In the warm, golden light of the dining room, the women were relaxed and entertaining. Rain and her guests teased Saffron gently about her affair with the ‘handsome carpenter’, becoming whimsical as they reminisced about their own youthful flirtations and love affairs and, in Mair’s case, somewhat more earthy undertakings. Rain stroked the tablecloth and told her guests that it was a wedding present from an elderly aunt, a gift Stephen hated using when the children were small. ‘It’ll be ruined! Peanut butter and Marmite stains!’ In the end it was Stephen who’d stained it when he’d reached for the salt cellar one evening and knocked over a glass of Merlot.
‘You’d never know,’ Mair remarked, casting her eyes across the table.
‘There!’ Rain pointed and laughed. ‘Just got to know where to look.’
Saffron noticed with pleasure that Rain spoke of Stephen with warmth and a realism that had been absent for so long. Rain was remembering the man she’d loved, the man who’d loved her. A breeze rippled through the windows, lifting the curtains into the dusty air, the diaphanous fabric reminiscent of a wedding veil. Saffron bit into another strawberry, the sweet juice pouring down her chin, and wished she’d opened a bottle of white wine. There was everything to celebrate and Rain would not have objected. The grandmother clock in the corner chimed the hour and Saffron decided to make her way down to the sea, to enjoy a walk along the promenade before meeting Joe on the sands.
As she ambled down the rise towards the promenade her heart sang. The pier was busy, even for a glorious Sunday afternoon. It was not yet half past the hour, plenty of time to kill. She waltzed past the doughnut stall, the man clutching a bunch of balloons and towards Eifion’s rock hut. She could stop and say hello. Ceri might be around.
At the New Age hut, where a heavily tattooed woman sold tie-dyed scarves, skull rings, and Saffron’s beloved patchouli oil, Saffron spotted Joe up ahead. She raised her hand and was about to call out when she realised he was talking with someone, a petite woman. He’d not seen Saffron. Who could the woman be? Joe knew so few people. Realisation seeped through her, like ink on blotting paper. It could be Allegra. The long, brown, wavy hair, bronzed limbs.
Saffron lowered her arm and snuck behind a rail of velvet dresses with lace-up fronts and black T-shirts decorated with Celtic knots and symbols. She shuffled the coat hangers, as if she was looking for something, but her eyes were fixed ahead. Too far to hear the conversation but close enough to witness its passionate intensity – all flailing arms, and then, my God, was that a kiss? Her spirits plummeted as her mind went into overdrive. Had Joe planned this meeting? He couldn’t have; he’d asked to see her, Saffron. Why would he not say anything? But if it was meant to be a secret why meet in a public place? For sure, he couldn’t have known she would be early, that she would wander on to the pier, but it was risky nevertheless. Her heart battered against her ribcage. This was bad. Something wasn’t right. And if it wasn’t Allegra, who was it?
A high-pitched screech lanced the clammy air, a baby’s cry, and Saffron spun round, her back to Joe and the mysterious woman. Coed Mawr was a small place, she knew everyone he associated with and that wasn’t many; a few churchgoers, Rain, Eifion, Ceri. Shaking, she fiddled with rings displayed on a table outside the hut, head bowed. Heavy footsteps pounded past and she sneaked a glance. Brown wavy locks swung across a slim back. Saffron turned back to look up the length of the pier. Joe had disappeared. But where to?
A split-second decision had to be made. Saffron dropped the opal ring she was clutching and raced towards the pier exit, her eyes fixed on the woman’s back.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Saffron tailed the woman from the promenade to the shopping arcade, uncertainty about what she might say when she finally plucked up the courage to stop her, if she plucked up the courage to stop her, growing with every step. But she was increasingly sure it must be Allegra.
Hi, I’m Saffron. I’m Joe’s girlfriend. What are you doing here? wouldn’t cut it. It sounded so … so … lame. Who was to say Allegra hadn’t swung by to collect some of her CDs or cutlery? Bollocks. Joe didn’t have any CDs and little in the way of cutlery. Perhaps Allegra took the lot? Had they lived together? Joe had never said.
He’s not said much, full stop.
Saffron was so busy running through imaginary conversations that she almost crashed into another shopper, the only person shielding her from the woman who must be Allegra. The shopper turned, clearly alarmed by Saffron’s proximity, scowled but said nothing. Saffron heaved a sigh of relief. She did not want to draw attention to herself; she wasn’t ready to confront this woman, this almost-certainly-Allegra who’d stopped in front of an electrical shop next door but one to Wynne’s. She was checking her phone by the looks of things. With the shopper gone, the arcade was almost deserted and Saffron felt conspicuous. She dived into the entrance of Wynne’s and peered in the window, pretending to inspect the miserable display; the dummy still minus a hand. The shop was dark, the owner resolutely resisting the push for Sunday opening.
‘Saffron! Can’t keep away, huh?’
It was Mrs Evans, the manager, brandishing a key. What was she doing here? Mrs Evans jerked her head at the window. ‘You can help me spruce up this display if you like. I’ll pay overtime.’
Panicking, Saffron bit her lip and shook her head. To her relief Mrs Evans merely laughed, turned the key, and pushed open the door. Her parting shot echoed round the arcade. ‘Your loss, Saffron, love. See you tomorrow.’
Saffron turned away from Mrs Evans to find herself looking down into the face of the woman she was now one hundred per cent certain was Allegra. Eyes of different colours bored into her: one hazel, one green.
‘So you’re Saffron.’ Allegra smiled, though only with her mouth; her eyes remained glassy. ‘Marcus described you well.’
‘Marcus?’
A genuine, if smug, smile spread across her face. My God, she was beautiful. Stunning. ‘Ah, but of course. You know him as Joe, don’t you?’ She flicked a rogue strand of hair over her shoulder. It felt like a smack in the face to Saffron.
‘We need to chat. There are things you need to know. Shall we go for a coffee? Can you recommend anywhere? I believe you’re local,’ Allegra said. And though her tone was kind, concerned, her eyes moved over Saffron like she was a piece of fluff to be removed from a jumper.
‘I’m not sure we have anything to say to each other.’ Saffron spoke in a manner she’d reserved for distressed patients, her attempt to match Allegra’s composure. She was glad of her height, at least she could look down on this pint-sized beauty. In a perfect world she’d have walked away, head high, but she was unable to, trapped in the porch entrance of Wynne’s. Her world had travelled a million miles from perfect in the past half an hour. Allegra was so close Saffron could smell the heady, expensive notes of her perfume.
Why, for fuck’s sake, why, did I follow her instead of Joe. Marcus?
‘You might not have anything to say to me, but I have plenty to say to you,’ Allegra said.
Why is she being so horrible? She left him; she broke his heart.
Allegra smiled. She spoke again, even more softly this time, even kinder. ‘There’s so much you don’t understand about Marcus. So much you deserve to know, so that you can understand.’
That Saffron knew little about Joe was true, but she did understand him. She did, didn’t she?
Why did you lie to me, Joe? Who are you?
‘I’d like to explain something about Marcus and me. Why we belong together.’ Allegra touched Saffron’s arm, pityingly. Instinctively, Saffron recoiled.
She wants him back.
Saffron could almost feel herself shrinking. She couldn’t compete with this goddess. She was insignificant. Nothing. She didn’t even know his real name.
Allegra turned and waved a slender arm in the direction of the arcade exit. ‘I saw a café on the main drag. Didn’t look too awful. We’ll go there,’ she said, confidently, walking away, clea
rly sure Saffron would follow.
And follow she did, her emotions veering from fury to devastation. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. But was she to fight or run? At school and university she’d always been contemptuous of those girls who fell out over men, fought for their attentions, but she wouldn’t – couldn’t – give up Joe without a battle. No way was she going to capitulate. Allegra’s elegant dress rippled as she tottered off, the red silk shifting like sand in a desert storm.
Beware. This woman will be no pushover.
As they neared the café, Saffron nudged in front, determined to take back control. In her flat-soled boots, she walked faster than Allegra in her stupid little heels. Saffron launched herself at the café door and stomped through without looking behind her, hoping the door would swing back just heavily enough to knock Allegra off balance.
The place was deserted bar a couple of bored-looking teenagers staring into empty glasses as if willing them to fill with vodka. Saffron scanned the room before deciding on a window seat. Sure, it could get embarrassing if people from the street saw them arguing, but it afforded a quick exit, should one be required. She snatched the menu from its stand, though she wanted nothing.
A waitress slouched over. ‘Cappuccino. No chocolate,’ Allegra said in cut glass tones. She sounded posher than ever in the dismal café.
‘Semi or full?’ the waitress sighed.
‘Have you red top?’ Allegra said.
But of course, this woman is taut and lean, no excess fat on her.
The waitress stared at Saffron.
‘Just water, please. Tap’ll do,’ she mumbled.
She watched the waitress cross the room to the counter, her flip-flops slapping against dry, cracked heels.
She needs to treat that xerosis; some Aveeno cream at least.
Elbows on the table, Allegra rested her chin on her hands, and looked at Saffron. Her features were awash with pity and Saffron itched to wallop her. She’d not harboured such violent impulses towards anyone before. She sat on her hands to ensure she didn’t.
‘So … what has he told you?’ Allegra began.
‘About …?’ Two could play at that game. No way was Saffron going to reveal what she knew first. She wondered if Joe had ever shown Allegra his art, and an unpleasant image of them disturbed her thoughts. She pushed it away.
‘Me. Us. Him,’ Allegra said, sounding weary, as if it was all a waste of her time.
‘You …’ Saffron shrugged in a not-a-lot-he’s-forgotten-about-you manner. At least that’s what she hoped the gesture conveyed. He hadn’t told her much about Allegra, but she wasn’t going to let on.
Allegra lifted her chin from her knuckles and tapped her chest with her thumbs. ‘Let me guess … he’s told you very little. Almost nothing. I’m the woman who left him, who broke his heart, and you think he’s over me, that he’s free?’
Saffron nodded. She couldn’t help it.
Allegra continued. ‘Did he tell you why I left him? That it wasn’t by choice? That we were forced apart? That I’ve been waiting, longing, for the day we can be reunited? And that he has been too?’
‘You’re talking in riddles. I prefer plain speaking.’ It was difficult to force the words out; Saffron’s mouth was so dry. Where was the waitress with the water? It was the cappuccino that was taking ages. She could hear the spluttering and frothing of the coffee machine, though it sounded as if it were being made at the end of a long tunnel.
‘Why do you think Marcus has been using an assumed name?’
Saffron remained silent, her heart thumping so violently she felt sure Allegra must hear it.
‘He went to prison.’
Saffron shrugged. It wouldn’t have been for a heinous crime, for something unforgiveable. Everyone makes mistakes.
‘For me. He lied for me and went to prison for it. He took the rap for my crime. Can you imagine loving anyone enough to do that?’
The waitress appeared and placed the coffee in front of Allegra.
‘Thank you, that’s perfect.’ She smiled at the woman, all charm.
Nonplussed, the waitress looked over at Saffron and said, ‘I’ll just get your water.’ Saffron nodded, her insides trembling.
Please God, I hope she can’t see me shaking.
Saffron wanted to shout at Allegra that it wasn’t true, but it would have been impossible without a sip of water and anyway, she didn’t know that it wasn’t.
The revelation hovered between them. Allegra picked up two packets of sugar, tore them open, and poured the contents into her drink. She stirred slowly, the chinking of the spoon against the cup the only sound in the café.
Skimmed milk but sugar?
A whoosh from the tap and Saffron knew her water was on its way at last. She was grateful for the pause, it gave her a chance to think. To absorb what Allegra had told her, unpick it.
The water was lukewarm but Saffron didn’t care. Her hand shook as she drank and she cursed her wayward, disobedient body. ‘So why didn’t he come and find you the moment he was out?’
It was Allegra’s turn to shrug, dismissive. ‘Because I’ve been in jail too. We were told to stay away from each other, but love is hard to stop, isn’t it?’
‘Quite the regular Bonnie and Clyde.’ Saffron felt sick. She picked up her phone which she’d placed on the table beside her. She was late for her meeting with Joe. She had to know the truth. His truth.
She stood. ‘Excuse me.’
Allegra gripped Saffron’s wrist, nails digging into her flesh. ‘He loves me. I’ll get him back. You’re nothing. Nothing at all.’
Saffron shook her arm free and staggered out of the café, pausing on the high street, blinded by the sun, its dazzling rays an insult to the darkness enveloping her.
The promenade was busy, that’s why the arcade and the café were so quiet. Everyone was out and about enjoying a beautiful day. Saffron ducked and darted between gaggles of teenagers, families with buggies and toddlers, and grannies ambling along, scanning the crowds for Joe. She’d never seen Coed Mawr so busy. Today of all days. It occurred to her that news of the ballroom fire must have drawn the tourists. How sad that people dashed to witness tragedy, to gaze on destruction and ugliness. Maybe they would notice Coed Mawr’s shabby beauty too and come back.
‘Sorry. So sorry.’ She bumped into a solidly built man. Still reeling from the collision, her shoulder thumping – the force of the impact could have dislocated it – she spun to check the beach.
Her heart swelled. There he was, looking out towards the horizon, low-slung jeans, strong, broad shoulders, his long, smooth neck. She remembered how soft it felt when she kissed him there, the brush of hair at its apex, the tip of a bat’s wing at its base. He turned, spotting her immediately amongst the hordes, as if his eyes were programmed to seek out her, and her alone. She stepped towards the promenade railing. He moved up the beach towards her. Her heart ebbed like the tide.
His face said it all. He knew she’d seen him with Allegra. She gripped the railing and leant forward, shouting, not caring that people might stare.
‘What is your name?’
He came closer, so that he was standing on the beach below her, looking up, imploring. ‘Does it matter?’
‘It matters to me.’
He dropped his head, and held his forehead, the longer section of hair falling forward, obscuring his face. He could have been crying, or praying. Saffron pushed herself off the railings and raced to the steps and down onto the beach. She held him at the elbows, waiting for him to look at her. She became aware of a presence next to her. A flash of red. Allegra.
‘Marcus?’ Allegra said, reaching for him.
Saffron let go and screamed, ‘Is it true?’
He looked up and nodded, his face awash with pain, remorse, regret? Saffron couldn’t tell.
‘I’ve been inside, yes.’
She screamed again, louder this time. She pointed at Allegra. ‘Did you take the blame for her?’
&nbs
p; He nodded again and Saffron gasped and clamped her hand across her mouth. Like a knife wound, she didn’t feel any pain when the blade went in, when he admitted he’d been to jail. It was when it came out, with the second admission, that she howled and folded over, her chest on her knees, blood crashing round her brain like a tsunami, blinding her.
‘I was in love. Thought I was in love,’ he said.
Saffron stopped listening and held her breath. It had become clear.
This is my punishment: I am to lose my true love; he will be snatched away.
Light-headed, she stood upright and gasped for air, hyperventilating, tears spilling over her face. Joe reached for her and she pushed him away.
Saffron ran. The last thing she saw before she staggered off the beach was a slow smile of victory shadowing Allegra’s beautiful face.
Chapter Thirty
It had been such a wonderful afternoon that Rain didn’t think the evening service could top it. But to her surprise, it looked as if it might. The chapel was packed. The regulars were there, naturally, done up in their Sunday best. Some even wore hats, though Rain admitted this might have had more to do with the force of the sun’s rays than the force of respect for God’s house. Not that she bought into all that nonsense. Did anyone these days? Almost certainly not, though one or two of the most elderly parishioners commented how nice it was to see an effort being made to look smart for chapel, as they were wheeled through by carers disgruntled at having to attend. She nodded and smiled but neither agreed nor disagreed.
The chapel, with its thick walls, arched windows, and stubborn damp, was cool all year round and the heat of the early evening sun took Rain’s breath away as she stepped outside the door to say goodbye to her flock. She removed her pink cardigan and tied it around her waist, enjoying the warmth on her bare arms. It was one of those moments when she felt the Lord’s power and bounty at full throttle. It was perfect.
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