‘Are you all right, Harry?’ she asks quietly.
But I don’t think he hears her as he mumbles, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ I assure him. ‘You’re safe. That’s all that matters to me.’
The wind and rain are at our backs now, making the going slightly easier. Nevertheless, when Cwtch Cottage comes into view, I could lie down on the sand and cry with relief.
Chapter Forty-One
Harry is lying back in the bath, eyes closed, the suds piled around him. I found some muscle-relaxing foam bath in the cabinet that must have belonged to Ella’s parents. I hope she doesn’t mind me using it. As this rate, I’m going to have to replenish all of her bathroom supplies.
‘Better now?’ I feel as if I have to treat him with kid gloves.
I’ve made him hot chocolate and am sitting on the loo seat, studying him, while he lies there. He looks weary beyond his years. His face is grey and he could easily be in his sixties. I remember a time when I would have stripped off my clothes and slipped into the bath with him for a romantic cuddle. Part of me really wants to do that now, but I don’t know how. We seem to be strangers to each other and I can’t seem to cross that chasm. Particularly unaided. If only Harry would reach out to me too.
He opens his eyes and nods. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ His eyes roll shut again.
‘Want to tell me what that was all about?’
His eyes stay shut. ‘Not really.’
‘Harry, if there’s anything wrong we can work it out. Whatever it is.’ I squash down my sigh of frustration. ‘If I don’t know what the problem is, then how can I help?’
I slide down and sit next to the bath, toying with the hairs on his damp arm that lies along the side, making whorly patterns this way and that.
‘We can get back to how we were. I know we can.’
At this moment, I feel that I’ll do anything to try. Our marriage is worth saving and I realised, as I saw Harry sat out there alone in that terrible storm, that I’d be devastated if anything happened to him. What if we hadn’t found him? What if it had been a cold, lifeless body we were bringing home instead? The thought convulses me with a shiver and I feel sick to my stomach. There’s no doubt that I desperately want things to change, but I’m equally sure that I don’t want to be a widow. I might not like Harry much at the moment, but I do believe that, underneath it all, I still love him. We’re going through a rough patch, that’s all. Nothing more. All marriages have them. The couples that stay the distance are the ones who can push through the painful times until all becomes well again.
He lifts his hand to stroke my hair and I shift so that he can cup my face.
‘What’s happened to us?’ Tears prickle my eyes. ‘We used to be in love.’
Nothing from my husband.
‘Is it work?’
He shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘The kids? Your ex-wife?’
‘No.’
‘Me?’
‘No.’
‘Mid-life crisis?’
A vague smile at that. ‘Perhaps so.’
‘People having a mid-life crisis don’t put themselves at risk by wandering off on to dangerous rocks by themselves. They buy sporty motorbikes, wear inappropriate clothing and chase younger women.’
‘I might do that too,’ he offers weakly.
Perhaps he needs some antidepressants, to take up some exercise, give up drinking. I know that it’s not the right time to raise any of this now. But when is?
‘We need to sit down and have a good talk, Harry. Clear the air between us.’ I take a deep breath. ‘You may not be happy with the way things are, but it’s no bed of roses for me either.’ I dip my fingers into the bathwater. The heat has gone out of it. ‘Let’s go to bed now. Everything will seem better in the morning.’
‘Will it?’ he says despondently.
I hold out a towel for him. It’s warm from the radiator. ‘Want me to dry you?’
‘I can manage.’ So he stands up, gets out of the bath and, somewhat lethargically, rubs himself down.
A few minutes later, we’re lying next to each other in bed, Harry on his back, staring at the ceiling. I cuddle up to him, with my arm across his chest.
‘That Noah,’ he says flatly. ‘He’s a solid chap, isn’t he?’
My traitorous heart pitter-patters, even in these circumstances. Is that what this is about? Am I right? Has he noticed that I seem to be drawn to Noah like a moth to a flame? If he has, then it has to stop. I need to save my marriage, not keep thinking how much better Noah and I get on together than I currently do with my husband. Harry and I were good for each other once. Surely we could recapture that again?
I keep my tone neutral when I reply, ‘I couldn’t have found you without him tonight.’
‘He and Flick aren’t suited,’ is his opinion. ‘It won’t last.’
With that he turns his back to me and goes to sleep.
Chapter Forty-Two
‘God, what a night,’ Flick says. She drags on her cigarette and blows the smoke into the wind. ‘Noah and I were so exhausted by the time we got to bed that I didn’t even get a shag!’
There are some things I should be grateful for.
I too was exhausted when I got to bed. I slept fitfully, with nightmares of being chased, scratched and hurt by creatures unknown. I feel just as exhausted this morning.
Flick, Ella and I are sitting on the picnic bench on the terrace, our regular morning spot. It’s nice for just the three of us to spend time together. We’re all nursing tea and there’s a rapidly dwindling plate of toast in the middle of the table. I’m taking plenty of carbs on board in the hope that they’ll give my energy a quick lift.
Of the terrible storm last night, there’s hardly a sign. The day is clear, bright and, though there’s a sharpness to the air, it looks as if it’s going to be beautifully sunny again. The sky is cloudless, tranquil. The raging sea, now a veritable millpond. Very much the calm after the storm. The only indication that there had been any trouble at all is that the beach is strewn with detritus thrown up by the petulant waves: seaweed, shells and pebbles, as well as the much more human waste, a litter of plastic bottles, bits of rope and even a single shoe.
‘How are you feeling today?’ I ask Ella.
‘I’m fine,’ she says, nursing her little baby bump. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Good.’ Though I do think that she looks a little pale this morning and maybe there are slight shadows under her eyes.
‘Art?’
‘He crept in beside me in the early hours,’ she admits with a rueful smile. ‘I expect he was getting cold on the sofa.’
‘I hope he apologised.’
She nods. ‘He did feel like a bit of an idiot.’
‘Also good,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what got into him.’
‘Well, it was a shock, but no harm done. Here…’ She takes my hand and places it on her tummy. ‘I’m so excited now that I know it’s really going to happen. Thanks for that, Grace.’
I rest my hand gently on her bump. I’m thrilled by the thought of new life beneath my fingers. ‘How lovely.’
‘I feel like a benign Earth Mother,’ she confesses with a self-conscious laugh. ‘Just like you said.’
‘Art still doesn’t know?’
Ella shakes her head. ‘I was going to tell him last night, but well… It was nice just to cuddle up instead. There’s time enough yet.’
I let my hand fall away. Subconsciously, it goes to my own flat belly. Nothing in there but a gnawing feeling that I’m living the wrong life.
‘Noah and I cuddled up too,’ Flick chips in, wistfully. ‘Somehow it was even nicer than torrid sex.’ A frown creases her perfect brow. ‘How is that possible?’
Clearly this is an alien concept for Flick and I try to push the image out of my mind. It’s actually ten times worse than my image of them getting down to it.
It’s fair to say tha
t my own internal storm has also left its own kind of debris. Scattered across my heart are remnants of promises, fears, hopes and tears. I’m still just not feeling the calm after my storm. I’m hoping that it will come and, instead of feeling racked with trepidation, I’ll see the future full of sun-filled possibilities.
‘How’s Harry?’ Ella wants to know.
‘He seems OK,’ I tell her. ‘Still no idea what’s going on in his head, but at least we all got him home safely.’
‘Thanks to Noah,’ Flick throws in.
‘Yes.’ Can’t argue with that.
I sigh inside. Despite his ordeal, Harry seemed to sleep like a baby. Whereas I did not. It doesn’t matter what domestic strife we’ve had, Harry can be fast asleep and snoring moments after his head hits the pillow. I’m the one who tosses and turns, fretting about all that was said, as well as what wasn’t that should have been. I still can’t get out of my mind that image of Harry sitting alone on the beach in the teeth of the storm. What had driven him to that? I’m no closer to knowing.
‘I don’t know what I would have done without Noah last night,’ I say candidly. ‘He was a hero.’
I can imagine Noah in one of those disaster movies where one ordinary man is required to save the world. That would be him. And he’d acquit himself admirably. And get the girl. And the world would be saved. And Noah Reeves would look very fine in a ripped and dirtied vest too.
‘Yes,’ Flick agrees. ‘I thought they’d broken the mould that made men like Noah. Seeing him in action has made me even more resolved in my determination to propose to him.’
‘Isn’t Noah the sort of man who would want to do the proposing?’ I suggest gently.
‘Oh, Grace.’ She sighs with exasperation. ‘You’re so old-fashioned. I could wait for ever and I just don’t have the time.’
‘There’s no hurry, Flick. It’s better to get it right than rush in.’
‘How do you know? Anyway, you’re married. Why not me? Surely you can see why I fully intend this one to be a keeper?’
I do. Noah Reeves’s charms are so very, very apparent to me. And I’m going to have to turn my face and my heart away from that, as one of my vows in the deep, dark night was that I’m going to be a better wife from now on. Whatever is going on in Harry’s head or life that is making him like this, I’m going to devote myself one hundred per cent to helping him through it. Isn’t that the role that I signed up for?
‘God,’ Flick says. ‘I could write a book about all the crap boyfriends I’ve had.’ She sighs.
‘It would be a best-seller,’ Ella agrees with a laugh. ‘Though you’d have to change the names to protect the guilty.’
‘It could run to several volumes,’ she acknowledges.
‘You had a veritable parade through our flat at university,’ I add. One or two of them are captains of industry now or famous sportsmen. But most are probably still signing on.
‘I was young and foolish then,’ Flick says. ‘I didn’t know what I was looking for.’
‘Other than great sex,’ Ella says.
‘Yes,’ she admits. ‘I had plenty of that. And more than my fair share of terrible sex. But that’s all behind me. The new me is looking for a man who can put up shelves and be reliable through life’s ups and downs.’
‘And, presumably, one who hasn’t already got a wife,’ Ella notes.
‘I’ve always envied you two, you know,’ Flick continues. ‘Able to stay with one man. Up until now, I’ve never found anyone who’s been enough for me.’
‘Or you’ve run rings round them,’ Ella adds.
‘We had fun, though, didn’t we?’ she chides. ‘When we were all in the flat together? I might remind you that I wasn’t the only naughty one. You two had your moments in the sunshine or the squalor too.’
Ella laughs. ‘I suppose we did. There were several blokes that I brought home to that flat that I’ve tried very hard to erase from my memory bank.’ She shudders. ‘What was I thinking?’
‘I was never “naughty”,’ I protest. I was the one who made sure we paid the rent, dealt with the bills, bought food, exterminated the vermin.
‘You had some great boyfriends off me, Grace,’ Flick recalls.
‘I had two or three of your unfortunate cast-offs,’ I correct. ‘Briefly. Poor saps who dated me a couple of times – unenthusiastically – just so that they could stay near you and torture themselves a bit.’
‘That’s not my version of it,’ she cackles. ‘Just try to keep your hands off this one. He’s mine. All mine.’
Underneath that joviality, is there really a veiled threat? As it’s closer to the truth than I’d like, I let it pass.
‘Remember that terrible bar we worked in?’ Flick says. ‘The manager used to try to grope us at every possible opportunity. Why did we put up with it?’
‘We needed the money,’ I point out. ‘To pay the landlord who also used to try to grope us at every opportunity!’
That raises a titter from all of us.
‘His hands were as damp as the walls in the flat,’ Ella says. ‘Yuck.’
Me: ‘And he used to try to press us up against the cooker.’
‘Oh, happy times,’ Flick concurs. Then she’s suddenly subdued. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you both,’ she says. ‘I thought I had it under control, but I was such a mess after the whole thing with Brian. I look back on it now and can see that it was so tawdry. At the time it felt like a big adventure. Until it all went wrong, of course.’
In Vegas, while still on honeymoon, Flick’s new husband, Brian, had proved that he didn’t have eyes for just one young pretty girl. Despite his having abandoned his family for her, every time Flick moved from his side she’d come back to find him chatting up someone else.
‘I knew it was a total cock-up the day I married him,’ she says, sounding bitter. ‘What a fool I was.’
‘You were young,’ I counter. ‘He took advantage of you.’
‘It just seemed so exciting. I thought I was so sophisticated, that I had it all sorted. Now I wonder just how long he’d had his eye on me,’ Flick muses. ‘Probably too long for it to be legal. Tosser.’
When Flick had told him that she thought they’d made a mistake, the lovely Brian had thrown her out of the hotel room without her bag, her airline ticket or her passport. She’d had to call the police to the hotel to get them back for her. It wasn’t quite the dream ending to her affair that she’d hoped for. She returned to England, alone and penniless.
Then Flick shrugs. ‘He was shacked up with another teenager within months. He didn’t exactly grieve over me for long. Men!’ She puffs out an unhappy breath. ‘I let him divorce me. For adultery. What a laugh. I should have exposed him for what he was. You’d have thought that I’d learned my lesson.’
But we don’t, do we? Something like that can shape our future and not in a good way. We so often repeat destructive behaviour learned at an early age.
‘It’s all water under the bridge.’ Flick forces a laugh. ‘Look at us now. Who would have thought that ten years later we’d still be firm friends?’
Ella stares out to sea.
‘We’ve all turned into strong, successful women,’ Flick declares. ‘We should be proud of ourselves.’
‘It’s only love that we’re unlucky in,’ Ella counters.
Another shrug from Flick. ‘You make your own luck. If you want something badly enough, you should let nothing stand in your way.’
‘Not even friendship?’ Ella asks quietly as she turns to look at her.
Flick stands, clearly riled. Did I miss something here? She shakes herself down. ‘Let’s go and find those lazy bastards, see what they want to do today.’
Flick strides ahead while Ella and I trail behind – much like it has always been. I help Ella over the rocks. But somehow I feel that the sun has gone behind a cloud and I don’t know why.
Chapter Forty-Three
Harry, it seems, is determined to stay
at the cottage, moping. After his theatrics last night, you’d think that he’d be in a conciliatory mood. But no such luck.
He’s on the sofa, fiddling about with his redundant phone. I crouch down in front of him.
‘It’s a beautiful day out there,’ I cajole. ‘We’re thinking of going to the beach again.’
A Cottage by the Sea Page 21