by Gemma Fox
Panicking, Carol glanced down at the page open in front of her—no one who was currently speaking now was on it. Damn damn, damn. She looked up and scanned the room in desperation but everyone else was either listening to the speeches or following the book. Damn, bugger and damn.
Just as she felt the pulse in her ears drop down a gear and race away, a hand appeared on the edge of her vision, flicked through a few pages and pointed to the line they were on. As the panic started to abate Carol looked up. Gareth grinned as he caught her eye.
‘Nervous?’ he mouthed.
Carol pulled a face that she hoped conveyed something grateful but nevertheless quietly confident. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she whispered back.
Across the room, the old king—once the lanky boy who had played Duncan and who now, all grown up and balding nicely, could quite easily pass for an ageing Scottish monarch—had got into his stride. Carol struggled to keep her eye on the script, keeping the place with her finger, while all the while her brain desperately tried to pull her away and back to other places and other times.
‘God, I’m never going to be able to learn all this,’ said the voice of a much younger Carol, tugging nervously at her hair, the memory surfacing as vividly as a scene from a feature film in her imagination. ‘I don’t know half of it yet. We start the tour next week and I’m barely off the book. It’s going to be a disaster.’
And from beside her on a daisy-strewn bank, long forgotten, a teenage Gareth Howard was busy saying, ‘Relax. It’ll be all right. You’ll be fine. It sounds great, you’re nearly there, Carol. And no, before you ask me—I’m not just saying that, I mean it. You’re good.’ And then—and then, he had loomed up over her on his elbows, head and shoulders obscuring the sunlight. She thought for one heady, time-stopping instant that he was going to kiss her, and there was that nip, that delicious wobbly sensation in the pit of her stomach and Carol had held her breath.
It passed almost as soon as she felt it. After all, Carol realised, she had thought Gareth was going to kiss her lots of times since they had started rehearsal and he hadn’t so far. So she relaxed and closed her eyes and was about to say she was still worried about her lines when he re ally did kiss her.
She gasped as his lips gently touched hers, and as if the sound was some kind of invitation, Gareth slid his hand under the back of her head and pulled her closer. As his fingers closed in her hair, all sense, all reason bubbled away on a great upward surge of desire that took her breath away, all those years ago on a long-forgotten bank of grass in broad daylight. And the night before, sitting side by side on a dewy lawn looking up at the moon in the grounds of Burbeck House, he had done it all over again.
Carol’s finger determinedly tracked the speech of the old king and then finally, at last, it was her turn to speak. Act one, scene five, time to read the letter Lady Macbeth had received from Macbeth about the witches’ prophecies and hatch a plan to kill Duncan.
‘“Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter,”’ said Miss Haze in a soft voice.
Carol could feel the eyes of the rest of the cast on her. She licked her lips, took a breath, let the silence settle and then began to read, her voice sounding even and sure, despite the chaos in her head.
‘“They met me in the day of success;”’
Once they were down the fire escape he had caught hold of her hand, his fingers warm and strong through hers. Carol didn’t know what to say and so had waited for him to speak—and he’d said nothing. She shivered; lust and desire were still as noisy, however old you were.
They had walked in silence through the exquisite sculpted lines of formal gardens, out through a topiary arch towards the wilder more natural parkland beyond. Finally he had led her to a place down by the lake where the moonlight reflected in the ripples like molten silver and she realised that Gareth had brought a blanket, which she had thought a little bit previous of him. They sat there for a while under the low-slung moon and then he turned to her.
‘It’s easy to be quiet with you.’
Carol laughed. ‘I’m still half asleep, that’s why,’ she said, trying hard to dissolve the intensity that hung between them.
‘So tell me about what you’ve been doing for the last twenty years,’ he said. Carol stared out over the silver-plated water and then she told him about her boys and her business and being married to the wrong person, and in some ways—once she got going—it almost felt as if she was talking to herself.
When finally she was quiet again, Gareth said, ‘I know how that feels—all those mistakes and wondering how things might have been if you’d done it all differently. Made different choices.’ And then he turned and very gently stroked her hair.
She tried hard to suppress a sigh of pleasure.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about might-have-beens just lately,’ Gareth said softly and pulled her closer to him, and Carol hadn’t resisted, hadn’t protested, hadn’t thought of anything but how very good it felt to be in his arms again after all these years.
He was warm and strong and yet was still somehow tender, which was, Carol remembered, exactly how he had felt before, back when she had had no idea what men were like. And in the moonlight Carol had looked up into his eyes and wondered where all the years had gone and how very, very easy it would be to just melt into him, melt into his hungry relentless persistent mouth. His hand slid across her back, sliding around under her dressing gown, up under the jacket of her pyjamas, stroking her spine, and all the while, as the touch of his hand registered, Carol watched his progress in her mind’s eye almost as if it was happening to someone else.
Gareth moaned softly as his fingers stroked across her warm soft skin, or perhaps it was her, it was so very hard to tell. And the kisses made her breathless and dizzy, and then his hand rose higher and his fingers caressed and then cupped the swell of her breast, fingers on hard tight nipples, and Carol gasped and knew that this time the voice was most definitely hers. And then a bird took off or maybe was disturbed somewhere in the reeds—noisy, messy, anxious—and the sound was enough to make Carol pull away.
‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ she said, breathing hard, pulling her dressing gown tight around her, moving back, putting some breathing space between them.
‘Sorry?’ he said. He hadn’t moved. ‘What on earth for?’
Carol laughed. ‘What do you mean, what for? Sorry, I can’t do this. We’re not teenagers any more, Gareth. We’ve got lives and families and—and I re ally think that we ought to be getting back to the hall.’ She clambered to her feet, feeling the cold and the damp in her body. ‘And besides, I’m frozen and I’m tired and the grass is wet.’
‘And you don’t trust me?’
Carol swung round to look at him. He still hadn’t moved, was still sitting there on a rug in the moonlight. ‘No, not exactly, Gareth. I don’t trust myself,’ she said, ‘and that is far, far worse.’
He laughed. ‘So? Let me drive. You just have to lay back,’ he grinned wolfishly.
‘And think of England?’ Carol shook her head and laughed. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘We ought to go back now. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.’
‘Are you sure?’
She shook her head. ‘No, and that is exactly why I’m going to go back to Teddy Towers with the rest of the snorers and try and grab a few hours’ sleep.’
He shrugged. ‘OK—if that’s what you want. We’ve got all the time in the world. It was just that I was hoping that maybe—’ He stopped short and shook his head, waving the words away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Carol decided not to ask what it was he was hoping for, just in case she felt the same.
And in the here and now, Carol was standing in the hall with him reading as Macbeth. The rhythm was coming back now, the words and phrases making perfect sense, tripping off her tongue as if all this while they had been stored somewhere in her memory, all primed and ready for this very moment, but—even so, as Carol read—the vast majority of her thoughts were focused
not on the play but on Gareth Howard now and Gareth Howard then.
EIGHT
After the excitement of the morning’s read through lunch was a total scrum; a running buffet on trestle tables set out under Diana’s fluttering welcome banners, for a cast and crew that had—in the course of just a few short hours—regressed into the teenagers they once were. Adulthood was apparently not a very robust veneer. In rehearsal there had been all sorts of swerving round people to avoid premeditated nipping, reversion to nicknames, catcalling and much guffawing. Between scenes there had been lots of laughter, lots of goodnatured teasing and some sulking. Now during lunch it was revving up. There was the odd wedgie, a lot of playful arm-punching, some very longing looks and huge amounts of unforced giggling going on in the queue for food.
Carol decided to leave before someone suggested a bread roll fight, took a filled tray and made her way out of the dining room, heading through the French windows into the gardens. It had been a long morning. Fiona had had to go for a little lie-down, and while Netty, Jan and Adie went off to roll joints behind the greenhouse, Diana found a quiet corner to check her phone. Miss Haze, who was delighted with the way the morning had gone, headed upstairs to her room with her lunch so she could read through her notes in peace. Mr Bearman spent most of lunchtime looking for her.
On the lawn the lay Christians were praying in tight V formation.
Leonora Howard’s message on Diana’s mobile was very simple and to the point. ‘Hello, you don’t know me but your husband said that I could ring you. I wonder if you could call me back when you get the chance?’
Diana took a deep breath, tapped in Leonora’s number and waited.
Across a broad expanse of immaculately trimmed grass she could see Carol, sitting under the dappled shade of a horse chestnut tree, relaxing on a circular wooden bench that had been built around the base of the broad trunk. Diana lifted a hand in greeting and Carol immediately grinned and waved her over. Diana pointed to the phone and held up an open hand to indicate she’d be there in five minutes.
Carol nodded.
‘Hello,’ said Diana as Leonora Howard answered. She kept the tone light. ‘This is Diana; you asked me to call you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Leonora. She sounded relieved. ‘You didn’t mind me phoning, did you? Only I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘No, not at all,’ said Diana cautiously. ‘Although, to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that I can do anything to help.’ She spoke softly and calmly. Hadn’t Gareth told Carol that Leonora was unstable?
‘Did your husband explain the situation to you?’
‘Well, not re ally. He told me that you’re Gareth’s wife—’
The woman sighed. ‘Yes I am. The thing is I was re ally rather hoping to find a way to get down there to talk to him. He is still there, isn’t he?’
Diana bit her lip and considered for a moment. Everything was going so well with the drama group reunion. The last thing she wanted was any kind of scene, so she decided to hedge a little, not wanting to commit herself. ‘Hedley told me that you were separated, you and Gareth, and that he had left you?’ Diana winced; that hadn’t come out as tactfully as she had intended it to.
Leonora’s voice faltered. ‘Yes, I suppose that you could say that. Gareth walked out on us on Friday afternoon. Or at least I assume he’s walked out on us—that’s what it feels like—although he didn’t actually say where he was going or if he would be coming back. Actually I’m not one hundred per cent certain what is going on. That’s why I need to see him.’
‘But that was only yesterday,’ said Diana in astonishment. ‘Do you mean he left you yesterday?’
‘Yes, that’s right, yesterday afternoon, and then this girl rang up last night looking for him and told me that she was pregnant.’ On the far end of the line Leonora laughed darkly. ‘It’s been an interesting weekend so far, I can tell you.’
Diana swallowed hard. Leonora didn’t sound in the least bit unstable; she sounded hurt and lost and angry, and who could blame her? ‘Oh,’ was all Diana could manage. While she was composing her thoughts and a reply, from the corner of her eye Diana spotted Gareth heading across the lawn towards Carol. It was all Diana could do not to call out and warn her; it felt as if she was watching a cheetah bearing down on a grazing gazelle.
‘Is there any way that I can help?’ said Diana hastily.
Across the grass Gareth was getting closer and closer. Carol looked up and Gareth smiled. In the shadows under the horse chestnut his teeth looked unnaturally white. Diana held her breath as he closed on her friend.
‘The thing is,’ Leonora was saying, ‘that I need to talk to him, but after Sunday, once your reunion is over, I have no idea where he will go or where he will be. He’s taken the car and I’ve got the children. They’re only tiny—so I’m kind of stuck.’ Leonora paused. ‘Also, I’m afraid that if Gareth finds out that I know where he is he might just vanish. I re ally need to speak to him, so I was wondering if perhaps—oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m just clutching at straws.’ Her voice crackled and finally broke. ‘God, this is so awful. It feels as if I’ve woken up inside a bad dream.’
In the dappled shade Gareth’s smile broadened and Diana shuddered.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Diana slowly, making a decision. ‘It must be awful for you. I’m still not sure what I can do to help you.’
‘Actually, there might be something,’ said Leonora.
‘Hi, nice spot you’ve found yourself here,’ said Gareth, heading towards Carol, carrying his lunch.
She looked up, gaze momentarily unfocused, and nodded. He was a dark shape blocking out the sunlight. ‘Ummmm, it is beautiful out here. Seemed a real shame to stay inside, even without the chimps’ tea party.’
‘Is that a professional opinion?’ he asked.
‘Of the stage crew?’
‘No,’ he laughed, glancing back over his shoulder at the view. ‘The gardens.’
Carol smiled. ‘No, not at all. Professional gardeners can still recognise beauty when they see it. If they can’t then they wouldn’t be in business for very long. Anyway, look around—these gardens are wonderful whether you understand planting or not. In fact knowing how the original designer achieved it makes it all the more impressive. Can you imagine laying out a scheme of planting that you would never see come to maturity in your lifetime, trying to imagine the combinations and colours as they grow and develop? It may be your grandchildren who are the ones who finally see the garden as you visualised it.’
‘Sounds as if you re ally love your job.’
‘I do, and it grows on you—sorry, no pun intended. I never thought I’d end up as a gardener but the more I know about gardening the more passionate it makes me about plants and trees and creating great gardens and developing landscapes, places for people to enjoy, places that will grow more interesting as time passes.’ She stopped and caught sight of him, and realised that he was watching her intently. ‘Sorry,’ Carol said. ‘I’m getting carried away.’
Gareth moved a little closer. ‘No, no, not at all, don’t apologise. I’m impressed. Having so much passion for your work has got to be great.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘I was worried that you maybe weren’t talking to me today,’ his voice dropped to something low and more intimate, ‘after last night.’
‘What on earth makes you think that?’ she said briskly. And what was it that had happened last night? If anything? An embrace, a lot of desire and her coming to her senses? Carol looked up into his face.
‘Gareth, I’ve been thinking, all that desire and those longings are not about you.’ He looked taken aback, so she added quickly, ‘What I mean is that that thing, that buzz isn’t about who you are now—but for who you were first time round. You may look and sound like the Gareth Howard I knew at school, but realistically you’re not him. I don’t know you at all.’
He nodded. ‘I know what you’re saying.’
She felt relieved. ‘If you mean what y
ou said, then we need to start over, take a step back and go slowly while we sort out the might have beens from the reality.’
He smiled. ‘And do you want to do that?’
Carol sighed; being a grown-up and sensible was not something she had ever re ally expected to be afflicted with. ‘I’m not sure—I’m not desperate to rush into anything.’
‘And was that what was happening last night?’
She laughed. ‘Could have been, but I just about managed to save myself.’
‘Shame. So if we’re starting over, would you mind if I joined you?’ he asked, nodding towards the broad wooden bench.
Carol shook her head. ‘No—not at all, please do.’ Before adding, ‘Diana will be here in a minute.’
‘If I’m disturbing you…?’ he asked again, this time looking at the space alongside her.
‘No, no, it will be fine.’
‘I thought that maybe you and Diana had things to talk about—things to catch up on.’
‘We have, we do—but we can do that either with you here or do it later. I’m sure neither of us would mind you sitting in.’
He sat down at a respectful distance away and then said, ‘So what do you think?’
Carol paused, trying to work out what she wanted to say. What was the point of getting older if you still couldn’t say those things that were on your mind without thinking the world would end if you opened your mouth?
‘I came here hoping to see you, and yes, I was wondering if all that stuff was still there. I’m not sure what I expected, re ally. I was worried that I might just be grasping at a fantasy that goes back to our teens; something that has sustained me on stormy days. You know how it is. All that stuff filtered and reinterpreted through memory and time.’
