‘Don’t speak to Olivia like that,’ he said crossly. ‘I’m the one who’s been unfaithful. Me. I’m the adulterer, not Olivia.’
His mother put her hand to her cheek, as though she had been struck. ‘Geoffrey,’ she said.
He registered the crushing disappointment in her voice but didn’t allow it to deter him. ‘I think you owe Olivia an apology.’
His mother looked flustered now – backed into a tight and seedy corner. It took a few moments before she elevated her shoulders and chin, just enough to convey an element of duress. ‘If I have spoken out of turn then yes, I apologise, but—’
‘No buts. For years I’ve stood by and watched you undermine her, too weak to speak up.’
‘I’ve done no such thing,’ said his mother, clearly appalled at the suggestion.
‘You know you have,’ said Geoffrey. ‘And it stops now.’
In a chest-beating swell of manhood, he watched her turn on her heel and leave. He had always made excuses for her, but this time she had gone too far. Olivia was speechless. Geoffrey took a beer from the fridge, downed it rugby-style and crushed the can in his fist. ‘I’m sorry. I should have done that a long time ago.’
Maybe it was the light, or maybe wishful thinking, but he could have sworn he saw a fleeting smile pass across Olivia’s face.
Seventeen
Olivia had gone to St Bede’s to pack up Edward’s things and bring them back to the Rectory. Leo met her in the dorm with everything Edward needed for his holiday homework, and kept banging on about Ruth: such a terrible loss, how senselessly tragic, etcetera. She seemed such a wonderful person. Olivia quelled the urge to demur. Few things impinge on the belief you’re a good person like compulsively despising a dead person. She found herself obsessing about the showdown she had been denied, the questions she never got to ask, the answers she never got to hear.
It would have been cathartic to purge herself of all the reasons why Ruth was not a wonderful person, to tell Leo about the emotional carnage that woman had caused, but that wasn’t an option. When he carried the trunk to the Land Rover and commented that she seemed a bit quiet, Olivia blamed the worry of Edward’s head injury and the whole business between him and Freddie Burton. Leo didn’t question it – why would he? – but swallowing the truth felt like choking on rocks.
At the top of the driveway Olivia had to pull over and wait for the fogged-up windscreen to clear. She jumped when she heard a tap on the window. Martin. They looked at each other through the cloudy glass with a mutual recognition of anguish.
‘Come inside, Olivia.’ He was in his shirtsleeves, the front door wide open. She didn’t want to go back in there, to see the stain on the carpet, Ruth’s jacket on the coat stand. ‘I was going to call,’ he said. ‘There’s something I need to ask you.’
How much more did he expect of her? She had tolerated his duplicitous wife, nurtured his damaged children, delivered up her unfaithful husband with a full and frank confession. Truly, she had had her fill of St Bede’s and everyone to do with it. Please, mouthed Martin, pointing towards the open front door. Reluctantly Olivia turned off the engine and followed him into the house.
Alicia Burton had taken the girls out for the day – a pantomime in Bath and then tea at Jollys – so the house seemed unnaturally quiet. Martin made coffee while Olivia sat at the table in the alcove, neither of them inclined to speak. Her mind went back to the evening Ruth had flirted so outrageously with Geoffrey and to the evidence on Ruth’s phone. Olivia was astonished at her own stupidity. Instead of meekly believing Geoffrey’s lies and excuses, she should have connected the dots, seen red flashing lights, heard klaxons blaring.
Martin sat down and apologised for his violent outburst, but Olivia shrugged it off. Geoffrey had got what he deserved in her opinion.
‘It was a shock,’ said Martin.
Indeed. Bad enough that their spouses had had an affair, but to do so on their own doorstep, so to speak, was appallingly inconsiderate. ‘You said there was something you wanted to ask,’ said Olivia, hurrying him along.
Martin put his hands together, fingers pointing to the heavens. ‘I realise I’ve already asked so much of you, and I’m not sure where yesterday’s disclosures have left our friendship, but I wondered if you would consider coming to the funeral?’
Seriously? Olivia wanted to tell him how much she loathed Ruth and that going to her funeral would be an act of gross hypocrisy, but Martin’s evident desperation stopped her. None of this was his fault.
‘For the girls,’ he said. ‘It will be a very quiet affair.’
Olivia sighed wearily. How could she refuse? ‘Of course.’
Martin nodded in gratitude and put Olivia’s coffee in front of her. ‘Did you have any idea?’ he asked, stirring sugar into his own sludgy coffee. ‘You know, about what was going on.’
Olivia told him of her suspicions – the phone calls, the texts – but that she had believed Geoffrey’s explanations. ‘Truthfully, Martin, I never thought he would do that to me.’
Martin pushed his cup away without having taken a sip. ‘I can’t say the same about Ruth, I’m afraid. Geoffrey wasn’t the first.’
Feigning surprise would have been disingenuous.
‘Do you think you will forgive him?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘I’m too angry to even consider it.’ She found it difficult to reconcile this quiet, dignified man with the man who had flown at Geoffrey with his fists.
‘Angry with Ruth too, I daresay.’
Olivia didn’t deny it.
*
Fine drizzle hung listlessly in the air, the sky an oppressive leaden canopy. The funeral was small and private, just immediate family and a handful of Ruth’s friends. Martin chose the last day of term so it would be inconvenient for staff and parents to attend, all of them too busy with frantic and seemingly endless preparations for Christmas. He said he didn’t want a fuss, that Ruth hated fuss.
Alice and Maisie wore matching navy-blue coats with red piping round the collars, white woollen tights and their T-bar shoes, polished to an impressive shine. They held their father’s hands and watched their mother’s coffin lowered into a deep gash in the earth. Neither of them cried. Olivia had reservations about allowing them at the graveside. If they didn’t understand, it was pointless, and if they did, it was cruel. They knew Mummy was in heaven and they wouldn’t see her again, but didn’t equate either of those things with the solemn church service or the crowd that had gathered to say nice things about her.
Olivia remained in the background and when she was asked how she knew Ruth, she offered a sanitised version of the truth: friend of Martin’s, houseparent at school, Alice and Maisie in her dorm.
Alicia Burton had put on a nice spread, as Olivia’s mum would say. A rug had been placed over the stained carpet. Martin slipped into professional mode – greeted everyone personally, graciously accepted condolences, enquired after their health, their families, and thanked them warmly for coming.
When everyone had left, Olivia stayed behind to clear up and make sure the girls were all right. She felt they had coped remarkably well until Maisie gleefully pointed out how many more presents there were round the tree, at which point it became obvious they thought today was some kind of Christmas party, not their mother’s funeral. When Olivia raised it with Martin, he confessed to feeling overwhelmed. A single father to two young daughters – how on earth would he cope? Olivia poured him a small brandy. He grimaced as he sipped, seemingly encouraged by its medicinal qualities rather than its taste.
‘And what about you, Olivia?’ he asked. ‘What does the future hold?’
She shook her head. ‘I have absolutely no idea. All I know is that I can’t bear being under the same roof as Geoffrey, but unfortunately I don’t have a choice.’
‘Well, perhaps I can help – repay your many kindnesses.’
‘I can’t live here, Martin. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Of course not. No, I
was thinking about Gardner Cottage. It’s been empty since the Clarke-Bowens’ day. I think the deputy head lived there.’
‘Sheila Fitzwilliam. Yes, she did.’
‘I’ve asked Mr Hill to take a look at it, see to any repairs. It’s rather on the small side but there are two good bedrooms, so if you were interested, you and Edward could use it out of term-time.’
It seemed wrong to feel a shot of happiness on such an unhappy day, but Olivia couldn’t help herself. ‘Are you serious, Martin?
‘Perfectly. Think of it as your second home here at St Bede’s.’
Olivia grabbed the lifeline Martin had thrown her. ‘How soon can we move in?’
*
Christmas Eve confounded bookmakers by dumping two inches of unexpected snow across the West Country. Geoffrey liked a flutter on such things but Olivia didn’t ask him if he had bet on a white Christmas. He might take it as a sign that she was starting to forgive him and she absolutely wasn’t.
They had taken Edward to the hospital to have his wound checked and bandage removed the previous day. Olivia hadn’t wanted Geoffrey to come with them but Edward was keen on the idea of a family outing – we haven’t done that in ages – so she had relented. The wound on his head was scabbed and livid and bisected a saucer-sized bald patch above his left ear. Geoffrey had insisted on taking him for a haircut afterwards and Olivia watched his golden curls fall to the floor, thinking how nothing would ever be the same again. Even the shock of losing Downings and Manor Farm seemed minor compared to the discovery of Geoffrey’s affair. She had held on to the hope that in time Geoffrey would start another business or maybe get a job, that they would find another house, be a family again and reflect with hindsight on their troubles: wiser, stronger, more mature. No hope of that now. There was no way back from this.
Edward wanted to go to Cribbs Causeway but Olivia said it would be mayhem so close to Christmas. He looked to Geoffrey for a second opinion and when he overruled her – come on, it won’t be that bad – she hated him all over again.
An hour in traffic just waiting to get into the mall, and another forty-five minutes looking for a parking space. Cooped up together in such close proximity, Edward had sensed the tension and thought it was his fault for asking to go there in the first place. Despite their attempts to convince him otherwise, his earlier enthusiasm petered out and he became quiet and withdrawn. Geoffrey cheered him up with the promise of junk food and when they managed to get a table at McDonald’s, Edward visibly brightened. He wolfed down his double cheeseburger and fries while Olivia picked apathetically at her chicken peri peri wrap.
‘I need to buy some Christmas presents,’ he said, standing up.
Olivia wanted to go home. Her head throbbed with the glaring light and incessant din.
‘Half an hour,’ Geoffrey said, checking the time on his phone. ‘Meet us back here.’
After Edward had disappeared into the throng of shoppers, Olivia found a couple of aspirin in her bag and washed them down with a Diet Coke.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Geoffrey, playing the ill-fitting role of concerned husband.
Olivia replied with a contemptuous stare.
*
It had taken twice as long as it should have done to get back to the Rectory. Tiredness clawed at Olivia, the nervous energy that had kept her going throughout the day now dissipated, leaving her flat and depleted. She went to her room and flopped on the bed, never having felt less like celebrating Christmas. Her parents and brother were on the other side of the world, her marriage was over and the effort of hiding it all from Edward was gruelling.
She tried to imagine herself and Edward in Gardner Cottage but couldn’t remember what it looked like. She had only been there once, years ago, when Sheila Fitzwilliam had hosted an Alpha meeting. It was small, that she did remember, but then Manor Farm had been far too big with all its unused rooms and colossal heating bills. Moving there had been Geoffrey’s idea – a way of showing off to the world how clever and successful he was. Her reticence had mystified him, but Olivia had never wanted to play Lady of the Manor. She was better suited to the cosiness of her parents’ house: huddled into the sitting room watching TV, squeezed round the kitchen table at mealtimes. Gardner Cottage would be cosy – she would make sure of it.
Was it wrong that she relished the idea of telling Geoffrey she was leaving? She wanted to hurt him, inflict pain. But what about Edward? Telling him the whole truth was out of the question, but Olivia was loath to have him think she had any part in destroying their family.
This was what had been going through her mind when she fell into an uneasy sleep, only to wake hours later, fully clothed, cold and hungry. At first she didn’t think she could be bothered to eat or get undressed, that she might as well just pull the covers over her and try to last out until morning, but hunger had got the better of her.
She got up, wrapped the candlewick bedspread around herself and went quietly downstairs to the kitchen, feeling her way in the darkness rather than risk waking anyone by switching on a light. Rollo and Dice watched lazily from their beds as she heated a saucepan of milk and stirred in three heaped teaspoons of cocoa.
The door opened, startling her.
‘I thought I heard someone get up.’ There was an implicit innocence in Geoffrey’s dishevelled hair, his middle-of-the-night confusion, his bare feet; a boyish quality that had attracted Olivia to him at the very beginning. ‘Can’t you sleep?’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
She poured the milk into a mug without answering. It was a stupid question anyway. If she had been able to sleep she would be in bed, not the kitchen.
‘You can have my room if you like,’ he said, taking more milk from the fridge. ‘It doesn’t seem fair that you have the worst room.’
Suddenly he was concerned with fairness, being gentlemanly, doing the right thing? A bit late for that. She held the bedspread around herself with one hand, picked up her hot chocolate with the other and swept towards the door. It would have been more dramatic if she had been able to open the door. Geoffrey came up behind her and tentatively touched her shoulder. She shrugged him off.
‘Don’t.’
When he sighed she felt his breath on her neck and hated how it made her skin tingle. He reached over her and turned the handle. She didn’t look back when he said her name.
*
Olivia kept checking her watch, waiting for midday when she would have a glass of wine. Much too early for a drink under normal circumstances but it was Christmas Eve, so normal rules didn’t apply. Plus, alcohol deadened the insult of having to be around Geoffrey and his mother, although at least Rowena had been keeping out of Olivia’s way. The bite of her accusations were too raw for forgiveness, despite her begrudging apology. She would never have spoken to her like that if Ronald had been alive. And to think Olivia had been going to make a special effort with her this Christmas. She huffed at the irony. Well, she would be moving into Gardner Cottage soon. Knowing her days at the Rectory were numbered was the one thing that kept her going.
Geoffrey came into the drawing room and found her putting Edward’s presents round the tree. Ignoring him felt childish but she did it anyway.
‘Mum’s out,’ he said, ‘and Edward’s playing computer games upstairs, so I wanted to give you this.’
Olivia looked up from what she was doing to see Geoffrey nervously proffering a small box.
‘What’s that?’
‘Christmas present.’
Did he really think she would accept a gift from him? ‘I don’t want it.’
He stepped nearer to where she was kneeling, holding out the box for her to take. It was like one of those cheesy Christmas adverts that were all over the television.
‘Please.’
She stood up, cross that he couldn’t see how asinine he was being. ‘I said I didn’t want it.’
He pressed it into her hand. ‘Just open it, please.’
She huffed, realising it was easier to open the d
amn thing than to argue about it. He stood over her, infuriatingly pleased with himself. She removed the lid and found the heart-shaped locket she had seen in his rucksack. Geoffrey was obviously waiting for her to say something and when she didn’t, he jogged her memory.
‘It was the first present I ever gave you.’
Yes, of course. She remembered prising it apart with her thumbnail, full of expectation, only to find nothing there. He hadn’t known you were supposed to put a memento inside a locket. She had found his cluelessness charming back then, but what was he playing at, giving this to her now?
‘Look inside,’ he said.
Mildly curious, she did, and there, under the thin slither of glass, lay a tangle of hair. She stared at it, puzzled. Again he waited for her to speak and when she didn’t he said, ‘It’s ours. Yours, mine and Edward’s.’
The strands blended together perfectly but under the tree lights she could just make out the subtle differences in colour and texture. It took a moment for her to understand that he was trying to manipulate her with nostalgia, remind her that they had married because of Edward and the three of them were a family.
A hot flame of fury shot right through her and she flung the locket back at him. ‘Well, that’s a cheap shot, even for you.’
His look of hurt surprise infuriated her further still. ‘What did you think would happen? That I’d forgive and forget?’
He picked up the locket from the floor. ‘I wanted you to know how sorry I am.’
‘Sorry you got caught.’
‘No. I was going to tell you, I swear.’
‘So why were you running away? Why were you fucking Ruth Rutherford? Don’t you know what you’ve done? Are you really that stupid?’
Attempting to shush her was a big mistake. It only made her louder.
‘The police said she had been raped. Raped. Do you have any idea –?’
Geoffrey covered his face with his hands. So now he didn’t want to see her. Now he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Olivia was shaking, furious that he had made her relive the nightmare of discovery, the humiliation of going to the police, the shame of having to confess to Martin.
An Unsuitable Marriage Page 27