The Wife Who Ran Away

by Tess Stimson

  ‘With us,’ I correct automatically.

  ‘Either way.’ A long pause. ‘I was thinking of teaching. Art, probably. I know it sounds silly, but—’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ I say calmly.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? When we met, that’s what you said you wanted to do. Then you got that insane job at Forde’s, the money started coming in, then Agness came along, and you stopped mentioning it.’

  ‘I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Do it,’ I urge.

  She turns her mug round and round in her hands. ‘I thought you’d think I was mad. Having a mid-life crisis or something.’

  ‘Kate. I love you. I married you because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you to be happy. Why d’you think I’ve put up with you working all the hours God sends instead of spending it with me and the kids? I’d much rather have had you home at a decent time every night and skipped the summers in Tuscany, but the big career was what you wanted. At least, that’s what I thought. But if you want to jack it all in and live on a kibbutz, that’s fine by me, as long as I get to come too. I don’t give a shit about the money. I never have. You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered to me.’

  She swallows hard. ‘I wish . . . I wish we could’ve talked like this before.’

  ‘Me too. But maybe it took some time apart for us both to get a little perspective.’

  Awkwardly, I reach across the kitchen table and give her a clumsy hug. Her head falls against my shoulder and I let it lie there, inhaling the coconut smell of her hair. Oh God, I’ve missed her.

  We’re both startled by the unfamiliar sound of the front door bell.

  ‘Christ! Who the fuck is that at this time in the morning?’

  Kate looks fearful. ‘It must be the police. Maybe they’ve found Guy.’

  I belt down the hall to the front door, Kate a split-second behind me. I fiddle with the locks and chains on the door for what seems like hours, all fingers and thumbs.

  A kid with ginger hair is standing on the doorstep, a huge backpack hanging off one shoulder.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, sticking out his hand. ‘You must be Kate’s ex. I’m Keir.’

  Kate

  ‘Her ex?’ Ned echoes, his face like thunder.

  Standing on the doorstep, Keir’s dramatic Celtic colouring is even more intense against the soft, washed-out tones of an English summer morning than it was in Rome: his skin whiter, his gold eyes more gleaming, his faming red hair richer and more vibrant. He looks so vividly alive.

  I can’t believe he’s here. I haven’t been gone twenty-four hours, and he’s come to find me. Until now, I hadn’t realized how much I need to see him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I manage finally.

  ‘Hey. I wasn’t going to leave you to deal with this all on your own, was I?’

  ‘She’s not on her own,’ Ned snaps. ‘She’s with me.’

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’ I ask Keir.

  ‘Julia gave me your address. Soon as I picked up your message, I called her. I’d have been here sooner, but the later flights out of Rome were all full.’

  Ned takes my upper arm, forcefully breaking my gaze. ‘Kate, who the hell is this?’ I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

  ‘Ned, this is Keir Corcoran, a friend of mine. We met in Italy. Keir, my husband, Ned Forrest.’ With an effort I recover my equilibrium and gently free my arm from Ned’s death-grip. ‘You must be exhausted, Keir. Come in. I’ll make us all some more coffee.’

  Keir throws Ned an amused look as he shifts his backpack to the other shoulder and steps past him into the house. The ‘ex’ crack wasn’t an accident, I realize. He knows we’re not divorced. He’s just staking out his territory.

  Ned follows us silently into the kitchen. With exaggerated courtesy, he takes Keir’s backpack and then tosses it into the tangle of Wellingtons and muddy trainers by the back door.

  Keir slides his hands into the back pockets of his worn jeans and lounges carelessly against the kitchen counter. He’s several inches shorter than Ned and at least fifty pounds lighter, but his youth and energy fill the room. Ned suddenly seems stiff and middle-aged beside him. Not every girl gets to compare her suitors side by side, I think faintly. Ned has more substance, but Keir certainly has more style.

  ‘I take it there’s been no news?’ Keir says, addressing his question to me.

  ‘No,’ Ned says shortly. He pours Keir a mug of lukewarm coffee, and hands it to him without bothering to ask if he likes it black. ‘Can I ask how you know my wife?’

  Keir smiles easily. ‘Like Kate said. We’re friends.’

  ‘I’m not really sure why you’re here,’ Ned says, bristling.

  ‘Look. I don’t want to get in the way, Ned. Christ knows, you’ve got enough on your plate. But I’ve had some experience with this kind of thing, and another pair of eyes looking for your kid can’t do any harm, can it?’

  ‘What sort of experience?’ He sounds like a Victorian paterfamilias interviewing a prospective son-in-law.

  ‘I ran away when I was his age,’ Keir says. ‘After my parents got back from Boston. I lived on the streets in Dublin and then London for seven months. I know what it’s like. I know how kids like Guy think, where they go. What can happen to them when things go wrong.’

  ‘You never mentioned that,’ I exclaim, shocked.

  He shrugs. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Must be all of a couple of years,’ Ned says sarcastically.

  Ned’s not stupid. He’d have to have the sensitivity of a rhino not to pick up on the electricity zinging between Keir and me. He must be wondering what the hell is going on. Which is fair enough, since I’m wondering the same thing. Five minutes ago, I was actually entertaining the thought that Ned and I might still have a future. There’s no question I still love my husband. And he’s changed in the last three months, that much is startlingly clear. It’s not just what he’s done – paid off the mortgage (I’m still struggling to get to grips with that), handled my mother, learnt to cook. It’s the fact that he’s taken responsibility for himself and this family for the first time in our marriage. He’s become the husband I always wanted him to be. I just don’t know if it’s too late.

  And then there’s Keir.

  ‘Do you mind if I wash up?’ Keir asks, putting his coffee down. ‘I slept at the airport all night trying to get on the wait-list for a flight, and I could really use a shower.’

  ‘Of course. Let me show you where—’

  ‘I’ll show him,’ Ned says grimly.

  Keir throws me a droll look and follows Ned out of the kitchen.

  I finish making a fresh cafetière of coffee and pour myself a third hit, wondering if it’s too early to open a bottle of wine. If I wasn’t confused before, my head is certainly spinning now. Ned and I have fifteen years of history; we share children and experience and, yes, despite everything, love. When he kisses me, I still feel passion. But just being in the same room as Keir transforms me. I feel young and vital and filled with hope and energy, as if I can take on the world and win. If I go back to Ned, I will have to give this up. And I’m not sure I can bear that.

  ‘So,’ Ned says heavily when he returns. ‘It wasn’t all ruins in Rome, then.’

  I blush. ‘I had no idea Keir was coming. I didn’t even have a chance to speak to him before I left Italy. I’m sure he didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Oh, he did,’ Ned says. His mouth twists in an acid smile. ‘I can’t blame him. He’s just doing what I should have done three months ago – gone after the woman he wants.’

  For a moment I’m too taken aback to speak. He’s right, of course. If Ned had come to Rome to claim me as soon as he figured out where I was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

  ‘You are aware he’s half your age, right?’ Ned asks conversationally.

  ‘I really don’t think this is the—’

  �
�He’s got some kind of crush on you? That’s it, isn’t it? A sugar-mummy thing?’

  ‘Ned . . .’

  ‘I can see it would be fattering.’ Ned laughs as if he’s suddenly decided the only way to deal with this is to treat it as a huge joke. ‘Obviously he hasn’t got a cat in hell’s chance, but he’s got good taste, I’ll give him that. Poor bastard.’

  I have no idea how to respond. This is hardly the moment to confess the truth of my relationship with Keir, but letting Ned believe it’s nothing more than an unrequited crush on Keir’s part is basically lying by omission.

  Damn the pair of them. The last thing I need right now is some kind of macho showdown between my husband and my lover. I’m suddenly furious with Keir for putting me in this position when he knows I’m worried sick about my son. He hasn’t come here out of concern for Guy, but because he doesn’t want to lose me. Actually, I’m not flattered, as Ned puts it. Keir’s selfishness simply reminds me, yet again, of the huge age gap between us. What on earth does he think he’s playing at, waltzing into my home, into my family, knowing the questions his sudden appearance must raise? Doesn’t he think I’ve got enough to worry about?

  ‘Mum!’ Agness cries, as she flies into the kitchen. ‘There’s this, like, hot guy upstairs! What’s he doing here? Have they found Guy yet?’

  ‘He’s a friend of mine,’ I say tightly, shooting a wary glance at Ned. ‘He’s come to help us find Guy.’

  ‘Is he staying? Does he have a girlfriend?’

  ‘He’s far too old for you,’ Ned snaps.

  ‘More my age,’ I say, unable to resist it.

  Unexpectedly, Ned grins, throwing me off-balance yet again.

  The door opens and Eleanor joins us, swathed in a voluminous paisley quilted dressing gown. To my surprise, she looks almost as lit up as Agness.

  ‘Such a pleasant young man upstairs,’ she says skittishly. ‘He managed to get the bolt on the bathroom skylight closed. I’ve been asking Ned to do it for weeks.’

  ‘Oh, he’s quite the favourite around here,’ Ned says.

  ‘Agness, dear. Pass me a couple of aspirin, would you?’ Eleanor says. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Agness demands, handing her grandmother the pills.

  ‘I told you. His name’s Keir and he’s come to help us find Guy.’

  ‘But how did you find him?’

  ‘Agness, stop nagging your mother and get dressed. You can’t go wandering around the house in your pyjamas when we’ve got people here.’

  ‘You let me wander around the beach in a bikini,’ Agness gripes, but she grabs an apple and heads back towards the stairs.

  Eleanor cracks a couple of eggs into a frying pan. ‘So how did you and Keir meet?’ she asks brightly.

  ‘Jesus, Eleanor,’ Ned groans.

  ‘Are those eggs OK?’ I ask my mother. ‘They smell a little strange.’

  She sniffs at the pan. ‘They seem fine to me.’

  ‘I’m going to make a few calls,’ Ned says, pushing himself to his feet. ‘I want to chase down some of my contacts at the shelters. Maybe this Keir of yours will be able to help us later,’ he adds stiffly. ‘He’s not much older than Guy. He’s bound to know a few places we don’t.’

  He takes his laptop into the study. I sit down in his place, feeling slightly queasy as the smell of fried eggs fills the kitchen. I can’t stand the thought of Guy sleeping rough under an archway somewhere. Or worse. If anything happens to him . .

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Eleanor says suddenly.

  ‘Of course it is. If I’d been here, Guy could have come to me. He wouldn’t have had to run away.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Eleanor acknowledges, folding her arms. ‘Maybe not. But that’s not what I meant, anyway. I don’t blame you for leaving. I’m glad you did. If I’d left your father, things would have turned out very differently, for you as well as me. Staying with him was the biggest mistake I ever made. But what’s done is done.’ She tips the two fried eggs onto a plate, and puts the pan in the sink. ‘Katherine, I know things have never been easy between us. I’ve been harder on you than on your sister, and I’ve expected more from you. But I’ve never loved you less. The opposite, in fact.’

  ‘Eleanor . . .’

  She pinches the bridge of her nose. ‘Let me finish. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I was jealous of you. I was jealous of the freedom and choices you had, which I never did. I was born thirty years too soon. But that’s no excuse.’ Her lips tighten. ‘I stayed with your father because it was easier; in that respect, I’m more like your sister than you. You’ve got more courage in your little finger than the pair of us put together. It’s why I’ve found it so hard to watch you make the same mistakes I did, history repeating itself.’

  I wait for her to continue, aware that this is the most important conversation we will ever have.

  She rubs her hands against the quilted skirt of her dressing gown. ‘Ned’s a good man. He has his faults, but I’ve seen a different side to him since you left. He may not be perfect, but he’s a good husband, and a good father. More than James ever was. But I’m not sure he’s ever been the right man for you.’

  I swallow hard, willing the nausea away.

  ‘I’m not telling you what to do,’ Eleanor says firmly. ‘If Ned can make you happy, nothing would give me greater pleasure. But if that new young man is the one’ – she sniffs at my look of surprise – ‘I may be old, dear, but I’m not a fool. I can see what’s in front of my nose. If Keir is the man you should be with, don’t give him up. Not for anyone. Certainly not out of a misguided sense of duty and doing the right thing. You have a duty to be happy too.’ She sighs, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. ‘In the end, Kate, it’s all any mother wants for her child.’

  It’s the first time she’s ever called me Kate.

  Impetuously, I fling my arms around her waist as she hovers by my chair. After a startled pause, her arms slowly close around my shoulders in the first embrace I can remember her giving me since I was a child. I want to cry, but the emotions are so tightly knotted in my throat that nothing breaks free. In the distance the phone rings, but I ignore it. Agness pounds down the stairs, but it stops after just two rings and I listen to her slow footsteps as she trudges back to her room.

  Eleanor gives my back a final awkward pat and straightens up. ‘Agness has got a sensible head on her shoulders,’ she says, rooting around in the cutlery drawer for a knife and fork. ‘She’ll be fine.’

  ‘She’s another one who seems to have done better without me here,’ I say shakily.

  ‘No self-pity, please,’ Eleanor says with a touch of her old asperity. ‘Agness has had a chance to grow up, that’s all, and not before time. I could say the same for Ned, too. You need to let go of the reins a bit more. It does no one any good if you do everything for them; you least of all.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ I smile.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want any—’

  ‘Kate,’ Ned says from the doorway.

  It’s the way he says my name. One word, imbued with fear, shock, grief and a deep, bottomless, terrible need. I know, even before he utters another word.

  ‘They’ve found a body,’ Ned says woodenly. ‘Guy’s library card was in the pocket of his jacket. The one you bought him in the States. It’s not a mistake. He’s got the barbed-wire scar on the back of his knee. It’s him.’

  Guy

  I just wanted to talk to Dessler. Get him to take the video off YouTube. Ask him to leave me alone. Make it all go away. Shit, I don’t know. I didn’t really think it through, OK?

  Wednesday evenings, he takes fencing lessons. Seriously. Like he’s Zorro or something. After Dad blew me off, too busy with his important phone call, I figured I’d got no choice but to go and talk to Dessler myself. That’s all. I swear.

  Funny. Dessler always seemed so much bigger than me, larger than life, like the bogeyman. I didn’t realize till it was just the two of us fac
e to face, no musclemen, no teachers, that I’ve got twenty-five pounds and four inches on him. I could take him in a heartbeat, and as soon as he saw me waiting for him in the car park, I knew he knew it too. Only as soon as I saw the fear in his eyes, I kind of freaked. I was just so fucking steamed that this bastard, this fucking thug who’d made my life shit for the last year, who’d stalked me online and turned the entire school against me and spat in my food and shoved a fucking toilet brush up my arse, this rich, arrogant, bullying little shit was nothing but a pathetic coward after all. Without his mates to back him up, he was nothing. I’d been acting like he was the Godfather or something, puking my guts up in terror every morning, bunking off school just to avoid him, when the truth was he was scared of me.

  Once I started hitting him, I couldn’t stop. I fucking pounded the shit out of him. I broke his nose, and when he fell to the ground, I stamped on his chest and smiled when I heard his ribs crack. I knew I was going too far, I knew I had to stop before I killed him, but I couldn’t. It was like this red mist had descended and I had no control any more.

  He begged and begged me to stop, but I didn’t listen. His face was bloody and wet with snot and tears. He curled in a ball at my feet, and I kicked him in the kidneys, and then the spine. I didn’t stop till he went quiet and I realized he wasn’t moving.

  I just wanted to talk to him.

  I stare down at his still body and back away in horror. Next minute I’m ralphing till there’s nothing left in my stomach and I’m retching up bile. Jesus Christ, what have I done?

  I glance frantically around the car park. It’s deserted – no one has seen or heard a thing. If I go now, there’ll be no witnesses. Apart from Dessler.

  He still hasn’t moved. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead.

  I can’t just leave him here. But if I call an ambulance and he doesn’t die, he’ll tell them who did this. Maybe if I’d just broken his nose or beaten him up, he’d have kept his trap shut so all the shit he did to me didn’t come out. But this is too much. Too big.