She frowned. ‘Lots of people aren’t good with paperwork. You’re good at fixing plumbing problems, though. It takes skill to do that.’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Not really. Anyone could do it.’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. You’re being too hard on yourself. Isn’t he, Marlon?’ She ruffled his ears.
‘My sister’s the one with the brains. I couldn’t even pass basic English, wrote half my letters the wrong way round.’ Why was he still talking? It was like he was intent on humiliating himself.
She seemed to study him. ‘Exams don’t suit everyone. They’re certainly no gauge of a person’s intelligence. You have other attributes, like problem-solving and understanding gas regulations, knowing what part to fit where. And you have a lovely personality …’ She looked like she wanted to say something else, but stopped herself.
A lovely personality? Exactly the phrase his mates used to describe a woman they didn’t fancy. Evie felt sorry for him. The thick manual worker with no brains who needed letting down gently.
He stood up. Time to take the hint and stop humiliating himself. It’d been a mistake to come here. He’d made the same miscalculation as Nicole. He’d assumed he and Evie could pick up where they left off … on the couch, kissing, ripping each other’s clothes off. But no, Evie was moving on too. If she wanted what he wanted then she wouldn’t be hiding behind her dog on the other side of the room. Enough said.
‘I’d better go. Sorry to have disturbed you.’ He made for the door. ‘Congratulations on your win. Good luck with everything.’
He heard her fumbling with Marlon to get off the sofa. ‘Scott? Scott, wait up. Don’t leave.’
But he didn’t want to hang around to hear any more platitudes. He made a swift exit. A smart person wouldn’t have shown up here in the first place. A smart person would have told her how he felt when he had the opportunity. A smart person wouldn’t have blown it by leaving it until it was too late. A smart person he most definitely was not.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Thursday, 19 June
It had been six days since Laura had ended things with David. Six days since Martin had left her. And six days since she’d destroyed her marriage in such spectacular fashion. The most miserable and wretched six days of her life. But there was no use crying over it. She’d brought this on herself.
As she flicked off the shop lights, the silhouetted images of the wedding dresses danced against the far wall. It was usually such a joyful sight, their frills and sparkles casting a magical spell, promising a life filled with love and happiness. But since that fateful night at the Bell Inn a week ago, the dresses taunted her, an agonising reminder of what she’d had and lost. Not lost – destroyed. Sabotaged. Demolished. Like blowing up a building, bulldozing it to the ground.
She walked aimlessly to her car, dreading another evening spent alone in the house with nothing but her recriminations for company. She was used to Martin working late, but he always came home in the end … But that was before her dalliance with David Robinson. The thought that Martin might never come home again was too excruciating to contemplate.
She didn’t even know where Martin was. Was he staying with a friend? His mother? She had no idea. All she knew was that it wasn’t with her and she hated it.
The drive home was slow and erratic, her mind elsewhere. She didn’t realise she’d drifted across the lane until a car horn blasted, forcing her to straighten the wheel. She was a mess. And she was entirely responsible. Well, almost entirely.
A small part of her still felt aggrieved at how things had played out. After all, in the end she’d decided against having an affair. What had started out as fun and exciting had rapidly turned into regret and disappointment. David Robinson was not who she wanted. He never had been, really. He’d just been a welcome distraction, something to focus on rather than dwelling over the cracks in her marriage. Arranging to meet him at the Bell Inn had been a mistake, but it had also clarified things. Doubt had been creeping into her mind long before he’d arrived at the hotel. She’d already decided against taking their flirtations to another level. She’d only waited around to tell him as much.
In a strange kind of epiphany all her uncertainty had melted away. She wasn’t ready to walk away from Martin. She loved him. She wanted to be married to him. But before she could tell him that, he’d seen her at the hotel with David and wrongly assumed she’d been unfaithful. Which she had, sort of. But she hadn’t slept with David and that was the important thing … Right? She needed to tell Martin that, explain it all, make him understand, but she was too late. By the time she’d arrived home Martin had left. His toiletries were gone from the bathroom cabinet, his work suits missing from the hanging rail, his car absent from the driveway. She’d sunk into the gaping hole left in the wardrobe and cried until her eyes were dry and sore.
Turning into Blythe Road, anger and indignation reared their ugly heads once more. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even had the chance to explain. Why wouldn’t Martin reply to her texts? She’d left numerous voice messages, but it had been radio silence for six days. Six long, depressing, tedious and incredibly lonely and miserable days.
Such was her slump, it took a few moments to realise Martin’s car was parked in the driveway. A bubble of something liquid raced through her veins, creating a thumping in her temples. Hope, relief, panic, uncertainty – they all juggled for prime position as she parked behind him and threw off her seatbelt, trying to get inside before he disappeared. Had he returned for good? To pack more belongings? To ask for a divorce? Oh God, please, not a divorce.
Her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. On reaching the front door she fumbled with the key, clumsily opening it and running down the hallway, searching the lounge and dining room.
She found Martin in the kitchen, sitting at the table, an unopened suitcase next to him. He was wearing his usual tailored suit, matching designer shirt and striped tie. His top button was undone and his tie was skew-whiff, the only hint of discord. His gorgeous wavy hair looked as though he’d raked his hands through it several times. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles. He looked defeated. Her heart ached at the sight of him. He didn’t say anything when she ran into the kitchen.
Dropping her bag onto the floor, she tried to find a suitable opening gambit. ‘Hi,’ was all her brain could muster, wholly inadequate under the circumstances.
He didn’t smile, didn’t shout, didn’t look pleased or angry to see her. In fact, he didn’t offer any indication as to how he felt. He just sat there looking weary.
For the first time in her life Laura felt uncomfortable in her own home. In her own skin, like her insides were squirming, trying to escape the horrible awkwardness of the situation. Words wouldn’t form, which was odd when she had so much to say.
It was Martin who broke the silence. ‘You’ve met someone else, then.’ He delivered it as a statement not a question.
Laura shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t.’
His expression relayed a mixture of disbelief and disgust. ‘Don’t lie to me, Laura. I know about you and David Robinson. I saw you together. Credit me with some intelligence.’
His stinging accusation propelled her towards him. The kitchen table acted as a barrier between them. ‘I know you saw us, but it isn’t what you think—’
‘Isn’t it?’ His face reddened. ‘You were at a hotel with him. You went upstairs with him. It seems clear to me.’
Panic gripped her. ‘I know it looked bad, and I did arrange to meet him—’
‘Did you know he’s Patricia’s husband?’ He cut her off. ‘You know Patricia? My tennis partner, my friend? Someone I respect and like and have wanted you to meet for months. Is that why you’ve always made excuses? Because it would be too awkward to socialise with the wife of your lover?’
‘No, of course not. And he’s not my lover. Martin, please let me explain.’
He stared up at the ceiling as if talking to himself. ‘It all mak
es sense now. Excuse after excuse for not coming to the tennis socials. And there I was naively accepting your refusals as nothing more than an unwillingness to spend time with your boring husband. It transpires you were protecting your dirty little secret. How calculating of you.’
‘That’s not it. I promise you.’ She leant across the table, willing him to listen.
‘You promise me?’ His expression turned to one of barely contained outrage. ‘Because you’ve never lied to me, have you? I can always trust what comes out of your mouth, like when you said you were visiting an old friend in London when really you were screwing someone else.’ The venom behind his accusation magnified when he jumped up.
Laura withdrew from his anger. ‘I wasn’t!’
He thumped the table. ‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because I changed my mind!’ Her screamed words stopped his momentum. Doubt crept into his eyes, enabling her to take advantage of the temporary lull. ‘You have every right to be angry with me. And if you still want to leave I won’t stop you, but please let me explain first. You owe me that much.’
He recoiled. ‘I don’t owe you anything.’
‘Yes, you do, Martin.’ Her voice was firm, veiling the anxiety she felt. ‘Because you’re still my husband and like it or not we’ve both contributed to this mess. Let me own my part of it and tell you the truth. Let me explain what really happened so you have all the facts and you’re not ending our marriage over something you think I’ve done.’
After a heavy silence, he sat down. ‘You have five minutes.’
‘Thank you.’ Five minutes wasn’t long, she needed to formulate her defence. ‘I made a mistake. Several, really. The first was allowing my head to be turned by David Robinson. Why did I let this happen? Because I was unhappy, Martin. I felt neglected, unwanted and …’
Martin made to interrupt.
‘Just let me finish.’ She held up her hand. ‘Please, Martin.’
He begrudgingly allowed her to continue.
The kitchen suddenly seemed cramped, lacking in oxygen. She paced, hoping the momentum of walking would aid her breathing. ‘Our marriage had become a battleground. Neither of us were willing to concede. We were both angry and resentful. Our relationship had become stale. The truth is, I ran out of ideas, Martin.’ She turned to him. ‘I didn’t know how to make it better. I wanted what we used to have – fun, excitement, passion. I was married to you, but I missed you. I ached for intimacy and closeness, but everything I did annoyed you, alienated you and drove you further away.’ She went over to him, forcing him to look at her. ‘David Robinson briefly cured some of that loneliness. I didn’t discourage his attentions because it boosted my bruised self-esteem.’ Laura braced herself for Martin’s rebuke. ‘It didn’t feel like cheating, not to begin with. It was just harmless flirting. It was only when he suggested booking a room that things became more …’
Martin looked enraged. ‘Adulterous?’
She nodded. ‘Potentially, yes. Which forced me to question my actions and decide if that was what I really wanted.’
Martin’s bluster faltered. A solitary tear sneaked from between his eyelids. ‘And was it?’
The vehement shake of her head made her neck twang. ‘No. Although in hindsight I wish I’d come to that conclusion earlier. It was only when I was in the hotel room waiting for him that I realised it was you I wanted to show up, not him. I fantasised about you bursting in so consumed with desire you took me there and then against the door.’ Reliving the image made her lightheaded. Martin looked a little dizzy himself. ‘That’s when I knew I didn’t want to be with David. I still wanted my husband. I wanted you. I decided I was going to fight for our marriage. But I never got the chance because before I could come home and confess …’
‘You got sprung.’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘Rotten timing, huh?’
He wasn’t cheered by her feeble attempt at humour.
Knowing her five minutes was almost up, she leant back against the sink. ‘Are you leaving me?’
He didn’t answer straight away. He rested his elbows on his knees. ‘I came home tonight with the intention of packing up and moving out permanently.’
Laura’s insides bunched. She closed her eyes. ‘And … and do you still feel that way?’
‘Honestly?’ He waited for her to look at him. ‘I don’t know. Things have been strained for so long, it felt like the final blow.’ He fiddled with the corner of the table, loosening a chipped piece of wood they’d never got around to sanding down. ‘You’re not the only one who hasn’t been happy. I’ve tried my damnedest to look after you, provide you with financial security and a solid foundation to build a life together, but the more I’ve tried, the more distant you’ve become.’ He scratched at the wood. ‘I seemed to be making all the sacrifices – long hours, no social life, exhaustion – and the one thing I wanted you wouldn’t agree to. It’s only recently I’ve realised what I’ve been feeling. Resentment.’ He stopped scratching, seeming surprised that he’d been doing it. ‘I feel cheated, and that has nothing to do with you and David Robinson. That just twisted the knife further.’
Laura hadn’t realised he resented her. She just thought he’d stopped wanting her. ‘I don’t want you to leave.’
His faced remain blank. He didn’t contradict her, which she took as a positive.
She flexed her fingers, trying to release some of the tension. ‘But I don’t want things to stay as they are.’
He nodded. ‘Me neither.’
Another long silence filled the kitchen. Laura looked at him. ‘So where do we go from here?’
He shook his head. ‘Christ knows.’
She pulled up a chair and sat down, waiting until his eyes locked with hers. ‘Do you still love me?’
He didn’t even blink. ‘To the moon and back.’ But then his voice wavered slightly. ‘Do you still love me?’
She nodded. ‘You’re the only person I want to spend my life with.’
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he smiled, albeit fleetingly. ‘It would appear we finally agree on something.’
An idea formed in her mind. ‘You spend your days negotiating deals, right?’
He looked confused by the randomness of her question. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Stick with me on this.’ She stood up and resumed pacing. ‘You have two clients who fundamentally have the same end goal, but who’re struggling to work in harmony and agree terms and conditions.’ She turned to gain his agreement. ‘Correct?’
He gave an ironic laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
She folded her arms. ‘So, how would you deal with this at work?’ When he didn’t answer she said, ‘Come on, Mr Negotiator, broker me a deal here. Talk me through how you would resolve a dispute between clients.’
He frowned, clearly unconvinced. ‘I would ascertain what the obstacles were and find a solution.’
Laura clapped her hands. ‘Right, let’s try that.’ When he still looked sceptical, she gave him a challenging stare. ‘Do you have a better idea?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You know it would require compromise?’
She felt herself frown. ‘I can do compromise.’ When he smirked, she shrugged. ‘And anyway, as long as both parties are willing to bend, then I don’t see a problem.’ Her emphasis on the word ‘both’ almost made him smile.
‘Fine. Let’s try it.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘Each of us needs to state one thing they’d like from the other person.’
Laura nodded. ‘Shall I go first?’
‘Be my guest.’ He seemed to brace himself for whatever was coming.
‘Martin, I’d like very much … No, let me start again.’ She picked up a wooden spoon. ‘Martin, I want you to change your job.’ She whacked the table with the spoon.
He look mildly alarmed.
‘You work too many hours,’ she explained, waving the spoon in the air. ‘Financial recruitment isn’t w
hat you set out to do and I think it’s contributing to your gloom. It drains you of energy, frustrates you and leaves you miserable and tired at the end of the day.’ She faced him. ‘When we met you had big plans for a career as a sports agent. You sacrificed your dream for the sake of our marriage, assuming a big house and lots of money was what I wanted. Well, I have news for you, Martin. It was never what I wanted.’
He looked surprised. ‘It wasn’t?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ She threw the spoon in the sink. ‘I think changing your job will allow us more time for each other. For passion, for romance, for … I don’t know …’ She spun around. ‘Spontaneity!’ She advanced on him. ‘And most importantly, sex.’ She studied his shocked expression. ‘That, Martin, is what I want. What I’ve always wanted. And what I’m not prepared to compromise on.’ She held his bewildered gaze. ‘Is that something you can agree to?’
His eyes searched the room, no doubt weighing up the pros and cons of committing himself. Had she misjudged him? She hoped not. Eventually, he nodded. ‘Yes.’
She stilled. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes, Laura. I will change jobs. You’re right. It doesn’t make me happy.’
Blimey, that was easy. ‘Good … Well, that’s good. Okay, your turn.’
He got up, removed his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair. He looked her squarely in the eye. ‘There’s only one thing I want from you, Laura.’
Her skin began to tingle. ‘And that is?’
‘To start a family. It doesn’t have to be right away, but it’s what I want. And I thought it was what you wanted too. At least, it used to be. Am I wrong?’
His intensity came as a shock. Laura considered his request, or rather, ultimatum. ‘No, you’re right, I did want kids. I still do, it’s just …’
‘Just what?’ He stepped closer, the look in his eyes beseeching.
The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Page 32
