One Glass Is Never Enough

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  Sarah put a hand on her shoulder. “OK, OK,” she said reluctantly. “I won’t say a word.”

  “Why aren’t they saying anything?” Claire demanded. Why don’t they come and tell us what’s going on?”

  She stopped pacing the small square of vinyl flooring with its strong smell of disinfectant and sank down into a plastic chair and began to sob uncontrollably. Jamie, who’d been staring vacantly at the posters about vaccinations and roundworm, looked at her in alarm.

  “It will be OK,” he said helplessly. He patted her shoulder. “Henry’s tough.”

  So was Claire too, usually. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry like this. Privately, Jamie had wished she would sometimes. There were times when he’d have liked her to be the sort of woman you could protect or comfort or rescue in some small way – rather than being so strong and capable and so able to do everything herself that you sometimes wondered why she needed you at all.

  But watching her weep now in this most un-Claire-like way he felt totally inadequate for the task. “He’ll be OK,” he said again, sitting down in the next chair and trying to hug her. Claire leapt up.

  “Stop saying that!” she cried. “You saw him. Just lying there, not moving or eating, all weak…” Her heart twisted at the thought of Henry’s eyes, clouded with pain, looking beseechingly at her from his basket while Wooster whined nearby. “Help me!” he seemed to be saying. “Make me better.”

  They’d struggled to lift the large Airedale into the car, his inert body weighing heavily between them. Wooster, left behind at home, had howled as they left.

  “Oh God, what are they doing in there?” As Claire spoke, the door opened and a veterinary nurse came out wearing green overalls. She looked seriously from Jamie to Claire. “We’ve done some X-rays,” she said. “And now we know exactly what the problem is…”

  Back home in their kitchen, Claire blew her nose. “I was so frightened,” she said. “I really thought we’d lost him.” She looked at Henry lying in his basket with a martyred expression, and the shaved patch where the stitches were. “That will teach you,” she said. “Teach you to go eating everything you find!”

  The shadow on the X ray had proved to be half a red plastic ball that, the vet said, had probably been sitting in Henry’s insides for some time. It was this that had caused the intermittent symptoms, that had caused Henry to feel so miserable and put him off his food as it shifted about inside and blocked things up. Now it was removed, the vet added, he would be instantly back to his normal self, if a little sore from the stitches and woozy from the anaesthetic.

  Claire had cried again when they got home, this time in Jamie’s arms, which made him feel better, though it made little impression on Wooster who had given up on them all in disgust at the attention Henry was getting, and had slunk off to the other room to sulk and debate whether his feelings would be better understood if he had a good chew at Jamie’s briefcase.

  Claire took Jamie’s hand. “Thank you. I’m so glad you were here.”

  “I took the day off because I wanted to talk to you,” said Jamie. “See you for a change.”

  Claire smiled at him. “And I want to talk to you, too. I’ve been meaning to for ages.”

  Jamie waited.

  “I know we hardly get any time at the moment.” She laughed, still light-hearted with relief over Henry. “Ships that pass in the night. Those little weather people in the old clocks. You come in and I go out. I get in and you’re fast asleep having to get up early…”

  “Yes,” said Jamie. “That’s what I want to talk about.”

  “Well I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” went on Claire brightly. “And I thought, you know, that things aren’t really working out with Sarah. She’s not happy. She’s fed up in the kitchen and we can’t pay a chef as well as both of us. Not yet. So I was wondering…”

  “Yes?” Jamie suddenly looked hopeful.

  “There’s this place for sale over in Margate. A restaurant. It’s a bit run down and old-fashioned but it could be fantastic. It’s got great sea-views and if we stripped it out and did it up, it would make a great café-bar.”

  Jamie’s face had fallen again but Claire went rapidly on. “And I thought, I’d still keep my share in Greens but Sarah could manage that – with a chef and maybe Gaynor helping out. I like Sarah so much, I really do, but I think, to be honest both of us are the sort of personalities that want to run the show.” Claire smiled. “So I would take over the running of the new place. And I also thought –” Claire’s smile widened into a positive beam. “You could give up work and do it with me!”

  She jumped up and pulled open a drawer. “I’ve got the details here and I’ve done some figures. The bank seemed to think it wouldn’t be a problem – there’s already so much more equity in Greens from when we bought it, and then there’s this house. And the way house prices have been moving! I think we could really make a go of it, it would suit everyone…”

  “Except me,” Jamie said.

  Claire stopped. “But you said you wished we could spend more time together.”

  Jamie turned away from her and looked out of the window. “Yes. Proper time. Sitting talking to each other time. Not me trailing along behind while you build your empire.”

  Claire stared at him. “Is that how you feel?”

  “Oh wow! You’ve remembered I might have feelings.” Jamie turned back and scowled. “Do you know, I can’t remember the last time you asked me anything about what I thought. Not that I ever see you to speak to. You’re in that wine bar almost the entire time that I’m at home, except for the hour or so when you talk about it if I’ve stayed awake for you. You never ask how my job is or how I am. The only creature you’ve showed any care or emotion towards for months is that dog!” He jerked a foot towards Henry.

  Claire looked shocked. “Henry could have died!”

  “So could I, for all you’d have noticed!”

  They stood gazing at each other, startled.

  “Well, I’m sorry,” said Claire, stiffly. “It does take a lot of work when you’re trying to get a business up and running. Catering always means long hours. Of course I’d like to spend more time with you, but the wine bar…”

  “Is so important to you, you want to buy another one.”

  “For us to do together,” said Claire defensively.

  Jamie put his hands down flat on the tiles of the work surface as if bracing himself. “Suppose I don’t want to do that. Did you even think about what I might want?”

  “Well, I thought…”

  “You didn’t think at all!”

  Claire was silent for a moment. Jamie was never like this. She felt as shocked and bemused as if Henry had staggered from his basket and bitten her! “What do you want, then?” she asked tentatively.

  Jamie looked out at the garden again. “The bank have offered me a transfer,” he said harshly. “A two-year contract, promotion and lots more money. It’s a fantastic opportunity.” He swung back round to face her. “It means leaving here. And that’s what I want.”

  “All right,” she said faintly, her mind racing. She suddenly realised how much her heart was hammering. She needed Jamie. She supposed it didn’t have to be Margate. She could get another bar somewhere else, get more staff, make sure she spent some evenings at home with him. She didn’t want to leave Broadstairs but they could rent the house out, two years wasn’t a lifetime. She didn’t like the expression on her boyfriend’s face or him talking like this, she wanted the easy-going, accepting Jamie back.

  “All right,” she said again, more loudly. “Take it then. I can adapt my plans if I have to.” She forced a smile. “Where is it?”

  He looked at her hard. “Tokyo.”

  24. Cerveteri

  Severe and lacking a good bouquet.

  Richard shook his head. “Sarah does too much already.”

  “Well, I think it could all work out brilliantly,” said Gaynor. “She’d be much happier if she wasn’t
down in that kitchen all the time. She’s so lovely with people, she should be behind the bar more anyway.”

  Richard put the pint glass he was polishing back on the shelf and picked up another one.

  “And maybe, when you’re not at work, you could help out yourself.” Gaynor smiled at him brightly. She found if she just kept pretending everything was OK, if she just kept smiling and talking briskly, she was able to keep it all suspended. That first day, when she realised she’d lost Victor for ever and there was no longer Sam to run to, she had been racked with such pain she was quite unable to see how she would ever manage anything again.

  There was still a constant gnawing in her solar plexus and she knew she would have to face things soon, but there were now whole patches of time when she was able to distance herself so firmly from the awful reality that she barely felt a thing. She upgraded the smile to a grin. “Now you’ve proved yourself such a dab hand with the glass-washer…”

  From thinking Richard the most terrible stiff, she’d grown fond and appreciative of him. Since it had come out about Tania he had changed out of all recognition – smiling, cracking jokes, being wonderfully helpful with little things around the place, even – according to Sarah – cleaning the oven the afternoon Claire was in crisis with Henry. Now, however, he looked worried.

  “She’ll be a great manager,” said Gaynor firmly. “That’s the thing about Sarah – she might put on a show of moaning but she takes things in her stride. She’s so grown up, so sorted. She’s a year younger than me but she often makes me feel like a child. She’s a great mother, she’s –”

  “Addicted to codeine.” Richard’s voice was flat.

  Gaynor looked at him, stupefied. “What?”

  He put his cloth down. “Haven’t you noticed how she knocks back those painkillers all day long?”

  Gaynor frowned. “Yes, well, she gets headaches, bad period pain. She’s just trying to…”

  Richard picked up another glass, looked at it and sighed. “She’s got a problem, Gaynor. Believe me, I know about this stuff – we’ve done studies of it at work. See how she gets so tense and irritable and then she pops a couple of tablets and she’s all smiles again?”

  “Well – I thought…” Gaynor’s mind was reeling. At the same time, a kaleidoscope of images flitted across her mind and things clicked. “Are you sure?” she asked Richard, knowing he was.

  He nodded. “She needs help.” He picked up the tea towel again and slowly began wiping around the rim of the wine goblet he was holding. “I’m just wondering how best to go about it…”

  “Are you OK?” Gaynor smiled at Sarah who was putting on lipstick in front of the small pine mirror on the wall of the flat kitchen.

  Sarah smiled back at Gaynor’s reflection. “Yes, I’m fine. Now you know we’ve only got one Lamb Stroganoff left and two Dover Soles. The soup is Carrot and Coriander for the moment and when that’s gone I’ve got some Leek and… Gaynor, are you listening to me?” Sarah turned her head and looked at Gaynor directly. “Are you all right? Are you sure you’re OK to work?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

  “I don’t have to go out. But I think it will be quiet tonight and if you and Ben and Claire really can manage…”

  “Yes, yes we can. I just wondered…”

  “Yes?”

  “If you were all right?”

  Sarah laughed. “I’m fine. Looking forward to getting away from this place for a bit. Though whether Richard is, is another matter. He’s never had the kids in his place for the night before. Baptism of fire, eh?” She stuck her head out of the kitchen and yelled in the direction of the sitting room “We’re going soon!”

  Gaynor laughed. “Shows he’s keen.”

  Sarah looked pretty and happy. Her hair shone very red under the kitchen spotlights and her eyes were huge and luminous, matching the green of her softly-clinging wool dress.

  “Richard thinks I’d feel a lot better about everything here if I wasn’t literally living on top of it. Will you be alright sleeping here on your own?”

  “Of course!” Gaynor replied, making a mental note to leave some lights on. “I’m waiting for you to move in with him permanently. I’ve got half an eye on the place myself!”

  Sarah was suddenly serious. “You know you’re welcome here as long for as you need to be but – please go and see Sam.”

  Gaynor turned away. “No.”

  “Let me, then.”

  Gaynor swung back round and looked Sarah in the eyes. “You promised! Don’t forget that.”

  Sarah picked up mugs and plates from the table and piled them into the sink. “Sorry about all the mess,” she said shortly. “I’ll just wash these up before I go.”

  “Leave it, I‘ll do it.” Gaynor put a hand on her arm. “Look, I know you mean well…”

  Sarah went out of the room. Gaynor could hear her telling Luke and Charlie to hurry up. She knew Sarah only wanted a happy ending for her, but the thought of her friend going cap-in-hand to Sam, pleading with him, filled her with complete horror. Sarah reappeared with an armful of clothes and began to push sweatshirts and socks into the washing machine.

  “I know you care,” said Gaynor. “But I just feel…”

  “Ugh, you should see their bedroom,” interrupted Sarah. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find something nesting in that lot!”

  She pulled the remains of a chewed and squashed Twix bar from a pocket. “Lovely.”

  She picked up another pair of jeans as Bel appeared in the doorway, Scarface dangling unprotestingly from her arms. “Those boys won’t get ready, Mummy,” she said sorrowfully.

  “We’re going NOW!” Sarah bellowed. She pulled a crisp packet from the denim in her hand and felt about for more debris.

  “What’s this?” She looked quizzically at a crumpled white envelope and frowned at Gaynor. “It’s got your name on it.”

  She held it out. Gaynor saw the lettering on the outside and her heart jumped.

  “What’s it doing in Luke’s pocket? Luke!” Sarah marched into the other room, still holding the letter. Gaynor dashed after her.

  Luke looked blank.

  “How did it get there?” Sarah demanded.

  The boy shrugged until light dawned. “Oh yeah,” he said yawning. “Some bloke brought it up.”

  “What bloke? For goodness sake, sit up and concentrate,” said Sarah. “Why didn’t you give it to Gaynor?”

  Luke shrugged again. “Sor-ry,” he intoned, bored.

  “I’m so sorry, Gaynor.” Sarah glared at her son who was absorbed in the TV once more. “He’s away with the fairies most of the time.”

  Luke looked up. “Sorry,” he said to Gaynor in an ordinary voice. “I forgot.”

  Gaynor ripped open the envelope and pulled out the note inside. It was on a sheet torn from a lined pad. A single line of black biro in Sam’s large untidy scrawl.

  So sorry. Please come back. I love you xxx

  “When was it, Luke?” she asked, giving him a friendly smile.

  The boy screwed up his face as if trying to remember. He shook his head. “Dunno.”

  “I wonder why he came up here,” Gaynor said to Sarah. “Am I that scary?”

  Luke sat up, suddenly inspired. “Oh, he said he could see you and Mum were busy with the police and he didn’t want to disturb you. So he said to give it to one of you later.”

  “So why didn’t you?” asked Sarah exasperated.

  But Gaynor nodded. That was the day she’d told him she might be pregnant. He’d come down after her. Written to her straight away.

  “It’s OK,” she said to Luke, squeezing the paper in her hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll sort it out.”

  She felt suddenly light and hopeful. She fingered the envelope, thinking of the words it held. So sorry. She gave Luke a forgiving beam. I love you…

  “There!” said Sarah, satisfied. “Now you’ve got to go round there!

  Claire said it was fine if she wasn’t too l
ong. Nobody had come in yet except Lizzie who’d arrived on the dot of opening time. Who, although she had pulled a face on hearing where Gaynor was going, said she’d do the honours if anyone needed serving before she returned. “So no need to rush back,” she added with a wink.

  Gaynor ran up the clifftop path. She wondered what he’d thought when she hadn’t been in contact. Did he imagine she was still upset? That she’d decided not to see him again? He wasn’t the sort of bloke to chase her. He’d just stay at home, hurt and withdrawn.

  She prayed he’d be in now – she wanted him to know how she’d been hurting too, every second, how much she’d wanted them to make it all right again.

  She reached his front gate. She’d give him a hug, tell him she’d be back later when the wine bar had closed. She shifted impatiently, both nervous and excited. She’d have to tell him about the baby… later, when they had time. Her stomach flipped over as she knocked hard on the door, willing it to open quickly.

  It did. A young woman stood there in a white linen shirt and black trousers. Gaynor looked at her, startled, then took in the neat clothes, understated make-up and dark shiny bob, and held out her hand.

  “Hi,” she smiled, hoping her disappointment didn’t show. “You must be Debra. Is Sam here? I’m …”

  Debra looked at her coldly. “I know who you are.”

  “Is Sam in?” Gaynor asked again, pleasantly, not knowing what to do but repeat it. For a moment, Debra surveyed her in silence.

  “He’s been very upset.” She obviously had no intention of letting Gaynor over the threshold. “He’s been through a lot, losing my mother and adjusting to his new life down here.” She made it sound as though it had all happened a matter of weeks ago.

  “I know,” Gaynor said earnestly, not wanting to antagonise her further. “But we’ve become good friends and…”

  Debra snorted. “Good friends? It doesn’t sound to me like you’ve been much of a friend.” She folded her arms. “I think you’ve caused a whole lot of trouble. You’re married and you’ve just been dangling him on a string.”