Follow Me Home

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘You’re crying. Why else would you feel like this? I can’t believe you’re such a hypocrite, having a go at me for questioning you about Jack when you’re clearly jealous of your ex’s new girlfriend.’

  ‘It isn’t like that.’ I shake my head, wondering how I’m going to make him understand. I know he’s young, but I’m surprised at the immaturity of his reaction. I mention Paul and he assumes I still have feelings for him, when the only man I’m interested in is Lewis.

  ‘What is it like, then?’ His tone is hot with resentment. ‘I’m trying to trust you, but it’s almost impossible when you’re standing in front of me, broken-hearted. I know from experience that it’s tough letting go sometimes, but I wish you could switch off your feelings for Paul once and for all. It makes me feel that you don’t really like me, that I’m second best, when I want to be the first person you turn to when you’re feeling unhappy—’

  ‘And that’s what I’m doing now, turning to you,’ I cut in, but Lewis blunders on.

  ‘If you don’t think you can get over him, then perhaps—’

  ‘Lewis, no, you have to listen to me. Please . . .’

  ‘Go on,’ he says grudgingly.

  ‘I’m upset, yes. I’m devastated, but it wasn’t about Paul, as such. It was seeing his girlfriend pregnant . . .’

  ‘And? People have babies all the time. You of all people know that.’

  ‘But I can’t,’ I sob. ‘I can’t have a baby.’

  ‘You what?’ says Lewis, his voice rasping.

  ‘It’s never going to happen.’

  He stares at the curve in the river where the water is orange and mixed with iron-rich sediment from the bank above, and I can feel doubt and fear settling in my heart at the thought that this could very well be a deal-breaker. What man will want me, knowing I can’t have children?

  ‘I remember you said you and Paul tried to conceive and failed, that it was part of the reason why you divorced,’ he says eventually.

  ‘It was the reason we got divorced. I thought Paul and I could get through anything, but our marriage wasn’t strong enough.’

  ‘Come here.’ Lewis pulls me close and holds me, gently massaging my back. ‘I’m so sorry, darling, I didn’t realise.’ He tilts his head and rubs his nose against mine. ‘You never know how things will work out, but you’ll be all right. You’ve got a great job, friends and family, and you have me,’ he goes on, as I begin to feel slightly better.

  ‘Thank you.’ I lean up to kiss him, just as Frosty spots another dog, strolling along on the other side of the river. She drags me towards the riverbank, barking, not in readiness to attack as she used to, but in a friendly greeting.

  ‘Calm down, Frosty!’ I do my grimace as the signal for ‘no’, but it’s impossible to get the message across when her attention is elsewhere, her intention being to slide down the bank and swim to the other side. I manage to haul her back, winding her in on the lead to the top of the bank where she gives herself a good shake, showering me and Lewis with water. ‘Thanks for that,’ I mutter, as Lewis squats down beside her and asks her to sit.

  ‘Treat, Zara,’ he says, when Frosty obeys him first time.

  ‘Is that for you or the dog?’ I say, feeling rather foolish being able to control neither my dog nor my emotions when it comes to Paul becoming a dad. I thought I’d begun to accept that I’d never be a mum, but this wave of grief has taken me completely by surprise. I hand Lewis a liver treat. Frosty takes it very gently from his fingers.

  ‘Good girl.’ Lewis strokes Frosty as he looks up at me. ‘Shall we go and get some food? I’m starving.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, although I’m not hungry and we walk to the Talymill Inn where we sit outside at one of the picnic benches, eating chicken salad and chips. Frosty sits at my feet drooling.

  ‘That dog has too many titbits,’ Lewis says, grinning.

  ‘That’s Gran’s fault. She forgets.’ I push the rest of my chips aside. ‘I need to talk to you about what I said earlier.’

  ‘Go on.’

  I gaze at the table, running one fingernail along the grooves in the wood. ‘It’s rather a sensitive subject, but it’s important.’

  ‘What is it?’ I’m aware that Lewis sits back, holding on to his pint. ‘You’re worrying me.’

  ‘When I said Paul and I couldn’t have a child, I didn’t know for sure which of us had the problem. The tests indicated that it was me, and the consultant said the chances were Paul could father a child, but today proves he was right. It’s my fault we didn’t conceive. I’m infertile.’

  ‘Did you have fertility treatment then?’

  ‘We had two rounds of IVF. We didn’t have a single embryo.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lewis says quietly, his voice hardly audible over the sound of the water that rushes through the mill race nearby.

  ‘I did everything I was advised to do to maximise our chances. Paul kept on at me about losing more weight – I tried, but it didn’t exactly fall off me – and then I grew angry with him. I used to shout and yell at him not to keep blaming me.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. That’s very unfair,’ Lewis says as I take a breath.

  ‘I didn’t feel feminine any more. I even wondered in the darkest moments whether I was some kind of freak of nature, whether I wasn’t female at all.’

  ‘You’re all woman to me.’ Lewis leans closer and slides his arm around my back.

  ‘Seeing Paul today brought it all back. It’s a wound at the very heart of who I am, and now I feel stuck.’

  ‘Stuck?’ Lewis frowns.

  I force a smile. ‘At the risk of sounding like an old woman, I’m of an age where I can see that the natural progression of life is to fall in love, marry and have kids, and live happily ever after, but I’ll never have the fairytale ending.’

  ‘All fairytales are different,’ Lewis observes. ‘At least the ones Murray reads to Poppy are.’

  ‘No, they aren’t. Everyone except the baddies lives happily ever after.’

  ‘And the boy and the girl get together in the end, but they don’t always have a baby.’

  ‘That’s because it’s part of the happy-ever-after.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Lewis sighs in mock frustration at my stubborn pretence of not understanding. ‘Why haven’t you talked about this before?’

  ‘Because it seemed too soon to talk about babies with you. If I’d just met you and gone on about my fertility problems, what would you have thought? That I was immediately thinking long-term and serious? That’s a great way to keep a guy interested,’ I say ironically.

  ‘I see.’ He rubs the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Maybe I should have told you straight off, but then before today . . .’ I take a deep breath before continuing, ‘The tests Paul and I had showed that it was me who had the problem, but I’ve always clung on to the hope they were wrong. Now I know for certain it was me, not Paul.’

  ‘It’s certainly a big thing.’

  ‘So now you know.’ I wipe my face with a tissue. ‘I’ll understand completely if you want to push off and find someone else.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ he says, sounding hurt.

  ‘Because . . .’ Does he need me to spell it out?

  ‘Listen, Zara. I’m not going to disappear. You are the most beautiful,’ he whispers in my ear, ‘sexy woman in the world and I don’t care about the baby stuff. It doesn’t matter to me.’

  ‘But what about—’ I go on.

  ‘Sh.’ He runs his hand through my hair and down to the nape of my neck. ‘I don’t know how you do your job, helping all those babies into the world, when you know you can’t have one yourself.’

  ‘Some days are easier than others,’ I say, thinking of Adam and Rosie and their accidental pregnancy, and another mum-to-be who burst into tears because she didn’t want twins. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my job.’

  Later, when we’ve finished eating and watching the world go by w
ith the sun setting behind the trees, I invite Lewis back for a coffee.

  ‘Or do you have to get back for the dogs?’ I add with a smile.

  ‘They’ll be fine for a bit longer,’ he says quickly. ‘Your gran won’t mind?’

  It turns out that she’s waiting up for me, dressed in a tatty pink dressing gown and fluffy slippers, and cleaning out one of the kitchen cupboards.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee,’ she says when she realises Lewis is here.

  ‘I’ll do it. Lewis is my guest.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ she says, filling the kettle.

  I didn’t think you’d still be up,’ I say, slightly irritated with her for not taking the hint and retiring quietly and tactfully to her room.

  ‘I can’t sleep anyway.’ She flicks the switch at the socket, turning it off rather than on.

  ‘That kettle won’t boil like that, will it? Here, let me.’ She looks at me much as Frosty does when I’ve told her off.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep doing things for me. I’m perfectly capable.’

  ‘I know. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll bring your drink in for you?’ I pause, waiting for this to sink in, and wishing I could rewind the clock because there was a time when she would have made herself scarce without me having to spell it out for her.

  ‘It’s always nice to have company.’

  ‘Yes, but two’s company and three’s a crowd. And it’s very late. You have to do the papers in the morning.’

  ‘I suppose I do need my beauty sleep. Goodnight, dear.’ With a sigh of resignation, she shuffles away, without waiting for her drink or saying goodnight to Lewis, which in a way is a relief, but also a worry.

  ‘I thought your gran would have been up for a chat,’ Lewis says when we’re curled up on the sofa later. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ I say abruptly. ‘She seems fine to me.’

  ‘No reason.’ He shrugs then rests his head against my shoulder, closing his eyes. I can hear his breathing deepen and my heartbeat quicken.

  ‘How long can you stay?’ I whisper.

  He opens one eye and grins. ‘As long as you like.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When Needs Must

  As Lewis has become part of my circle of friends, Kev invites him to join the stag party a couple of weeks before the wedding. Claire insists on seeing them off in taxis heading to the nearest city, Exeter, to hit the bars and clubs. She gives the boys a list of rules: no laxatives, no waxing, no permanent markers or tattoos. Murray folds it into a paper dart and aims it out of the window of his taxi while Lewis blows me a kiss.

  ‘You might as well have added “no fun” at the end,’ I point out when she explains what she’s done. ‘They won’t take any notice anyway.’

  ‘They’d better,’ she says. ‘I don’t want anything to ruin the wedding photos. I don’t want to have to do it all again because the boys have mucked them up, shaving Kev’s eyebrows off or doing something equally disfiguring. Come on, let’s go down to the Talymill Inn for something to eat.’

  We’ve already had the her do – it was very sophisticated: afternoon tea at a posh hotel in Talymouth – and tonight is an opportunity to clear up any last-minute arrangements for the wedding. While we eat chicken and chips, she makes a list of people who haven’t replied to their invites yet and writes a note in my diary to keep me available for an evening of making favours.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be free,’ I say.

  ‘Lewis will have to put up with it for one night,’ Claire says, sounding slightly miffed. ‘Or he can come and help too.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s his scene.’ I smile at the thought of him counting out sugared almonds and tying ribbons. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Did you have the final dress fitting yesterday? You haven’t mentioned it.’

  ‘I did – I took my mum with me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s perfect. I thought they’d need to let the waist out just a little, but it’s fine.’ She sighs. ‘All we need now is for the boys to behave.’

  ‘Oh, they will. You worry too much. I thought we’d all agreed that what goes on on the stag, stays on the stag.’ I stand up. ‘Can I get you another drink? I’m driving – as usual.’

  A couple of hours later, just before eleven, when the landlord is ringing last orders, we head outside to find my car. A bat swoops down from the roof of the old mill and disappears into the darkness, making me jump, and then my mobile vibrates in my jacket pocket. I pull it out and check the caller ID, half expecting it to be one of my colleagues or mums-to-be, but it’s Lewis. Glancing towards Claire, I take the call.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask.

  ‘We’ve lost the groom,’ he says anxiously. ‘I was hoping he might have made his way to find Claire.’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t,’ I say, slightly annoyed.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Claire cuts in, trying to take my phone from me. I hang on so we’re both listening in at the same time. ‘Lewis, what the —’ she swears, ‘have you done with him? You can’t just lose my fiancé.’

  ‘Don’t panic. We’re organising a search party – this place is crawling with police since Kev brought so many of his mates with him.’

  ‘This isn’t a joke,’ I say, seeing how upset Claire is. ‘How drunk are you?’

  ‘We’ve had a few. Kev must have had a couple of pints and a few shots – I haven’t been counting.’

  It’s fair enough, I suppose. I don’t like it, but it seems that you can’t have a stag do without copious amounts of alcohol.

  ‘You were supposed to be looking after him,’ I groan.

  ‘I know – one minute he was with us, the next he’d gone. Hang on a minute. Someone’s seen him.’ There’s the sound of muffled conversation and a clunk, as if Lewis has dropped his mobile before he returns. ‘Some woman’s just said she saw a man fitting Kev’s description heading out along the bypass.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll come and see if I can find him,’ I say. ‘Claire’s with me – she can come too.’

  ‘You’ll be able to spot him fairly easily – he’s wearing a dress.’

  ‘He wasn’t when you left.’

  ‘We helped him get changed . . . into a wedding dress.’

  ‘Oh, very original,’ I say, although I can’t help smiling. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  We pick Kev up on the inner bypass in the city, where he’s slumped at the foot of a lamppost in a veil, an ivory gown and torn stockings. His face is covered in pink lipstick. I jump out of the car, but Claire is with him first and I’m expecting her to yell and scream at him, but she stands there in front of him, leans down and touches his cheek, and bursts out laughing.

  ‘You silly sod. You can’t even get through your own stag party.’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he mumbles. ‘I wanted to come and see you.’

  She holds out her hand and helps him up and into the car.

  ‘Let’s get you home to bed, then tomorrow, nice and early, I’ll set you up with a big greasy fry-up,’ Claire flashes me a smile. ‘Thank you for this, Zara. Thank you for picking up the runaway bride.’

  ‘Yeah, except I can’t run,’ Kev says. ‘I’m bloody legless.’

  ‘You said it.’

  ‘I’ve been getting some funny looks,’ he goes on.

  ‘Shut up, Kev,’ Claire says. ‘I don’t want to know. I’m just glad you’re still alive, no thanks to the rest of the lads,’ she adds, which reminds me to let Lewis know we’ve retrieved the lost groom when we arrive back at Talyton St George.

  Fortunately, the other members of the party return safe and sound, although they suffer from mega-hangovers the next day, and Lewis apologises to both me and Claire. He also arranges to take me out for my birthday at the end of August, a week away.

  Lewis whistles through his teeth when he comes to pick me up.

  ‘Hey, I’m not one of your dogs,’ I say lightly, as this stranger in a white shirt, tie and dark
trousers opens the door for me.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he breathes.

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m wearing a new dress with a wraparound top, which reveals just enough cleavage, and a fitted skirt which flatters my curves, and he can hardly keep his eyes off me as I settle in the seat beside him in the pick-up. ‘I hope you’re going to concentrate on the road,’ I say, flirting with him.

  He kisses me and presses a small package into my hand. ‘Happy birthday, Zara.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it and you’ll find out.’ His lips curve into a smile as I open the gift bag and pull out a small box, inside which I find a delicate silver chain. ‘I remembered that Daisy broke yours.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s such a lovely present.’ I’m touched, especially as it must have been worth at least a couple of ewes for his flock. I take the necklace out and hold it up to my neck.

  ‘Let me do that.’ He takes over from me as I fumble with the catch. ‘There.’ He lays the links of the chain flat against my skin, stroking my collarbone and touching my throat at the same time, while I look into his eyes. They are soft with the shadows of the evening sun, and I can’t resist kissing him, at which a horn sounds close by, making me jump.

  ‘Oops, I hit it by mistake,’ Lewis laughs. ‘Come on, we’d better go before we make a spectacle of ourselves. People will talk. I hope you’re hungry.’

  I am now, I think, but not for food.

  ‘Emily recommended this place,’ Lewis says, pulling up outside the Barnscote about fifteen minutes later. It’s a well-renowned country hotel, centred around a medieval Devon longhouse built from cob and thatch, with climbing plants around the door.

  ‘This is where Claire’s having her wedding,’ I say.

  ‘Have you eaten here before?’

  ‘I had lunch with Claire when she was trying it out. It was lovely – but Lewis, are you sure? Dinner here costs an arm and a leg.’

  His response is to get out of the pick-up and hold the door open for me. I shouldn’t have raised the subject of money. It was tactless of me.

  Elsa, the proprietor who breeds Happy Pigs as a sideline, welcomes us with non-alcoholic cocktails and shows us to a table in an alcove by a window in the dining room, where flowers cascade from a vase on the sill and a candle flickers in a cranberry glass.