The Birds and the Bees

by Milly Johnson

  Obviously, Adam MacLean might not quite see it in those black and white terms. Jo was going to tell him that she wanted some space too, and then join Matt at the Queens Hotel in town, when she had packed up a few essentials. She hadn’t been quite so keen on his first suggestion of the B&B on Lunn Street, but what the hell–it wouldn’t be for long, then any money worries would be over. No doubt Jo would go for a quickie divorce on the grounds of MacLean being a violent git, and the latter would have to pay her out once their house was sold. Matthew presumed then that she would buy half his house in Blossom Lane and all money pressure would be right off him. Then they could really start to enjoy themselves from a steady financial platform. Plenty of holidays in the sun like this one, plenty of cosy romantic meals for two at home and cuddle-ups on the sofa, plenty of tiny little Agent Provocateur red G-strings to pull off with his teeth. His perfect life was just around the corner.

  ‘So, what do you want to do on your last night?’ he asked.

  She sidled suggestively over to him, reaching behind her to unzip her dress. It fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, wearing nothing but some very small black see-through briefs.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘I bet Stevie never wore anything like these for you, did she?’

  Matthew groaned.

  Stevie who? was his last coherent thought of the day.

  Stevie tucked Danny up with his teddy and read him a story about a Useless Troll with a very grisly ending, which he listened to with little-boy rapture, sucking his pyjama collar, until she extricated it from his mouth. She kissed him good night and thought, The next time I see you will be the day I see Matthew too. Then the phone went and it was Catherine doing her mother hen impression.

  ‘You all set for tomorrow? How are you going to play it? Are you going to let him know you know?’

  ‘No. I’m just going to be really nice. Not shout or bawl, just be calm and collected and cool.’

  All of which she knew was going to be pretty difficult, since she had discovered that Matthew had taken out most of the money in their joint savings account, money that he hadn’t actually put in. They had planned to take Danny to Euro-Disney with it that summer. He had probably spent it on her, but Stevie would try her best not to mention that.

  ‘Don’t let him get away with it entirely, he’ll think you’re a soft touch,’ said Catherine, who was amazed at her friend’s self-control. She had been witness to the crazy state she had been in when she found out that Mick was playing about. She half-expected Matthew to cop for that as well as his own misdemeanours because people did that sometimes, carry a load forward if they couldn’t get emotional satisfaction the first time–and Stevie had a lot of unfinished business in that past relationship.

  ‘Yes, I take your point,’ said Stevie, ‘but I want to listen to what he has to say. If he carries on pretending he went to Aberdeen and that’s obviously the end of the matter, then I’m just going to try and forget this ever happened.’

  ‘And will you really be able to do that?’ asked Catherine with a gasp.

  ‘I’m going to have to,’ said Stevie, with steely resolve.

  Chapter 11

  After a night of fractured sleep, Stevie rang the airport and found that Matthew’s plane had left on time, which meant that it was due into Leeds/Bradford airport just before midday. Allowing time for luggage and motorway delays, she reckoned he would be home between two and three o’clock. It felt like an eternity between now and then, and the anticipation filled her veins with a very unpleasant anxious sensation.

  She prayed that there wouldn’t be two people in his car when he drew up outside their house because she wasn’t quite sure what her reaction would be. She didn’t think she could be quite as level-headed as planned, in those circumstances. She just hoped Jo went straight home and was murdered by Adam MacLean. She presumed that was what part of his so-called ‘plan’ entailed–and for a split second she was dangerously on his side. Then she remembered how his cruelty had driven Jo into Matthew’s arms. Jo, who had cuddled Danny on her knee and read him stories in her soft voice. Jo, who had cried on her shoulder and brought her flowers to say thank you for listening. Jo, with whom she had traded private stories of her life. Jo, who had helped her plan her wedding. Jo, who had ruined her son’s first chance of a proper family with a proper dad. Jo, who had been so desperate for love and attention that she had chased her out of Matthew’s heart without a second thought. It truly was a dog-eat-dog world.

  Matthew’s eyes darted madly around the airport from left to right, then up and down as if it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that Adam MacLean might swing down from a rope SAS style, dressed in black and carrying a machine gun. Or even explode up through the floor like a force from hell. Jo, on the other hand, didn’t seem half as perturbed as he expected her to be in the circumstances.

  ‘Relax,’ she said, when she spotted that his head was jerking everywhere like a lunatic in an asylum hunting imaginary flies. ‘If Adam was here, there are plenty of security men to overpower him and he would only end up in prison again.’

  Which would be small comfort on the mortuary slab, thought Matthew, although he didn’t voice it. He did not want to admit being frightened. After all the brownie points he had earned being Jo’s Sir Lancelot, he didn’t want to lose them all by being Wimp Boy.

  They picked up their luggage from the carousel and then made their way to the Leeds/Bradford long-stay car park. Matthew did a thorough check that there was nothing ticking under the car wheels and as he slid into the driver’s seat, perspiration ran in rivers down his forehead. He made Jo stand well back until he had twisted on the ignition, then felt almost like crying with relief when all he heard was the engine and not a boo-boom and St Michael’s voice asking him to wait in the queue at the Pearly Gates.

  They both looked very healthy and brown–too much so for it to be attributed to a sun-bed, plus they were both far too blissed out to have been exercising on a Welsh treadmill or crammed up in an Aberdeen conference centre. Matthew was wondering if this really was going to be worth the fall-out to come, when Jo’s long fingers came out and squeezed his inner thigh.

  ‘Drop me around the corner when we get there, usual place.’

  ‘I thought you said he wouldn’t be at home!’

  ‘He shouldn’t be, but his shift pattern might have changed. Anyway, I have to see him some time, it’s better that it’s now.’ She gave him a big brave smile.

  ‘I’m scared for you, sweetie.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘But…’ She left a long dramatic pause, which made his sweat glands crank up again. ‘If you haven’t heard from me by six o’clock, call the police, just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘God, now you really are scaring me!’

  ‘He threatened his first wife with a chainsaw.’

  ‘Chuffing hell!’

  Jo shook her head. ‘He won’t get the better of me, though. Not this time, I promise.’

  She looked so determined that Matthew found himself smiling proudly. What a remarkable woman. She had come so far since they had first got together; back then, she was little better than a fragile shell with no confidence. A beautiful woman who really did think she was as ugly and useless and unlovable as MacLean had driven her to believe. He really had saved her, Matt thought with a proud inner glow that warmed him right through. They were so good together–as soul-matched as Cathy and Heathcliff, Tony and Cleo, Bonnie and Clyde. Jo MacLean was the most fantastic creature he had ever met. And after they had both done the necessary business this afternoon, nothing would ever part them again.

  When Matthew’s car pulled up outside the house at thirteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds past two, Stevie was relieved to see that he was alone. She manufactured a smile, which trembled on her lips as she jumped across the room from the window to stage herself casually at the computer just before the door opened.

  ‘Hey there!’ she said, pulling her smile as wide a
s possible in a semblance of ‘woman overjoyed to see missed fiancé’ and sprang up to give him a welcoming hug. She noticed immediately how stiffly he reciprocated it.

  ‘Did you have a nice time?’ she said breezily, trying to overcome the lump of panic that was clogging up her windpipe. ‘Hey, I see you’ve been at the sun-beds there. Great leisure facilities, eh?’ She did the lie for him.

  ‘Yes, they were. Fantastic, in fact. Nice way to unwind–sitting in the…on the…er…sun bed. Especially after the long hard boring meetings.’

  ‘Must have been tiring. Bet the journey back was hell,’ she said as chirpily as a canary on Prozac.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, stretching and yawning with exhaustion at the imaginary long drive from Scotland.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m okay. Stopped off on the way at some motorway services at Scotch Corner.’

  Liar. She herded her rebellious thoughts back into line and stretched the smile a little further, not too much that it was gushing, but enough to be warm and welcoming and unaccusing. It was harder than she had thought, trying to be Mrs Nice Person whilst someone was lying their head off to you, and what’s more, you knew they were and you were sifting through everything they said for substantiating evidence. It was the little details to give credence to his story that were the most hurtful of all: stopped off at Scotch Corner; long boring meetings; sun beds…

  ‘Stevie.’ He started scratching the back of his neck. Something he did when he was nervous, usually when opening a bank statement.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, still wearing that ridiculous smile onto which she was hanging tenuously, because this was it, this was the moment. The way he said her name suggested that what was to follow was not good news.

  ‘Stevie, when I was away, I did a lot of thinking. Alone. Lying under the sun…er…bed.’

  Lying being the operative word.

  ‘Oh, did you?’ Smile, smile. Thinking and shagging. And spending my son’s holiday money!

  ‘I don’t know how to say this so I’ll just come straight out with it…’

  Oh God, oh God…

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said, presenting her bravest and most understanding face.

  ‘I think…’

  Oh, please don’t say it, Matthew, please don’t!

  ‘…I think we should take a bit of time out. Before the wedding.’ Damn, I didn’t mean to mention the wedding, Matt thought. Now I’ve made it look as if it’s still on.

  Which was exactly what Stevie was thinking.

  ‘Before the wedding’–that means it’s still on! Thank You, God!

  She tested him. ‘You mean, like, split up?’ she said.

  ‘No…yes…no…’

  Damn! Her total reasonableness threw him. He had expected her to start crying and pleading and throwing things, then he would have had licence to storm off. This was so much harder, her being calm and nice and giving him nothing to kick against.

  ‘Okay, if that’s what you want,’ she said, nodding. ‘I totally understand.’

  ‘Eh? Oh, right then.’ Bloody hell! That was easy!

  Maybe it was because she was one step ahead of him, knowing the ‘game’ that she found some strength. As if she was in Danny’s Harry Potter and had just eaten a slice of rejuvenating pumpkin pie.

  ‘So how do we do this?’ said Ms Chirpy the drugged-up, happy-sounding canary.

  ‘Er, well, let’s think.’

  Like you haven’t thought already, Matthew!

  He tapped his lip with his finger whilst considering the options.

  ‘Maybe if I move into a B&B for a few days, just to give you a chance to get your stuff together,’ he said, as if it had just come to him.

  ‘My stuff?’ echoed Stevie, a little breathlessly.

  ‘Yes. I think it might be for the best if you…er…moved out for a bit.’

  ‘Oh yes, I see–of course “my stuff”,’ she said, stretching her smile that bit further. Her thoughts were screaming at her from the sidelines to think positive and focus on the fact that he hadn’t asked her to cancel the wedding . This was all still salvageable if she stuck to her plan of being ‘nice-accepting lady’. ‘Right. Okay then. Yes, you’re probably right.’ God, this was starting to hurt so much.

  ‘Just for a while,’ he said, which again wasn’t what he meant at all, but it was easier to let her go with a little hope in her heart. It staved off the histrionics, at least.

  ‘I’ll obviously need to take some money out of the Euro-Disney trip account for a room or rent or whatever,’ she said, not letting her face slip and upping the sweetness levels to offset the contentious subject of ‘their’ money. She couldn’t wait to find out what he had to say to that one.

  ‘Oh, er…I had to borrow some of it.’ He wriggled a bit and looked more sheepish than a freezer full of mutton on an Australian farm.

  ‘Did you? What was that for?’ Plastic smile again, but the urge to wring his neck was getting pretty strong too.

  ‘Petrol and stuff in Scotland. I’ll pay it back. Obviously. Emergency.’ He actually had the good grace to go red now.

  ‘Oh, yes, okay. If you could, considering what it was for.’

  ‘Absolutely, straight away.’

  Stevie nodded, although she had heard that one just a few times too often from him to believe it any more.

  ‘Well, right then,’ she carried on, leashing her anger with desperate effort. She had to be in control, their future happiness together depended on it. This, after all, was a much wider picture than a lost fifteen hundred quid and a couple of lust-driven lies.

  ‘I’ll go and get a few bits together then,’ he said nervously, edging upstairs.

  ‘Yes, why not.’ The smile weighed heavy and was getting painful to keep up. She wanted to let it drop, right onto the floor where she could stamp it flat and vomit all over it.

  Matthew backed off upstairs and at least she took some comfort from the fact that she had rattled him with her coolness and self-possession. She had done something right at least. This time.

  She could hear him padding about upstairs, opening drawers, and she followed him in her imagination. He would pack that beautiful blue silk shirt, and the chinos that always made his bottom look nice, and his best suit so he could take Jo out for a posh meal somewhere. He liked to wine and dine, and he always looked so handsome in a suit, especially by candlelight.

  She found she was not quite strong enough to hold all the tears back. They started to leak out of the corners of her eyes, faster than she could wipe them away, but wipe them away she did as soon as she heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, faster than a small child’s on Christmas morning. Then he crossed to the drawer and got out his mobile phone. He had left it there deliberately, of course, she knew, but she didn’t react.

  ‘Look, I’ll be in touch soon, promise,’ he said, carrying a very large case and some suits in covers.

  ‘Yes, well, you take care,’ she said. She needed three big lads and some scaffolding now to hold up this smile. She came forward and hugged him and tried to let go first–it was basic psychology that the one in control always did that–and she just managed it, but she had to fight back the urge to hang onto him for ever.

  ‘Goodbye, Stevie. Give my love to little Danny.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, thinking how final ‘goodbye’ sounded. Why hadn’t he just said ‘bye’? There was a difference. Then he was gone, without one glance of recognition that she had had her hair done or was half a stone lighter.

  She didn’t wave his car off, she just sat on the sofa and let that infernal smile drop into a reverse of itself–a deep, downward arc. Then, when she could no longer hear the sound of his engine, she let her head fall into her hands and sobbed her heart out.

  Chapter 12

  Matthew had worn a path into the carpet by the time he heard the footsteps creak up the staircase outside the hotel room. He checked his watch for the eighteenth million time–six minutes to s
ix and six seconds–threw open the door before the soft knock had ended and fell upon a wide-eyed Jo.

  ‘I was so worried!’ he said, taking her in his arms. He had his mobile in his hand, ready to ring the police. It had been a close call.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, sniffling. ‘He was there. It was pretty gruelling.’

  He pulled her away from him and studied her, looking for signs of violence but thankfully there was nothing, only pale lines on her face where tears had cut through her make-up. Then again, MacLean didn’t hit her where it showed, did he?

  ‘Are you okay? He didn’t—?’

  ‘No,’ Jo said, snuggling further into him to take his warmth and comfort. ‘Not really.’

  ‘What do you mean, “not really”, darling?’ said Matthew, rearing a little.

  ‘Well, at least I got away. Let’s just say, he started getting a bit rough.’

  She winced as his hands fell on her shoulder and she let him gently unbutton the top of her shirt to find small deep fingernail-shaped crescents on her shoulder, and bruising already forming around them.

  ‘The swine! I’m getting the police.’

  Matthew pulled out his mobile, but Jo stilled his hand.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s over. I don’t want any more police. I’ve seen too many of them in the past. I don’t want to file another report. Nothing ever comes of it anyway, except he gets more annoyed. Please, darling. Let’s just get on with the rest of our lives now. I’m free of him.’

  She looked at him with her heavily fringed dark treacle eyes glistening with tears and he relented.

  ‘Oh baby!’ He squeezed her tight and then let go temporarily when someone else knocked on the door. Matthew opened it to find three porters standing there with six massive suitcases. ‘Wow!’ he said.

  ‘It’ll be a relief to get them over to your house,’ Jo said, adding pointedly, ‘sooner rather than later.’