One Glass Is Never Enough
Page 21
“But I love you, so I’m still here. You need to decide what you want, Gaynor.” Sam stared at a cormorant skimming across the water. “I sometimes think you are looking for some perfect man to make it all come right for you. Some non-existent being…”
“No, I’m not,” she’d said, pushing the toe of her boot into the sand, hoping it was true. “I was happy enough with my marriage in the beginning. I thought he was perfect for me. I thought it would be wonderful for ever.”
Sam had shaken his head. “If he seemed perfect, then at what cost to himself? How long could anyone have kept that up? If he was perfect, what are you doing here?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’m real. I am here for you. With imperfect, hurting, human love.” He turned and took her hand. “There is always a price to be paid. Nothing is ever really perfect.”
She wondered if Sam would like a quick wander along the beach now or whether he’d be out in the garden lovingly digging in more compost or whatever he’d spent the whole previous day doing.
“You ’av to put it in to get it out, me dear,” he’d said in a bad imitation of one of the Archers.
She had to be at the wine bar by eleven to cover for Claire who’d taken Henry to the vet again. Claire had sounded uncharacteristically agitated on the phone. “He’s not right still,” she’d said when she’d phoned an hour before. I’m going to take him in and wait to see someone.
He’s just lying around and not eating. He’s not being himself at all…”
Nobody was. Sarah was drifting around with a permanent glow ever since Richard had started staying the night, Lizzie had completely gone to ground since she’d scooped up Ravi from Heathrow and, as far as Gaynor could ascertain, had taken him straight to bed where they’d remained pretty much ever since, and she herself felt very peculiar indeed.
She ran a hand across her stomach, frowning at the chart once more. Then she looked at her watch. There was time to call in and see what Sam was up to.
He was painting. A huge sign was propped on his kitchen table. PEDRO’S PASTA, in bold red italics. Sam was putting the finishing touches to a steaming plate of orange spaghetti below the name.
Gaynor filled the kettle. “Where are they opening?”
“York Street.” He glanced at her. “You OK?”
“Yes.” She kept her back to him as she took mugs from the cupboard and opened the coffee jar. The lid slipped from her fingers and bounced to the floor, rolling away across the old, worn tiles. “Shit!”
Sam added a last tendril of pasta, sitting back to consider it. “You sure?”
“I feel funny.”
Sam laid his paintbrush down and came over to her. He put a hand on her cheek. As always, when he touched her, she felt a jolt go through her body. “What sort of funny?”
“Oh nothing. I’ve just got PMT. I seem to have had it for weeks. But my hormones are in such uproar I don’t know where I am. She laughed. “I almost wondered if I could be pregnant.”
She felt his hand stiffen before he took it away and reached for his tobacco.
“And could you?”
“Well – I don’t know.”
His face was suddenly cold and closed – that same expression she’d seen in the beginning in the wine bar. She
felt herself shrink back.
“Gaynor, you told me you couldn’t have children.”
She looked down, spooning granules into each mug. “I can’t. Well that’s what they’ve told me.”
“So – how could this be?”
She kept her eyes on the kettle. It was beginning to boil. “I’ve never conceived in six years of trying. And they think I’ve got endometriosis again which can cause infertility, so the chances of me having a baby are pretty slim. So,” she added lightly, as he remained silent, “there’s no need to panic.”
He lit a cigarette. “I’m not panicking, but it would be a bit of a mess, wouldn’t it? I feel bad enough ever having made love to you – if you were pregnant too…”
“I’d deal with it.”
“Deal with it? If you were pregnant after all this time, I’d hope you’d get great joy from it. Which means being pregnant by your husband.”
The kettle turned itself off with a click. “Even if he doesn’t give a shit about me and is shagging someone else?”
“You still don’t know that.”
She poured boiling water and stirred. “I do know that – I just need to prove it, since he’s never going to admit it.” She looked at Sam. “And when I do, I shall leave him.”
He didn’t reply so she went on. “And personally, I would think it some sort of wonderful gift if I found I were having your baby. Would it really be such an awful thing?”
“I think I’d find it pretty traumatic, yes.”
“Right.” She looked away from him feeling sick.
He spoke more gently. “Gaynor, I am your friend – I am here for you. But I crossed a boundary that I shouldn’t have crossed. It was wonderful and magical but it shouldn’t have happened. Not least because I have these strong feelings for you and you aren’t free to be mine. And that hurts like mad. But of course I’d support and look after you. You know I’m here.”
She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she scowled. “As long as I’m not pregnant and don’t cause trouble.”
He sighed, exasperated again. “For Christ’s sake, Gaynor! If there was any chance of you being pregnant then you shouldn’t have had unprotected sex with me!”
“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”
“No. I’ve just said. I behaved badly.”
She pushed the mugs away from her – hot coffee slopped across the work surface.
“No you fucking didn’t!” She was shouting. “We both wanted to and we did. I don’t feel ashamed of it. I’d do it again. And if I were pregnant now I’d pray for the baby to be yours and not Victor’s.”
He stood rigid in front of her. “Why? Could it be his?”
“What? I don’t know – my cycle’s all over the place.”
Sam flicked at his lighter. He was speaking very quietly now. “You also told me you don’t have sex with your husband.”
“We don’t. We’ve done it twice in God knows how long.”
“Since you’ve been trying to get me into bed, obviously.”
“How dare you! I haven’t been trying.” She glared at him furiously, knowing that was exactly what she’d been doing. The thought brought a wave of humiliation and fresh rage. “You’re making me sound like some old slapper.”
He stared back. “I’m making you sound less than honest. ‘We don’t have sex’ means no sex. When I didn’t have sex with Eleanor we literally never touched each other for years on end. We didn’t have it a couple of times in the space of one menstrual cycle.”
“It’s longer than that,” she said angrily. “I’ve completely lost track of what my body’s doing. I have been honest. He never wants to come near me now. We used to do it all the time and now…”
Sam’s voice was cold. “Thank you. I really wanted to know that.” “I was just explaining…” “Anyone else in the picture? Seen that Danny lately?” “You bastard!” She lunged at him. He stopped her with one hand and held her away from him. “That’s so unfair.”
She was sobbing now. “I trusted you when I told you that.” He let her go. “Sorry.” “Bollocks to you.” She grabbed at her handbag. “You
can fuck off.” She heard him say, “Sorry,” once more. But he made no move to stop her as she ran out of the door.
19. Muscadet
A steely little number. Served chilled.
“Oh Gaynor!” Down in the wine bar kitchen, Sarah put an arm round her, a coffee in front of her and a tissue in her hand. “What have you been doing?”
Gaynor wiped her eyes, feeling about seven. She gave Sarah the edited highlights.
Sarah put on a pair of the thin rubber gloves that always reminded Gaynor of gynaecologists.
Gaynor said nothing. Something had stopped her telling Sarah the full story and she didn’t have the energy to go into more detail. She picked up her coffee. “He’s been very good to me.”
Sarah began to take plastic boxes from the fridge. “Maybe, but I think you should be making an effort with Victor.”
“For God’s sake,” Gaynor exploded. “You are like a bloody stuck record. I have made an effort with Victor until I’m blue in the face. I am one big, walking, fucking effort! Right now, I’m upset about Sam!”
Sarah tipped grated cheese into a large bowl. “If you ask me,” she said firmly, “having a row with him is a lucky break. I think that’s telling you something. To go home and sort things out once and for all.”
“Look,” said Gaynor loudly, stopping as Charlie appeared down the stairs.
“Can we have some crisps, Mum?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, go back up to the flat. I’ll come and make you something in a bit.”
“I don’t know what time Claire’s going to be back,” Sarah said to Gaynor when Charlie had trailed away. “I know that dog’s important to her but I’m trying to look after three kids here.” She put a large carton of milk on to the work surface with a thump. “Bloody teacher-training days! Susannah’s away and my mother’s tied up with her Quilting Convention. It’s all getting a bit much! Now about Victor…”
“Don’t you get it? He doesn’t want to know.”
“What I’ve come to say,” piped up Bel sweetly from the doorway, “is could I have some crisps please?”
Sarah swung round. “Did Charlie send you? Go and say Mummy says NO and she’s getting cross.”
Gaynor put a hand out and drew Bel on to her lap. “They can have a couple of packets can’t they? We’ve got boxes and boxes of them.”
“No, they can’t,” said Sarah sharply. “Charlie’s been eating too much rubbish. He won’t eat his lunch and then he’ll be bouncing off the walls all afternoon.”
Gaynor stroked Bel’s hair. “Thought it was blue smarties that did that – not a bag of cheese and onion.”
“Thank you for that expert advice,” snapped Sarah. “How many children have you got?” She immediately put her hand to her mouth. “Oh Gaynor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s OK.”
“Pleeeeeese can we?” whined Bel. “Mummy? Crisps?”
“One packet between you. Go on, get them and take them upstairs!” Sarah ran her hands through her hair when Bel had gone, and looked at Gaynor. “It’s not OK – that was really insensitive. I haven’t even asked – are you still upset about Chloe?”
Gaynor shrugged. “I haven’t been thinking about it. Though she’s itching to come down for a weekend, so no doubt it will raise its ugly head again soon.” She paused. “I don’t know if I feel a bit pregnant myself.” She winced at the way she’d blurted it to Sam. “I’ve been waiting to come on, I’ve got sore breasts and stuff – but nothing happens.”
“Take a test,” said Sarah.
“No, I won’t be. I’ve been here so many times before – all hopeful and then a couple of weeks later my period starts. I’ve just got a funny cycle. I stopped even bothering to test in the end – I think there’s still a kit in the bathroom cupboard, probably well past its sell-by date. That way I could keep the fantasy up as long as possible before I got disappointed again.”
Sarah squeezed her arm. “It could still happen.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’m even ready for children – I still feel like a child myself…” She thought of the feel of Sam stroking her hair. “I want someone to look after me.” She laughed self-consciously. “Never mind caring for a baby twenty-four-seven. Sam said…”
“That’s the appeal of Sam,” said Sarah. “He’s listening to you. Giving you some attention when Victor isn’t. But you hardly know him…”
“I know him very well. We’ve talked for hours.” And we have made passionate love and he knows me and turns me on and I think about him all the time…and can’t imagine life without him …
“Sam’s a red herring,” Sarah said firmly. “You’ve got to sort your marriage out one way or another.” She picked up a large shiny garlic clove and pushed it into the crusher, closing the steel press down on to it and watching as the white sludge dripped into the bowl below. “I assume,” she enquired primly, “from what you said about pregnancy, that you and Victor are making love again?”
“Only occasionally. He had a sudden flurry of interest after we’d had a nice evening with Lizzie – we all got drunk and had a few laughs and he was all over me when we went to bed, but since then…”
“There – I told you.” Sarah was triumphant. “That’s what you need. Some fun and laughter. He’s probably stressed out of his mind at work and just needs to relax. Organise some nights out with people he likes. Dress up, flirt with him…”
“You sound like bloody Dear Deirdre – you’ve missed your vocation. You should be on Trisha doling out advice!”
“Anything would be better than this place. It’s doing my head in.”
She reached up to the shelf over the freezer and pulled down a foil pack of pills. “Not to mention making it hurt.” She emptied two tablets into her palm and picked up her glass of water.
“You get too many headaches,” said Gaynor. “I wish you’d go to the doctor.”
“There’s nothing really wrong. Just a tension thing,” Sarah smiled. “Really – these will get rid of it and I’ll be fine.”
As if to prove it, she smiled when Charlie reappeared ten minutes later. “Your Auntie Gaynor says I should let you eat whatever you want,” she said. “So you can take that cheese and crackers upstairs and share them with Luke and Bel.”
Charlie grinned and put his arms round Gaynor’s waist. “Thanks Gaynor!” “But if you don’t eat your broccoli, you’re in trouble,” Sarah called after him as he went back up the stairs. “They’re lovely, your kids,” Gaynor said, “so affectionate.”
“I know. And I’m just not there for them at the moment,” said Sarah ruefully. “I think that was the problem with Charlie – Paul being an unreliable sod but also me simply not being there enough to make up for it. He likes Susannah and my mother’s usually around but it’s not the same…”
“Can I do something to help you have more time off?”
Sarah smiled. “Next week, maybe? Perhaps you can work Tuesday night … Oh hello!”
She broke off as Claire pushed open the swing door. Then frowned. “Claire what are you doing? You can’t bring them in here.”
Henry and Wooster were both on leads. They sat obediently on the kitchen floor behind Claire, who looked defiant. “I’ll tie them up in the cellar. I can’t leave them at home. Henry’s not well – he’s had blood tests and I’ve got to keep an eye on him.” For a moment it seemed that Claire, unbelievably, might be about to cry. “And Wooster will pine if I leave him at home alone.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry about Henry,” she said firmly, looking at the two Airedales, who looked back longingly. “But you know very well we can’t have dogs anywhere near the kitchen. You go home and look after him and we’ll manage. Won’t we, Gaynor?”
“Sure.” Gaynor forced a bright smile. “We’ll be fine.”
Claire shook her head. “I need to be here,” she said “We’ve got a delivery coming and there’s the menu for Beaujolais Nouveau Night to sort out and the blackboards to do and …”
“And we can deal with it!” Sarah’s voice was sharp. “For goodness sake, Claire, you’re not the only one who can do things, you know. I’m perfectly capable of handling it all. I’ve already written out the menu and Gaynor can do the blackboard. Now go home. You
haven’t had a proper day off since we started. Have one now!”
Gaynor looked from one of her partners to the other. For a moment she thought Claire was going to start shouting but then she suddenly seemed to slump.
“OK. If you’re sure,” she said. “I can ring Jamie and see if he can get an early train and maybe my neighbour would come in and sit with them, she has before. I could come back later…”
Sarah crossed the room and put a brief arm across Claire’s shoulders. “Just go home,” she said quietly. “Gaynor and I will deal with everything.”
“Right,” she said, when Claire had reluctantly gone. “And now we’ve got to. I’ll call Jack and get him to come in tonight, and you can go do your artistic bit with the blackboard.” Sarah looked at Gaynor. “It will keep your mind off things,” she said briskly. She held out a piece of paper.
“‘C’est arrivé’ in big letters across the top and then the special menu beneath. I thought we’d do French Onion Soup, Coq au Vin and Boeuf Bourguignon, maybe Tarte Tatin… Are you listening?”
“Yes, sorry.” Gaynor took the paper and looked at it. She wondered what Sam was thinking.
Sarah was watching her. “Come on, Gaynor, we’ve got to get on.”
“Yes I know. I’ll get it…” She jumped up as, above in the bar, the phone began to ring.
“I think the answer-phone’s still on….”
They heard it cut in as Gaynor pushed open the swing door and Claire’s cool efficient tones floated down the stairs asking the caller to please leave a message after the tone. Then the click as a receiver was replaced.
“Talkative,” said Sarah. She gathered up a pile of glass cloths and followed Gaynor up the stairs. “There are a couple of other messages on there. I haven’t had a chance to listen yet. Can you write them down?”
Gaynor flicked the switch and reached for a pen, as a giggly female voice sounded. Hen Party ? Gaynor wrote. December 5 th . Table for seventeen .
“Oh joy,” said Sarah, folding the cloths and putting them away in the cupboard beneath the optics. “Dildos at dawn…”