Love, Lies and Lemon Cake

by Jayne Bartholomew

  He recognised many of the women that stood, either looking hopeful or bored, by the side of the road. A couple even gave him a slight half wave of recognition. That was nice but he wasn’t particularly after familiarity tonight. One woman had particularly caught his eye as he’d driven past the first time though, mid-forties with long black hair, knee length skirt that went down to her knee-high boots. She was just his type.

  Paul slowed the car down until he was level with her and then stopped. He lowered the electric window on the passenger side and watched as she slowly approached him. He loved to watch a woman walk in boots, there was something almost Marilyn Monroe about how their hips swayed with confidence.

  The woman rested on his frame of his car, leaned forward to expose cleavage and smiled.

  “Hi, are you looking for someone?”

  “Yes, please. Would you like to get in?”

  “Sure thing.” She opened the door and eased herself onto the comfortable leather seat without actually closing the door. “Nice car.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Before you drive off, can I just check that you’re not police and we’re on the same page about what’s going to happen next?”

  Paul smiled. “Absolutely no need to worry on that account, I promise you. I’m just a regular guy, feeling lonely and looking for some company for a little while.”

  “Sex?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Sorry.” She stuck her arm out of the window and waved.

  “Oh God, you don’t have a pimp, do you?” Paul’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Look, I’m not after anything complicated and I really don’t want to involve anyone else in this.”

  “You shouldn’t have tried to proposition a police woman then, should you? You do know curb crawling’s a crime, don’t you, sir?” The woman reached into her boot and pulled out her identity badge.

  Two police cars, lights flashing, screeched into position. One in front of his own vehicle and one behind. He couldn’t go anywhere. Paul put his head in his hands, could the night get any worse?

  A smart knocking at his window indicated he should get out of the car. Paul felt his stomach lurch and he tried not to vomit. With trembling hands he switched off the ignition, offered a silent prayer to any gods listening and got out of the car. Maybe, he thought, just maybe they would let him off with a caution for a first offence. Surely such a minor indiscretion would only merit a warning and a wrist slap. No one need ever know about this; more importantly, Camilla need never know about this.

  The officer in charge of the operation gave him a hard stare before breaking into a wicked grin.

  “Did you get lost on your way to feed the poor at the soup kitchen… sir?”

  Paul tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. He could feel himself burning up with embarrassment with occasional waves of icy fear that washed over him.

  “Er…”

  Then came a pressure on his chest. He attempted to pull his collar down to free up the terrible restricting feeling across his throat but his arms were too heavy. The street swayed in front of him and he lost control of his legs.

  Paul collapsed, unconscious, into the waiting arms of Geoff.

  “Shit. Someone call for an ambulance!”

  Paul woke up on a stretcher in a hospital corridor; Geoff was sitting next to him reading a book.

  “What happened?”

  Geoff looked up and put a bookmark in the open page.

  “You had a panic attack, not helped by the Viagra or whatever it was you took before you headed out tonight.”

  The earlier events came flooding back and he started to sit up. Geoff put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay down, your blood pressure is running low and if you get up too quickly you’re likely to pass out.”

  “Is Camilla here? Does she know what happened?”

  “No, I told my colleagues that since you were practically a neighbour I’d go with you in the ambulance. It was pretty obvious as soon as you were lying down that you’d taken something and the ambulance crew didn’t think your life was in any danger.

  “But look, consider this me giving you a warning, OK? We were looking for someone who has been very unpleasant to the local street girls; quite frankly you’re lucky so many of them came up to ask us to be nice to you because you’re an easy trick. You’re obviously not the person we were looking for.”

  Paul breathed out. “Thank you, I…”

  “It was also pretty obvious that you’re more than a regular customer of theirs and that has to stop, Paul, got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “If we ever catch you again you’ll be up before the courts with a permanent record.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Right, I’d offer to give you a lift home but I’m guessing you’d rather I didn’t. One of my colleagues followed the ambulance in your car so it’s parked outside. When you feel ready a doctor will come to discharge you.”

  “Thank you. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “No doubt.” Geoff got up to leave. “I meant what I said, if you get caught again there’s no more leniency. Right, that’s the end of my shift so I’m off home. I’ll see you on Sunday in Church, I presume.”

  Paul nodded and watched him leave.

  That was close, he thought, far too close for comfort. If Geoff ever found out that he’d already had an unofficial warning before from where he and Camilla used to live then he would be finished. He couldn’t risk going out for a drive like tonight again.

  With a heavy heart Paul got off from the bed, easing himself up by inches to avoid a head rush, and prepared to leave. To his left was the ward where Laura had been moved to; Camilla kept him informed regardless of whether or not he was interested. Out of curiosity he went over and quietly opened the door, it was late and the nurses’ station was temporarily unmanned. He slipped in without being observed.

  He spotted Andy immediately, sitting hunched up by the side of Laura’s bed, holding one of her hands and making conversation. Andy was too far away to know what was being said but Paul was immediately struck by the tenderness and pain written across the other man’s face.

  He backed out of the doorway and inadvertently into a nurse.

  “Oh, so sorry.”

  “No problem. Have you come to visit someone or are you lost?” The nurse was brisk, obviously with a lot to do.

  “I thought I’d pop my head around to see how Laura was getting on; I can see her husband’s with her though so I won’t disturb him.

  “Are you a relative?”

  “Neighbour. How’s she doing?”

  “There’s no change. Well… actually…” The nurse paused and looked around her conspiratorially. “It might be best if you didn’t disturb them tonight. The consultant discussed Laura’s care plan with her husband today and there’s not a lot more we can do for her.”

  Paul glanced back at Andy through the window in the door. “I had no idea things had got that bad, he always seems so upbeat when anyone asks after her.”

  “He comes in here almost every evening and every weekend without fail. Their baby is such a sweetie, it’s so sad that this is happening to such a nice family.”

  Paul nodded. “Well, thank you for everything you’re doing. I’d best be heading home or else my wife will wonder what’s happened to me.”

  The nurse gave him a quick smile and went on with her duties.

  It was a sobering thought how quickly those you love could be taken away from you. Paul resolved that he would be a better husband; he’d been with Camilla for so long that he was taking her for granted. In his mind she had become part of the furniture, always there, useful but sometimes in the way. He would be more considerate in the future.

  Tonight hadn’t been all bad really, he thought as he discharged himself and found his car in the car park. He could use the money he didn’t spend tonight on taking his wife out for dinner.

  Acting from habit rather than anythin
g else, Paul removed the protective covers from the back seat and threw them away into the nearest rubbish bin. He took out the gym bag from the boot and screwed up the clothes to make them look worn. There was a little bottle of water tucked into a zipped compartment of which he carefully poured half away. The scene having been set, Paul turned on the ignition and headed home.

  The drive was mercifully uneventful and the time spent in quiet contemplation. He kept asking himself how he’d feel if Camilla had been the one lying helpless in a hospital bed. Would he dutifully visit every night and every weekend just because his life was empty without her? Or would there be a time when he told himself that one visit missed wouldn’t matter until the one merged into two or three?

  He drove into the driveway and noted that the lounge light was still on. Camilla was waiting up for him. A warm glow filled Paul as he imagined her pacing the room, worrying about where he was, fretting about his well-being. The clock said just after midnight, so not too late for him to stick with the story about being at his club with a work connection.

  As he opened the front door he felt the atmosphere drop even before he set a foot in the house. Gingerly, clutching his gym bag protectively in front of him, he entered the lounge to face Camilla who was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fire, drumming her fingers on the arm rest.

  “What time do you call this?”

  “Hello, dear.”

  “Don’t ‘hello dear’ me! I told you I had an important day tomorrow and I needed to get my sleep. You know I can’t sleep if I know you’re going to be crashing around downstairs or getting in late. It’s just selfish, that’s what it is. What did I do to you today that made you so unkind?” Camilla rose from the chair, furious. “Well, you can sleep in the spare room tonight. I won’t be woken up by your snoring, I won’t, you understand?”

  “Yes, dear, sorry about that.”

  As Camilla swept by him with a face like thunder Paul choked down the temptation to point out that if she’d suggested he slept in the spare room when he said he was going to be late she needn’t have stayed up at all. Or equally he could have pointed out that his business connections, which was why he said he’d be late, paid the bills, whereas her terribly important meeting to discuss bunting, did not.

  He realised how he’d feel if it was Camilla rather than Laura in a coma.

  He’d feel relieved.

  February

  The Feisty Ferret was on full romance assault and Pam spent Valentine’s Day getting the pub ready for the onslaught of couples who had booked in for dinner. Pink streamers and love hearts hung from the ceiling, candles were set on tables and heart confetti sprinkled liberally around.

  Libby had received two Valentine’s cards and Sam, who’d been acting furtively all week, had delivered his first one, which Libby informed her had been well received. Pam only found a gas bill on the door mat.

  She didn’t know why this Valentine’s Day should feel different to the other ones but she felt lonely. Mark was in London to see Tamara as she was back from a shoot in Milan for London Fashion Week and much as she loved her children she really missed his conversation in the morning.

  The pub would be offering a free glass of passion punch with every meal; Pam brushed off her misgivings and started measuring out spirits and mixers.

  If the funeral wreath was supposed to scare Kate, it worked.

  At first, the sight of a delivery outside her door made her stomach flip, thinking that James had been especially romantic, but the white lilies and black bow could only have been from Ryan. He was biding his time before their next face-to-face and Kate knew the longer that he took, the more chance he had to be inventive in his final punishment towards her. She shivered and wished James would hurry up.

  There had been other such messages, meant only for her and nothing so obvious as to attract police attention. A discarded doll with her head ripped off, face down in the mud by the gangplank of her boat had been the first. A gutted field rabbit, left by her car, had been the most disturbing.

  Her instincts told her to run but her heart was stubbornly entrenched in the little village she’d grown up in. Gingerly, she picked up the wreath, carried it to the side of the boat and threw it into the water before retreating behind locked doors and waiting for James who was taking her out for dinner.

  In the gentle light of the cabin Kate pulled out a large blank canvas and laid it against a wall. It was the perfect size for her next painting but she wasn’t quite sure what that would be yet.

  Story of my life, she thought, and jumped at the sound of a car backfiring.

  Spurred on by Ruth, Penny had pulled out all the stops for Valentine’s Day. Usually she and Edward exchanged a kiss and a card but buoyed on by endless internet messages of love that bombarded her email spam folder she had resolved to go a few steps further this year.

  She was going to tell him about the competitions, and to soften the shock, Penny had recorded a few National Geographic animal programmes that she knew he’d love. While they snuggled in front of the TV under a fluffy blanket she could tell him how well she and Ruth were doing on collecting fundraising items for the summer fete. If he was still grumpy at her for gambling after that then she would suggest an early night. Edward might be a slow burner when it came to romance but Penny had been devouring information from some very interesting web pages and, if she could overcome her embarrassment, she intended on seeing whether a few of their suggestions did what they promised.

  Penny had been half tempted to open the door to her husband wearing nothing save a few strategically placed digestives but there was always the worry that one of the older members of the congregation might pop by unexpectedly. They were a nice bunch and she had no wish to give any of them a heart attack.

  The ringing of her phone jolted her out of her thoughts; it was Edward apologising, he had been drafted in to help at a soup kitchen in the next town and would be late coming home.

  In the silence of the vicarage, Penny wondered if her husband would’ve been more interested in the biscuits or the body underneath anyway.

  Business had been good in the pub; not only were all the tables full but the bar stools were also fully occupied by regulars who, for one reason or another, were choosing not to recognise the occasion. As usual they flirted outrageously with Pam who gave as good as she got. It passed the time.

  James and Kate made a sweet couple, she thought, watching them hold hands in the candlelight. It was probably time she thought of finding someone of her own, if she could only muster up enough enthusiasm for the inevitable frog kissing that came before meeting her next prince.

  At the end of the evening, as soon as the last customer left, Pam sent the staff home; they all had someone to go back to. She poured herself a glass of passion punch, added an extra shot of vodka, and went to sit by the still-glowing embers of the fire. Slipping her shoes off she curled her feet up onto the sofa and felt the tension ease from her shoulders. When there was a knocking on the front door, Pam didn’t even look to see who it was.

  “We’re closed, sorry, open again tomorrow at eleven!”

  “It’s me, Mark, I can’t find my key. Open up, it’s freezing out here!”

  Instantly alert, Pam padded over to the door and quickly pulled back the bolts. “What are you doing back so soon?”

  “Tamara said I was getting in the way and she had things to do.” Mark grinned sheepishly. “I stupidly suggested an Italian restaurant for Valentine’s day and the thought of how many carbs are in pasta pushed her over the edge.” He dumped his suitcase, threw some more logs on the fire and then sat on the sofa. Pam went to get him a drink before joining him.

  “Thanks. Honestly, you’d think I’d suggested gutting a cat to summon demons! She accused me of not supporting her career and then went into beauty product overdrive to make a point. When I left I swear she was about to put her face in a steamer.”

  “That’s unfair of her.”

  “Sh
e just has a few food issues. It’s not anorexia though, she’s too scared of passing out on a runway to starve herself and she’s not bulimic because that’s bad for teeth. I lose track of the food rules, so generally get into trouble every couple of months.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “I grabbed a sandwich at the station. Was it busy tonight?”

  “Fully booked.”

  “Congratulations!” Mark held his glass to hers and they toasted before sitting in easy silence watching the flames.

  Pam ran a finger around the rim of her glass. She didn’t often drink, considering it bad for business if she was ever unfortunate enough to get a proper taste for alcohol, and the punch was definitely having an effect.

  “Ah, almost forgot!” Mark opened up his bag and pulled out a slightly wilted long stemmed red rose. “Someone was going up and down the train and he didn’t look like he had a lot of money so I bought one. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

  Pam took the rose and breathed in the heady scent. “Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

  She leaned across to kiss his cheek but misjudged the distance and caught his mouth instead. They both pulled their heads away with an embarrassed giggle, except… except Pam found that she wasn’t actually all that embarrassed and didn’t return back to her side of the sofa. Feeling her heart was beating so hard the whole street could probably hear it she met his eyes and leaned in again.

  Mark pulled back. “I can’t.”

  Pam flushed beetroot. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, because really, I have. Too much, probably. Definitely, actually. But there’s Tamara and…”

  “Please don’t say anything else,” said Pam. “Can we just put it down to the punch and never, ever talk about this again. Starting from now. I’m going to bed. Sorry.”