The lights at Turnpike Lane changed from green to amber. Tom pressed on the accelerator. The light turned red, the car in front broke it. Tom almost braked and then went for it. Cars were already turning in from the right. The first one had to brake while Tom swerved violently to the left. The second car hit the first. But Tom ignored them and prayed he’d have enough of an empty road to make good his escape. He did. There was of course Charlotte, he thought, as he approached Hornsey. That was tougher. But kids these days were resilient. Half the kids in the school were probably from broken homes. She’d be OK.
The two women talked. Pleasant as it was, Julie was aware that it didn’t feel natural. She couldn’t put her finger on why – but a couple of times she found herself struggling for something to say.
Rachel, however, seemed more than happy. ‘It’s so nice we’ve become reacquainted, don’t you think? So, tell me, how is Charlotte? Such a polite girl.’
‘Oh, she’s fine, thanks. She’s... Well, actually, Angus was run over on Sunday. Got killed. Charlotte’s ever so upset.’
‘Oh, how awful for her, the poor love.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is awful.’ Julie thought of her, of Charlotte placing the dog, still wrapped in her jacket, into the hole dug by Mark. Staring down, she offered a little prayer as Mark and Julie stood silently behind her. Their next-door neighbour but one began cutting his lawn, the sound of the electric mower slicing through their thoughts. He’d been a good dog, a faithful, happy little chap. Only six years old. Charlotte had had him almost half her life. She fell into her mother’s embrace as Mark slowly piled the earth back into the hole.
Julie sighed. ‘Truly awful. The timing couldn’t have been worse.’
‘Why? What’s...’
‘Everything seems to be going wrong at the moment.’
‘Oh, Julie, I’m sorry to hear this. What’s the matter? What’s happened?’
From the Walker Brothers to the Righteous Brothers, the barman had turned up the jukebox and was singing along to ‘Unchained Melody’. The song got to her; its desperate lyric and its mournful, slow melody permeating her heart, wrenching her emotions. She could feel her resistance crumbling as the singer sang of his hunger ‘for your touch’. She ran her finger round the rim of her glass, staring at the melting ice cubes within her drink. ‘Tom’s left me.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Yes, he’s left me.’ She’d said it, and to Rachel of all people; fey, hippy Rachel. But hell, there was no one else; no one else she could talk to. Just saying those words lifted her somehow, eased the burden on her heart.
Rachel placed her hand on Julie’s sleeve. ‘Tell me. Talking is good. It will help.’
The feel of Rachel’s hand on her arm melted something inside her. And so she talked. She told Rachel, her new best friend, about a serious misunderstanding that resulted in Tom leaving and staying with his parents; how he’d disappeared to France and she had no idea why or who with; about Charlotte and the death of Angus; of how damn difficult life was. ‘Has Charlotte said anything to Abigail?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘If she did, Abigail wouldn’t tell me.’
‘She seemed all right for the first few days but then I began to see signs. She came back the other day with her breath stinking of smoke and she disappears for a couple of hours at a time, usually with Angus, poor thing. When I ask her where she’s been, she refuses to tell me. I try to insist and she storms off to her bedroom. She wasn’t like this when her dad was around.’
‘So how long has Tom been gone for?’
‘Not that long really, but Charlotte’s decline has been rapid. I’m sure she wasn’t smoking before that. And then what with Angus getting run over, well... you can imagine.’
‘That must have been a shock.’
‘God, yes. She’s devastated. I said we’d get a new dog but that didn’t help of course, she just wants Angus back.’
‘It’s understandable.’ Rachel sipped her tomato juice. She really fancied a cigarette but felt as if she couldn’t, not in front of Julie.
‘Yes I know. I don’t know what to do. I tried phoning Tom, I need to discuss things with him, but he’s not at his parents and his mobile’s switched off. I haven’t heard a peep out of him since he left.’ She decided against mentioning his brief appearance at Angus’s ‘burial’.
‘I’m sure it’ll sort itself out – one way or the other.’
Julie felt odd – surprised at how much she’d opened up to Rachel. ‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I just hope so for Charlotte’s sake.’
‘And yours.’
Julie looked at her and hinted at a smile. ‘Yes. And mine,’ she said, finishing off her bitter lemon.
Rachel felt inside her handbag for her purse. She felt the smoothness of the lighter. ‘Another drink?’
Julie looked at her watch. ‘No, I ought to be going soon; I’ve got Year Eight at two o’clock.’
‘Get out of the bloody way.’ Tom’s fuse was short. Panic and the heat were taking their toll. He was almost there but the traffic on Holloway Road was predictably dense. He was so regretting that kiss at the Lewisham party. He remembered it all too well – the beach-themed tiles, the roll-top bath with its ornate legs, sitting on the toilet with the lid down, she straddled on his lap, her musky perfume, the smoothness of her blouse. It was all so clumsy and sordid but wonderfully desperate. Ten minutes later, they emerged from the bathroom to be greeted by a small queue of people waiting for the toilet. Rachel giggled, Tom blushed. He remembered the meal out at the Italian restaurant – what a painful experience that was; the beginning of the end. That was the time he gave her that silly lighter in the shape of a gun. Once they recovered from the crooning serenade, Rachel was unnaturally happy, ecstatic almost, dancing in the street with her red rose. At first, he put it down to the drink and the occasion, but he soon realised her joy had a far deeper meaning. He’d liked her – but not that much. He began to distance himself, made up excuses, whatever it took. And then he met Julie. Rachel broke it off but not without the hysterics and the threats. He was so annoyed with himself for allowing Rachel back into his life. ‘Get a move on!’ he shouted, slamming his fist against the steering wheel in frustration.
To his left was the bus lane – empty. He checked his rear-view mirror, indicated left and eased out onto the red tarmac lane. He knew it was risky especially in Holloway and could earn him a hefty fine to add to the earlier speeding one, but what the heck, he had to get there. He sped down the bus lane and managed to squeeze back into the main flow of traffic beyond the next set of traffic lights. It was 1:45; five more minutes and he reckoned he’d be there. He was banking that they were at the Rose and Crown. It was the nearest pub to Julie’s school; it had to be that one. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. Surely Rachel wouldn’t launch straight into a blow-by-blow confession, she would feel the need to build up to it first, get Julie relaxed, on her side. He swung left into Sydney Street. Just a few back roads and he was there.
‘Tom is a very special man. I don’t understand why he’d walk out on you.’
‘I know.’ Yes, thought Julie, Tom was a very special man. ‘I know,’ she repeated.
‘I don’t see so much of you both now...’
‘I’m not sure we saw that much of each other in the first place. Apart from toddler groups and children’s parties.’
‘Well, perhaps I meant Tom.’
‘Yes. I never knew you two were such good friends; I don’t remember it at all.’
‘I suppose if I’m honest with you, Julie, you wouldn’t have.’
Julie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Look, let me just nip to the loo. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Tom parked his mother’s Vauxhall. Dreadful old thing, he thought, he wished they’d get something newer, something with air conditioning. The Rose and Crown was just around the corner. He stuffed a few coins into the parking meter and started walking quickly towards the pub. His heart was thumpi
ng, he had no idea what he was walking into or how he would explain his unexpected appearance. It was too late to think up a story now. He began jogging and broke into another sweat as the adrenaline flowed. He reached the pub, pushed open the door and staggered into the dark, smoky atmosphere. He glanced around, adjusting his eyes to the darkness, catching his breath. A few men propped up the bar watching the horse racing on an overhead television, trying to hear the commentary over the music. An elderly couple sat in silence in the corner. At another table sat an unkempt youth reading a tabloid, smoking a roll-up. Tom peered around the bar. There she was – sitting alone next to the window. For a moment he felt relieved, perhaps Rachel had stood her up. But then he saw the glasses on the table in front of her. How forlorn she looked, somehow out of place in this dreary pub with its dreary clientele. He approached the table cautiously and noticed how the sun streamed through her hair, accentuating her natural blondness. ‘Hello, Julie,’ he said quietly.
She jumped at the sound of his voice. She turned and looked bewildered by his sudden presence. ‘Tom?’ She almost smiled but seemed to check herself. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘My mother said you phoned...’
‘Yes, but you didn’t have to–’
‘Hi, Tom.’ Tom spun round to see Rachel. ‘How nice to see you.’ If she was surprised by his appearance, she certainly didn’t show it.
Despite knowing she was there, he, in turn, still felt surprised on seeing her. ‘Hello, Rachel, I was just passing, as they say.’
‘What a coincidence.’ She sat down. ‘Might as well join us. Want a drink?’
‘What? Yeah, sure. Water. That’d be fine. Thanks.’
‘OK,’ said Rachel cheerfully. ‘I’ll get it.’
He sat down, his back to the bar, and glanced furtively at his wife.
‘So what does bring you here?’ she asked coldly.
‘My mother said you needed to speak to me about Charlotte. She said it was urgent.’
‘Yes, but not so urgent you had to come all this way without phoning first. Anyway, I was just having a nice drink with Rachel.’
‘So I see. How’s Charlotte?’
‘Missing you, wondering what she’s done wrong.’
Tom grimaced. ‘And, erm, are you missing me?’
She stared out of the window for a few moments, as if tossing his question around her mind. ‘Tom, listen, I want you to know–’
‘One water with lots of ice,’ said Rachel sitting down. ‘My treat – two words I never quite managed to teach Adrian.’
Tom seized on the opportunity to steer the conversation. ‘I was talking to Adrian today – good bloke; you could do worse, Rachel, a lot worse.’
‘I know; thank you for the advice. But I also know I could do better; a lot better.’
Tom’s cheeks flushed. He gulped down his water, the coldness jarring against his teeth.
Julie spoke, ‘Rachel was just saying how you two used to hang out together. I didn’t know you two were such good friends. I thought it was just through the girls.’ She laughed.
Tom glanced at Rachel, his eyes pleading for her to keep her silence. But Rachel was enjoying herself; this was, he knew, some sort of watershed for her. She giggled. ‘It was more than that. It was fun, wasn’t it, Tom?’
Tom held his tongue and twirled the ice around in his glass.
Julie was watching both of them when it hit her. Like a thunderbolt striking her, she suddenly realised what was happening. Her stomach flipped. Gripping the table, she turned to Tom, fixing him a piercing stare. ‘Well, Tom? Was it fun?’
He noticed there was the slightest hint of lipstick on the rim of his glass. His mind was spinning, trying to work out how to deflect the conversation but knowing it was already too late. Julie continued.
Julie could see it in his face – something had gone on between them. She glanced at Rachel, clocking her smug expression. So, that was what it was all about – this sudden need to be friends. They were having an affair and Rachel wanted to expose it. How could she have been so naïve? How had she let this woman worm her way in? She felt betrayed; hurt that she’d exposed her inner self to this woman. Her heart hammered as the surge of anger rose within her. ‘OK, as Tom’s memory seems to have conveniently lapsed,’ she said loudly, trying to contain herself and speaking quickly, ‘let me put it another way.’ She looked at Rachel. ‘Rachel, I hope you don’t mind my asking,’ she said, adopting a softer tone, ‘but are you having an affair with my husband?’
Tom felt the sweat running down his collar. He remembered those words – she’d used exactly the same words he had used with Moyes at the parents’ evening. He shot a look at Rachel who produced a cigarette and the gun-shaped lighter. She could barely constrain the smile, thought Tom. Julie waited patiently while Rachel lit her cigarette. She blew out a mouthful of smoke, which lingered within the beams of sunlight streaming through the window. Tilting her head to one side, she grinned. ‘No,’ she said calmly, ‘but before you, we were together; an item, as they call it.’
Tom noticed Julie clench her jaw. ‘It was before we were married...’ he said.
‘Don’t forget what happened at Lewisham, Tom dear,’ interrupted Rachel.
‘That was years ago.’
‘Only three years, Tom.’
‘It meant nothing.’ He looked at Rachel to see whether his harsh words had wiped the grin from her face.
It had, but only momentarily. ‘That’s not what you said at the time. If I remember rightly, you were more than happy to–’
‘Stop being so self-deluded. Did you really think for a moment I would–’
‘Shut up, both of you.’ Julie snarled her lip. ‘You sodding hypocrite.’
‘Takes one to know one,’ said Rachel.
‘What? You...’ She turned to Tom. ‘You told her?’
‘Julie–’
‘I don’t believe it. You bastard.’ Julie picked up her handbag and turned to face Rachel. ‘That was it, wasn’t it? That was the reason for your pathetic attempts at being friends? So you could gloat, you sad bitch.’
Rachel smirked. ‘You don’t know anything, least of all Tom, you simply don’t understand him.’
Julie rose from her seat. ‘How dare you preach to me, you scheming little cow.’ She picked up Tom’s half-full glass of icy water and threw it at Rachel, slammed the glass down on the table, and stormed out.
Rachel screeched, then laughed. Tom jumped out of his seat. ‘Julie, wait...’ By now the whole pub was watching intently as Tom ran after her. He caught up with her outside. ‘Julie, please wait a minute...’
She stopped, spun round, and for a moment Tom thought she was going to spit at him. ‘Kept that one a bit quiet, didn’t you? I was full of regret, up to here with self-loathing for what I’d done, and all the while you’d been at it with... with her. Puts a bit of a new perspective on it, doesn’t it, you bastard.’
‘Julie–’
‘All this prima donna stuff running off to mummy and daddy. And to think I was desperate to have you back. Well not any more, matey, you can sodding stay there and stew for all I care.’
‘Will you–’
‘I can’t believe you told her; how dare you? Got another shag in while you were at it, did you? Christ, she’s all over you like a rash–’
‘Will you shut the hell up? I’ve not slept with her since–’
‘I don’t want to know. I’ll shut the hell up but I’m not hanging around to listen.’
‘Julie, you have to hear me out–’
‘Do I, Tom? No, I don’t think so; I don’t have to listen to you because I don’t want to hear it. Understood?’ She turned and walked quickly away. But then she stopped and flung around to face him. ‘And no, I’m not missing you.’
Tom watched her leave, watched her as she strode purposefully down the street, around the corner and out of view. He remained still, vaguely gazing at the space where her presence had been, this stranger who used to be
his wife. He looked up at the blue skies, the sun reflecting off the roofs and noticed a hot air balloon drifting gently across the sky.
He stepped back into the dark atmosphere of the pub, his polished shoes echoing on the wooden floor. His return drew a sudden silence from the regulars who turned to watch him in full expectation of further excitement. ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’ now played on the jukebox, its doleful organ ringing round the interior. He marched back to the table to find Rachel dabbing her blouse with a handkerchief, a lighted cigarette in the other hand. She smiled at his approach. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s best out in the open,’ she said in her high-pitched voice.
‘No, Rachel, it isn’t.’ He glanced around, conscious of being watched by the whole pub with the horse racing and Procol Harum in the background. He lowered his voice and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Julie’s right, you’re a scheming little cow. What exactly was this meant to achieve?’
The Red Oak (The Searight Saga Book 3) Page 17
