by West, Jade
“And then they split? For good?” I pushed.
His nod gave me one of those annoying little rushes of relief. “Yeah, they split. He was a prick to her, though. Always out on the weekends, and on the goddamn weeknights, dicking about watching the game down the pub while she was taking care at home, run ragged.”
And then it hit me. A weird thump in the pit of my gut. Taking care at home. One of those stupid things I should have given thought to the likelihood of before ever setting foot back in this place.
“They had kids?”
“One kid. A boy. Freddie. He’s got to be eight now. Cute little guy, getting on just fine down at Much Arlock primary school last time I heard anything.”
I hated how the thump kept up in my gut. Hated how that even now it felt like it should have been my child she was pregnant with all those years back. How frustrating that such an utter moron as Sawyer had been graced with the life experiences with Maisie that I’d sworn should have been mine.
“I’m sure Maisie’s son is doing great down at the primary school,” I said. “She’ll be taking great care of him.”
Ryan pulled a face, clearly still reeling from my ignorance. “You really didn’t know she’d had a kid with Sawyer? I guess London really must be a whole world away.”
“No,” I told him. “I really didn’t know she’d had a kid. I guess it explains why she’s still here, still shackled to life in Much Arlock after all this time.”
“That and her family still being everywhere around these parts,” Ryan elaborated and there was another pang in my gut.
Maisie’s mum and dad had been an extension of my family through my teens. I could still taste her mum’s chicken stew in memory, hear her dad’s laughter over Saturday night TV.
My parents had long gone from this area, moving down to the south coast along with my sister and her new family. They’d only moved here the year before I was born in the first place, our ancestry spiking back across the length and breadth of the country through the years.
Maisie’s family could be traced back to this part of the country through the long lines of her family tree, right back to the twelve-hundreds as agricultural workers through the ages.
The very fact that Maisie had been considering moving away into an exciting new life in the city together when we’d been planning a future over and over was a breach in the norm of her ancestral convention.
Oh, how I’d hoped that we’d really do it.
“I’m sure you’ll see her on Saturday night,” Ryan assured. “There’s no way the rest of the girls would let her bail out on the reunion now you’re going to be there. Gossip will be too ripe in the herd. They’d never let her back out of attending now.”
I smiled and swigged the rest of my beer, knowing that was bullshit.
Maisie was kind. Really kind. The kind of unassuming sweetness everyone believed meant she was a pushover. But she wasn’t. Not down deep in the core of her. She wasn’t anything like a pushover. Not really. Not when it came down to the bones of her.
If Maisie didn’t want to be at the reunion on Saturday night there was no way in this universe the whole previous school year of Much Arlock would be able to drag her out there. Just as there was no way in this universe I’d been able to make her change her mind on wanting me way back when it mattered. Way back when she’d decided our pitfalls made Robbie Sawyer a much more compelling fit to her than I would ever be.
Back when she’d decided I was becoming… adventurous… unusual. And cocksure. She’d decided I was becoming pretty cocksure.
She was right on that front.
I really had become pretty damn cocksure.
And unusual too. But I made no apologies for that.
“I guess this zoo monkey will have to wait and see if she’s there on Saturday night,” I said, and put the beer bottle down on the side.
“Can’t wait,” Ryan said, and pointed me to the fridge for another. “In the meantime let’s get the gaming started up again, shall we? Maybe then you’ll decide to spill the details of why the hell you’re really back here.”
I smirked, opened the fridge and grabbed another beer.
Chapter Five
Maisie
Freddie was happy enough watching the usual Saturday night TV with my parents, barely glancing in my direction as I leaned down over the sofa to plant a kiss goodnight on his head.
“Be good for Nan and Grandad, Freddie-monster,” I told him and he managed a nod.
“Yeah, Mum, I’ll be good,” he said, and clapped along with my dad as a group of clown-dressed dancers took to the TV talent stage.
I still couldn’t believe how big my son was getting for eight years old. That, and how much he looked like Robbie. The same promise of a heart-stopping chiselled jaw and dark eyes, even as a boy. His hair had the same bounce at the nape of his neck, glossy with the same deep dark tone. I just hoped he wouldn’t be so much of a heart breaker as his idiot father.
Robbie was still causing crap around town by all accounts, tempting and teasing women who hadn’t yet learned better. Still, that was no concern of mine anymore.
Mum was out of her seat and propped in my living room doorway, watching as I applied a final coat of Heather Sparkle lipstick and fluffed up my hair in the mirror.
“Make sure you do say hello to Oliver for us, if he’s there,” she said. “He was quite a character for us too, remember.”
I did remember. I remembered all so well how Ollie had blended in as a regular part of the family furniture for a whole load of teenage years.
I held out my trembling hand to show her my nerves. “Yeah, if I’m not crapping myself so much I bail before I’m even in there.”
The grip of her fingers was welcome as she gave my quaking hand a squeeze. “You look great,” she told me and gestured to the shimmer of my little black dress.
“Hardly as great as he’ll remember me looking,” I countered. “Especially given the stunning wife he must fall asleep next to every evening.”
“There are plenty of stunners in the world, Maisie. I’m definitely looking at one right now.”
I loved the twinkle of Mum’s eyes as she smiled. She’d always been proud enough to give me flutters, deserved or not.
I gave myself a final twirl in the hallway mirror. Shaper underwear was a winner. So were heels high enough to keep my calves looking unusually toned. Yes, I’d do. I’d have to.
The buzz of the doorbell was loud when it sounded. Amy and Kate were waiting on the doorstep and squealed when I answered, already clearly well on the way to being tipsy. Part of me wished I’d have downed a couple of glasses of white myself on the run up, but I’d been too busy doing dinner and listening to Freddie’s excited commentary of the TV guide listings.
I couldn’t stop grinning back at my friends as they stepped inside. They were dressed to the max, both of them a spectacle of colour and glam. Amy’s hair was pinned up in swirls, her contoured makeup looking utterly professional. Kate had smoky eyes swept out in dramatic points and looked amazingly sassy.
“Reunion night calling!” she laughed, and Amy darted for a glance in the mirror, blinking at herself to check her eyes were still flawless.
I only hoped my own makeup was sassy enough to match. I’d gone silver on my eyes. Silver sweeps of eyeshadow with a thin stroke of eyeliner. My lips were pale enough with the Heather Sparkle gloss that my eyes were the main focal point.
My hair was curled at the bottom, brushing my bare shoulders before I grabbed my little black coat from the rack and slipped it on.
“Oooh!” Amy said, and snaked an arm through mine as I picked up my handbag from the side. “You look amazing! Just like teenage Maisie all over again with the silver sparkle!”
“Glad you chose your little black dress,” Kate told me as I stepped from the porch and aimed a blow kiss to Mum.
“It’s tighter than it’s been for a while,” I replied as we set off down the path to the recreation ground. I shuffl
ed my hips to demonstrate, but they weren’t really looking. Their eyes were fixed well and truly ahead as our heels clacked along the pavement towards the community centre.
I knew what it would be like in there. The stage would be ripe with DJ Damian from our school year, playing a whole ton of old hits as the crowd boogied away. The portable bar would be set up and dishing out a whole range of local beers, and Robbie’s crowd would be strutting about the place like they owned it, just like they always had done.
Normally I wouldn’t be giving it a thought. It wouldn’t normally be anything other than a couple of wines and a laugh with the girls, but my stomach was a spiral of butterflies as the community centre came into view. I could see the flash of the disco lights already going through the gaps in the curtains. There was a huddle of smokers out front, already laughing over the thump of the bass.
My mouth was dry as we stepped up to the entrance and good old Mickey French held the door open to let us through.
Kate dipped to the side to grace Nicola Stephens with a hug and grab a cigarette of her own, but I kept hold of Amy’s arm as she led the way into the cloakroom and through to the main disco. The shadows of people were obvious. Plenty of them around the edges of the dance floor, mouth to ear as they chatted away quite happily over the music.
There was nobody dancing this early in the evening. DJ Damian was the only figure bopping away to himself, up on stage like a local superstar, headphones to his ear. I couldn’t hold back the smile, big and bright despite my nerves. My grin was plastered on tight and holding firm over the stomach flutters, enjoying the way Amy shimmied on her way up to the bar.
I didn’t do this often anymore. It had been months since I’d been out on a Saturday night, even for a few proseccos while Freddie was at Robbie’s for the weekend. I’d been too tired from overtime at work and catching up on a decent cleaning opportunity. That and losing myself in bath time bubbles and sinking into my Kindle.
It was a prosecco I ordered from the bar, reaching out to take it in surprisingly clammy fingers. I wasted no time in taking a couple of swigs, hoping it would help the pulse of nerves. They spiked afresh as Amy sipped on hers and cast her eyes about the crowd of faces.
“Can’t see him yet,” she commented, and I was glad I was wearing a decent amount of foundation to disguise my blush.
I couldn’t bring myself to look, focusing instead on the glass in my fingers and the beat of the bass. I couldn’t bring myself to consider the potential that I’d really see him tonight. Really speak to him tonight. Because what would I say?
Hi, Ollie. Mum says hi.
Hi, Ollie. I hear London has been treating you well. I’m glad. Really glad. You deserve it.
Hi, Ollie. I’m sorry we went so badly wrong. I cared so much. Loved you so much. Always.
I still do.
Part of me hoped that maybe Ollie wouldn’t be there at all. That maybe he’d gone back to London already without giving a shit for any of this reunion crap. That maybe Ryan Neil had bailed along with him and they’d hit the town somewhere else, somewhere more trendy and cool and suited to a city businessman.
That part of me wasn’t enough to mask the pang of panic as Amy leaned in with a sigh.
“Doesn’t look like they’re here,” she said. “Guess we might not be seeing Oliver-mighty-fine-Kent after all.”
My eyes darted up to the clock on the far wall, and it was approaching eight p.m. Plenty late enough that the vast majority of our school mates should be here by now. Plenty late enough that Ryan Neil should already be here on the beers with the rest of his crowd.
It was when my eyes dropped down from the clock that I saw Ryan’s swaying shoulders as he made his way in our direction. People were stopping him at every step, leaning in to speak. I stared across at Hannah Clews and her group leaning in for air kisses, not just with Ryan, but with the figure behind him.
The figure in the same tailored black coat I’d seen earlier, the flash of chestnut in his hair visible in the disco lights.
The butterflies in my stomach went into a crazy spin as the two figures continued their way in our direction. I tried to step aside but Amy was ready and waiting, gripping my arm and holding me tight as Ryan stepped closer, clearly making a beeline for the bar.
I could have cursed as she called out his name. I wished the ground would swallow me up as he held up a hand and came on over, bringing Ollie with him.
I hated how Amy threw her arms around Ryan’s neck like he was a regular friend of hers and not just some longstanding acquaintance. Hated how that left Ollie and I staring at each other, me hardly even willing to meet his eyes as my gaze darted all over him.
It was Ollie who spoke first, leaning in just enough that I could hear his voice over the music. It was familiar enough to give me shivers.
“Hi,” he said. Just like that. One simple word.
“Hi,” I said back. Just like that. One simple word.
And that was it. Both of us standing there in silence as my eyes finally met up with his.
He was more chiselled up close. His stubble was pristine in its lines. His eyes were piercing, bursting with intelligence, just like always.
He was bigger. Loads bigger. He used to be slim. Really slim. And he still was slim, but more muscular. So much more muscular.
His coat parted enough to reveal the stark whiteness of a shirt underneath, and I could sense the plains of him. My body humming with the familiarity.
My throat was as dry as paper, my heart pounding like a crazy girl’s so desperate to feel his body against mine, just like the old days. To ponder life, the universe and everything through the night with him, just like the old days.
To hear his dirty fantasies in my ear. Feel the swell of him against my belly. Want to be his dirty girl, just like the old days.
Because I hadn’t let myself dwell on that. Not for years. Not now I was a mother. A checkout girl. Someone who’d given herself to Robbie’s standard sex urges and let go of everything she’d been tempted by for so damn long; the filthy sharpness of Oliver Kent and the wildness of his imagination.
And the wildness of mine.
“Hope you’re well,” Ollie said, leaning in that little bit closer.
I nodded. Smiled my regular checkout smile. “Yes, thanks,” I told him. “Hope you’re well, too.”
He nodded. Smiled his regular smile, with his regular dimples. “Yes, thanks. Just out with Ryan for the night.”
And damn it, the words came blurting out.
“Have fun,” I said, and there was a stupid finality to it. A finality that had his eyes widen just a touch as he nodded.
“Hope you do, too,” he said back, and his eyes were gone from mine as Ryan stepped away from Amy and beckoned him on up to the bar.
His hand was on my arm for a fleeting moment as he stepped on by. Ocean breeze and spice was still there to knock my senses as he brushed by me, but underneath it was so much more. Musk and citrus and class.
Amy’s expression was horrified as Ryan and Ollie got their beers and moved away into the crowd and out of sight.
“That was it?!” she sighed. “Ten years without so much as a second with him and you manage a hi, have fun?! Jeez, Maisie. Just jeez.”
But I couldn’t stew too much on it. I took a breath and downed the rest of my prosecco, and waiting there with another, like some bad boy knight in shining armour, was the father of my beautiful son, for all his sins. His smirk was one of absolute ownership as he pressed himself tight to my side.
“Seen Oliver Cunty Kent, then?” he asked.
Amy answered him before I could. “Yeah, she’s seen him. Like it’s any of your business.”
“Oh, it’s my business,” he snapped back. “It’ll always be my fucking business.”
I stepped away from the pair of them, well familiar with how they’d barely been civil to each other for years. I dropped my empty prosecco glass on the bar top and started on the other, trying my best to sink into the
groove of one of my favourite teenage tunes and forget everything other than the tap of my foot to the beat.
Robbie. Ollie. Everyone in this place. Why should any of it matter?
Sunday dinner would be Sunday dinner the next day. My little sweetheart Freddie enjoying his roast chicken and laughing along with Mum and me to Dad’s stupid jokes.
Monday morning would be the regular Monday morning, dropping Freddie to school before setting up at my regular checkout, bleeping the same old items through the scanner.
Tonight wouldn’t matter. Not in the scheme of things. Not even for a second in the longer term.
Ollie would be back in London with his supermodel wife and his millionaire business. Robbie would be causing crap with some other poor cow down at the local who imagined he might be her forever.
I’d still be me, reading my Kindle in the bath on a regular Sunday night, and giggling along with my gorgeous son after we’d completed his homework on a weeknight.
And that’s when it occurred to me.
I didn’t need this.
Saturday night TV would be motoring along just fine back at home. I could be snuggled up with Freddie and laughing along with the three of them, enjoying a regular night in my regular world.
I didn’t even bother drinking the second prosecco, just placed it down on the bar top with the empty glass and went back to Amy and Robbie, but they were well and truly bitching at each other. I held up a hand in a wave and offered a goodbye, but they didn’t even notice me, just kept up their crap, arguing whose business I was or wasn’t in the grand scheme of things. So I left. Just like that I made my way out of there, across the main dance floor which now had a few people twirling to the beat. I made my way through the cloakroom, brushing past Kate who was too engrossed in conversation with Hannah Clews to notice me either. I made my way out to the front, through the smokers and onto the pavement, my heart still thumping fast but strangely relieved as I reached in my handbag for my phone to fire off a goodnight message to Kate and Amy.