Love, Lies and Lemon Cake

by Jayne Bartholomew

  They sat on the beach talking about nothing and everything until the sky took on a warm reddish tinge and the light started to fade. Mark got up first and held out his hand to help Pam up. She noticed how warm it was, the shape of his fingers, his firm grip… before mentally shaking herself.

  “Do you think it’s too late for an ice cream?” asked Mark.

  “A bit, but I bought some lemon cake from Bab’s Tea Room earlier today; we could have some back at the pub?”

  “You’re on.”

  Before they left, Mark had a call from one of Tamara’s friends asking if he could get hold of another original “Kate” like the one Tammy had on her wall. They offered a ridiculously large amount of money; Mark said he’d discuss the matter with the artist and get back to them.

  They made good time driving back to the Feisty Ferret but even without much traffic it was almost midnight by the time they arrived. Pam quickly checked on the kids and found them asleep. Mark raided the fridge for the cake and opened a bottle of wine. There were only two slices left so he left them on the plate and fetched two forks.

  When Pam returned he was sitting on the sofa with his shoes off happily tucking into the cake.

  “I’ve got you a fork. Come quick before I eat your slice! This is delicious.”

  “Have it, I’m still full of chips.” She smiled and poured the wine. As she sat next to him she tried not to remember what had happened the last time they were on the sofa together.

  “Hmm, no arguments from me. Seriously, this cake is something else. I wonder how she makes it so special?”

  Pam shrugged and tried not to fixate on a piece of cream that Mark had missed on the side of his lip. She turned the conversation to his DIY work and he was happy to chat about thoughts on what he could do for the pub.

  After half an hour Mark found his heart rate speeding up at how close Pam was to him. He tried to dismiss the thought but an intensity he’d never experienced before flushed through him. He just couldn’t help himself.

  Without any thought apart from one, Mark put his plate down and moved closer to Pam. He watched her eyes dilate and heard her breath catch. He took her wine glass from her unresisting fingers and moved it onto the table. Then he leaned forward.

  Mark lost himself; in that moment nothing else existed for him but Pam and the warmth he could feel from her body and her lips that were so close he could feel his own tingling in anticipation.

  Pam leaned in and touched his nose with hers, heard his breath quicken, saw his eyes close. She kissed him lightly on the mouth.

  He brought his hands up to her back, pulling her closer, kissing her harder, savouring her touch, losing track of where her hands were moving but only knowing he didn’t want them anywhere else. Mark put his hands on the bottom of her top and pulled it smoothly over her head, and then he was kissing her again. She was trying to undo his shirt buttons and ended up ripping the last two in her urgency.

  Mark lifted her slightly and laid her down on the sofa, not breaking the momentum of kissing her. She ran her fingers down his chest, enjoying the wiry chest hair before bringing her hands up to his shoulders to slip his shirt off him completely. He leaned up to help, unbalanced and slipped off the sofa, taking her with him.

  “Are you all right?” She giggled, untangling herself and sitting up, reality starting to resurface.

  “Bed. That’s what we need.” Mark got to his feet and pulled Pam up with him. He scooped up both their clothes into a ball with one hand and put the other on her neck and kissed her again. She pulled away as if to say something but he interrupted her: “Bed now, thinking later.”

  Pam took his hand and they went into her bedroom.

  Sam heard two pairs of feet leave the kitchen and one door close. Not nearly as naïve or as heavy a sleeper as his mother hoped, he reached for his torch and his Dad List. He added “family holiday with ice cream” before pulling up his duvet and going to sleep.

  Mark was still asleep when Pam woke up. His dark hair tussled against her white pillows and his clothes strewn around the bedroom in careless abandon. He looked so peaceful, she had to resist the urge to snuggle in next to him.

  What had she been thinking of last night? Honestly, she let a couple of drinks go to her head and then threw herself against a pretty decent guy who was fresh from visiting his fiancée, his model fiancée at that. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame. When he woke up of course he’d be polite about last night, and probably quite sweet, but obviously it had been a one-night stand. He had such a bright future and what did she have? Two children and a mortgage she was only just managing to keep up with. Quickly slipping out of bed she pulled on her dressing gown and went into the kitchen.

  It was still dark. The dawn, fighting to claim the day, was just a dirty glow on the horizon. Pam ran a hand through her hair and tried to be sensible. She couldn’t take a polite rejection from Mark, he was her friend, or had been anyway. If he patronised her she would never forgive him.

  Mark, feeling a cold draft on his back, woke up slowly and rolled over to find an unexpectedly empty bed. He stretched luxuriously, waited a few minutes then pulled on his trousers and followed the light from the kitchen in search of Pam.

  She was standing in front of the window. He came up behind her, put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.

  “Morning, gorgeous.”

  Pam froze, it was probably the worst thing he could have said. Did he say that every morning when he woke up next to his model fiancée? Had he cheated on her before? Was he just being polite before the inevitable brush-off came?

  She breathed deeply and tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears away from her face. When she turned around and gently took his arms off her she appeared completely in control.

  “I was thinking that you should go back to your own room before the kids wake up. I don’t want them feeling confused about us.”

  “Sure.” He tried to put his arms back but she deflected him.

  “Look, last night was great but we both have commitments and I hope things won’t be awkward between us.”

  “They don’t have to be awkward, we could…”

  “You’re getting married soon and for me the kids and the pub keep me too busy for distractions.” She tried to sound upbeat. “So, we understand each other?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes, I think it’s for the best.”

  “I see… right... of course. Um, I’ll get my things from your room then.”

  Pam waited in the kitchen until she heard him move back into the spare room before falling back into bed and burying her head in the pillow he’d used, trying to find some comfort from the last hints of warmth from his body.

  After half an hour Pam heard the door to the spare room open and Mark’s footsteps in the corridor. They paused outside her door, briefly, before going downstairs and out into the street below. She rushed to the window and peeked through the curtains to see him throw his suitcase in the back of the van and drive away. In the room he’d just left there was a note on the neatly made-up bed.

  Dear Pam

  I think it’s best if I stay with James until the wedding. Thank you for everything and please say ‘bye from me to Sam and Libby. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you in any way, I really didn’t mean to.

  Mark

  Andy had an extreme sense of déjà vu as the consultant moved his coffee and newspaper from the plastic chair next to him and sat down. He hadn’t finished telling Laura about his day and the man’s interruption felt intrusive.

  “Hello, Andy, I wonder if I might have a moment?”

  Andy watched the nursing staff melt silently out of the ward, leaving them alone. His heart skipped a beat.

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  “We need to have a chat about Laura.”

  “Is there anything wrong? Well, I mean, has anything worsened?”

  The consultant reached over to the bottom of the bed and picke
d up Laura’s medical notes.

  “It’s not so much that anything has deteriorated, although obviously muscle wastage is a serious issue. No, it’s about the lack of improvement. Andy, the prognosis isn’t good.”

  “But she’s hanging on though, isn’t she? Surely the longer she’s resting the longer her body has to recover.” He tenderly stroked Laura’s hand. “I’m still hopeful.”

  “I know you are, but there’s only so much we can do; and I’m afraid we’ve reached that point.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That it would be kinder for your wife to release her from her coma; I think it’s time the life support was switched off.”

  May

  Edward lay in bed and pulled the duvet higher. It was a rare luxury to be able to take time off sick but he’d taken his temperature, found it raised, and decided it was all right to spend at least one day cut off from the rest of the parish.

  Penny had muttered something about man-flu as she brought him his fourth cup of tea but had also given him a plate of cut-up oranges for vitamin C so he ignored the comment and sucked the sweet insides while watching daytime TV.

  What struck him about the programmes was how much they centred on what was wrong in relationships. Young women seemed to be perfectly happy to go on talk shows in over-tight clothing to discuss their fears, which this morning included the possibility that their spot-afflicted partner was sleeping with his mother. They would also fight to the death, or at least a broken nail, to defend a celebrity they were desperately deeply in love with but had never met. Edward sucked another orange slice.

  He didn’t understand young people. When he first came to the village he’d tried to involve himself in the local youth group, and to be fair the kids had been welcoming, even interested in what he had to say. Sadly, Edward later learned that the manager had been bribing them with cigarettes to be on their best behaviour, after which the manager had been sent on gardening leave while an investigation took place about that issue and a few others involving a lack of petty cash receipts. While he was gone one of the more disturbed youngsters had set fire to the centre. Edward had visited him soon after and asked why. The answer: I was bored.

  Coming up to his fourth consecutive hour of watching daytime TV Edward found himself sympathising.

  Overall he was enjoying his day in bed but the village fete committee were relying on him to check over the final details and he didn’t want to disappoint them. Reluctantly he opened up a folder and began flicking through the information he’d been given.

  The format of the day would run along the same lines as previous years with only a few minor adjustments. There would be a marquee for the flower and cake competitions and an increased number of stalls would be available. Edward noted with interest that Ruth was going to be running a tombola; well, he thought, if her generosity to Penny was anything to go by, her house must be terribly cluttered, poor thing. She showed no sign of moving back to her old home so perhaps she was getting rid of her possessions to downsize.

  He noted, with considerably less interest, that he would be required to judge the cake competition. Edward sighed heavily. That would mean Camilla would spend the next few weeks trying to butter him up and ingratiate herself with him. He turned a page, perhaps if she put more butter in her cake this year it might be halfway palatable, but he doubted it.

  Penny had left him with a box of tissues and he studied it with interest. Edward had never been one for noticing the intricacies of the household shop but he was dimly aware that previous colds had left him with a roll of toilet paper or a box of tissues that resembled sand-paper. These ones were soft, full of balm and the box was delicately designed. Obviously Penny had finally realised how sick he was and wanted to look after him.

  He heard the front door shut as his wife left the house.

  In James’ garden, three virgin canvases were waiting by Kate’s feet. She picked one up and put in on an easel feeling hugely uneasy. Since childhood she’d wanted to be a proper artist with clients desperate for her work and money pouring in. Now that she was actually in that position it felt wrong; she couldn’t put her finger on it but what she was doing felt like cheating.

  She opened a pot of yellow paint and, using a kitchen ladle, scooped out a generous amount before flinging it in the direction of the canvas. It splashed satisfactorily along one side and began to dribble down.

  Ruffles was sitting, tail wagging with excitement, next to her. When she called him, he let her pick him up and dunk his paws in a pot of edible purple cake decorating paint. From her pocket, Kate took out a squeaky rubber ball and threw it over the canvas with the dog in hot pursuit.

  Once she had the paw prints, Kate lifted the canvas to a safe place and put the next one on the easel. She was currently charging five figures for each piece and giving Mark a generous commission for dealing with the sale, something she had no interest in. As the dog squeaked happily on the lawn she wondered if there was any sanity left in the world.

  Edward was pumping up his front bicycle tyre, that had what looked suspiciously like a slow puncture, when he heard a discreet cough. Turning around he was surprised to find Geoff standing behind him, looking awkward. Edward rose, somewhat stiffly, to his feet and tried to pat the dirt off his knees.

  “Everything OK, Geoff?”

  “Ah, Edward. I, er, was wondering if I could see you in, um, your professional capacity?” Geoff stuck his hands in his pockets and slumped his shoulders.

  “Of course, why don’t we go over to that bench over there?” Edward pointed to one of the donated garden benches in the graveyard and watched, perplexed, as the other man made his way over to it.

  “Mind if I smoke?” Taking a shoulder shrug as acceptance, Geoff gratefully removed a packet of cigarettes and fumbled for his lighter. “Something I hide from my mother. Sorry, I should probably say it’s something else I hide from mother.” He took a puff and leaned back. “I suppose Penny’s told you about the other thing?”

  Edward felt himself go cold but managed to nod in what he hoped was a neutral way. Out of all the scenarios he’d been trained in, Edward was pretty sure this wasn’t one of them. The Good Book might hold all the answers but would using it as a weapon to beat someone to death with count as divine intervention? Edward reluctantly thought not.

  “I didn’t mean to get involved with someone who was married, I swear I didn’t. It was a surprise to both of us, but now it’s started I don’t know where it’s going, or even if it’s going anywhere and I’m so confused!” Geoff held his head in his hands. “I’m not saying it’s love but perhaps it could be?”

  “And you wanted to talk about this with me?”

  “Well, the Church is supposed to be more open-minded these days, isn’t it?”

  “Not that bloody open-minded! You must be out of your mind if you thought I’d be comfortable discussing this with you! Marriage isn’t something to take lightly and that kind of maybe, maybe not attitude is very likely to get people hurt.” Edward looked away and counted to ten. “Have you made any long-term plans?”

  “Oh, well, we’ve got a holiday coming up at the end of the year if that’s what you mean. I thought to start with that it was a great idea when it was suggested but now I’m not sure if it’s supposed to mean more than just a nice break. Please don’t look at me like that, lots of people have open marriages and it works fine.”

  “It doesn’t work for me.” Edward stood up. “Talk it through together; decide what’s important for you both before this thing goes so far it can’t be repaired. If… if it is love then I won’t stand in your way but anything less and the dog collar is coming off. Understand me?”

  Geoff nodded and watched as Edward seized the moment to ride off. It would probably have made a better impact if he’d had a chance to finish inflating the tyre.

  Mark and James sat in James’ colour-strewn garden, legs outstretched, staring out over the countryside. The early afternoon sunshine was warm o
n their skin and lulled them into a vaguely sleepy state.

  “You know,” said James, “my original plan for your stag night involved more people and a slightly more atmospheric setting. It’s not too late to organise something, you know, it is still only, what…” he checked his watch, “three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  Mark sipped his beer. “I went to six stag nights last year and hated every single one of them. I’ve done everything from strip clubs where you spend a fortune on champagne for girls who tip it into plant pots so they get more commission, to paintballing adrenaline weekends trying to pretend you’re ten years younger and you don’t ache in ungodly places the next morning. The worst was when a group of eight of us hired a yacht to sail around the Greek Islands for a week...”

  “I’m not feeling too sympathetic so far.”

  “…And the other seven spent from sunup to sundown getting drunk and turning the whole thing into a kind of floating waste boat. By the end of the week the company we’d gone with had to hire extra cleaning staff to chisel off the vomit. Eight of us with three cabins and five pillows. Never again.”

  “OK, granted that sounds grim but you really just want a quiet drink in a garden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Completely low-key and personal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Before you fly off to Las Vegas and marry an almost-supermodel so you can spend the rest of your life escorting her to everywhere but quiet villages. Now, as your best man I think I have a responsibility to check with you that you’re sure you’re doing the right thing.” James took a swig from his beer bottle.

  “You’re sounding less like a best man and more like the father of the bride! We go, we get married, we live happily ever after. You like Tammy, don’t you?”

  James carefully avoided making eye contact. “I haven’t seen her that often but yes, she’s all right. I mean, there’s nothing unlikable about her. She’s very beautiful, obviously. But, are you sure you’ve got enough in common?”