Matt put down his napkin and gazed out of the window, before turning to look at Sara.
‘Are you happy?’ He looked long and hard into her eyes.
‘Don’t do this,’ she said. ‘That isn’t fair. I haven’t asked you if you are happy.’
‘You asked me about – Karina.’
‘I know. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. That is your private life. Look, let’s just keep things nice and polite, shall we? Let’s not try and be honest.’
‘I miss you,’ he said.
Sara sat back in her chair and stared at him. ‘Oh. What do you expect me to say? Thank you?’
‘Don’t be silly. Do you miss me?’
‘Oh, no, I am not doing this. Do you want to know the truth, Matt? That you ripped out my heart when that bastard Richard stood up and said what he did and brought my world crashing down around my ears? The safe, cosy, cushy little life that you obviously despised and bored you, because otherwise you wouldn’t have . . .’
He reached over to grasp her hand, so hard she winced. ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he hissed. ‘You have no idea the . . .’
‘What? What do I have no idea about? Aside from the obvious deception?’
He looked away and the pulse beat beneath his eye. Under his tan, Sara thought how strained and exhausted he looked. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
He turned back to look at her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not. Not at all.’
‘I have to go,’ Emily stood by the table, staring at her parents defiantly. Sara saw how red her eyes looked.
‘Darling . . .’
‘I have to go back to work. I’ll call you, Mum,’ she said. Suddenly the hostile set of her shoulders seemed to relax. She bent down to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘Look. I’m sorry I went off on one. It’s just all so . . . I will try to come down and see you, honestly. As soon as I can. Say bye to Lottie for me, will you?’
‘Didn’t she come into the loo?’
Emily looked surprised. ‘No, I haven’t seen her.’
‘Tell her to come back, if she’s outside,’ Sara said. ‘Please.’
‘I will. I’ll call you later, Dad. Can I come over tonight?’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
Emily walked away. Suddenly, Sara remembered the shoes. ‘Emily!’ she called. Her daughter stopped in the doorway. ‘What?’
Sara lifted the bag. ‘I brought you something.’
Emily walked back to the table. Reaching into the plastic bag her mother was holding out, she pulled out the pretty flip-flops. Without saying a word, she turned them over in her hands, examining the small pink and white shells sewn on to the narrow leather bands. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said slowly. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘That’s OK. I’m sorry they’re not very . . .’
Emily shook her head, tears starting in her eyes. ‘I love them,’ she murmured. Then she turned and walked out of the restaurant.
On the doorsteps of the solicitors, Matt reached up to touch her face, in the way he had when he was saying goodbye. For a heartbeat, she rested her cheek against the warmth of his fingers. And then they had looked at each other without animosity. Don’t go, his eyes told her. Please, don’t leave me.
You are lost without me, Sara thought. The idea gave her no pleasure. This was a dreadful, chaotic, emotionally draining mess and showed every sign of going on being so for months, years to come. They had found Lottie leaning against a tree in a small park opposite the restaurant, sobbing as if her heart would break. Sara had folded her into her arms, while Matt stood embarrassed and uneasy beside them. ‘Shall I leave you?’ he asked, but then Lottie had reached out with one arm, without looking up from her mother’s embrace, to take Matt’s hand and she pulled him, physically pulled him towards her, so Sara had to stand crushed between her daughter and her husband, almost unable to bear the feeling of the warmth of his body, his arms awkwardly looped around the two of them. As soon as he could, he stepped back, and Lottie looked up at him, as if the scales of innocence were falling from her eyes. She held up a hand. ‘I’ll see you then,’ she said coolly. He took a step towards Lottie, but she moved away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking down at the hard baked earth by the base of the tree. ‘I guess that was rather embarrassing for all of us, wasn’t it? I’ll try to be more adult in future.’
‘Don’t,’ Matt said, his voice breaking. ‘Please.’
‘Come on, Mum. Hand me the dough.’ Lottie held out her hand, refusing to look at Matt, and Sara reached into her bag.
‘Let me . . .’ Matt said. ‘No,’ Lottie said quickly. ‘I don’t want your money. A tenner is fine. I’ll see you at the station, Mum, at five. OK?’
Stuffing the money into the back pocket of her jeans, she walked away from them, hunching her shoulders. Matt and Sara stood together, watching their daughter leave. She looked up at Matt. His expression was incomprehensible.
‘Goodbye,’ Sara said on the steps of the solicitors, and leant forward to brush her lips against his cheek, his hand still on her face. He smelt as he always did, of aftershave and cigarettes. She took a deep breath, and then stepped back from him.
‘Was it . . . ?’ He gestured upwards, towards the office of his solicitor.
‘I don’t want it, Matt,’ Sara said. ‘Put the money in trust for the girls if you want, give it to a cats’ home. I don’t care.’
‘I’m not going to let you starve.’
Sara laughed. ‘Stop being so condescending! We’re not starving, Matt, honestly. I’ve still got some of Aunty Lucy’s money left and I’m going to get a job.’
Matt raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t do that. Please. Just let me be. Have some faith in me. I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet, you know. You don’t have to support me, or keep me like a kind of pet you no longer want but feel you have to look after.’
He laughed. ‘That isn’t how I feel about you at all.’ He stared at her. ‘You’re an extraordinary woman, Sara,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘And that’s something I am only just discovering. I have a lot to thank you for, really, although I can’t say I felt like that immediately.’ She smiled ruefully.
‘Can I call you?’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. To chat about the girls, I suppose, just to keep in touch . . .’ His voice tailed off.
‘I’m not sure there is much point, Matt. The girls can call us.’
‘I’d just like to think I could pick up the phone and talk to you.’
‘You want everything, don’t you, Matt? I’m sorry, but it’s true.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You want me at the end of a phone, like some kind of security blanket, and you want the excitement of life with her. It won’t wash, Matt. You can’t have everything.’
‘I’m beginning to realize that,’ he said. Then he turned, and walked away.
Sara stood for a moment, watching the easy way he moved. A woman he passed turned to stare at him. Still a head-turner, aren’t you, she thought. She closed her eyes wearily. I can’t let myself think this. I can’t imagine falling back in love with him; have I ever stopped? Honestly, honestly, Sara, have you ever stopped loving him? No, she thought. I haven’t. Not even through the anger and the hurt.
At home, once Lottie had fallen exhausted into bed, Sara poured herself a glass of wine. Quietly opening the front door, she stepped out into the twilight of the garden. Hector had been beside himself with joy when he had heard her key in the door, and even brought them the tartan blanket from his basket, which he’d never done before, dragging it down the hall behind him like Marley’s chains. He now sat at her feet, looking up at her, as she stared ahead unseeingly. The fir trees rustled as the rooks settled down for the night, and overhead the bats flew, their tiny black shapes darting and swooping in the still, warm night air. Now I know, she thought. Now I know. You are a silly, deluded woman. Let go. Let go.
After Matt had left, she turned round and w
ent back into the solicitor’s office, as she needed the loo. She had seen a toilet by reception on the first floor, and thought it wasn’t too much of a cheek. She planned to walk back to the station – it was a fair distance, but she had a little time to kill and the weather, although not as hot and sunny as it had been in Cornwall, was warm. She thought she might do some shopping, if she had time, but most of all she wanted to think. To think about the effect Matt still had on her, the way she had felt when he touched her face . . . She put her hand up to feel her cheek where his fingers had lain. The girls were so devastated – was there a chance, any chance, that she might forgive him? He seemed so lost, so desperate to keep in contact. Lost in thought, she climbed the stairs. Halfway up was a window, which looked out on to the street. Idly, she glanced out.
About two hundred yards away a black Porsche was waiting by the kerb on double-yellow lines, the engine running and smoke billowing from the exhaust. Whoever was driving seemed to be revving the engine, and even through the window she could hear the roar of the powerful engine. Her attention caught, she saw a figure which looked very like Matt approaching the car. Looking more closely, her face almost touched the glass. It was Matt – she could see his white shirt, dark jacket slung over his shoulder, the way he ran his hand impatiently through his hair. Hardly able to breathe, she saw the driver’s door open. He would have thought she had long gone, she had told him she was getting a taxi back to the station straight away.
Karina stepped out, wearing a beautiful pale blue halter-neck dress, her long dark hair flowing over her tanned shoulders. In the gentle breeze, the silk of her mini-dress clung to her slim thighs. Her mouth was opening and closing angrily, as if arguing, and she was gesticulating as she walked around the front of the car. And then – and then. Matt had put his hands behind her head, underneath her hair, and pulled her towards him. As if to silence her, he bent his head and kissed her so passionately a couple walking down the street towards them stopped to stare. Sara felt as if she might faint. She saw Karina’s arms slide up around Matt, her body mould to his, and together they exuded such a white-hot sexuality it was almost indecent. Sara closed her eyes, letting her hand trail down the cold glass.
Chapter Fourteen
Sara had intended to spend the day chasing up the builder, whose name and number Helen had written on an envelope and left on her kitchen table when she had come to walk Hector, while she was in London. She must get on with it, because otherwise the summer would be over and she’d be dealing with builders tramping through the house in the autumn and possibly even winter, bringing in trails of mud and unable to mix concrete in the rain. She had decided she wanted the exterior of the house painted too, once the work was complete, and that had to be done during the dry weather. She had thought long and hard about this, and decided that the cottage should be painted pink. Not a vibrant pink, but the gentle, washed pink she had seen on many other Cornish cottages. In the sunlight, it would appear mellow, and in the winter, when the skies turned dark and the sea became a surly steel grey, the house would look warm and welcoming.
She had decided to keep the open fireplaces in all the rooms, and planned to put a log burner at the end of the kitchen – she loved the idea of having a real fire in the kitchen, with possibly an armchair on either side, so she could sit and read with a glass of red wine, snug and warm on a cold winter’s evening as outside the wind howled around the house.
Time was getting on and she needed to make plans. But, today, she could not motivate herself to do anything, paralysed as she felt by the emotions of the day before. Whenever she thought of it, an icy hand clutched her heart. Despite the wine, she’d been unable to sleep and had tossed and turned in bed, far too hot, replaying the kiss over and over in her mind. Had he ever kissed her like that? Presumably yes, in the beginning of their relationship when they were both much younger, but certainly not latterly. Their love-making had been gentle, familiar and reassuring, rather than white hot and passionate. No wonder, she had thought, angrily, turning over again, no wonder Karina holds such a fascination for him. Perhaps he was just being kind to me, she thought. He just wants to make sure that he is doing his duty by me so he can enjoy his new life with Karina without the ties of guilt. How very deluded I must have been to have even begun to imagine he still wanted me, in any sense. Who am I, next to her? He called me an extraordinary woman. Well, clearly not extraordinary enough. If he does have any feelings of love towards me, they are simply those of habit. That is all. As the mother of his children. Not as a woman, a sexual woman. Will anyone ever love me like that again? she thought. Will I ever be desired?
She had managed to drift off just before Hector’s cold nose was pressed against her cheek. His face split into a welcoming morning grin. Sara groaned.
‘At least you don’t find me repulsive,’ she muttered. Hector thumped his tail and peered winningly at her, as if the idea was absurd.
‘But that’s because I feed you,’ she added, crossly, levering herself out of bed and stumping off towards the bathroom on stiff knees.
Now she lay on the wooden lounger in the front garden, a book open but discarded on her chest, trailing a hand idly along the top of the still dew-damp grass. Behind her closed eyelids, the sun burnt a vivid orange. Overhead the rooks cawed raucously, their calls slicing like a chainsaw through the gentle musical birdsong of the garden. A fly landed on her face. She heard the buzzing noise and then she felt its feet tickling her skin, irritatingly. She tried to wave it away, but it kept circling and landing again. Crossly, she opened her eyes, looking up at the sky. Am I never to have peace, she asked herself, slapping at the last place the fly had landed on her face. A faint buzzing told her she had missed. She sighed. Stop it, she told herself. Stop torturing yourself.
So what if you are a fat old woman with an arse like a rhino? You have poetry in your soul. What had Ricky said to her, smiling at her with those wicked dark eyes? Live a little. Come on. She must not brood. Matt was gone, he wasn’t coming back and she was never, ever going to be able to wear a halter-dress like Karina’s and have thighs like that. I must cultivate my hidden depths, she thought, so people – men – will look past my cellulite. I look good for my age and I must not compare myself to a young floozy with thighs like a gazelle. She laughed out loud. That was better. Karina was probably very dull, beneath that stunning exterior. She was obviously hard work too, which pleased Sara. I hope she gives him hell, she thought. She sighed again.
What shall I do today? I know, she decided. I will buy something. She looked up at the sky once more. The beautiful colour made her think of Cornish blue and white pottery. I will treat myself to an extravagant amount of Cornish pottery in Fowey.
She had pulled her chiffon summer skirt up above her knees to tan her legs, and now she looked down at her thighs critically. They were slimmer, but there was still a long way to go. She stretched one foot out in front of her, and a bulge by her toe caught her attention. The side of her foot was swollen and pink. It must be her new walking boots. Lord, she was getting a bunion. Oh, wonderful, she thought. A bunion. She stared at her foot, flexing the ankle crossly. She’d always had nice feet, and now this one was misshapen. She sat up, letting the book fall into her lap, looking around her.
The lounger was surrounded by almost foot-high long grass, the spindly stems topped with white and grey feathery leaves, interspersed with fat dandelion clocks and a sea of daisies. She must buy a mower. There was no earthly reason why she couldn’t mow, it wasn’t an exclusively masculine activity.
‘Are you going to do nothing all morning?’ Lottie flopped down beside her. ‘Yuck, this grass is still wet.’ She was wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat, the tight white top with daisies she had bought in Fowey and tiny denim shorts, and was clutching a large sketchbook in her arms. ‘I must get my portfolio together,’ she said, plucking at one of the long stems of grass and putting it into her mouth, hugging her knees. ‘I’ll have to go and collect a load of stuff from Dad’s, most of
my artwork is still at the flat. I better grab it before Dad moves. In fact I need to get all of my things. Can we drive into London? I won’t be able to carry it all on the train.’
‘No,’ Sara replied, closing her eyes. ‘I can’t face that at the moment.’
‘Well, could Dad bring it here?’
Sara’s eyes flew open. ‘Definitely not,’ she said firmly.
‘What did you think of him?’ Lottie gazed at her thoughtfully.
‘Who?’
‘The Pope. Dad. Who do you think I mean?’
‘He seemed pretty much himself,’ Sara said cautiously. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss. ‘A bit tired, maybe, but he’s probably working too hard. His hair’s rather long, though. I honestly think he’s started blow-drying it.’ She deliberately kept her tone light.
Lottie laughed, relieved they could make a joke out of the gruesome lunch. ‘I think you may be right. He’s trying to look a bit too cool. I mean, Dad’s always looked good but longer hair on older men is not a great idea.’ She paused, chewing on the end of the grass. ‘I don’t think he seemed himself, actually. I thought he was kind of jittery, on edge.’
‘It was quite a strange situation, you must admit.’
‘It was more than that. I can’t put my finger on it, but he was just . . . different.’
‘We haven’t seen him for a while,’ Sara pointed out.
‘He kept staring at you, as if he couldn’t believe how much you had changed.’
‘Did he?’ Sara said. ‘I don’t think . . .’
‘He did. Whenever you weren’t looking he kept taking these quick glances at you – I caught him once, and he actually went red. I’ve never seen Dad blush before. I think . . .’ She sat back on her heels. ‘I think he might still be in love with you.’
Sara twisted sideways on the lounger to look down at Lottie, the book falling from her lap in the sudden movement. ‘Oh no, darling, he isn’t. He really isn’t.’ My love, she thought. How much you want to believe it.
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