by Kitty Wilson
It hadn’t worked.
He had always admired her for many things, one of the more superficial being that no matter what happened to her she always, always thought enough of herself to be well-groomed. She could have been mud wrestling with the women from school – there was a thought – and she would still not have a hair out of place or smudged lipstick. She could bring up three boys and look as beautifully groomed as she had pre-motherhood; it was not a skill he had. He tended to be a little on the ruffled side.
The reason he appreciated this was because the only time she looked anything other than cool, calm and collected was in the throes of passion, when she would become softer, tousled and red-cheeked. It was this Marion that he loved the most, with every heightened fibre of his being, the more relaxed version, the one that didn’t suck her tummy in or purse her lips but the one that relaxed and laughed and loved, the side of Marion that only he got to see. The side he doubted anyone else in the world had ever seen.
Which was why her entrance tonight had been so suspicious.
His wife had walked back into their home with her hair very definitely out of place; windswept would be a fair description, but he couldn’t think of any innocent reason Marion would be outside on an evening like tonight with the wind picking up and howling its way through the village. This was a night for setting the fire, wrapping up and staying cosy.
That by itself may not cause anything other than a flutter, the mildest flutter, of concern. But the seaweed she had stuck to the back of her jumper, that was an almighty red flag, one waving so ferociously that the flag itself may jump from the stick it was attached to, grow legs and run around the living room shouting look at me, look at me. Marion never had anything stuck to her, nothing: not for her an unfortunate bit of loo roll attached to the shoe, or one of those sticky stems of goosegrass, picked up from the school field or hedgerow and attached to a cardigan or skirt.
On top of which she was shedding sand left right and centre. A perfectly normal thing to do in Cornwall, and there was barely a house in the county that did not have a thin layer of sand coating the inside of it and bunging up the shower in the summer months. But it was not summer, it was February, it was dark and Hector was in the village. This was the final and most damning piece of evidence yet. This was what was really making his spider senses tingle.
His wife had clearly spent the evening on a beach, been secretive about where she was and Hector was in town. Richard had never had any pretensions to be the next Hercule Poirot but quite frankly Yogi Bear could piece this conundrum together in under five seconds.
Hector epitomized everything about Richard’s own upbringing that he had tried to avoid. He was a walking, talking public-school cliché with his booming voice, outdated and downright offensive opinions about the place of women and the British Empire and a fashion taste that only a certain, entitled type of man dared to try. Richard had spent his life avoiding salmon pink and mustard, simply because it reminded him of his father, while Hector embraced both shades with gusto.
However, despite his dubious fashion sense and his vile opinions, time and shared memories had bred a kind of camaraderie and Richard had learnt that as loathsome as Hector appeared, he did have the odd redeeming feature. He was remarkably generous and played a caricature of himself because he didn’t know how to be any different.
Thus, Richard could forgive him most things. There was one thing, though, that Richard had always been uneasy about and that was Hector’s determination that he should have anything he ever wanted. And he wanted Marion.
Hector was used to getting his own way and boy had he tried. He had tried throughout university. He had tried after Marion and Richard had married in their twenties, he had tried when they were having children; apparently Marion when pregnant was like a ripe goddess, glowing with fecundity and a rich sexuality that only a true man could appreciate. Thankfully Marion at the time had pointed out that a true man was.
It would appear that wasn’t firm enough as he hadn’t given up.
Marion liked to flirt but Richard had long suspected this was tied somehow to a desire for male approval, born from seeing her mother’s need for the same. Richard was no psychologist and had no pretensions of being one; what he did know was that his wife had a bit of a reputation for draping herself over any man that caught her fancy, occasionally purring as she did so and batting her eyelids in a way that most people found quite frightening.
What he also knew was that she didn’t mean any of it. It was just programmed, an instinctive reaction to anyone entering the room and possessing a willy. That whilst Marion flirted like she was Cleopatra saving her empire, she actually saw the sexual act as one of such intimacy, such bonding that he knew she would not cheat, would not share that with someone else, not after the years they had put into building their marriage, carving out a life for themselves. It was a pity she did not believe the same of him.
As he lay in the sheets of the hotel room, the moon so full that it was sitting on the tideline, he couldn’t help but think that Marion’s seaweedy, sandy, dishevelled form and her decades-long suitor turning up in the village on Valentine’s Day, were very much related.
Chapter Eighteen
Despite a somewhat sleepless night, Richard grinned as he walked past the window of The Smuggler’s Curse and saw the flames of the fire roaring – Roger, the landlord, did like a good fire. The regulars were standing at the bar laughing raucously and no doubt his friends were sitting down and tucked in the corner. He thought he could see Alex’s dark good looks and beaming face and half of Chase’s ear.
He had known this set of friends for so many years they were like brothers. At university they had a sense of confidence that emanated from them, whether it be Hector’s boorish entitlement, Chase’s all-American good looks or Alex’s sense of masculinity and purpose. It was no surprise they had all gone on to be raging successes in their field. The only surprise to him was that they wanted him as their friend. And still seemed to.
With an upbringing that centred around his very controlling mother, adulterous father and golden boy older brother, Richard had, until he met this particular little gang, never been particularly sure of himself or what he had to offer other than getting under his mother’s feet and being a nuisance – both phrases direct quotes. Whereas this lot had helped shape the man he had grown into, given him the bravado to pursue Marion with the ferocity of a mountain lion. He loved them all so much and was excited to see them – bar Hector. Hector he would not be excited to see and, if he did, wondered if this was the time he would actually have to throw his first ever punch. Did he have the knuckles for it? Did it take some special skill?
He pushed the door open, the tattiest piece of wood you had ever seen. The locals claimed that Roger refused to replace, burn or at the very least paint it, because he didn’t want to risk anyone who wasn’t local coming in. You would think that profit was more important to a publican, and to most it was, but not Roger; with The Smuggler’s Curse being at the centre of the community, regularly packed with events and people throughout the year and a table for Sunday lunch practically impossible to get unless Roger’s great-great-great-great grandfather had gone to school with yours, then it didn’t need to be. The landlord saw no need to drive the locals away by encouraging the emmets – tourists that scurried around Cornwall in the height of season, sunburnt red and bustling like the ants they were named for. And in this moment Richard was glad for it, knowing that as he walked through the door, he was home.
As ever, the chatter and laughter in the pub stilled when anyone walked in as every head turned to see who was joining them. Richard grinned and Mickey and Andy at the bar raised a hand in greeting – the apocalypse could come and those two could still be relied upon to prop up the bar – before continuing their conversation, and Richard’s heart filled with warmth.
He spotted Ethel sitting in her usual spot and having her tea-time sherry. She was accompanied by another woman dressed in
brightly coloured clothes and cackling loudly as the two played dominos. His beam widened; he did love this village.
He glanced over at Chase and Alex and his heart sank as he saw that they were joined by Hector. Marion had been right; he was in the village. His face fell. He had a few things to say to him.
‘Pint of Tribute please, Roger.’ He approached the bar to get his drink first. The low hubbub that had resumed once everyone had ascertained Richard was one of their own was suddenly pierced by the wah-wah voice of his old friend, and new enemy.
‘I say, Richard, good to see you, old boy. Have to say, always knew that wife of yours was a cheeky little mare but my God, last night proved it. That woman has no shame!’
Before Richard was even fully aware of what was happening, he was standing in front of the table with his arm pulled back and his fingers curled into a fist, until Chase, up on his feet and standing next to him, firmly gripped it. He could feel a muscle throbbing in his forehead, his jaw was clenched and he felt as if he had the strength of a testosterone-filled bull.
Hector was very much the red rag. Red in the face years before his time and soon to be bloody-nosed as well.
‘Woah, woah. He didn’t mean anything by it. Calm yourself, sit down, here next to me.’ Chase spoke quietly but firmly as he indicated the empty banquette, still holding onto his friend. Richard lowered himself into the space Chase had highlighted, his brow furrowed as he maintained silent, and he hoped menacing, eye contact with Hector. He had never glowered before; he was fairly sure what he was doing now was glowering.
But seriously, how dare he? Who the hell did he think he was?
‘I think that was badly worded, Hector,’ Chase said as he relinquished Richard and sat back down next to him, hemming him in, encouraging Hector into an apology.
And failing.
Richard felt someone pat him on the back as Roger brought his pint over and put it on the table at the same time as Alex turned to Hector, shaking his head. ‘You are such a dick, why would you say that? Just what did you hope to achieve?’
‘It’s true. I always have been and she was. Let me tell you the full story.’ Hector maintained his bravado, knocking back a swig of red wine as he did so, unperturbed by his friend’s intense scowl. Richard felt himself begin to rise out of the seat again. He wasn’t sure who this new macho Richard was – he had never thrown a punch in his life, but now he was feeling it, now he felt he could not just throw one punch but maybe two or three.
It was better to focus on that rather than the realities of what Hector’s words may mean. Going with anger was best because he’d been keeping an unbearable ball of sadness curled inside him ever since Marion had kicked him out and believed him capable of things he could never do, revealing what she really thought of him. A ball threatening to grow and grow and grow until it took the whole of him over.
And if he thought about Marion and Hector – he gulped; he couldn’t even think it. Deep breath, and a reminder to stick with the anger. Whilst his friends – most of them – weren’t the outdated chauvinistic type that didn’t believe in men experiencing a gamut of emotion, he knew he sure as hell didn’t want to cry in the middle of the village pub. Once he started he’d weep a river that would inevitably squelch Roger’s fire out and he would be no longer in possession of either a home or welcoming local.
‘Hector saw Marion at mine last night,’ Chase explained gently. ‘He’s just being an ass about it. Angelina had proposed and for God knows what reason…’
‘Angelina proposed?’ Alex interrupted. ‘Mate, that’s… um… epic.’
Richard was pleased for his friend as Alex was, despite the latter clearly struggling for an appropriate congratulatory word. Chase may love Angelina desperately but his friends couldn’t help but have reservations – she was not an easy person. But then Richard supposed, with a sudden flash of empathy, neither was Marion; it was only he that saw the true her, the more vulnerable her. Maybe that was what Chase had with Angelina. It would explain a lot.
‘Congratulations, Chase. I’m really pleased for you,’ he added.
‘You are?’
‘Yes, of course I am. I assume you said yes?’ Richard smiled but, despite wanting to be happy for his friend, he couldn’t help that the primary thought in his head now was that maybe it wasn’t just him that saw Marion’s’ vulnerabilities; maybe now Hector had as well. He shot another evil look at Hector, who was clearly made of Teflon.
‘I did.’
‘So how come Marion was at yours?’ Alex asked the question Richard was building up to.
‘Um… honestly, I’m not entirely sure. When Angelina and Marion get together a world is created where nothing much makes sense.’
Richard couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that. ‘Isn’t that the truth.’
‘When I found her, the little minx…’ Hector began as the three other men whipped their heads around, all with warning looks upon their faces. ‘Oh, do calm down.’ Hector took another swig of his wine and waved the empty glass in the air, no doubt expecting magical mini butlers to come and fill it for him. Irritatingly Roger did.
‘When I saw her, she was hidden in a sand dune…’
‘She what?’ Alex questioned.
‘Well, quite.’ Hector’s eyebrows were waggling with ferocity. ‘Quite. Hiding in a sand dune, video recording Chase and Angelina in a compromising pos—’
‘No? No!’ Alex’s mouth dropped open as Chase scrunched his face and nodded confirmation.
‘My wife spent her Valentine’s evening recording, or trying to until you stopped her, Chase and Angelina, you know… um… well, you know? Is that what you’re saying? And she was hiding in the sand dunes as she did it?’
Hector met Richard’s eyes for the first time that evening. ‘Yup, pretty much. She was so engrossed she didn’t hear me approach. I had flown into the UK the day before and thought I’d come and check in on you all.’
‘Didn’t occur to you that of all the evenings to drop in, Valentine’s isn’t the appropri…’ Alex started to say but Richard tuned him out. All he could feel was a huge wave of relief that this explained all of the things that had concerned him last night. However, his eyes narrowed as he looked across at his old friend. Marion may have been innocent last night but still, having Hector in the village when Marion was newly single, well that was like having a fox in the henhouse. He was going to have to keep a very sharp eye out indeed.
Chapter Nineteen
Marion supposed the one bonus to Richard being back in the village was that he could at least make up for some of the time he had missed over the past couple of years and keep an eye on the boys for her as she swung the next stage of her plan into action. They had both sat the children down during half term and explained that they were separating but that they loved them and would still be a family, just one where Mummy and Daddy lived in different places. The boys had taken it in their stride and had asked remarkably few questions, though Marion wasn’t sure whether that was because it was the same for so many of their peers or because they were used to Richard being away. Whatever the reason, she was relieved it had been done and that no blame had been assigned. It had been civilized and they had done it together.
Today she’d be using her persuasive powers to talk to Rosy and Matt about her wonderful idea. She was aware it may be quite a hard sell, but thought it might be easier pitching it on her own with full control of the way she spun the narrative. Angelina, helpfully, had point blank refused to be part of the meeting, saying that with a wedding imminent she needed to stay as stress-free as possible for the next few months and visiting Rosy was not going to be stress-free. Then she muttered something about Scramble and her shoes; Marion didn’t quite understand but the gist was very much that she was not a fan.
In truth, Marion was surprised that Angelina had agreed to her suggestion of a double wedding; she had expected that the star would be reluctant to share her big day with anyone, especially the headteacher of
Penmenna School, whom she had always written off as a country mouse. But what made Angelina a star – apart from her utter lack of boundaries, decorum and remorse – was her ability to play the game. She knew that her wedding to Chase would be a huge draw but if she combined it with her brother’s nuptials, added his stardust to the mix and combined it with an ‘orphans together’ narrative, then it had the potential to blow sky high and worldwide. The money to be made would be staggering and Angelina was very, very keen on money.
She clearly also knew that she didn’t want to be the one who suggested it to her brother.
Marion was in the school office berating Sheila, who seemed completely unperturbed that the PTA cash box was missing, when she heard a burst of laughter coming from the headteacher’s office. Was that Matt? Perfect! They couldn’t make too much of a fuss if she suggested the joint wedding idea in the workplace.
She gave Sheila one last meaningful look as she rapped at Rosy’s office door, which the school secretary completely ignored as she rustled through some papers, muttering, ‘Now what was it I was looking for?’
Her mouth suddenly dry, she found herself rubbing her fingers against her palm as she waited for Rosy to call her in. This would be fine; it was a good idea, it was. Although if she could be infused with magical powers of oratory to prevent Matt throwing her out in the first five minutes that would be great. She ran through the mental checklist she had in her mind for why a joint wedding would be such a good idea, but she had to admit she wasn’t convinced any of the reasons were strong enough to do the job.
She’d have to rely on the sibling bond thing and stood there repeating that to herself as she waited.
‘Hello, Marion, everything okay?’ Rosy held the door opened wide and beamed at her. ‘I was surprised not to see you at the Valentine’s disco.’
