“I can’t do that, unless you tell me what it is you think might make me cross, can I?”
“Good point.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I am.”
“So stop it.”
“OK.”
“Josh, come on. I’m missing my party here!”
“Well, if you put it like that.” He paused just once more. “I’ve told him I’m in love with him. I always have been.” There was a further pause, in which Eleanor nodded slowly and stared at the floor, as if she had been watching his words flutter to the ground and was waiting for them to settle.
“Can you just repeat that last bit again? Only I think the music’s done something to my ears.”
“I’m in love with George, Ellie.”
“Yep. That’s what I thought you said. I’m going in now, but don’t think you’ve heard the end of this.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure I haven’t,” Josh said, following her back inside. She stopped by George and spoke into his ear, then returned to the dance floor with the rest of the women, and Kris. Josh took up his previous position next to George and looked him over inquisitively.
“What did she say?”
“She said—actually I don’t know if I should tell you.”
“No secrets, remember?”
“I’m sure it was no lies.”
“Secrets lead to lies, and lies lead to more secrets and even more lies.”
“Ah, man! This is so unfair.” Josh stared him straight in the eyes until there was no way he could possibly keep it to himself. “All right,” he sighed in exasperation. “She said ‘I told you so’.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
OBJECTIVITY
Task number one on Mrs. Davenport’s Friday morning list: remind Eleanor and James about meeting with Father Maverick. His name was in actuality Terry Mallick, an ex Roman Catholic priest and authorised celebrant of marriage, which was about as far as Eleanor’s mother was prepared to go in respect of a compromise. With Kevin serving a prison sentence for murder, the Church would undoubtedly have annulled Eleanor’s previous marriage, but she didn’t want to go through the trauma of petitioning, and as such, Terry Mallick would be officiating. He was due to arrive at the Davenport family home at ten o’clock, by which time all family members would be otherwise engaged in their allocated duties for the morning, leaving the coast clear for Eleanor and James to meet with him and discuss the ceremony.
Being an ex Roman Catholic did not preclude him from taking a traditional stance on the wording of vows, and he was very pleased to find that this not-so-young couple were in agreement. The meeting was over within twenty minutes, much to Mrs. Davenport’s chagrin, as it didn’t fill the hour slot she had allocated in her schedule (as prescribed by “Look after boys for Eleanor and James”). Now she was standing in the kitchen, looking a little panic-stricken at the prospect of having nothing to do for the next half an hour.
“Mother! Will you please sit down and have a rest?” Eleanor ticked her off.
“I can’t, sweetie. You know what I’m like.”
“Yes, I do, so here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to sit on that chair,” she pointed to the seat closest to her mother, “and I’m going to put the kettle on. Then we’re going to have a nice half an hour or so of quality mother-daughter time. How about that?”
Her mother ummed and ahhed for a moment, trying to come up with a valid-sounding reason for why she couldn’t take up the offer.
“I shall take the boys home,” James decreed. “It will give you both a little peace and quiet.”
“There you go,” Eleanor said, filling the kettle. “No excuse.” She grinned at her mother.
“Oh, all right then,” she relented and flopped wearily onto the chair. It was the first time she’d sat down all week and a very welcome break. Once James had taken the boys out to the car, Eleanor made the tea and sat opposite her mother. The peace that descended on the house was wondrous and unusual, but for one small niggle. Both women moved to get up at the same time.
“Stay,” Eleanor commanded and ran upstairs to silence the dripping tap; she resumed her seat a few seconds later, suitably satisfied.
“I sometimes forget how like me you are,” her mother laughed. It was a remark that naturally led into a comparison of the traits they shared, then to her sisters. Charlotte and Eleanor looked alike, and had similar personalities in many respects, although it was always Charlotte who was loudest and most outgoing. Tilly was more like her father: anything for a peaceful life was their way; her pre-marital pregnancy had obviously caused ructions, but she did ‘the right thing’ in marrying Ashleigh’s father and they were still together, a happy family unit completed by young Benjamin, who was just turned seven, going on forty. They were currently at the chapel, as per their orders, with room for a quick lunch between checking the parking arrangements were still the same as when the booking was made, and meeting up with the rest of ‘Team Bride’, as Charlotte was calling them, for a final dress or shirt fitting. Ben and Luke were at the car hire company, delivering ribbons and ticking off the list of items their mother had typed out for them, which, embarrassingly, included having to check the petrol gauges themselves, rather than taking the company’s word for it that the cars were fully fuelled. Teddy had suggested they might want to take a tyre pressure gauge and a spare dipstick with them too, before he was chastised and sent out to ‘oversee’ the catering arrangements.
Fortunately the caterer was very understanding, given that he already had extensive firsthand experience of bossy Davenport women. Eleanor and James had handed over all aspects of the arrangements to Mrs. Davenport, with just one proviso: Wotto, now proud owner of The Pizza Place Chef of the Year award, was to be their caterer. He was overwhelmed by the request, and, if the truth be told, was stressing and fussing more than the entire Davenport clan put together. James used his authority to shut the local restaurant for two days so that Wotto could use ‘his’ kitchen, which didn’t impress the regional manager, but who was he to override the MD? Zak considered registering his gripe with head office, but then had second thoughts, seeing as he was also getting the day off for the wedding. So, poor Teddy arrived at the restaurant, thinking he would get away with a quick progress update, only to find himself elbow-deep in washing-up, whilst Wotto zipped around the kitchen with seventies disco booming from the speakers, tending to a multitude of pans, baking tins and mixers. The cake was safely stacked on the bar in the restaurant, along with anything else that wouldn’t spoil before tomorrow afternoon.
“I’m gonna go and get some kip soon,” Wotto explained to Teddy on his next circuit. “Gonna be working through the night.” Teddy nodded and carried on scrubbing at the choux pastry stuck in the bottom of the pan, another one now sliding in underneath. Wotto grinned at him. “Thanks for helping out, mate,” he said, and off he went again.
At the university, Josh was in session, enjoying the mental break afforded by having to focus on his student clients, rather than thinking about George, or Eleanor’s wedding, or any other of the myriad things going on with his friends. In between appointments, his mind lapsed back into worrying about Andy and Jess’s situation, wondering how Dan was, whether Eleanor was fretting about tomorrow, if he’d done the right thing in telling George, and round again in a circle of confusion that was making him feel queasy. Meanwhile, George, who had travelled in with him, was at the library getting in some reading before he met up with Sophie for lunch. He too was struggling to stay focused, but needed to come up with ideas for what kind of placement he wanted, before he arranged anything concrete with Sean. The default was to opt for something along the lines of the generic therapy that Josh offered; after all, it was only a placement, not a long-term career choice, although his enthusiasm for either was a little deflated at present. He returned the pile of books and wandered along the shelves, looking for inspiration. When it came, it hit him with an almighty smack of ‘duh!’ and he immediately
packed up his stuff and headed off to meet Sophie.
The walk home from her mother’s took Eleanor within minor detour distance of her surgery, so she decided to stop by and see Jess. She didn’t particularly want to have things out with her, but if she didn’t do it now, then it would be hanging over them tomorrow, so she made her way past the empty reception desk, silently admonishing herself for being annoyed with Lois for having flu. It was only one less guest, and it wasn’t her fault, bless her. Onwards, up the stairs she went, to Jess’s office. The door was closed, although she could see through the glass that Jess was alone. She knocked and opened the door at the same time. Jess was sitting with pen poised in hand, her current work part-covered by piles of paper and files.
“A busy week?” Eleanor asked nonchalantly.
“Fairly. I didn’t realise how hard Lois works.” Jess kept her eyes fixed on the unfiled paperwork in front of her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend.
“Quite.”
“Maybe we should consider getting another assistant to help her out.”
“Maybe.” Eleanor was waiting for an apology, understandably expecting it to be volunteered without prompting. However, it wasn’t forthcoming, so she sat in the chair opposite Jess and folded her arms. “If I’m not getting an apology, do I at least deserve an explanation?”
“There’s nothing to explain. I was only gone for an hour and to be honest I’m surprised you missed me at all. You looked like you had plenty enough company to me.”
Eleanor knew precisely what she was trying to do and wasn’t going to play into her hands. “Fine. Blame me for the fact that you ran out on my hen party, if it makes you feel better. For what? A last quick shag, before Andy gets back?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but that wasn’t how it was. And what has Andy got to do with anything? We’re not actually together, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“No, you’re quite right, you’re not, because that would be far too grown-up and boring, wouldn’t it? You act like a pair of irresponsible teenagers, with no thought whatsoever for the consequences of your actions. Well, I’ve got some news for you, Jess. They hurt people.”
“You’re being over-sensitive. I’d say it’s pre-wedding jitters, but you’re always like this. I was gone for an hour, at most. What did I miss, really? Your Charlotte making an idiot of herself on the dance floor. That’s about all. Oh, and not having to wear those stupid chicken wings.”
Eleanor was so angry she could readily have grabbed Jess by the hair and smashed her head into the desk, but she knew she was in the right and wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to lose everything. I hope for your sake that Rob’s worth it. You’re one of my best friends, and I love you dearly. But I will never forgive you for leaving last night.”
With these words Eleanor left, fighting the tears of rage just long enough to make it downstairs and out of the door. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and continued on her journey home. Jess watched her leave, then phoned Rob to tell him all about it.
Sophie was very cool with George, not because of the broken promise of lunch all week that had transpired into a singular date, but because he was, well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He kept flitting between conversation topics, one minute chattering on about the wedding, the next the outcome of his research that morning. She was having trouble keeping up, although she wasn’t really paying much attention, because everything he was saying was superficial repetition of what he’d already said. She was actually finding it quite amusing to listen to him, and eventually reached a point where she couldn’t stop herself.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked in puzzlement. This time he had been rambling on about Buddhist wedding vows.
“You,” she said. “What’s got into you?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Because your head’s all over the place.”
“Oh.” George picked up his sandwich and once again half the filling fell out, although this time it hit the plate. “Sorry.” He grinned sheepishly and lowered his eyes.
“It’s OK,” Sophie comforted, patting his hand. “I think I can probably guess what’s happened, and you can tell me when you’re ready, or don’t tell me. Whichever you decide, I totally understand.” He glanced up from the mess of salmon and cucumber.
“It’s a bit…”
“Complicated? It always is with you. Maybe we should talk about something that doesn’t involve Josh?”
“I thought that’s what we had been doing.”
“That’s one interpretation, I suppose, if we ignore the ‘Josh and I have to be at the chapel by one-thirty’, ‘Josh says he needs to buy some new shoes before tomorrow’, ‘Josh suggested I ask Sean if he knows any animal behaviourists’, ‘Josh blah blah blah…’.”
“Ah.”
“Hmm. So, when d’you want this Crash Team Racing re-match.” George shook his head. “Really? Err, all right then. Is your suitcase all packed for Monday?” George shook his head again. “Right, well how about—tell me how you suddenly realised you were more interested in animal psychology than human psychology.” George cocked his head on one side. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I give up. You need to get a life, or at least try and fit some around the edges of Josh.”
“I’ve got a life, thank you very much, it’s just…”
“A bit complicated.” she interrupted.
“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say it’s just that as you said, my head is all over the place. I’m having a bit of a problem thinking straight.”
“I’d never have guessed!” Sophie laughed and George tried his best to join in.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll all start to make sense once the wedding is out of the way.”
“I hope so,” George said doubtfully.
As a preamble to their academic meeting that afternoon, Sean had sent Josh an email, apologising for his late visit and generally drunken and disorderly behaviour. Josh was reading it on his phone as he arrived outside Sean’s office. He could hear two voices coming from inside, one instantly recognisable as the rogue Irishman himself, the other, it turned out, a dissertation student who was about to leave. She gave Josh a bewildered smile as she passed him in the doorway. He smiled back and watched her shuffle away, probably feeling even more confused now than when she’d arrived for her supervision session, if his own experience was anything to go by.
Sean was sitting at his desk, surrounded by the usual stacks of books and journals, his computer screen displaying Maslow’s ‘hierarchy of needs’ pyramid. Josh waited by the door, knowing that he would want to adjourn to the bar, although he was going to be sticking to orange juice himself. Three nights out in the past week was already three more than normal, and he still had the wedding to contend with. Sean logged out of his computer, picked up his battered briefcase and followed Josh out of the room, pausing to lock the door, before they headed for the Students’ Union bar, all without a single word spoken.
It was quiet at this time on a Friday afternoon, and they settled into a corner seat, spreading their papers out across two tables. This was their last meeting before the second year of the counselling course commenced, and was really just to put the final touches to assignments and argue out a few issues regarding who would teach what. It took a little over an hour to deal with these matters, at which point they were each sat with an empty glass, willing the other to be the one to suggest another drink so they could say what needed to be said, though neither of them wanted to be the first to do the talking. Eventually Sean took the plunge, more to do with his thirst for Guinness than courage, and in the temporary absence of his colleague, Josh rehearsed his lines. It was the only way he was going to do this.
When Sean returned, he took his time putting everything back in his briefcase, then spread his hands out, palms down, on the table.
/> “You may have noticed I’ve developed a bit of a drink problem over the years,” he said.
“You do drink a lot,” Josh observed. Sean lifted his hands a few inches off the table’s surface. “Ah,” Josh said, now understanding the full extent of the problem.
“Unfortunately, I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that abstinence is the only cure,” Sean added sorrowfully.
“You’ve tried cutting back?”
“Many times. Anyway, so, I’m going to be trying some of those God-awful pills—see if I can’t kick the stuff once and for all.” He moved his hands away and took a long, thirsty glug of his pint. Josh mimicked with his orange juice.
“Can I ask you something?” He waited for eye contact before going any further. “Did you tell George what happened?”
“I told him some of it, like your thing for trashing the place and that I let you down.”
“But you didn’t tell him about—you know.”
“No. That’s still our secret, Joshy. I haven’t told a soul.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“It suits you.”
“It’s very patronising. Perhaps I should start calling you Seany?”
“I wouldn’t care a jot if you did.”
“Hmm, I don’t suppose you would.”
“Well, as I say, I made a promise not to whisper a word about it, and I’ve stayed true to it.” Sean took another gulp of beer. “Although, if you ever…”
“No. I made a promise too, remember?” Josh held the eye contact a second or so more, but then had to look away.
“You’re letting me in again,” Sean acknowledged. “After all this time.”
“Yes, I guess I am. So have you still got them?”
“Locked away, safe and sound. Do you want them back?”
“Not yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet.”
“And will you tell me now what I did that was so wrong?”
The Harder They Fall Page 27