by Sara Downing
‘Grace,’ he says, his voice crackling, and there is so much depth in that one word. His hands unwrap from my body and he brushes my hair away, tucking it carefully behind my ears, and cupping my face in his hands. He kisses me again gently, then pulls me down onto one of the chairs and turns to face me on the other.
Wow. I am blown away. I am breathless and unable to speak, and I sit there, staring at Tom, trying to take it all in, his hand clasped in mine. I would be happy to be struck dumb forever if I could feel like that just from a hug and a couple of small kisses.
There is a knock at the door and I pull away quickly, feeling my cheeks blush scarlet. Thankfully other members of staff have the courtesy to knock before they come barging in, unlike me. It’s Ginny, the class one teacher, just clocking off for the night and popping in to say goodbye to Tom. She looks at each of us in turn as we sit there side by side – fortunately there are now several inches between us – makes a brusque little ‘hmmm’ noise which could mean anything, says goodnight, and leaves. God knows what she thinks, but then she has no reason to think anything, I am often in Tom’s office, during and after school. We’re not always together on the comfy chairs, I suppose, so it does look a little bit more intimate than usual, but so what, everyone knows we have become good friends, don’t they? I find myself not actually caring what she thinks; we have done nothing wrong and therefore have nothing to hide.
‘Sorry about that,’ Tom says, turning back to me once Ginny has left. I assume he is apologising for kissing me, not for the interruption. He takes hold of my hand again in both of his, rubbing the top of it with his thumbs. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long. I can’t stop thinking about you, Grace. Half term seemed endless, I just wanted to get back here and see you. Knowing you were away with Mark was killing me.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ I reply, ‘it was lovely. A bit unexpected, but then in a way it wasn’t really. I don’t know what’s going on in my head at the moment. I spent all my holiday thinking about you, when I should have been trying to make things work with Mark. It was what kept me sane. I was terrified about seeing you today, because I knew it might make me realise that what I feel for you is more than just friendship. And now I know it is. And it didn’t take you kissing me to make me realise that. I knew it as soon as I saw you this morning. I makes it all a bit more scary to know you feel the same way, because suddenly it’s not just in my head any more, it’s real.’
‘I’m not a home-wrecker though, Grace, I know you are with Mark, but I have such strong feelings for you, I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. It sounds corny but I’d like to whisk you away from all this and disappear into the sunset, leave all our problems behind,’ he says, his voice full of frustration.
‘What about Alicia?’ I ask. He’d told me a bit about the new woman he had been seeing, but hadn’t mentioned her recently.
‘It all finished just before half-term,’ he replies. ‘She could tell my heart wasn’t really in it. In fact she asked me if there was someone else. I said ‘no’ of course, what was I supposed to say? I didn’t know what to do about you, but over half-term, I realised I had to do something, had to let you know how I feel. Even if it meant you shooting me down in flames, I had to at least try.’
‘So what do we do now?’ I ask. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t do cheating.’
‘I’m sorry Grace, I’ve made you break your high moral standards.’ Actually he doesn’t look too gutted about this; there is a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He’s secretly pleased to be the one to lead me astray, I think.
‘I owe it to Mark to try to patch things up, we have so much history together,’ I say, knowing I am saying the morally right thing, even if it’s not really what I feel. I would like to dive headlong into Tom’s arms right now and forget about all my loyalties towards Mark, even if only for a few moments.
‘You and I need to try to be ‘just friends’ and I need to get things in order at home,’ I say, knowing I sound much stronger than I actually feel. ‘I have to know where I stand with Mark, this is all too much otherwise. I can’t just give into this and have an affair with you, it’s not what I do. Even if I want to,’ I add, looking up at him. And I do want to, and he knows that.
‘Mark’s a great bloke, he’s lucky to have you,’ Tom says, which is pretty noble of him in the circumstances. Given that I could go straight back to Mark and patch things up and today’s kiss would be a mere blip on the horizon of a rocky patch, and Tom would still be on his own. ‘But I don’t want to have just an affair with you. That’s way too sordid. I want all of you, Grace, for keeps, not just for a quick fling behind another man’s back.’
‘I can wait, though,’ he goes on. ‘If you need time to sort yourself out and work out if you and Mark have a future together, that’s fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll still be here.’ But he could be the one to end up with no one. My decision is between two men; I won’t be the one to end up alone in all this.
Fourteen
Evie’s car is on my drive when I get home. It’s not like her to call round unannounced – she’s usually too busy just to pop by & say hi – so my suspicions are instantly aroused. It sounds selfish, but after the intensely emotional experience I’ve just been through, I’d quite like to let myself in and sit alone in a darkened room for a while, and go over the conversation and sensations of the past hour with a large glass of wine in hand. I don’t really remember the drive home; my head and heart were whirring for competition, but my brain in cruise control got me back safely without putting the car in a ditch.
‘Evie, hi, are you OK?’ I ask as she gets out of the car. She looks awful, not her usual perfect self at all. She collapses onto me and dissolves into floods of tears. This has to be a record afternoon for emotional outpourings. On any other day I’m sure I’d cope fine, but I am drained and feel like a bad friend who would rather not get involved.
‘It’s James, I think he’s having an affair,’ she blurts out between sobs. ‘I know he can be a pig sometimes but I love him,’ she wails. ‘He can’t leave me, what will I do?’ All this from my strong, brave, independent friend, who, faced with her perfect world crumbling beneath her feet, turns out to be as mortal and easily bruised as the rest of us.
‘Are you sure, what makes you think that? He worships you,’ I offer, desperately clutching at reality. It would seem affairs are the topic of the day, then. My sudden transition from realising how easy it could be to embark on one, to seeing what possibly being the victim of one can do to a friend, is shocking.
I really genuinely don’t think James would be the sort. Despite his shortcomings, he has never had eyes for anyone but Evie since they met, and kisses the very ground she walks on. But I know now how easy it is to rock that boat, and my own choppy waters are bobbing around me, waiting for me to choose which path to navigate.
I take Evie inside and pour a glass of wine for us both. Uncharacteristically she pushes hers away and asks for a cup of tea instead.
‘I have to pick the girls up in a minute,’ she says. ‘Where have you been, anyway, you’re late home tonight, I waited for you for ages,’ she adds, accusingly. Suddenly in the face of her own security being shattered she has turned into my mother, chiding me for coming home late. But I’m not about to embark on an explanation for that right now – I think Evie has enough to deal with without adding my problems to her own, and it wouldn’t really be appropriate subject matter in the circumstances – so I quickly turn the conversation back to her, and ask her why she thinks James might be cheating on her.
‘He’s always on the phone, making secret calls, then hanging up when I come in the room. To his PA of all things, out of hours, too. She only works nine till four so what reason would he have to call her in the evening if there wasn’t something going on? I’ve started checking his phone, looking in his pockets, all those things people do in films. It’s horrible, Grace, I’m so scared. How could he? I wouldn’t mind if she w
as ten years younger and a bimbo…. Well I would mind just as much, but you know what I mean. But she’s well into her forties and a bit mumsy, if you get my drift.’
‘Have you talked to him about it, confronted him?’ I ask.
‘No, I’m too scared. He doesn’t even know I’m upset about anything,’ she replies. ‘As far as he’s concerned there’s nothing wrong. It’s so hard keeping up this act.’
We are so similar, us girls, both of us letting situations get on top of us and not confronting our partners and talking them through, instead playing along with things just to keep the peace.
‘Right, here’s a plan,’ I say, more boldly than I’m feeling, but wanting her to go so that I can get back to my own issues. What a terrible friend I am today. I will make it up to her at some point, to appease my conscience more than anything else. Fortunately she’s too wrapped up in her own dilemma to notice my abruptness.
‘Drink your tea and calm yourself down, and go and fetch your girls. Then when they are out of the way tonight, sit down with James and ask him what is going on. Tell him what you think is happening, and what you’ve seen and heard. Don’t settle for being fobbed off, you need to know the truth. Look at the effect it’s having on you, you can’t keep hiding that from him. You have to get this cleared up, and know where you stand one way or the other.’
I pack Evie off with sensible suggestions and reassurances that it will all be OK, and I hope I have given her enough confidence to face James. My gut instinct tells me somehow that it will be OK; hopefully Evie has just got the wrong end of the stick about something or other. She has no tangible evidence to go on, after all. I hope it’s not just wishful thinking on my part. I had always thought Evie & James’ marriage was so perfect; I don’t want anything shattering the illusion that married life can be perfect. I still need to be able to worship at the altar of someone’s perfect life.
Mark has texted me to say he won’t be home till late tonight. That’s good; I am planning a long soak in the bath, with scented candles and a glass of wine on the side. I don’t need interruptions, and I certainly don’t need bad feeling, uneasy silences and repressed anger. I could do with a night off from all those tonight. As I run the bath, I mull over the few minutes I spent with Tom this afternoon. It really only was a few minutes, although it felt like we packed a lifetime of emotion into them. Him holding me was the most gorgeous feeling; I haven’t felt like that since I first met Mark, I realise guiltily. I know there’s always a bit of extra excitement due to the newness of things, and although I know it’s wrong whilst I’m with Mark, I can’t help the rightness of how it felt.
Suddenly, I don’t want to dwell on it all any more, my brain is aching with the effort, and a soak in the bath, with time to contemplate my lot, is the last thing I fancy. No, what I need right now is to run. I turn off the taps and instead get on the phone to Alex. She’s usually my running buddy, childcare permitting. Fortunately her nanny hasn’t left for the day yet, and leaving Josie up to her eyes in kiddie tea-time, she is able to slip out for a while and join me.
Alex and I pound the paths, roads and fields around the village together, and it feels so good. It always seems to clear my head; I’m in danger of emotional overload at the moment, but doing something physical helps to dispel it all.
Alex is one of those annoyingly fit women who seem to be able to string together full sentences and run at the same time. I’m far from unfit, but I usually struggle to manage more than a few grunts, or a puffy ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in response to Alex’s questions. At least it means I can’t go into any detail about today. I’ll just speak when I’m spoken to, pleading breathlessness if she wants to know any more. I don’t want to tell Alex about Tom; great friend that she is, I just want to hold it all in for a bit longer, keep it all special and safe. It’s not for public consumption yet, it’s just for me.
‘How are things with you and Mark?’ Alex ventures, sounding nothing like she has just run a mile and a half over bumpy ground.
‘Yeah…. not great….. you know….’ I pant, glad the lack of air in my lungs won’t allow me to expand on it.
‘He popped in the other night,’ Alex says. That floors me, and I almost come to a standing halt so I can grill Alex about it. Instead I manage to keep my cool and keep running. He’d not mentioned it. But then he doesn’t say much about anything at the moment.
‘What……did…….he….want?’ I manage to puff out, feeling increasingly suspicious. I don’t know why I should be, we’re all great mates, but somehow it just seems odd when one member of our gang seeks out another member of the opposite sex, alone, without their other half in tow. Get real, Grace, Alex isn’t some predatory widow, pouncing on my man whilst he’s going through a bit of a rocky patch. She’d never do that to me. I recognise what I’m feeling as possessiveness. I’m not sure yet if I still want him for myself or not, but I don’t want any other woman, friend or otherwise, getting in there either.
‘Oh, just to talk. I think he’s found a new sounding board in me,’ she says, smiling, trying to make light of it and sensing my panic. ‘He is quite mixed up at the moment, but then you know that.’
I still find it odd, and a very sad too, that the man I live with, and love – theoretically – would prefer to call in on one of my friends for solace, rather than coming home to me, and sitting down and talking things through. I don’t know what he hopes to achieve by doing it.
I pick up speed, and Alex follows suit. I’d hoped coming out for a run was going to be a way to escape the dramas in my life, but it looks like I’ve just walked – or rather run – into another one. I work myself harder than ever, knowing that if I’m absolutely shattered later, I will just collapse into my bed and sleep like the dead, rather than toss and turn and mull it all over in my head.
It becomes clear to me at this point that I couldn’t possibly tell Alex about Tom. That is, if I could speak enough to say anything, which I can’t. I’d trust her implicitly not to say anything to Mark, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t. What would she have to gain from doing that? But I know it’s not what she needs to hear. She likes to feel she’s helping us, I think, by hearing Mark out, and trying to advise him on what to do for the best. If I were to mention my involvement with Tom, I’m not sure what she would think of me, and I think it might make her question my level of commitment to Mark. She could certainly never have imagined cheating on Peter. There’s no doubt that his death has put him on a bit of a pedestal, made him more perfect than he probably was in reality. But he was her one and only love in life; she was loyal to him during his lifetime and she is still loyal to his memory now. Even though I’m sure he would not have wanted her to be alone after his death, she shows no sign of wanting or needing another man in her life.
We clock up about five kilometres and decide that’s enough. Alex invites me back to her place for a drink, but I decline her offer. I really don’t want to talk any more, and without the excuse of shortness of breath, I’d have no choice but to talk. And there’s no doubt the conversation would head in that direction eventually.
As I jog towards home at a much gentler pace, hoping to ease my aching muscles, Frannie and Gerald are out in Frannie’s front garden. She has a perfectly serviceable back garden which would offer the pair of them a little more privacy, but I get the feeling she’s still at the stage of wanting to show off her new beau to anyone who happens to pass by. The loved-up couple are pottering round her small plot arm in arm, as though it’s a display garden at a National Trust property, examining the flowers and plants, and exclaiming over the latest blooms to burst into colour. I half expect them to be regaling each other with the Latin names for each one. ‘Oh yes, that’s bloomus splendiferous, a rare species that one, and much more robust than the flora fabulosa’, or something along those lines.
‘Grace, darling, yoo-hoo, over here,’ she calls to me, waving her arm in the air. ‘We’ve set a date for the wedding!’ she announces proudly. ‘Invitations are at t
he printers. You and the man of your choice are invited, of course, I’ll leave it blank so you can decide who to bring,’ she says, mischievously, with a naughty smile. She is so perceptive, Frannie. Nothing gets past her. She knows nothing about Tom and I; it’s all so new and secret that no one does. I only just know myself, after all. She is aware, however, that Mark and I have been having problems, and it won’t have escaped her that I haven’t been looking that downcast for a woman whose relationship is potentially on the rocks. She also expected that we’d both be planning our weddings around the same time, and I haven’t exactly been swapping dress and bouquet ideas with her, have I? Given her history with relationships, she is never one to judge when it comes to the path of true love, but she has clearly put two and two together. And come out with the correct answer.
‘July 18th,’ she goes on. ‘Little service here in the village, then off to Compton Hall for a slap-up lunch. Put the date in your diary, my dear!’
I make all the right noises and opt for a hasty departure, pleading sweatiness, exhaustion and hunger. They can both see I’ve been out running and wouldn’t expect me to hang around and chat, I’m sure. Frannie looks so happy; it’s great to see her so contented. She has always been the sort of woman to make the best out of any situation, she’s so incredibly strong, but I’m so pleased she’s found someone to share the rest of her years with. I can’t help wishing it was me setting wedding dates, despite everything. Funnily enough, July 18th was one of the dates I’d been thinking about, in the early days after Mark finally agreed that we could get married, as it’s the day after school breaks up for the summer. It just seemed like a good way to start the holidays, plus I wouldn’t have needed to take extra time off school for my honeymoon.
So now I will be going to someone else’s wedding that day instead. I wonder how that will make me feel, seeing another couple walk down the aisle and make those promises, another couple’s ‘till death do us part’ speech. I haven’t been to a wedding for a couple of years, and really had thought that the next one I went to would be my own. Oh well, no point crying over it now. I am so sad about the way things are with Mark and I, but so confused about whether I actually want him or not. And now I have Tom to add into the equation too. Goodness knows who I will be taking to Frannie and Gerald’s wedding. Nobody but my own good self at this rate.