Only Dancing

by Jan Jones

  Don't tell me!

  Blake smiled as if to share with me how beautifully everything had fitted. "It was serendipity, you see? I’d already told the others I’d probably not hang around until the evening like them, that I'd see them back at the hotel. I started the car, drove around the first long bend and there she was, ahead of me. It was so easy. Just as if it was meant. I remember she was wearing a dress the colour of summer, all oranges and reds. It belled out as she flew over the edge. She sailed, Caro, sailed out and down the hillside. But I didn’t see, because I was already driving on, back to the climbing ridge.”

  I gripped the edge of the coffee table, sick abhorrence overwhelming me. My Jilly. My darling, lovely Jilly. I could see the road in my mind's eye. I could feel the dry heat in my throat. It was as if I'd lost her all over again.

  "I thought that would be an end to it," said the man whose bed I'd shared for thirty-seven years, "but I discovered I was still angry with her. Those shoes I bought her. I found them in your wardrobe and thought she'd left them behind so they wouldn't get spoilt, but then you said she'd given them to you. Given! I took that out on Astrid after you left. I had to give her extra money. Did I say how furious I was with you for getting rid of the au pairs, by the way? They were so convenient, Caro, and I made sure the children were never neglected. I enjoyed making sure of it, if we're being honest. But no, you interfered. I had to take a room in town after that."

  I was rigid with revulsion. I wanted to blank out the thin stream of hatred coming from his mouth. I wanted to slam a thousand decibels of Queen into the car CD player and hurtle back to the office. I wanted bright lights and Camden bustle and noise and colour and normality. I wanted to phone Mark and hear his sane, familiar voice and hold myself against the warmth of his t-shirt. But Mark was gone. I'd lost his trust. Besides, I couldn't move, couldn't even retch. I was one long scream, trapped in stone.

  Blake glanced at the clock, looked out at the garden, put his hand on the latch of the patio door. “Come on, Caro, the seven-fifteen is due. You do see I can’t let you tell anyone, don’t you?"

  I must have made some sort of noise because he shook his head in faint amusement.

  "I'm afraid, even if you promise to keep quiet, I won't believe you. You talk too much, always have. The only reason I ever put up with it was because of Skye." He smiled at me, his eyes kind and regretful and quite, quite mad. A genuine laugh broke from him. "Why, I didn't even know Jilly had had our baby until you told me. I'd been looking for you, you know, that week, to judge by your behaviour whether she'd been found and whether anyone had told you. When I saw you crying, I was sure of it. Then you opened your mouth and gave me this great gift. Plus the sting in the tail that made me angry with Jilly all over again. She knew I wanted a family, she knew I had it all mapped out. And yet she pretended she hadn't realised I was serious. She made you, and only you, Skye's guardian in perpetuity. I've had to let so many things go by, Caro, simply because you could have taken Skye away from me."

  The breeze against my legs was stronger. Ellie and Duncan must have left the front door open. If I could just move, I could get out to the street and run and run and run.

  Blake glanced at the clock again. "Time to go, Caro. Get up off the sofa, there's a good girl. Poor Ellie, how many times have I warned her that fence isn’t safe? They won’t be able to live here now, not after this. It would give them nightmares. They’ll have to move again. They’ll never get back what they paid for the house. Such a stupid choice. I did tell them.”

  In thirty-seven years of marriage, I had never once been afraid of Blake. I was now. He crossed the room and grasped my wrist. I felt his insane, focused strength as he hauled me to my feet.

  “No,” I said, leaning away from him. I might as well have tried to resist the winch drive of a steel hawser or the power of the Flying Scotsman in full steam.

  Blake's grip tightened as he pulled me towards the patio door. “It won’t hurt, Caro. You'll just trip down the bank and on to the rails. Easy to explain in those shoes. You won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

  “No,” I said, grabbing desperately at the wing of an armchair as I passed and feeling it thump into my calf as it toppled backwards. I lurched. He heaved me upright. "No, Blake!"

  He bent to hoist me up. "The word you are looking for is 'yes'."

  “You heard, Blake. Let go of Caro now,” ground out a voice behind me.

  Gladness flooded me, glorious, with choirs of angels ascending. My first thought - far out in front, way beyond any sense of my own danger - was that Mark had come to Ellie's housewarming after all. Did that mean he’d forgiven me? Was there still hope?

  I twisted my head - and caught my breath. He stood in the doorway, as invincible as if carved in silvered oak, tough and ready to fight like an avenging god. Ready to fight Blake for me. Skye had arrived too and was a step behind him. Their profiles against the stark white of the walls looked identical, but where Mark’s expression was deadly, Skye was drained of colour.

  “Dad?” said Skye said in disbelief.

  “Skye!” Blake’s grip faltered. His face reflected Skye's horror.

  In the distance we heard the whistle of the train. I automatically glanced at the clock. When I looked back, my wrist was free, the patio door was ajar and Blake was no longer there. Mark took two long strides across the room, turning my face to his chest and holding me close as we heard the screech of metal brakes on metal rails.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “He didn’t stand a chance,” said the policeman, drawing a line under his notes. “That’ll be the ambulance now. I’ll tell them where to go.”

  There was the sound of men's voices, heavy boots. I stood up, uncertain of my role.

  “Don’t go out there, Mum,” said Skye urgently.

  “I’m not going to.” I closed the patio curtains with a shudder. My gaze fell on the clock again. Sasha would just be singing now. Incredible what a short space of time had passed.

  Skye's voice cracked, “Dad, though. I just can’t believe it. We... we heard everything. Was it true?”

  I looked at my boy, Jilly’s boy. He and Rob sat close to each other for comfort on the settee, next to where I'd just got up. Mark was perched on the arm. He'd rested a protective hand on my shoulder all the time the police had been here. For all his thirty-eight years, Skye looked as blank and uncomprehending as he’d been on that long ago day in Alessandro’s study.

  “Yes, it was true,” I said. “Blake was obsessed with Jilly. You know how he is, sometimes. She got scared and went abroad. She thought he'd calm down after a few years and she could come back. In his eyes, her leaving was a rejection. When he accidentally met her again and she told him it had never been serious, I think it must have turned him a bit mad. He killed her, more or less on the spur of the moment. He was the hit and run driver. Then he found out about you and transferred all the original affection he'd had for Jilly to you. He did sincerely love you, Skye.”

  And that, of course, was the real reason he'd thrown himself in front of the train. He couldn't live with the horror on Skye's face. I wasn't going to tell Skye and Rob that though. Too much guilt. Let them think it was the fear of discovery.

  So much explained. The way the Biba shoes he’d given Jilly had been on the au pair one day and in shreds in the dustbin the next. The way he'd gone ballistic when I’d sent a family photo to Alessandro one year instead of an updated picture of Skye alone. He must have been alarmed in case Alessandro innocently identified him as a regular to the town - or worse, in case he was recognised as a man Jilly was seen talking to on the day she died.

  “I feel sick,” said Skye, his voice shaking. “I wish he hadn’t been my father. I feel unclean.”

  Rob made a distressed sound and held him closer.

  "He wasn't your father," I said crisply, moving across the room. This at least I could do something about. I'd have preferred a better time, but this was urgent. "Listen to me, Skye. He'd convinced himself he was
, but he wasn't.”

  “Mum, do you know that for sure?” There was desperate hope in Skye's eyes. Beside him, Rob's hand was clenched on his.

  “Yes," I said, putting all the conviction I could muster into my voice. "Yes, I know it for certain. I know Jilly didn’t run away because she was pregnant. That happened later, after she'd gone. She ran because she was scared. Scared of Blake. She left the day after he went on holiday. She was so frightened of his obsession she went on an unscheduled documentary shoot with Mark, just to get away. I wish she’d told me to begin with. I wish she'd told me in the letters she wrote and never posted. I would never have let Blake anywhere near you if I'd known he was the reason she left." I gave a half laugh. "I could have done with knowing who your real father was too.”

  Except, in a roundabout way, she'd told me that as well, hadn't she? What had she written?

  There are reasons why I’m not saying who Skye’s father is. Trust me, though, he has the best of genes. Skye will grow up a brilliant boy who'll look after me beautifully in my old age.

  Yes. Yes, it had to be. People often remarked on the likeness between Skye and Ellie, always putting it down to me and Jilly being cousins. I’d thought exactly the same myself for years. Blake must have secretly preened, the likeness reinforcing his belief that the children had the same father.

  Facing them all now, my conviction grew. In the split second this evening when I'd turned to see Mark bursting through the door with Skye just behind him, I’d realised my children did have the same father. But it wasn’t Blake. Whatever Jilly might have got up to during her crazy, running-scared fortnight in New York, my money was on that cruise liner back from the States.

  “Skye,” I said, hunkering down in front of him and taking his free hand. "I've always known your father wasn't Blake. But I've only just now, just this minute actually, worked out who it really is."

  There was a stirring of interest in the room. "Who?" asked Skye. "How can you suddenly know now?"

  I swallowed and took Mark's hand as well. “Because I do know Jilly. I knew her all along. I’m pretty sure I’m right. The dates fit. The circumstances fit."

  I brought their hands together, both my men. "Mark, I'm sorry, you need to prepare yourself for another shock. I seem to have brought up your son as well as your daughter. Skye, love, meet your dad.”

  “Me?” said Mark, still lost for words twenty minutes later. “Me?”

  We were back on the sofa. The police had gone. Ellie and the rest had been texted, frantic calls had been exchanged and they were due back from the concert within the next half hour. Rob and Skye were in the kitchen. Rob had declared that no matter the alarms and tragedies of the day, people would need to be fed and Skye needed to be doing something, so he'd borne him off for a bit of intensive KP. I leant against Mark, revelling in his warmth, the closeness of his body filling years of aching need.

  “It adds up, Mark,” I said. “Think about it. Your cruise documentary date does fit with Skye’s birthday. You are the reason Jilly wouldn’t say who the father was, quite apart from being worried about Blake and what he might do.” I gripped Mark's hand, swallowing a moment of nausea that I had been married for nearly forty years to my cousin’s killer. I was going to have to work hard not to let that become a nightmare. I needed to focus on being angry instead. Angry that he'd robbed me of a normal, loving life. So many wasted, hijacked years when Mark and I could have...

  Mark rubbed his face. “I’ve seen the likeness so many times and not realised. Family expressions, I thought. I never even dreamt the link might have been me.”

  I was only dancing, Caro, the same as I think you’d like to do, except you’re a better person than me.

  Yes, Jilly had told me. She'd seen my feelings for Mark back when I believed we were just friends. Decades, the two of us had lost, by being honourable and doing the right thing. It was time to change that, right now.

  I took a deep breath. “The point is, Mark, Jilly may have been only dancing, back then on the cruise ship, but I wasn’t, the night in my flat. It was real. I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you. This is the first time I’ve been able to do anything about it.”

  His arm came around my shoulders, firm and sure. I looked up at him.

  “I love you," I repeated. "I nearly died when I hurt you so badly you walked out of the office this morning. Is it too late?”

  His eyes were full of warmth and promise and regret that it had taken both of us this long. “Come off it, Caro, we aren’t even sixty yet. Bags of time.” He pulled me closer. “I've loved you for years. I should have done this that morning I woke up next to you.” He bent his head until his lips brushed mine, paused for a final eternity of no-going-back, then we moved seamlessly into a future of our own choosing as he kissed me and I kissed him and mountains moved and choirs of angels ascended all over again and in the solid centre of whirling gold was Mark and me, together.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Any mistakes are my own, but I owe thanks to

  David Bowie and all the musicians of the Seventies whose words and sounds and shapes and colours shaped my growing up years

  The Roundhouse, just for being there exactly then

  The Victoria & Albert museum for staging the David Bowie Is... exhibition

  Jane Dixon-Smith for another stunning cover

  My friends, as always, for the encouragement (and often the downright nagging)

  and you, if I’ve forgotten to include you

  OTHER WORKS BY JAN JONES

  Full Length Novels

  STAGE BY STAGE – Cambridge-set romcom featuring a musical theatre company

  ~ the Newmarket Regency series ~

  THE KYDD INHERITANCE – secrets and skullduggery in Regency England

  FAIR DECEPTION – secrets and scandal in Regency Newmarket

  FORTUNATE WAGER – secrets and subterfuge on the Regency racecourse

  ...

  Novellas

  THE PENNY PLAIN MYSTERIES

  quirky, cosy novellas, set in a harbour town on the edge of the English Lake District

  1: THE JIGSAW PUZZLE – old jigsaws, switched paintings, new friendships

  2: JUST DESSERTS – ice-cream, jam wars, a lost aeroplane and the WI show

  3: LOCAL SECRETS – graffiti, town planning, a local brewery and a WW1 mystery

  4: THE CHRISTMAS GIFT – pilfering, old photos and a memorable Nativity

  ...

  Other novellas

  WRITTEN ON THE WIND – trees, old ways & mobiles set on the N.Yorks moors

  FAIRLIGHTS – a pele tower overlooking the sea, secrets stretching back for years

  WHAT THE EYE DOESN'T SEE – a village post office sees everything. Doesn't it?

  AN ORDINARY GIFT – a slightly time-slippish paranormal mystery, set in Ely

  THE HERB DIAL - herbs, healing hands, free-climbing, treasure and television

  (and in the pipeline…)

  A DISTURBANCE OF SHADOWS - a theatrical time slip, with very present ghosts

  RAVELL’S LUCK - a Regency Fairlights story

  ...

  Non Fiction

  QL SuperBASIC – the Definitive Handbook

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Award-winning author Jan Jones was born and brought up in North London, but now lives near Newmarket, equidistant from Cambridge, Bury St Edmunds and Ely. With all this history on her doorstep, it is no wonder that the past plays a large part in her writing.

  Jan is an active member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, who are without doubt the loveliest band of professional writers anywhere on the planet. Their unfailing support and friendship is unrivalled, their parties are legendary and the annual conference is unmissable. Website at http://www.rna-uk.org/

  Jan won the Elizabeth Goudge Trophy in 2002, the RNA Joan Hessayon debut novel award in 2005, and has been shortlisted three times for the Love Story of the Year / RoNA Rose. She writes books, novellas, serials, poems and short stories
for women’s magazines. She can be found at http://www.jan-jones.co.uk and http://jan-jones.blogspot.co.uk/ and is on twitter as @janjonesauthor

  Little known fact: A former software engineer, Jan co-designed and wrote the Sinclair QL computer language SuperBASIC. Her textbook ‘QL SuperBASIC - the Definitive Handbook’ occasionally turns up in second-hand sales, commanding ridiculous sums of money and causing her to wish quite fervently that she’d kept her original author copies

  STOP PRESS!

  Due to demand, Jan recently released a Kindle edition of ‘QL SuperBASIC - the Definitive Handbook’ a mere thirty years after she first wrote the original. To her astonishment and gratitude to all those in the QL community, it is selling steadily.

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Author's Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Acknowledgements

  Other Works by Jan Jones

  About the Author