by Hilary Boyd
Devan finally stood up, blew out the candle. He began sweeping the chip bags and remains of the battered fish and mushy peas into the paper carrier bag from the fish shop, screwing it up tightly and throwing it into the black bin. Connie, from habit, was about to protest that the paper should be recycled, but she held her tongue. Planet survival was not her main concern tonight.
She got up, too, and returned the ketchup and malt vinegar to the cupboard, cleared away the glasses. The stems were too long to fit into the dishwasher so she rinsed them in the sink, resting them upside down on a tea towel on the draining-board. All in silence. Her heart was beating raggedly. Unable to bear the tension a moment longer, she swung round. Devan was fiddling with his phone, plugging it into the charger on the ledge by the kitchen door. Resting her hands on the counter-top behind her, she said, ‘What now?’ It wasn’t meant to sound aggressive, but she feared it had come out that way.
Her husband looked up, his expression hard to read. He gazed at her but didn’t reply. Connie pushed herself away from the worktop and went over to him. She was shaky and unsure, her confidence waning in the face of his continued silence. ‘Do you want me to sleep in the spare room?’ she asked quietly.
He bit his lip. She felt his indecision stretching between them, like an unfolding yardstick, pushing them further and further apart. ‘Probably best if I do,’ she added quietly.
Devan nodded, but still seemed paralysed. She turned away, only to feel his grip tight on her arm, swinging her around. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, he was kissing her. His mouth was fierce, but she welcomed it. Welcomed, too, his hands pulling her across the hall to the sitting room, to the sofa, where they fell in a heap, tearing at each other’s clothes. She was aware of his fast, rasping breath, his hands rough against her breasts, his knees pushing her legs apart. She cried out, wanting him so desperately it felt as if her life depended upon it.
They were quiet afterwards. The room had grown chilly, the heating gone off long since. Devan pulled the throw over them as they lay in each other’s arms. Connie felt tearful. This was only the beginning – she had no foolish illusions. But the sex had proved something. Not love, not forgiveness, not even lust, but something bigger than all three at this juncture: a mutual desire to break down the barriers between them. For Connie, it was enough.
Connie found she was thinking less and less about Jared. In the early days at home, Devan was her entire focus. She ignored the question of why someone as obsessed – and mentally unhinged – as Jared would suddenly decide to throw in the towel and leave her alone. If he came back into her life now, she would go straight to the police. She and Devan would go together. The power he’d wielded so successfully in the past no longer scared her.
The village – in true English fashion – pretended on the surface that nothing had happened. But Connie was insecure as she began to show her face in the streets, the shops and cafés. A glance here, a nod there, a whispered exchange between two people, all were salacious titbits about her and Jared in her paranoid mind. And perhaps in reality, too. She had to brace herself every day, before going out.
Devan, previously so conscious of his perceived humiliation, seemed almost bullish by comparison. He had her by his side again, and that seemed protection enough against the gossip. ‘Fuck ’em,’ he said, when she expressed a reluctance to go to the pub. ‘It’s none of their bloody business.’
‘I’m meeting Neil for a coffee,’ she announced, ten days after she’d returned home. She was dying to see her friend, to spill the crazy patchwork of her emotional highs and lows to someone who would understand. Because her reunion with Devan, buoyed up by initial delight in the knowledge that they really did belong together, was not plain sailing. Not that she had expected it to be. The gilt was already wearing off the gingerbread: he seemed not to want her out of his sight.
‘Where are you going?’ Devan was instantly anxious.
‘Angie’s.’
‘Will you be long?’
‘Oh, you know me and Neil … gossip for Britain, us.’ She was making light, smoothing the sudden tension.
‘It’s just if you’re taking the car, I need to know when you’ll be back. I’ve got stuff to do.’ He sounded tense.
‘OK. One o’clock, then?’
Devan glanced at the kitchen clock, frowned. ‘Two hours for a coffee?’
‘I haven’t seen him since before Christmas …’
‘Right.’ He shot her a sardonic smile. ‘Lot to catch up on, then.’
Connie chose to ignore his jibe. ‘Come with me? Neil’s your friend too.’
Devan pursed his lips. ‘Think I’ll pass. I might clog the airwaves.’
‘I’ll give him your love.’
‘You could do,’ he said.
She was unable to decide whether he was being sarcastic or not, but she didn’t go there. If she was insecure, then her husband had every right to feel the same. But she knew if his constant questioning of where she was going and what she was doing continued, it would drive her mad.
Connie and Neil gave each other the longest hug. She felt it was the first time she could truly relax since the moment when Devan had picked her up from Tessa’s house.
‘No wonder you look frazzled,’ Neil said, once they were settled with their coffee and she’d caught him up with her bizarre Christmas.
She grinned. ‘Thanks.’ A group of mums, babies in buggies and toddlers running about the tables, were chatting and laughing loudly, making quite a din, but she barely noticed.
‘So how’s it going, now you’re back in the old homestead?’
‘Up and down. It’s difficult for Devan, I get that, but he does give me quite a hard time here and there.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘I don’t really mind. I’m just so pleased to be home, Neil. And I know I deserve –’
‘Stop!’ Neil held up his palm like a traffic cop. ‘Old news, darling. You’ve done your penance. Got to move on.’
She laughed wearily. ‘Devan’s not going to forget, though, is he?’
‘It’s more a case of absorbing than forgetting. Jed was part of your and Devan’s life. Nothing’s going to change that. But you can absorb him, now he’s not an issue any more. Reduce him to just a thread in a long and steadfast marriage. You should both be proud of how you’ve survived.’
‘When did you get to be so wise about infidelity?’
He raised his eyebrows slightly.
She frowned. ‘You … Brooks? Surely not.’
Neil cleared his throat noncommittally.
‘When? Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me, Neil?’
‘Same reason you didn’t tell me about Jared, I expect.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘It was one night. Years ago. We’re long over it.’
Before she could take in what Neil was saying, or question him further, he was asking, ‘So where’s our beloved stalker now?’
‘No idea. I’m telling myself he’s gone for good. Which I’m trying to believe.’ It was true that she hadn’t sensed anything eerie or strange since being back, glimpsed no shape, no face, no image she thought might be his. The village seemed like a haven after the London streets, which she’d felt had actually vibrated with his presence.
Neil looked sceptical. ‘He’s finally given up? Do stalkers do that?’ When she didn’t immediately reply, he went on, as if she were challenging the label. ‘He might fall short on the bunny-boiling cred, but he’s definitely a stalker, Con.’
‘Yeah, OK. It doesn’t really matter what he is or isn’t, does it? He’s out of my life now.’ Connie was irritated that Neil was making her focus on Jared, prodding the worry, like a child with a stick, that he might reappear. She wasn’t sure her marriage would stand it. Devan had kicked off again yesterday.
They’d been walking in single file in the woods with Riley. It was a gorgeous late January day, almost hot in the sunshine. Connie was feeling good, until Devan, gazing straight ahead as they crested the hill, had reopened the w
ound.
‘Couldn’t you see, right from the off, that there was something creepy about Jared?’ he asked, sounding pained. ‘Turning up like that at your hotels without you telling him where you were would have sounded loud alarm bells to me.’
Connie forbore to remind Devan that he hadn’t found Jared the least bit ‘creepy’ when he’d met him. Neither could she let on that at the time it had felt exciting, flattering. ‘The information’s all on the website,’ she replied. ‘It was just a game for him, I suppose.’
‘And you, Connie? Was it a game for you, too?’ The bitterness was back, acrid as burned coffee. ‘Way more fun than hanging out with your grumpy old man back home, I imagine.’
She stopped, taking a moment before she replied, anger churning in her gut, replacing, for once, the relentless guilt. ‘Well,’ she said, squaring up to him, arms akimbo in the winter sunlight, ‘there is some truth in that, if I’m absolutely honest.’ She saw him flinch. ‘At some stage, Devan, you’re going to have to stop bloody picking at this scab or we’ll never move forward.’
She shocked herself with her uncompromising tone, and she had clearly shocked her husband. He looked at her aghast. ‘You’re making this my fault?’
‘That isn’t what I said. But listen to this: I withdraw pretty much all of the warmth, kindness, even sex from our marriage. I stop showering or dressing in clean clothes, drink too much and slump on my phone all day long, refusing any offers of help. I go on at you to give up something you love that you aren’t ready to give up,’ she took a breath, ‘and outwardly question where our marriage is going.’ Another breath. ‘Would you be understanding and endlessly patient? Or might you be as childish as me, feel rejected, unconfident … and vulnerable to the first woman who seemed to admire you?’ She was shaking, but she was shaking with relief. At last she’d said what she had not dared say, what had been festering in her mind for weeks now. ‘Don’t think I’m letting myself off the hook,’ she added quietly, ‘but there’s only so much guilt a person can feel, so many times a person can apologize, without any sign they’ve been heard.’
Looking indignant, but also a bit punctured, Devan replied, ‘I asked you to come home, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, and I’m so happy you did. But think about what I said.’
His face was set stubbornly. Then it fell, his body seeming to lose its strength as he slumped over, hugging his arms around his chest.
‘I honestly thought you didn’t love me any more,’ she added, more gently.
Devan’s face suffused with anguish. ‘Oh, Connie. Of course I loved you. I love you. I’ve never stopped. Not even when I found out about Jared. I hated you, too, then. I never wanted to see you again. But I never stopped loving you.’
Connie, tears in her eyes, had just nodded.
Now, sitting opposite Neil, she brushed away the memory as she tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘You should treat yourselves, Con. Get away somewhere warm for a few days. Change the record, change things up with your marriage. You’ve always been such a strong team – that still holds true, doesn’t it?’
‘Maybe,’ she said diffidently, which caused Neil to frown.
‘You do still love the man, don’t you?’
Tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh, God, yes. I love him so much.’ She blinked. ‘It’s just …’ Seeing Neil’s face, she knew what he was going to say. ‘I know, I know, give it bloody time. I haven’t got any choice, have I? But it’s so hard waiting for that moment when he looks at me again like he always used to – and it’s just him and me … no Jared.’ She was trying to control her wobbling mouth. ‘I just don’t know if that moment will ever come.’
33
The roof terrace was cool in the early-morning sun, which shone from a bright blue cloudless sky. Looking over the parapet, Connie had a breathtaking view across the city, the tower of the beautiful Moorish minaret sticking up above the flat red-brown Marrakech roofs dotted with satellite dishes, the Atlas Mountains on the distant horizon.
Connie and Devan, fresh from a swim in the chilly hotel pool, reclined in their white robes on rough-weave red and orange striped cushions. They sipped golden juice and strong coffee, ate hot fried eggs nestling in spicy tomato sauce, yoghurt and coriander, into which they were dipping chunks of crusty white bread.
‘Heaven,’ Connie pronounced, her mouth full.
She had taken Neil’s advice and gone straight home to speak to Devan. ‘We never got around to organizing that break we talked about last year. I think we need it now. Can you take a week off from the hospice?’ It had opened in early January and Devan clearly loved working there.
He’d said he was sure he could, but had stipulated, ‘Anything but a train tour,’ with a sardonic grin.
And, so far, it had been a success. Neither of them had been to Morocco before. There were no memories, no associations. The hotel was beautiful, their room a vibrant pink and soft green, the bed huge, with capacious pink velvet armchairs to sit in and polished patterned tiles beneath their bare feet. Connie, despite all her travelling, had never stayed anywhere so elegant and luxurious.
In the five days they were there, they made lazy explorations of the medina, the souk, the famous Koutoubia Mosque. By night they ate harira soup, ordered tagines with fluffy couscous in local cafés, or ate on the hotel terrace at small wrought-iron tables. But the greater part of each day they just sat in the sunshine, utterly exhausted by the nightmare of previous months. Their chat was all about the city, the sights, the food, the hotel, the books they were reading, neither of them willing to ruin the time away with more rows and recriminations. It felt like a fragile peace, but peace, nonetheless.
Connie, however, hadn’t managed to relax as much as she’d hoped since leaving the safety of the village. She couldn’t entirely stop herself scrutinizing the passengers on the plane, the other guests, checking the faces in the busy medina, glancing about her in the narrow alleyways of the souk. A gift of dates, nuts and little oranges left in a dainty latticework dish on their bed set her heart racing. She kept her phone off at night, in case – ridiculously – there was a text saying he was outside the bedroom door. But there was no sign of him.
She put this unease partly down to something that had happened on the day of their departure, although she did her best to push it to the back of her mind. As they left the house at four in the morning for their seven-thirty flight, she had noticed a little posy of snowdrops tied with string lying on the top of the low wall beside the house. The beam of her phone torch picked it out as she made her way to the car. Anyone could have left it there, she told herself firmly. Most likely a passing child had dropped it the day before, although it had been raining hard all night and the flowers looked fresh.
She’d found herself racking her brain as Devan drove in bleary-eyed silence to Bristol airport, trying to remember whether Jared had ever mentioned snowdrops, whether he might have thought they held any sort of significance for her. Nothing sprang to mind, but the old churning unease was set in motion once more. It made her want to weep with frustration. Would it ever end, this constant niggling, exhausting vigilance?
‘I still don’t get it,’ Devan said, early on the morning of their last day. He was sitting propped up against the pillows, the light filtering through the half-open shutters dappling his face and naked chest. Connie was curled on her side, watching him sleepily, but his tone alerted her. She felt her body tense. ‘I know I’ve got at you for not sussing Jared out earlier, but I was the same. I liked him. He really did seem … normal. He could have been a friend. How could we both have got it so wrong?’
This was the first time Jared’s name had been mentioned on the holiday and it felt like something of a relief to Connie, despite her anxiety as to where the discussion might lead: as the days had gone on, the elephant still sitting in the room had been growing bigger and bigger in the silence. Devan was staring down at her with bewilderment. ‘And he genuinely seemed to want my fri
endship, Connie – however twisted that might be. I think he was quite lonely.’
She pulled herself up to sit against the headboard, surprised at this sudden softening towards Jared. ‘I reckon he did like you,’ she said cautiously. ‘You and the others were important to him – aside from how he felt about me. He didn’t want me to tell you, to blow it all apart.’
Devan’s mouth twisted and he let out a long sigh. ‘Bonkers and utterly delusional to think that could work, but I suppose he just wanted to be part of the gang.’ There was a pause. ‘I’d still wring his neck, if I ever saw him again,’ he added, a rancorous note entering his voice. But the bile obvious in previous similar comments was not quite so evident.
Connie reached for his hand and squeezed it. He returned the squeeze, then took his hand away and put it around her, pulling her close. They lay against the pillows in the dappled sunlight for a long time. There seemed no tension between them now. The silence was not loaded. His fingers stroking her bare arm were gentle and loving. A tiny orange-brown bird appeared at the open window, its head darting inquisitively to and fro. Connie watched it for a while, then closed her eyes, nestling into her husband’s chest. She felt, even if just for this tiny, blissful moment, as if the barriers were down and it was just the two of them again. As if they had finally let Jared go.
It was raining and blowy as they drove home from the airport, the February night chilly. As Connie stared through the spattered windscreen at the blur of passing headlights, she felt a spurt of hope. Something had shifted between them since they had driven along the same road five days earlier. ‘Change things up,’ Neil had advised, and Connie sensed they might have done just that.
She looked forward to seeing Riley, who was staying with Bill and Jill until tomorrow. Looked forward to being able to think about ordinary things again, like making the annual batch of marmalade, catching up with her friends, clearing out the spare room, which had become a dumping ground over the past eighteen months. But what she most looked forward to was just waking up in the morning and not thinking of Jared.
