Love Until It Hurts

by Fiona Blakemore

  It occurs to Ruth that she is still in her work clothes too. The waist band of her skirt feels rather tight and her feet ache. She rubs one heel over the other till her sandals loosen off her feet. Almost immediately she is conscious of other toes on hers, but then they are retracted. For a split second she is unsure what to do.

  ‘I think we all scrubbed up well today,’ adds Dominic, smiling at her. Any reservations Ruth had about him earlier have now disappeared.

  ‘I reckon McLaren Mercedes have the best chance this weekend,’ says Dominic. He hovers the wine bottle over Ruth’s glass, but she covers it with one hand and shakes her head. Half of his face is in shadow, the other illuminated by the low ceiling pendants.

  ‘Depends on the qualifying session on Saturday,’ says Mike. ‘Whoever gets pole at Monaco virtually has it in the bag. It’s impossible to overtake on that street circuit.’

  Val pushes her chair back. ‘I’m glad the girls went off okay. Alice didn’t even want a story tonight. I think they were both exhausted.’ She stands up. ‘I’m going to make some coffee. Or tea? Any takers?’

  She gathers some plates together and carries them over to the dishwasher. ‘Bella?’ she is heard to say, and everyone looks round.

  Bella is standing in the doorway, trailing a blanket and sobbing. Dominic scrapes his chair back and rushes over. ‘It’s okay, Bella, Daddy’s here. What’s the matter, sweetie? Did you wake up and wonder where you were?’

  ‘Sick. Been sick.’ Her words emerge in tearful gulps.

  Dominic lifts up the blanket, which is covered in yellow stains. ‘Poor darling,’ he says. ‘It’s soaking wet.’ He turns to Val. ‘Sorry, Val. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare T shirt I could borrow, would you?’

  ‘Sure,’ says Val ‘I’ll go and get one and I can check on Alice.’ She turns and bounds up the stairs.

  ‘Let me help,’ says Ruth, jumping to her feet and hurrying over. A smell, like rotten eggs, makes her gag. ‘Poor Bella, are you not feeling well?’ she asks, as she crouches down. ‘Here, let me have a look at you.’

  ‘It’s okay, Ruth,’ says Dominic, edging between them, and almost knocking her sideways. ‘We’ll manage, thanks.’ As he bends down his dark hair flops over his brow and he squints up at Ruth, the colour drained from his face. ‘She’ll be fine. Let’s get you cleaned up, darling, then we ought to go home.’

  Val appears with a T shirt, towel and fleecy blanket. He takes Bella by the hand and leads her to the downstairs cloakroom, followed by Val. Soon the sound of running water can be heard.

  Ruth turns to Mike. ‘I was only offering to help,’ she says, smarting at the unexpected barb.

  ‘Oh, don’t take it personally, Ruth, he’s under a lot of stress at the moment. He’s had quite an intense afternoon, you know. I’m helping him sort out Madeleine’s estate and it’s anything but straightforward.’ Mike shakes his head, then upends a wine bottle into his glass. The last few drops bleed into the crystal.

  ‘I’ve put Alice in our bed,’ says Val, appearing a few minutes later. ‘She didn’t stir. Maybe if I change the sheets, you could go in her bed tonight, darling, then I can keep an eye on her? Poor Bella, I hope she’s okay. She seemed fine this afternoon.’

  Now it’s Mike’s turn to shrug.

  ‘Well, let me clear up here,’ says Ruth, ‘then I’d better get going too.’

  ‘That’s okay, Ruth, honestly, there’s not much to do.’ Val moves towards her to give her a hug. ‘Plus I’ve got all day tomorrow to tidy up, whereas you’ve probably got an early start, remember?’

  ‘Okay,’ replies Ruth, in what feels like a weak surrender, but she’s tired. ‘I’ll just go and say good-bye to Dominic.’

  ‘Dominic? He’s gone. He was anxious to get home.’

  ‘Gone?’ Ruth looks from Val to Mike, in case she’s missed something. ‘But he didn’t even say goodbye.’

  ‘I think he’s worried about Bella. He just bundled her up and told me to say his goodbyes for him. Poor guy.’

  15

  Ruth

  Smarting. Humiliated. Confused. Three days since the evening at Val’s that turned sour and Ruth can’t stop thinking about him. Her mind drifted to him this morning, with every length of the pool she swam. She’s constantly distracted by thoughts of him while driving.

  Why had Dominic behaved that way? Why had he cut her off? Why should he feel so protective towards Bella?

  Her car tyres spit pebbles as she veers into her driveway and she switches off the ignition.

  Loss, thinks Ruth. Loss, that’s why. Loss and the fear of losing again. It made sense. As his wife’s health declined, Madeleine would have become more and more dependent on him, while, at the same time, he was taking on full responsibility for bringing up his child. Poor Dominic. Poor Bella.

  Still, it would be good for her to have a break. To create some space for herself, while she considered her options. There was certainly no harm in going on a date tonight.

  Emerging from the car, into the spring sunshine, a breeze ruffles her hair and tightens her complexion. As she opens the tailgate of her car, billowy white clouds move across her vision, reflected in the glass. Saturday. If she’d been in Melbourne she might have been heading down the Mornington Peninsula for the day. Hitting the beach at Sorrento, with Mark, for a spot of surfing and a picnic, then taking the ferry over to Queenscliff and coming back as the sun set over Port Philip Bay. Happy, sun-kissed days. Before it all went wrong.

  No, she can’t afford another mistake with men.

  Her neighbour, opposite, is already out in his garden, clipping his hedge. Two photinia flank his gravel path, their pink and red foliage shaped into globes, which poke authoritatively above the laurel hedge, like traffic wardens’ lollipops guarding his gate. He looks up when her car door clashes and gives a cheery wave. As she returns the gesture she notices a small green van crawling along the road. The driver must have spotted her because suddenly he accelerates. He pulls up outside her drive and winds the window down.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss. I’m looking for number twenty seven? Dr. Cooper?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s me,’ she nods, but the affirmation is couched in curiosity.

  ‘Glad I caught you. Delivery for you.’ He jumps out the van, then his head and shoulders disappear into the back of his vehicle as he pulls out a package wreathed in Cellophane and ribbon. He hands it over, his smile framed in blooms.

  ‘Gosh, thank you,’ says Ruth, her arms outstretched. ‘I wasn’t expecting a delivery.’

  ‘Nice surprise for you then, Doc,’ he says. ‘Have a good day.’ He’s back in the van and disappears up the road before she has a chance to say anything else. She looks across the road. Her neighbour has set down his clipping shears and is grinning broadly at her.

  Back in the house she sets the flower arrangement down on the kitchen table and carefully peels away the layers of Cellophane with scissors. There’s a small white envelope stapled to the front and her hands tremble a little as she opens it.

  ‘To brighten your day. D x’

  Signed with a kiss. She swallows hard. It’s a perfect arrangement of delicate white rose buds and pink lisianthus, encased in a swathe of purple and white honesty. Honesty. Her favourite. She closes her eyes and imagines herself back in the Banqueting Room of the Town Hall, the night of the Ball. She turns the card over and notices a message on the back.

  ‘I may not be perfect, but when I say sorry I mean it.’

  ‘Ha,’ Ruth exclaims. ‘Dominic Peterson, you charmer. But you’re going to have to try harder than that,’ she says, popping the card into her handbag.

  She arrives at the Rose and Crown fifteen minutes early, and reverse parks into a spot just past the entrance. There’s no sign of the white Corsa yet, but from this vantage point she can see every movement in and out the car park. Better to introduce herself in th
e parking lot. Less anxiety-provoking than scanning a crowded bar for a blonde-haired guy in his thirties whom she’s never met before. She wonders if he’ll be anything like his photo.

  There’s a comedy news quiz on the car radio, but her attention drifts. Why should she feel guilty for thinking about other men? Dom’s arrogance piques her, but sometimes she finds it enticing. What was it Val said? ‘He keeps everyone at arm’s length, but he’s a changed person since Bella came along.’ A latter day Mr. Rochester, perhaps? Ha, but she’s no Jane Eyre. And Rochester had something to hide, so that analogy doesn’t really work.

  Anyway it won’t hurt to go on a date with Ralph. At least that’s what he calls himself on his profile page, but she suspects that’s not his real name, any more than hers is Vicky. A thirty year old ‘Company Director.’ That could mean anything. Into rugby and rowing. So hopefully fit.

  Pulling down the sun visor at the top of her windscreen she checks her appearance in the mirror. As she pokes around in her handbag she sees Dominic’s card, pulls it out and turns it over and over in her hand. ‘Dominic Peterson,’ she says to herself. ‘This could be your ‘‘get out of jail free’’ card.’ Selecting a mascara wand and tube of lipstick, very carefully she edges towards the mirror and flicks the nylon brush over her top lashes. She checks her appearance again. The brush is poised over the lower lashes, just as she feels a sneeze erupting. Must be the dust in the car. Too late. A sudden involuntary quivering of her nose causes her to poke the tip of the mascara brush into the corner of her eye. It stings and she can feel her eye watering. She curses and looks at her reflection. A black line, like a tyre mark, has skidded across the side of her nose and her teary eye looks red. On the news quiz someone has just told a joke and the radio crackles with sound of canned laughter. She moistens the corner of a tissue with her tongue and dabs it on her face, erasing the extraneous make-up.

  There’s the sound of tyres on gravel. A blur of white and chrome scuds across her vision. Six thirty eight. He’s late. Thank God she didn’t go in early. She checks her appearance for the final time, gets out of the car and smooths the creases in her linen Capri pants. Hovering in the shadows she peers over her wing mirror until she gets a better view of him. It’s obvious he hasn’t seen her because he has his sun visor down and is rubbing his teeth with his finger. She hangs back until he gets out of the car. Broad-browed, blonde hair, clipped on the sides, tousled on top. Sun-streaked skin to match. Yes, it’s him, he looks like his picture. Makes a change. She steps forward.

  ‘Ralph?’ She smiles in his direction. He looks up, and his features freeze, then soften, when he recognises her.

  ‘Vicky?’ His face breaks into a broad smile and he walks towards her. Blue and white striped polo shirt. Thick gold box chain visible through the open-neck collar. Gold stud in his ear. She’s not sure if lots of gold jewellery on a man is that attractive. She offers her hand but he steps closer and kisses her on both cheeks.

  ‘That was good timing,’ she says, ‘both of us arriving together,’ as he steps to one side and ushers her through the entrance to the bar.

  From her seat in the alcove, Ruth watches Ralph return from the bar with a glass of white wine and a pint of bitter. His wide smile is beguiling.

  ‘Here we go,’ he says, placing the drinks on the table. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Are you okay? Your eye looks very red.’ Ruth wishes he hadn’t drawn attention to it.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. Just a bit of hay fever, I think.’

  They sit and look at each other for a few awkward seconds then laugh simultaneously. Ruth casts a quick glance around her to see who is in earshot. ‘So, what have you been up to today?’ It’s a bland question, but what else is there to say? Her companion leans forward, his elbows nudging his pint, and tells her how he’s been to an auction this morning and sealed a deal on another property for modernising. That’s what he does. Buys properties that have been repossessed, renovates them and flogs them on for a massive profit.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been doing it for a good few years now. Got lots of experience as a builder and built up a network of mates I can rely on to get the work done. Course it helps if you’re a cash buyer.’ He takes a sip of his pint, then creases his lips over the foam. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve had a busy day, went for a swim, caught up on a few domestic things, the usual.’ There’s the sound of laughter coming from the direction of the bar and, as she turns her head in that direction, she catches sight of a man throwing his head back at a nearby table. The irregular profile of his nose is instantly recognisable. Suddenly she feels a dart of panic. The last thing she wants is to bump into Mike here.

  ‘No, I mean what do you do?’

  Ruth slinks down in her seat and leans sideways to get a better look at Mike and the company he’s with. Alarm pricks her with the realisation that it could be Dominic. Mike gets up and walks towards the door and she shrinks back behind a pillar. From this vantage point she can’t see, but at least she’s obscured from view until she can decide what to do.

  ‘Your profile says you work in healthcare.’

  Ruth turns back to the stranger sitting opposite her. She wishes Ralph would keep his voice down. There might be patients in the pub. Worse still it could attract the wrong sort of attention.

  ‘Oh, I work in the NHS. In admin. Bit of a boring job really.’ She bites her lip. He’s a sweet guy and it’s a night out but, as he curls his hand round his pint glass, she can’t help noticing the stripe of white, unblemished skin at the base of his left fourth finger. Enough. They haven’t the slightest thing in common. Even when she asks him about the rugby and rowing it turns out he’s an armchair spectator, although he did go to Twickenham once.

  Ruth angles her seat. Mike’s table is visible in the triangle formed between Ralph’s left ear and his shoulder. There’s still no sign of him reappearing but the man he was with stands up. It’s definitely not Dominic. Time to make a move. She finishes her drink.

  ‘Ralph, it’s been nice meeting you but I really need to get going.’

  ‘Really nice to meet you too, Vicky,’ he says, standing up. He looks disappointed but gives her a kiss on the cheek. Then he lowers his voice and whispers, ‘I feel really guilty. I should have told you something earlier.’ Ruth braces herself. It’s not going to come as a surprise for her to hear that he’s going through a divorce, or some other complicated domestic arrangement. She widens her eyes and waits for him to say something.

  ‘My name’s not really Ralph. It’s Mark.’

  She feigns a laugh. ‘Well it’s been really nice meeting you, Mark.’

  ‘You, too, let’s do it again soon!’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, but she’s turned her back on him, so doubts whether he can hear.

  Looking directly ahead, her pace quickens, eager to create distance between her and her failed encounter, and she heads for the door. A sudden pain knots round her ankle and as she falls forward she instinctively puts out her right hand and braces herself for more discomfort. Instead she comes into contact with the wiry pelt of a lurcher and finds herself at eye level with its snout.

  ‘Ow,’ she exclaims, ‘damn dog.’

  ‘Ooh, careful dear,’ says a woman’s voice. As she tries to stand up Ruth feels the tug of a dog lead twisting tighter round her feet and an explosion of heat in her ankle.

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ says a disembodied voice, as she feels a pressure under her arms and is hoisted up to stand.

  ‘I … I didn’t see the dog under the table,’ says Ruth turning to vent her anger at the dog’s owner. Instead she comes face to face with the man at Mike’s table. Piercing green eyes. Receding hair. Collarless black shirt. Firm grip. No sign of Ralph, or Mark, who has disappeared into the shadows. The man hooks his foot under a chair, slides it towards her and helps her sit down. Her ankle burns.

&nb
sp; ‘Here,’ he says, ‘don’t put any weight on it till we have a look.’

  Ruth glances down. Already a lump the size of a golf ball has erupted on the side of her ankle.

  ‘Well, would you credit that,’ says another voice, all too familiar to Ruth. ‘I leave my mate for five minutes while I go to the loo,’ says Mike, ‘and when I come back he’s hooked up with some company.’

  Ruth looks at Mike, then at his friend who looks as confused as she feels.

  ‘Mike. Fancy that. Didn’t expect to see you here,’ says Ruth. ‘I tripped over the dog lying beside the table. Your friend very kindly helped me.’ She moves her foot and winces. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

  ‘Gary Sharp,’ says the stranger, holding his hand out to Ruth and speaking before Mike has a chance to say anything. ‘I’m a colleague of Mike’s.’

  ‘I’m Ruth. Nice to meet you,’ she says, wondering where she’s heard that name before, ‘although maybe not in these-

  ‘Is Dominic here?’ Mike interjects, quickly scanning the room.

  ‘Er, no,’ says Ruth, wishing that he was. ‘I was about to ask you the same question.’ If she’d rung him this morning when she received the flowers she might not be in this mess now.

  Mike visibly relaxes. ‘Well, that ankle looks sore. Hopefully just a sprain, but we can help you home,’ says Mike. ‘If you give me your keys I can drive you in your car and Gary can follow in his.’

  Ruth hesitates. She just wants to go home and put this evening behind her. She can rest with an ice pack and hopefully the ankle swelling will recede. Mike’s offer, however, makes sense.

  ‘Thanks. That would be a great help,’ she says, delving in her pocket and bringing out her keys.

  They help her to her feet and she hobbles out of the pub, linking arms with Mike.

  A sudden thought alarms her.

  ‘Mike?’ she says, squeezing his arm gently.

  ‘Yes?’