‘Celebrate what?’ asked Grace.
‘Something, anything, we’ll find something. Being happy, yes, we’re going to celebrate friends, families and happiness.’
He grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her up off the bed before she could say ‘Well, pop my cork’, and they ran down the stairs like a pair of giggling school children. As Tom reached into the fridge for the champagne, Grace couldn’t help feeling that this was all a front he was putting on, for her sake and for the sake of not ruining the rest of the holiday. He was the sort of deeply kind person who would rather take the weight of the world on his shoulders than let anyone he loved be miserable. Grace hoped to goodness he wasn’t doing that – it wouldn’t do him any good at all – but she knew he was right, they couldn’t spend the next few days moping. This was the holiday of a lifetime; it would be such a waste.
June 2014
‘So what did he say?’ Grace asked Evie as they made the tea. It was two weeks since her friend had revealed the shocking news that she thought James was cheating on her. She hadn’t seen much of her friend since, and it had taken Evie almost the full fortnight to pluck up the courage to confront her husband.
Asking James straight up was the only thing that Evie thought she could do; there was no easy way to go about it. If it was all in her imagination and the cooling between them was due to something other than an affair, then she needed to know what was wrong, so that it could be put right, if that was possible. No matter how bad the news, Evie knew the time had come for action, and she thought she could handle whatever James threw at her. She just needed to know, so that she could get on with the coping process. Grace could tell just by looking at her that actually she wasn’t coping well at all.
She studied her friend: the deep bags under her eyes, the hair less pristine than normal, the old clothes. There was no doubt that Evie had let things slide over the past couple of weeks, but who could blame her? The stress of a long period of not knowing what was going on with James – and then the shock of finding out – must have been horrendous.
‘He said yes, he had slept with her. Only the once, although I’m not sure if I believe that. I mean, isn’t that what all men say when they’ve been caught out – ‘It didn’t mean anything, I still love you, it was only the once, it was just sex.’ Isn’t it Grace?’ Grace didn’t know, felt she was lacking in experience in the area of being cheated on. She had started seeing Tom whilst she was still with Mark, but had done the honourable thing by Mark and put an end to their relationship as soon as she possibly could. What she struggled with the most, even these days, when it was so far in the past now, was that she’d had feelings for Tom long before she had acted on them. Wasn’t that a form of adultery in itself, even though nothing physical actually happened for quite some time afterwards? Cheating was an uncomfortable concept, and she still wrestled with her conscience when she thought back to how easy it had been to justify her actions to herself at the time, even though she knew what she was doing was wrong.
‘I don’t know,’ Grace replied. ‘Maybe he is telling the truth, Evie. Maybe he made a mistake, just the once, and then regretted it massively and realised what he stood to lose by being unfaithful to you. It could have been an ego thing, you know. He was flattered to be getting the attention from another woman, but then realised how stupid he was being. He loves you, Evie, I know he does.’
‘Yes I know that too, but it doesn’t make it any easier, does it? I’ve been attracted to other men over the years, we’re only human, after all. But it doesn’t mean I then have to go off and seduce them, does it? I don’t feel like I have anything to prove. He says she was the one who made the move on him. And I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. To know that he didn’t set out to do it, but simply didn’t have the guts to say no to the woman? Like he was putting himself through some sort of test to prove he could still pull in middle-age, that he still had it. What do you think, Grace?’
Grace knew her friend wanted reassurance. She looked absolutely devastated, and who wouldn’t be, in her situation? Evie had been dragged from her perfect world and dumped into this nightmare. James might only have slept with Naomi the once, but once was enough to do the damage. And was it only the once due to lack of opportunity, or the fact that he had come to his senses? From what she had told Grace about his behaviour, clearly Naomi was in his head at the time this had happened, and so the number of occasions they had slept together was largely academic. But what would Evie gain by making him divulge further details, other than more pain? He had protested his love, regret and contrition – did she really want or need to know more? Clearly he had now pushed Naomi back out of his head again, and wanted his wife and family back.
‘I think you have to sit it out, see what happens. If you want him back, which I think you do, then if he tells you it’s over, don’t you have to give him the benefit of the doubt, no matter how hard that is? If I was in your position, I don’t think I’d want to know all the gory details. That’s just putting yourself through even more pain. You need to decide if you want to end your marriage or try again with James, and I think it’s probably too soon for you to decide completely at the moment. If you want him back, then you’ve got to be able to forgive him, even if you can never forget, haven’t you? And that’s really hard.’ Grace surprised herself at how erudite she sounded on the subject, but her friend looked better for a little reassurance.
‘I asked him if he loved her, and I was dreading what he would say, because, I mean, well, if he loves her, then it’s all over for us, isn’t it? But he looked me in the eye and told me he didn’t, never had done. He was in bits, Grace, it was awful to see. My darling husband, whom I love with all my heart, was crying his eyes out, and even though he’s done this, and a big part of me hates him for that, I found it unbearable to see. It broke my heart at the time, but then I hated him again afterwards. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe the emotional roller coaster I’ve been on – I hate him one minute, love him the next, I despise him, then five minutes later I want him back and I think I’m going to forgive him. I just don’t know what I want, Grace.’ She groaned in frustration.
‘You don’t have to know. It’s really early days, and you’ve got such a lot to think about. It’s too much to get your head round at the moment, and you’re like me, you analyse everything to the n’th degree, you see things where there aren’t and imagine the worst. But the good thing is that it sounds like he could be yours again, if you want him. And when you’re ready. He quite obviously regrets what he’s done. What’s he been like, has he been behaving normally again? No more sneaking around, shutting you out, all that kind of stuff? Do you think he really has managed to put it all behind him? He needs to demonstrate that to you with his actions and his behaviour, doesn’t he, not just tell you.’
‘Well, he’s less distant than he was, I suppose. He hasn’t been doing all that wistful staring into space stuff that I was getting before. When he’s in the room, he’s properly in it with you, if you know what I mean. Trying hard. Too hard, really, but then he’s got a lot of making up to do, hasn’t he? I know it makes me sound weak, but at no point have I wanted to throw him out. Some women would just tell him to pack his bags and go, wouldn’t they, but I can’t think of anything I want less. I might not want to be in the same room as him sometimes, quite a lot of the time, in fact, but I want to know he’s still in the same house and that there might be some hope for us. Somewhere. I just don’t know how to get back from this, Grace. I want my husband back, but does that make me as weak as those women who stay with someone who abuses them, just because they don’t want to be alone?’ She sighed heavily. Grace felt so sorry for her.
‘No, it doesn’t. I think it makes you brave beyond words, Evie. I wish I could do something to help, I really do. I know there’s not a lot I can do, but I’m here, whenever you need me. Don’t forget that, will you?’
August 2015
Grace came downstairs early the next morn
ing in search of Paracetamol to ease her thumping head. They had partied hard last night and – ouch, she was moving too fast – carried on drinking into the small hours. It was the first time in ages that she’d had a proper hangover; usually these days she was far too sensible and stopped drinking before she reached the point when she knew she’d regret it in the morning. It had something to do with being a mother now, and the burden of having to cope with young children when you were barely capable of looking after yourself. But hey, they were here, on holiday, there was no school to get up for, plus the kids had ready-made babysitters on tap (who luckily were too young to drink). It didn’t do any harm once in a while, did it? Ouch, yes it did, but it was too late for regrets now, she only had herself to blame.
The bottle Tom opened had been the first of many, and then they had moved onto the port. Guaranteed next-day headache in a bottle, that was Grace’s opinion of port, but it hadn’t stopped her. Ouch, she needed to slow down, and then sit down, and she clutched at her forehead. If only she had listened to her inner sensible self and stopped. But then that would have been boring, and everyone else was going to be feeling as bad, weren’t they?
The teens and little ones had gone off to bed by ten and the four adults had sat outside in the warmth of another balmy summer’s evening – and then early morning – putting the world to rights, somehow completely managing to avoid the subject of Sophie and the mystery sick son. It had done them all a world of good, today’s sore heads notwithstanding.
‘Come on, Grace, up on the table, you know you want to really,’ Evie had begged, kicking off her flip-flops and climbing onto the patio table. ‘Turn up the music, will you, Tom. A girl’s got to dance!’
Grace thought it was a long time since she’d danced on a table, in fact she couldn’t remember if she ever had danced on a table. Well, if not, then tonight was the night. There were hoots of laughter from the men – and no small amount of encouragement – as the two women climbed up and started dancing. Oh my God, Grace thought, what am I doing? But her sensible voice had long since taken itself off to bed and was snoring away upstairs without her.
Grace thought she was the first adult up and about this morning, but once the ringing in her ears calmed down a bit, she could hear a muted voice coming from the living room. It sounded like James, on the phone. Nothing unusual there, as he took a lot of business calls, even on holiday. One of the perils of running your own business was that you were never entirely free from it, even when you were supposedly having a break.
‘Can you meet me in town?’ she heard James say. ‘No, it’s no problem, I’ve got the money, cash, of course. Can you make the drop later? It’ll have to be after dark. Yeah, here, you’ve got the address? Is that OK?’
Grace couldn’t help but listen in. Make the drop? Payment in cash? That sounded odd. What on earth was James up to? It didn’t sound like his usual kind of business call, and he was clearly speaking to someone who was nearby, not a client back in the UK.
Oh God, she hoped he wasn’t getting mixed up in something, especially after what had happened last summer. Although he had long since been cleared of any wrongdoing, his business reputation just wouldn’t stand up to a second bout of bad publicity.
What on earth could he be doing? Her mind whirred into action. Maybe it was him she had seen the other night, unloading something from the back of that van. What if she hadn’t been seeing things after all? Tom had tried to talk sense into her, convincing her that it was the dark of the night playing tricks with her head, but there were too many odd coincidences going on here. Evie hadn’t said anything at the restaurant the other night, when Pascal’s friend turned up, but Grace could have sworn that he was the very same man who had kissed Evie at the service station on the way down here. Grace was good with faces; she wasn’t one to forget something like that. And Evie had blushed to her roots, so clearly she had recognised him too. Was Evie caught up in all this as well, or was it just James up to something odd? She was concerned for her friend, didn’t want her to get hurt again, especially now that she and James seemed finally to be getting their relationship back on track.
What was she supposed to do? Should she say something to Evie? But would that seem like she was interfering? It might be innocent, after all. She could be jumping to all the wrong conclusions.
Sixteen - Imogen
August 2015
‘Honestly, parents could be such freaking spoil sports,’ Imogen thought to herself as she packed up her stuff after another glorious day by the pool. Twice, now, she’d asked if she could go into town with Pascal and his mates, but her parents just kept saying no and going on about how they were happy for her to see him at the chateau, provided there was an adult around. For God’s sake, they only had a few more days of the holiday left, and at this rate she’d never get to see him at all. And what a waste that would be, I mean, he was so, like, well, the coolest bloke she’d ever met. And the most gorgeous, too.
But no, going into town with him wasn’t going to happen. Apparently she was too young, didn’t speak the language well enough, they knew nothing about him and his friends, she might get into trouble, might get lost. For Christ’s sake, she met up with friends in town after school most days, and they hadn’t been given the once-over by her parents, had they? Most of the time they didn’t know where she was or who she was with, let’s face it. And they didn’t worry about that, did they? What they didn’t know didn’t hurt, it seemed, but as soon as they knew, well, then it was all different.
She dreaded to think what Mum would say if she ever set eyes on her friend, Jay, with his shaved head and tattoos. Or Dilys with her nose ring. They were lovely people, absolutely gorgeous people, who would do anything for anyone, Immy knew that for a fact. But just because their parents hadn’t been well-off enough to send them to a swanky private school, their lives had taken a different turn to her own. They both had jobs, both worked hard, were kind people, earned their way in life and wouldn’t dream of claiming benefits. No one in either of their families had ever got ‘A’ Levels, let alone gone to University. It went without saying that she was expected to do both. She kind of knew she wanted to, anyway, but she almost wished she didn’t. Although it would be fun to do something unconventional to annoy her parents now, she thought she might regret it later in life, and you only got one shot at education, didn’t you? She wouldn’t let on to her parents, but she loved school, and was expected to get excellent grades in her GCSE’s. Results would be out in a few days, whilst they were still in France, and doing well meant a lot to her. But sometimes she just wished her parents wouldn’t treat her as though she were made of china, would let her see some real life, and that was what she felt she was getting through these friends of hers.
Immy was missing her social life back home; it would have been great to go into town here and meet up with some people her own age. According to Pascal, there were actually some young people in this place, not everyone was over forty and deadly boring, with opinions and prejudices like her parents.
She’d get there somehow, she thought. Tonight she would ask again, maybe Dad would let her if he was the one to run her into town and then pick her up again later. Then he’d be able to have a look at them and make sure they were OK sort of people, wouldn’t he? And if not, well, a girl couldn’t get through a two week holiday without some sort of social life. It was bad enough that they’d got lousy Wi-Fi here and she couldn’t hook up with her friends back home on social media.
It was child cruelty, not letting her go out. Maybe she should give Childline a call. But then she probably wouldn’t get a signal anyway, so that would be a complete waste of time.
Immy loved a good moan about her parents – didn’t all teenagers? But actually, she had to admit, to herself, if no one else, that she was having a pretty brilliant holiday, all things considered, and that was despite the ban on going out, and being in a communications desert. She’d never let on to her parents that there was life beyond social me
dia; she’d never hear the last of it, and then they’d probably start limiting her time on it at home, claiming it was ‘character-building’. Since they’d been here, Mum had only commented once about how pleased she was that Immy had left her phone in her room. Immy had given her a cold, hard stare, as if to say, Well, there’s not much point bringing it if the bloody thing doesn’t work.
Eventually she had come to the conclusion that no one could sulk for ever, even her. Sulking was bad for your complexion, and your posture, wasn’t it? Everyone looked more attractive when they were happy. She didn’t want to end up with one of those dowager’s humps, like old ladies – like Granny even – from sulking so much that her spine got stuck bent over. Or frown lines, like Mrs Tranny, her chemistry teacher, who apparently was only thirty-eight. Who was she trying to kid? She had to be fifty-eight at least. They weren’t lines, they were furrows. ‘You could grow a fine set of carrots in them there furrows,’ Dad had joked – in a West Country accent, for some bizarre reason – after one parents’ evening. She wasn’t really Mrs Tranny, either, she was Mrs Travers. But everyone thought she looked like a transvestite. Maybe she was.
So, she decided, she could either sulk for the full two weeks and make everyone’s life a misery, including her own, or actually make the most of this holiday and enjoy it. I mean, look at this chateau, it was a palace. And there was that amazing pool, and the sunshine, and the opportunity to go home with a great tan. Didn’t everyone still want a tan really, even these days when it was cool to be pale and interesting, and people were getting skin cancer and stuff?
Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels Page 19