel wasn’t so sure. Bottom lip trembling and eyes suddenly tearful, she stamped her foot. ‘I want pizza with Daddy,’ she said mutinously until, catching sight of Izzy’s face, she eventually dropped her gaze and slunk away.

  Izzy waited until she heard the kitchen door click before speaking. She was trembling so hard she had to fold her arms around herself, as if she might break apart otherwise. Oh God, she’d imagined this moment so many times. She had to get it right. ‘Gary … what do you want?’

  ‘I told you – to see the girls. They’re my children too, don’t forget. I have rights!’

  She shook her head. ‘This is not the way to go about it,’ she said slowly. ‘Sending me messages, turning up out of the blue …’

  ‘What was I meant to do: wait for an invitation? You left! You walked out! Did you think I’d just let you go?’

  She shut her eyes, not able to speak. He was so close she could hear him breathing through the door.

  Then his tone softened. ‘Look, I know things went wrong between us. I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t myself, I wasn’t thinking straight. All I know is, when you left … I was gutted. Devastated. It hit me, what a mess I’d made of everything.’ She could imagine his eyes soulful and imploring, just like Hazel’s had been moments earlier. Just like every other time he’d apologized.

  ‘Go on, darlin’,’ he urged. ‘Let us in. Let’s just talk about it. Me and you together again, yeah?’

  She hesitated. For a second, she was tempted. Of course he missed the girls – he was their father. Deep down she felt a pull inside too; there was still a part of her that wanted everything to work out between them. She missed the Gary who’d once been her true love, her best friend.

  The realist in her held firm, though. That Gary was long gone. And if she let him in now, it could prove really difficult to get him out again. She shook her head. ‘Another time,’ she said.

  It was like pulling the pin on a hand grenade. ‘You bitch!’ he shouted, thumping the door. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? Let me in this minute, or I’ll break your fucking door down.’

  The last of her courage was shrinking away. She stood there, feeling small and frightened, knowing that he meant every word. �
�Go away,’ she said, trying to swallow her fear, ‘or I’ll call the police. I mean it, Gary.’ A sob caught in her throat. ‘Go away.’

  ‘Excuse me, but what’s all the noise for?’ came a voice just then, and Izzy wanted to die. Mrs Murray had come out of her flat for a nosey. Brilliant. One letter of complaint to their landlord about noisy neighbours coming right up, not to mention future babysitting favours hanging perilously in the balance.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Gary replied, and Izzy cringed.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ she called. ‘Mrs Murray, don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.’

  Her neighbour was already replying to Gary in the frostiest of tones. ‘Barbara Murray, not that it’s any of your business,’ she countered, before adding, ‘Izzy, dear, are you all right? Is this man bothering you?’

  ‘What’s happening, Mummy?’ whispered Willow just then, and Izzy jerked in alarm to see her there beside her. ‘Why’s Daddy so angry?’

  Izzy shooed Willow back, then put the chain on the door and opened it a crack. ‘I’m really sorry you’ve been disturbed, Mrs M. Gary’s just leaving now.’

  Gary made a lunge at the door, but she slammed it shut again before he could get his foot inside. He battered on it instead. ‘Don’t think you can get one over on me, Iz. I’m not done with you yet.’

  Izzy stood against the door, not knowing what to do while he hammered at it a while longer, all pretence at niceness and pizzas forgotten as he bellowed a torrent of insults.

  ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Mrs Murray shouted. ‘I’m calling the police this minute!’ Her own door slammed moments later.

  ‘Mind your own business,’ Gary yelled in response, kicking at Izzy’s door again. It shuddered in its frame and she felt paralysed with fright. Any moment now he was going to bust in there, in a roaring temper … and then what? What should she do?

  Hazel had reappeared too, and both girls stood holding hands silently in the hall. Tears rolled down Hazel’s face and Willow put an arm around her, although she looked pale and terrified herself. Izzy felt as if her heart was breaking. This had gone far enough. ‘I’m calling the police, Gary,’ she told him. ‘Don’t worry,’ she mouthed helplessly to the girls as she went to the phone. Her fingers shook as she dialled, but he’d left her with no choice.