It was a beautiful sunny day, and Louise revelled in the warmth against her skin. She drove with the car windows open, long hair flying around her head like octopus tentacles, sun glasses perched on her nose and a strapless maxi dress bunched up over her knees. She’d already had the thumbs up from one lorry driver, his raised driving position offering him a perfect view of her long, athletic legs. She’d smiled sweetly at him and hit the accelerator, speeding away from him with glee.
God she felt good. She wished she could feel like this every day, bottle up the feeling and let out little whiffs of elation every time she felt blue. Thinking about it now as she sped along, she decided she had been a little out of sorts lately, even before her first vision, if that was the best way to describe it and she still wasn’t sure it was, a kind of melancholy had settled over her.
She presumed it was due to over work, the stresses of her promotion and the lack of time off, which was no one’s fault but her own. Ben offered her the time off, she just failed to take it, always finding an excuse to stay at work. There was always this deadline, or that deadline, or this article to edit, that person to chase up.
In some ways her attitude was slightly megalomaniacal, she mused. What did she think would happen if she took some time off? The magazine would suddenly crumble and fade into nothing? She knew she was important to the company, but at the same time she also knew that it would survive quite well without her. The thought displeased Louise. She liked to feel valuable.
Maybe her ambition was half the problem, she thought. Striving for perfection was wearing her out. Who was perfect? Could anyone ever be perfect? Wouldn’t perfection be boring, and who decided on what perfection was?
‘Deep Lou. Very deep,’ she said aloud to herself, with a smile.
She had opened up to Steve a little on Friday night, and it had felt quite good, but also scary. She loved him, but she was also afraid of him, afraid of the potential pain he could cause her. She sighed and pulled the car into the slow lane so she could light a cigarette. She considered herself a non-smoker, but occasionally she felt the urge. Today was one of those days.
As she reflected, she inhaled deeply, the end of the cigarette glowing brightly, the wind from the open car windows causing the tobacco to burn faster. Someone had once told her that if you lived in fear of what could happen, you wouldn’t be living at all, as you would never do anything. Words of wisdom which she was trying hard to apply to her life. And why she was allowing Steve snippets of her heart and soul.
Her mind wandered to Ben Matthews. She was still angry at him for making her draft the ‘list of doom’; as of Monday morning, 20 people’s lives would be turned upside down. One of those people was Derek Cooper, the only member of the editorial team to feature on the list, because she had wanted to try to balance the losses across the departments. Louise just hoped that Ben was true to his word and no one discovered she had drafted the list, otherwise Derek would assume he was on it just because Louise didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual, she knew, and although one small part of her was relieved that he would be gone as of Monday, she mostly felt guilty that it was because of her that this was the case.
She threw her cigarette butt out the window after checking her side mirrors for motorcyclists. She didn’t want to be responsible for a fag butt flying into a biker’s jacket and causing who knew what sort of damage. Manoeuvring back into the fast lane, Louise put her foot down, the speedometer needle creeping up towards ninety. She glanced at the sat nav, she was making good time. She smiled to herself visualising Steve’s face when he saw her at the front door. He was certainly going to be surprised. What Louise didn’t know as she happily drove down the M4, was that so was she.
Chapter XII
The phone was ringing but of course when Mark Faversham went to answer it, it wasn’t in the cradle on the hallway table. He stood looking at the cradle for a second; ringing phone, whereabouts unknown.
‘Where’s the bloody phone Peter?’ Mark shouted, as he overturned cushions on the sofa looking for the ringing device. He moved to the living room table, lifting various papers and magazines, getting more and more frustrated. After receiving no reply from Peter, he shouted again.
‘Peter! Where is it? You were on the phone earlier, where’ve you put it you twat?’
Moving into the kitchen he finally located it underneath a dish cloth.
‘Idiot!’ he shouted for Peter’s benefit, as he pressed the answer button and placed the phone against his ear.
Mark Faversham and Peter Reiley were best friends, they’d grown up together, gone to university together and were now sharing a flat in the suburbs of London. They were more like brothers than friends. They were both high flyers; Mark worked in the City as an investment banker and Peter was a corporate lawyer. Together they rented a plush residence in Richmond and although they each earnt enough money to live alone, they enjoyed sharing, still clinging on to the vestiges of the bachelor lifestyles they had enjoyed at university.
‘Hello?’ Mark said into the handset, opening the fridge and extracting a large carton of orange juice as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. He opened the container with one hand and took a large gulp straight from the carton. He only did it because he knew it annoyed Peter.
‘I don’t know where you got this number from, but I suggest you remove it from any list you have. I don’t need insurance and I don’t need you calling me on a Saturday morning, got it?’ he said moodily, hanging up the phone as Peter padded into the kitchen, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist, small beads of water dripping off his torso, black hair slicked back.
‘Did you shout something earlier?’ he asked, ‘I was in the shower’ He picked up the juice carton and poured himself a large glass.
‘Yeah, I was looking for the phone. Fucking telesales. They really piss me off. You spend ages looking for the phone because you’re bloody flat mate doesn’t put it back and when you do finally find it, it’s some bloody tart trying to sell insurance.’
Peter just smirked at him, dripping beads of water onto the linoleum floor.
‘By the way, I’m off to that club I told you about tonight for some fun and games.’
‘Oh, one of those nights, eh?’ Peter looked amused. He leaned against the kitchen work top and grinned.
‘Yes one of those nights. You should come, it’s a lot of fun.’ Mark grabbed the carton and took another large swig.
‘Pleb,’ said Peter with disdain, wrinkling his nose for emphasis.
‘Prude,’ replied Mark, with a wink.
‘I’m not a prude, I just don’t see the attraction in dressing up like a rubber, whipping some randoms and being called ‘Master.’ Besides, Melanie is more than enough woman for me.’
Melanie, Peter’s long term girlfriend, was a sweet woman, but bloody boring as far as Mark was concerned. She was also another reason Mark and Peter shared the flat. If they weren’t living together Melanie would want Peter to move in with her and he just wasn’t quite ready.
Mark laughed, ‘You have no idea and you really shouldn’t judge until you’ve tried it. Talking about Melanie, aren’t you going to see her this weekend?’
‘Yep. Be out of here in a bit so you’ll have the place to yourself. I’m going to go to work from hers on Monday so I won’t be back here until Monday evening.’
‘Ok, so Monday, squash?’
‘If you’re still up for it after your weekend of hedonism!’ answered Peter.
‘I’ll be up for it. I don’t know what you think I get up to, but I am sure the version in your head is far more depraved and sordid than my reality. You really should come one night,’ Mark suggested.
‘The less I know the better, as far as I’m concerned. Keeping your dirty little secret is hard enough without knowing all the details!’
‘Fine, up to you. Have fun this weekend won’t you. I know I will!’ Mark returned the drinks carton to the fridge. ‘Right, got a few things to do…�
� he strolled out of the kitchen.
‘Off to polish your PVC? Oil your chains?’ Peter called after him.
‘Ha ha, very funny you twat,’ came the fading reply as Mark retreated to his room, closing the door behind him.
************************************************
Janet sat on the large bed in the master bedroom, which until recently had been her and David’s favourite place to spend their time when the house was empty. Now as she sat there looking at the vast wardrobe which housed David’s suits and shirts, she felt nothing but emptiness. She couldn’t believe that he was gone. It was now just her and the kids.
Part of her was so angry, how could he go off and get himself killed? The rest of her was just immensely sad. She would never again see his smile, touch his face or smell his scent. Never again feel his loving touch, argue with him over trivial nonsense or laugh with him over even more nonsense.
She let the tears fall freely from her eyes; there was no need to hide them now that she was alone. Charlie and Megan were still in bed; it was if their bodies were coping with the grief through sleep. They’d never slept so long and this morning Janet was grateful. She needed a little time on her own to grieve. She hadn’t cried properly since she’d been told the news. She had to be strong for the children. She’d lost her husband but they’d lost their father and nothing could replace a father.
The tears flowed thick and fast, her eyes were sore, her cheeks were burning. His clothes hung there, mocking her. Suddenly she rose and walked over to the wardrobe. Maybe his scent still lingered on some of the suits? Maybe she would be able to smell him?
She delicately touched the arm of one of his suits, her hand running over the fabric, tugging gently at the sleeve. He was gone, gone forever. She began to sob, the tears choking her, sticking in her throat. She pressed her face against the fabric, her arms grabbing hold of his clothing, as if the contact would bring him back to her.
‘David, oh David.’ she murmured.
She fell into the closet, pulling the rail down with her, the suits and shirts covering her body. She sat there in a crumpled, sobbing heap as Megan opened the bedroom door.
‘Mummy? Are you ok?’ Megan ran over to the wardrobe and threw herself into her mother’s arms.
‘It’s ok Mummy. We’ll take care of you now daddy’s gone,’ Megan said, her childish voice and sentiment breaking Janet’s heart.
She wrapped her arms around Megan and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. As she placed her arms around her daughter, gathering Megan and clothes in her embrace she felt something inside one of David’s jacket pockets.
With Megan’s face buried in her bosom she gently extracted the item. Suddenly the tears stopped. She felt nothing but astonishment and confusion that her husband, who she loved and whose memory she cherished, had kept secrets from her.
************************************************
The last stretch of the journey to the cottage felt like it had taken forever. The closer she got to Steve the more excited Louise had become and the longer the minutes had felt. Now, she had arrived.
Steve’s car was parked in front of the cottage, gleaming in the sunlight. She reversed her own car in next to it, wound up the windows and stepped out, bare legs long and lithe, then rapidly hidden as the fabric of her long dress fell and covered them. Her hair sparkled in the warm sun as she ran her hands through it before stretching languorously.
The cottage was one of four in a small cul-de-sac, close enough together to know you had neighbours, but far enough apart for privacy. She noticed an elderly couple sitting outside the front of the neighbouring cottage to the left, separated from the one Steve had rented by a patch of grass and flowers. She gave them a cheery wave and was pleased when they waved back with big beaming smiles. How nice.
She skipped up the steps to the front door of Steve’s cottage and remarked that it was all closed up, the curtains drawn and no evidence of life on the inside that she could discern. She guessed that Steve was probably on the beach, surfing. He’d probably gone out early and not bothered to draw back the curtains. Such a blokey thing to do, she mused.
She knocked on the front door, not expecting a response. After waiting a suitable amount of time to allow Steve to come to the door if he was inside, she tried the handle on the off chance the door was open. To her surprise, it was. She went in.
The interior of the cottage was dark, but she could see enough to tell it was large, spacious and well kept. The living room was well furnished, a plush sofa and two equally plush arm chairs positioned around a large oak coffee table. No TV. She wondered what Steve had made of that.
At the back of the living room were two full-length patio doors, long curtains pulled almost shut across them but between which she could see a wood-decked terrace. Bet that’s romantic of an evening, she thought, noting that it was West-facing and as such would catch the evening sun. She was touched that Steve had wanted to bring her to such a romantic place.
Louise called out for Steve as she continued her progression through the cottage. Into the kitchen now, round dining table, modern appliances and two used wine glasses on the draining board. She felt suspicion creeping up on her like icy fingers wrapping themselves around her neck, constricting her breathing. Did he have company? Had he brought someone else here?
‘Steve!’ she shouted, louder this time, ‘You in here?’
She heard movement down the corridor, someone walking towards her from where she presumed the bedroom to be.
‘Lou? What are you doing here?’ Steve came into the kitchen, his hair ruffled, his eyes sleepy, wearing a pair of shorts and a rumpled T-shirt obviously pulled on in a hurry.
He smiled at her but she detected what she thought was a hint of nervousness, like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit jar before dinner after his mother had told him not to spoil his appetite.
‘Who have you got here?’ she demanded, her face stern, anger bringing red spots to her cheeks.
‘Oh nice to see you too. You‘ve just got here and already you’re accusing me of something!’ Steve replied curtly.
‘Two wine glasses Steve,’ she said accusatorily, pointing toward the kitchen sink.
‘Yeah, one was chipped so I used another one.’
She grabbed the glass and inspected it furious. There was indeed a small chip on the rim. She suddenly felt foolish and guilty for having such a suspicious mind. Why did she always jump to negative conclusions?
‘Steve… I…’ she began.
‘You know what Lou? Don’t even say you’re sorry. I’m getting so sick of your accusations,’ Steve said moodily.
‘I am sorry. I drove down here today because I felt bad about having turned you down. I wanted to make it up to you by surprising you, and I’ve already messed it up. I get so wound up. I truly am sorry,’ she moved towards him and stroked his cheek.
Steve pulled away from her and moved towards the corridor, blocking her exit from the kitchen. Again, she felt suspicion creeping up on her.
‘It is good to see you Lou. I am surprised you’re here, but it’s a nice surprise. I just wish you weren’t so quick to judge me. And I wish you’d told me you were coming. I would have made myself more presentable,’ he joked, his tone softening.
Louise smiled at him and moved in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair.
‘So, what’s your explanation for being half-dressed in the middle of the day? Were you napping like an old man?’
‘Yeah, I just came over really tired. Think fatigue has just caught up with me a bit. The bottle of wine I drank last night probably didn‘t help either,’ he replied, holding her to his chest.
‘Hmmm. Probably,’ she mused.
Louise pulled away slightly from Steve’s chest and looked up at him, her eyes searching; she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying to her and she had learnt long ago to always trust her instincts.
‘The cottage seems lovely. You going
to show me the rest of it?’ she asked.
The question was innocent enough but she saw something in his eyes when she asked it, a flicker of apprehension, of guilt.
‘Yes of course. First though come to the terrace, I want to show you the view,’ he stuttered.
‘No, I’d like to see the bedroom actually.’
She pushed past him into the corridor.
‘You still don’t believe me? I’m here alone!’ he called after her.
She heard him mumble ‘shit’ under his breath as she continued towards the bedroom; she knew then, without a doubt, that there was another woman in the cottage.
‘Lou! Don’t, please don’t!’
She opened the bedroom door with a hard shove and stormed in. The room was dark as the curtains were drawn but her eyes immediately spotted the outline of a naked female form lying in the bed on her back, bare breasts and stomach on display. The form moved and sat up, shoulder length brown hair falling across her face.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark and she began to recognize the features of the female’s face, her stomach knotting with the realization. Louise felt her legs go weak and she put a hand onto the wall to steady herself.
Melissa, looked at her, no expression of guilt, surprise or remorse on her face. Just that same smile, that fucking smile she turned on for customers at the restaurant, that supercilious ‘I-know-something-you-don’t know smile.’
Louise was aware that Steve was standing behind her as she felt her anger mounting like a torrent of hot lava bubbling through her veins. She suddenly felt removed from herself and heard herself say in a voice she barely recognised as her own: ‘Get up and put some fucking clothes on.’
Melissa just looked at her and made no attempt to move.
‘Melissa, if you don’t put some clothes on right now, I am going to throw you out of here naked,’ Louise repeated, her voice calm and contained, he rage simmering just below eruption levels.
Sweet Oblivion Page 8