by Gemma Fox
‘Hi, love, I just rang to make sure you’d arrived safe and sound.’ There was a slight pause. ‘I miss you, the bed’s going to be very empty tonight. I was thinking maybe I’d ask that woman from next door round—you know, the one with the skimpy little bikini that I pointed out to you on the linen line,’ he said in that warm dark brown brogue. ‘I hope that you’re having a grand time. We’re OK—no major domestic incidents or breakages yet but we’re working on it. I’m taking the lads out later to pillage that new pizza place in the High Street. You know how much I hate recorded messages—they feel like a trick—and I can never think of anything wildly funny or amazingly clever to say, but if I do then don’t you worry, I’ll call you back. And—well, have a re ally good time and we’ll see you Sunday. We’re thinking of you, or at least I am.’
Raf didn’t say that he loved her, he didn’t need to, Carol could hear it in every word—not squishy-squidgy emotionally blackmailing pink fluffy love but the real thing—love that was warm and allowing and supportive, and wanted her to have what she wanted for herself, even if it was the chance to meet an old flame, even if that meant losing her. The bastard, she sighed, how could Raf be such a good man without even trying?
Carol felt a fist reach in between her ribs and squeeze her heart. Raf was too nice, too kind, and too good to be treated like this. It took a big man to sit back and leave her free to screw it all up; Carol tried to imagine how the hell she would feel if the situation was reversed—the pain and doubt and hurt seared like fire. But then again, perhaps Raf felt it was better to find out now rather than later. Or did Raf think he had already won, that Gareth was no contest or, worse still, that he had already lost?
He’d still be up, it wasn’t that late. Carol tapped away at search and waited while the phone came up with her home number. Raf picked it up on the second burble as if he had been sitting waiting for her to call.
‘Hi,’ Carol said, biting her lip. It seemed like a hundred years since she had left home and even longer still since she had spoken to him.
‘Hi,’ Raf said. In contrast to the easy confidence on the voice mail he now sounded stilted, almost as if they were strangers being introduced at a party. Carol wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the next thing he said was, ‘My name is Raf—I’m an architect. How about you?’ But he didn’t, he was just quiet, which in some ways was a lot worse.
‘Well, I got here OK, the directions were great—spot on,’ she said as lightly as she could manage. ‘And it’s an amazing house; I think some bits are Elizabethan. You’d adore it.’ Why did it all sound so forced?
‘Good, and how’s it going?’ he asked.
Carol could almost hear Raf feeling his way round the edges of the conversation, weighing up how much to pry, how much to ask—or was that just her paranoia kicking in? ‘Fine, good, I’ve met up with my old gang, which is great—they haven’t changed. I’m not sure whether that’s a relief or a worry,’ she said, trying hard to laugh. She hesitated. Where should she go next with the conversation?
On the way down to the pub Carol had made a point of walking with Netty, Adie, Jan and Diana in some kind of strange show of solidarity—and to get Netty off her back. But as they walked Gareth kept trying to catch her eye, engage her in conversation and edge over towards her, trying to break the group up.
It was crazy. They were adults, for God’s sake, so how come she didn’t know how to play this? Fiona had finally insisted on walking with Gareth, occasionally arm in arm, leaving Carol between the two groups, both of which were caught up with and between other members of the cast and crew. Carol felt the pull and push between them all like magnets, people being repelled and attracted like some sort of walking physics experiment.
‘Are you still there?’ asked Raf.
‘Sorry,’ said Carol, laughing nervously, ‘I think maybe the signal is a bit patchy here,’ lying through her eye-teeth to cover the uncomfortable lull in the conversation.
‘So how are things going?’
So far Carol couldn’t re ally call it. She took a deep breath, the kind a person takes before jumping into a swimming pool or over the side of a sinking ship and said, ‘Oh, not so bad. I think everyone who said they were coming has turned up. It’s a bit weird how some people look just the same but older and then there are others I wouldn’t have recognised in a million years.’ Carol stopped speaking, the words drying in her throat; they both knew the things Raf was re ally talking about, the things that were lurking just below the surface of the conversation.
There was a tiny pause, the silence so intense, so very dense that you could almost see it, and before she could stop him Raf leaped right in.
‘And how about your Mr Right?’ he asked softly. ‘How is he? Still as gorgeous as ever?’
Carol laughed again. It sounded utterly false but there was no way to claw it back now. ‘He’s—he’s…’ she fumbled around, desperate for something to say, something acceptable, something neutral, and could find nothing.
Raf laughed too. ‘He’s there, then?’
‘Yes.’ It sounded as if she had dragged the word out from between clenched teeth.
‘Not changed at all?’
Carol looked in through the bar door and
as fate—the bitch—would have it, just at that very moment Gareth looked up and, lifting a hand, grinned at her. Waving her back inside. No, he hadn’t changed at all, not in any of the ways that mattered. Carol’s stomach fluttered and she heard the catch in her voice as she said, ‘Don’t be so silly.’ And then more hastily in case there was some chance that Raf might say something else. ‘Look, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go. We’ve all just got to the pub and everyone is desperate to swap stories and catch up before closing time and I have no idea what time they lock the doors up at the hall. I just wanted to ring and tell you that I got here safe and sound and to check and to make sure that you and the boys are OK—as long as you are OK?’ The words came out like machine-gun fire, so fast that even if Raf had wanted to say something there was no gap, no pause for him to get back in.
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow,’ Carol said. ‘This was just a quickie. I re ally do have to go now, sorry. Talk soon. Love you.’ And despite everything she re ally truly did; Carol loved him with all of her heart except that maybe loving him was a mistake, maybe her heart was wrong, maybe he wasn’t the one. Maybe it was Gareth after all. The thoughts burned like acid.
And how was it that she didn’t know?
Raf barely had a chance to say any kind of farewell before Carol snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into her handbag. The relief was enormous, like slipping the pin back into a live hand grenade. Carol felt hot and sick; how was it that she felt so guilty for doing nothing? It would be so very much simpler if Raf was nasty or angry or made her feel like she was justified in looking elsewhere, but he didn’t. How did he make her feel? She bit her lip; he made her feel loved for the first time in her life, truly loved.
They had met when she was asked to quote for landscaping during the modernisation of a local leisure centre. ‘I hope you’re good…’ he said, unrolling the plans for her at their first meeting.
Carol remembered looking up at him to see if he was being rude, or rather, how rude he was being.
‘…because this is the ugliest bloody building in all Christendom,’ he’d continued. ‘When they asked me for design ideas, most of the ones I came up with involved a crane, a wrecking ball and a length of chain.’
She held his gaze. ‘But you got the job?’
He nodded. ‘What can I tell you? I’m cheap.’
She got the job and didn’t see him again until the official re-opening, when the nobs were out in force, itching to cut ribbons and shake hands. Raf ambled up to Carol, wearing a crumpled cream linen suit and carrying two glasses of champagne.
‘I was hoping you’d consider my idea of putting up corrugated iron sheeting round the bloody thing.’
‘They wouldn’t cough up for the posts,
’ she said, halfway through a plate of nibbles.
He didn’t move. Carol nodded towards the second glass he was holding. ‘Am I keeping you?’ she said, imagining a wife or girlfriend tucked away somewhere amongst the big hats and official chain brigade.
He considered for an instant. ‘No, I think I’d prefer to work after we’re married but I might consider going part time.’
He handed her the glass.
She was herself with him, totally relaxed and whole and funny and horrible, warts and all. Carol took a deep breath trying to quell the rising tendrils of guilt and nausea. All this and yet it was still Gareth Howard who made her go weak at the knees. Damn, blast and bugger.
Lady Macbeth had had a problem with her conscience too—all that hand-washing to get the old king’s blood off her hands, thought Carol, as she painted on a smile, squared her shoulders and strode back into the pub. But then Lady Macbeth had got something real to feel guilty about and Carol hadn’t, had she? She tried hard to let herself off the hook. Flirting and a bit of lusting never hurt anyone, said a robust voice at the back of her head, and that was all it was. Just a fancying thing, a little bit of window-shopping, nothing serious, nothing life-changing, nothing important.
As Carol got to the bar Gareth—who appeared to be totally rapt by the conversation between Adie and Netty—moved aside without even apparently looking so that there was just enough room for her to stand alongside him. As she stepped into the space he moved fractionally closer and let his hand rest companionably on the small of her back, his fingers set so that they rested on the curve where her bum began to swell. It was done so casually that it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. His touch was like a lightning strike. Carol shivered while her body purred in anticipation. Move over Lady Macbeth.
‘Hello, Hedley?’ Diana, standing out in the pub garden, pressed her finger to her ear. ‘How are you?’
‘Diana?’ Hedley always sounded terribly surprised when she rang him, and very soon dispensed with the small talk. Yes, the children were fine; yes, he had fed the cat. Yes, he had found the meals in the freezer. They had had lasagne for supper. Hedley had a tendency to shout because he seemed to think that mobiles were unreliable and still slightly revolutionary.
‘Can you hear me?’ he bellowed. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem here.’
Hedley was many things, but he had never had any problems coming straight to the point.
‘The instructions are on all the freezer bags and the cooking times are absolutely nonnegotiable,’ Diana said firmly.
‘No, no, it’s not about the meals, they’re fine. I’ve had Dylan arrange them alphabetically so we know exactly what we’re doing. No, I had a phone call earlier this evening which, to be perfectly honest, has left me in a little bit of a dilemma.’
Diana sighed. ‘Oh, Hedley. It’s not that dreadful woman from the Mothers’ Union again. You re ally must stand up to her; it’s your church not hers. And no, she can’t use the vestry for committee meetings. How many times do you have to tell her? The woman is a complete menace.’
‘No, it’s not the Mothers’ Union. It’s about your weekend.’
‘My weekend? What do you mean, “my weekend”? I thought you said that you didn’t mind, Hedley. We’ve talked about this.’
‘Of course I don’t mind. No, it’s about one of the people on it. Hang on, I’ve written it down here somewhere. Ah yes, here we are. Have you got someone there called Gareth Howard?’
Diana could imagine Hedley standing in their enormous rectory kitchen reading his spidery handwriting from the back of an old envelope. Diana smiled; she missed him when they were apart.
She glanced across the crowded room. Gareth was standing at the bar with Adie, Netty and Carol. From where she was standing she could see Gareth’s hand was around Carol’s waist, not that she seemed to mind. As Adie turned to order some more drinks Gareth leaned a little closer and whispered something into Carol’s ear. She laughed and reddened, a hand covering her mouth.
‘Yes, actually we do. Why?’ Diana asked.
‘Well, his wife rang here a little while ago.’
Diana felt an icy finger track down her spine. ‘What?’
‘His wife rang, she wanted to know if he was there.’
‘His wife, are you sure?’
‘Well, yes, that’s who she said she was, although obviously I’ve no documentary evidence one way or the other.’ It was the kind of thing Hedley said. Diana let the words replay. Gareth’s wife.
Inside at the bar Gareth Howard leaned forward and kissed Carol fleetingly on the neck. She swung round and glared at him but certainly didn’t offer any resistance and the look on her face suggested any outrage was purely token.
Diana couldn’t look away. Meanwhile Hedley said, ‘She asked me not to tell him that she had phoned but she sounded in the most dreadful state, Diana. Terribly upset. He has just walked out on them.’
A breath lodged in Diana’s throat. ‘Them?’ said Diana quietly.
‘Yes, she was awfully distressed. They’ve got two children, apparently. From what I can gather the little one can’t be more than a few months old, and I think she said the elder one is about two. She was trying to track him down.’
Diana nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see her; some things didn’t need interruption.
‘I believe that she was rather hoping to talk to him,’ said Hedley. ‘Come down there—talk face to face, that sort of thing.’
‘Oh,’ said Diana, wondering what the right thing to do was, and then wondering whether there was a right thing to do.
‘I’ve given her your number.’
‘Oh,’ said Diana again, wondering what on earth she would have said or done if Gareth’s wife had rung her before Hedley had had the chance to speak to her. Hedley always assumed she could cope.
‘Are you thinking?’ asked Hedley.
Diana laughed. ‘Yes, Hedley. I am.’
‘I knew you would,’ he said; she could hear the admiration in his voice.
‘Oh, Hedley.’
‘I rely on the fact that you’ll know what to do. You always know.’
‘Um,’ said Diana with a laugh. If only she had his confidence in her abilities.
‘Shall I leave it with you, then?’
Diana smiled. He hadn’t re ally given her much choice. ‘Yes, Hedley. Give my love to the children. I’ll call tomorrow. And—’
He laughed. ‘And I love you too,’ he said, and then continued, ‘I told Gareth’s wife about your plans for the weekend and I think she was rather hoping to get down there to see him, but it does rather sound as if it would be an awfully long and difficult journey to Burbeck House with the children on public transport. Her name is Leonora—she sounded terribly sweet and very upset.’
Diana shook her head, like that re ally helped.
After she had rung off Diana wondered if what Gareth and his wife got up to was re ally any of their business. Perhaps she should just pass the message on to Gareth and let him deal with it. After all, they were his family. But Carol was her business. What the hell was she going to do?
Inside, the landlord was calling last orders. The drinkers, barely settled in after their walk down from the hall, moaned loudly although good-naturedly and pressed closer to the bar for one last round.
Diana tried to make her way back to Carol, Adie and the others. It was slow progress as lots of the troupe wanted to say hello, wanted to thank her and congratulate her on the reunion.
‘Diana,’ said Adie as she finally made her way back to the bar, ‘what a star.’ Diana blushed furiously as he handed her a drink and then, banging on a table, called for a toast.
‘Stop it,’ she growled. ‘We’ve already done this once.’
‘Not in alcohol we haven’t, and it doesn’t count unless it’s alcohol,’ he said, and lifted his glass in salute.
Diana wished the floor would open up and swallow her but nevertheless the toast echoed round the pub
, a roaring chorus of approval from everyone—drama group and locals included.
‘Right, that’s enough now,’ she said from behind a fixed grin.
Adie laughed. ‘Don’t be so modest. So far it’s been a roaring success.’
‘We’ve only been here since half-past three,’ said Jan.
‘Well, it’s a bloody good start,’ countered Adie. ‘No fist fights have broken out, no one has stormed off in a huff and neither of the Drama teachers appear to have gone gaga in the interim. I’d say that we were ahead on points so far.’
Diana looked at Carol and Gareth, wondering how long their luck was likely to hold out.
While they got another round of drinks in, Gareth excused himself and headed to the toilet. As he became submerged in the crowd Diana touched Carol’s arm. ‘So how’s it going then?’
Carol grinned. ‘OK. I know what Netty says but he seems nice. I just wish I didn’t fancy him so much. I didn’t expect to after all these years. It muddies the waters a bit—I keep wondering whether it re ally is him I fancy or the ghost of Christmas past? Let’s face it, a lot of water has gone under the bridge since the last time we met. Silly, isn’t it? I mean in real terms Gareth and I are complete strangers.’ She reddened a little. ‘Sorry I’m talking too much. We’ve both had complete other lives, and yet there is this shared history—this little magic thing that it’s very hard to get past. We’ll see.’ Carol smiled and downed her drink. ‘There is a nice little buzz between us. I’m just trying not to read anything into it. Maybe he’s just being friendly.’
‘You let all your friends snuggle up like that, do you?’
Carol laughed. ‘I know what you’re saying. But, trust me, it’s not anything important. It’s a bit like a holiday romance, something and nothing.’
