“Sure, I’m not complaining about your visit to that shop, Gem. I was just a little put out, so, when I caught Dougal with the picture.”
“Can we get rid of it?” Gemma asked Dougal. God, she looked awful. There were at least three chins, and why hadn’t anyone told her that in her favourite pink Puffa coat she resembled Miss Piggy? That was going straight to Oxfam.
“No way. The pictures have gone viral,” said Dougal, grabbing his phone back from Gemma and scrolling through it with great excitement, “There’s a hashtag on Twitter now and chat forums and everything, so! It’s way cool.”
Gemma did not think that a picture of her holding a dildo was cool in any sense of the word – and neither, judging from the acid-drop-sucking expression on her face, did Cal’s mother. Their family priest would have a fit. It would be Hail Marys until the second coming.
“It’s all fantastic publicity,” Dwayne pointed out helpfully.
Angel nodded excitedly. “This will really boost interest in the live show. Maybe Gemma could even get a lingerie deal with the store? That would be great marketing.”
“Jaysus, I don’t want my girlfriend blazoned all over the country in her knickers!” Cal exclaimed. “Feck! No way.”
“But it’s fine on Bread and Butlers?” Gemma shot back. “And I’m here, by the way! Don’t talk about me like I don’t exist!”
“The show’s totally different and you know it,” snapped Cal. “Jaysus, Gemma, just relax so, will you? It isn’t such a big deal anyway.”
Gemma shook her head. Had everyone gone completely bonkers here? Or was it just her who cared because, as always, she’d ended up looking like a total idiot?
“It’s a big deal to me,” she said.
Mammy South gave a martyred sigh. “Sure, Cal, and if you’d only taken your chance with Aoife when you had it. Aoife wouldn’t parade around with such filth and shame her family. She’s a good girl. When her mammy told me you’d had lunch with her the other day in London I must admit we both got our hopes up.”
“Mammy! Jaysus! Will you give it a rest about Aoife?” Cal responded so furiously that his mother paled with surprise. Gemma was amazed too. In all the time they’d been together she’d never once heard Cal stand up to his mother.
“You had lunch with Aoife?” she asked, shocked beyond belief.
“Gemma, she’s talking bollocks,” Cal said frantically. “It’s the South gobshite gene!”
Gemma was no fan of Mammy South but in this case she owed her. The gobshite gene was at least telling the truth.
“You lied to me,” Gemma whispered to Cal. There was a dreadful ache where her heart used to be. “You were seeing Aoife all along.”
Cal’s face was a dead match for the marble staircase. He’d been well and truly dropped in it, and just one look at him told Gemma that he was as guilty as they came. He really had been secretly meeting the beautiful Aoife in London. Gemma hadn’t been unjustly suspicious, or going mad or paranoid or any of the other things that he and even Angel had teasingly accused her of. Instead, her instincts had been spot on.
Cal had been lying to her for weeks. Maybe even months. Now it all made sense.
“Gemma, please,” Cal said desperately. “It’s not what you think.”
As she stood in the hall, with carols playing and mulled-wine spices hanging heavy in the air, Gemma realised she’d reached the end of a very long and very hard road. The phone calls, the secrecy, the cleared history, the mysterious trips to London…
“It’s exactly what I think,” she said sadly.
She spun around and walked away as fast as she could – but Cal, although no longer Premier League fit, was still fast enough to sprint after her. Gemma had only just set foot through the huge doors and into the chilly night when he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her around to face him. His eyes burned down into hers.
“Gemma, I’m asking you to trust me.” Cal spoke with an urgency that was at odds with his usual calm demeanour. His hands on her shoulders were holding her tightly as though he was afraid to let her go. “I swear on my life that I have never cheated on you. Yes, I saw Aoife in London but it was for a reason, a really good reason. Jaysus, Gemma, I love you! Please, please trust me. Just for two weeks more.”
He was blurring and shimmering in front of her eyes.
“So tell me why you were meeting her,” Gemma whispered. “Go on, Cal, tell me.”
“I can’t,” he said.
Gemma swallowed. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Trust me,” Cal said softly. “If you love me, you’ll trust me. Don’t check my phone, my computer, my email, Gemma. Just trust me, like I trust you.”
“I haven’t been sneaking around with my ex,” Gemma said. “And if it’s so innocent then why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
“I can’t; not yet. Just give me until the show ends, Gemma. I’m begging you, so I am. Two weeks and then I promise everything will be fine. Just trust me.”
It was the same old refrain, over and over again, but this time Gemma knew she was hearing it for the final time.
“I’m sorry, Cal,” she said, and now the tears spilled from her eyes. “That just isn’t going to work anymore. How can I trust you when you’ve lied?”
“Gem,” Cal’s voice was hoarse, “this is me you’re talking to, me. I love you. You have to trust me. If we haven’t got trust, what have we got?”
They stared at one another. Snowflakes had started to fall, as cold and as unforgiving as the hurts that were falling between them.
“Nothing,” Gemma said sadly. “We’ve got nothing.”
This was the part where Cal was supposed to fight for her, to say that he was sorry, he’d been an eejit, he was only Christmas shopping with Aoife, and that he loved Gemma and couldn’t live without her. When he didn’t say anything of the sort – his hands sliding helplessly from her shoulders instead – his failure to fight only confirmed what Gemma already knew.
Cal was as guilty as sin.
Gemma fled, her feet skidding over the steps and scrabbling onto the cobbles. Cal didn’t make any attempt to follow her, and when she reached the top of the drive he was still there watching her, a curly-haired shadow against a doorway filled with dancing fairy lights. Tears ran down Gemma’s cheeks, as sharp as knives in the cold air.
Christmas or not, and even though she still loved Cal with all her heart, there was no way Gemma could stay at Kenniston Hall. If Cal couldn’t tell her the truth about what he’d really been up to, then as far as she was concerned they didn’t have a future.
They were finished.
Chapter 15
Gemma stormed back up the drive to the Lion Lodge, blinded by tears and snow, and hardly able to breathe by the time she opened her front door. She’d heard people talk about being heartbroken – it was a standard cliché, after all – but until the moment Cal’s mother had revealed he’d been meeting Aoife on the quiet, Gemma had thought it was just a turn of phrase. Now she knew differently; there was a dreadful ache in her chest, and a stabbing pain every time she pictured Cal with Aoife. Her heart literally was cracking into little pieces, each as jagged and as cruel as the barbed mackerel hooks the Cornish fishermen used. It was unbearable to know Cal had betrayed her; the worst pain imaginable that her lovely Cal, the man she adored with every fibre of her being, was seeing somebody else – and not just anyone, either, but the beautiful, sainted Aoife.
So much for just being “good friends”, Gemma thought furiously as she stormed up to their bedroom. To think she’d believed that old bollocks! How Cal must have been laughing behind her back. And as for telling her that she ought to trust him, as though she was the one in the wrong here! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. He’d just proved beyond all reasonable doubt that he was the one who couldn’t be trusted. Cal could talk about contracts and responsibilities and “wait until the New Year” until he was blue in the face; it wouldn’t make any difference. He’d lied to her and he wasn�
�t prepared to explain why. That just proved he was as guilty as sin.
Gemma sank onto the bed. She was so tired; it was a deep, dragging exhaustion right down to her bone marrow. What on earth was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t stay here, not when Cal was in love with another woman. She’d have to leave. There was no way she could bear being near Cal knowing that he was lost to her forever. It was bad enough that his beloved contract bound him, and that no-areas-barred cameras would be following his every move and recording this drama for the open-jawed public to enjoy. She could see the headlines in Closer and Reveal already: “Cal’s Secret Love!”, or maybe “Premier League Cheat!” But worse than all that, it would crucify her to see him and know that his love for her had died.
No. She had to get away, and she had to get away now. There was plenty of time to sleep once she was miles from Kenniston and Cal.
Gemma’s tears were still falling as she tugged her suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. Maybe they’d never stop and she’d be like those people who started hiccupping and were still at it years later? Right now it certainly felt like a distinct possibility. Oblivious to the fine layer of dust and dead spiders, she flung open the lid of her case and began scooping random armfuls of clothes from her wardrobe and stuffing them in, little caring what she took, before grabbing her toothbrush, phone charger and the laptop.
All the time she was doing this her mobile phone rang endlessly. Gemma ignored it until she was finished and she’d lugged the suitcase onto the landing. She knew seeing Cal’s picture flashing up would only make her howl even more: it was a shot of him she’d taken on that perfect afternoon at Penmerryn Creek. In this shot Cal was forever frozen in time, a dragonfly in amber of a man balancing on the rotted pontoon and laughing down at her, deep creases fanning out from his twinkling eyes and the sky a perfect cloudless blue above his curly head. The happiness of that afternoon and the love he’d felt for her shone from the shot, worlds away from the harsh words and recriminations of earlier this evening.
Gemma returned to the bedroom and sat on their bed with her head in her hands. She needed to get a hold of herself. That warm sunny afternoon might as well have happened in another lifetime. The Cal who’d made love to her so tenderly, kissing every single freckle on her pale shoulders, wouldn’t have dreamed of sneaking off for sleazy weekends in London with his ex-girlfriend. That Cal had loved her, she knew he had, and she’d loved him too. How had things managed to go so wrong?
The slamming of the front door made her jump. Cal! cried that foolish, pathetic part of Gemma that was longing for nothing more than him to come striding into the house, sweep her into his arms and tell her that it was huge misunderstanding.
What was she thinking? How on earth could any of this be a misunderstanding? Gemma laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. Of course it wasn’t a misunderstanding. Mammy South had been perfectly clear that Cal was seeing Aoife – and she’d been thrilled about it too, the evil old boot. Cal hadn’t exactly denied it either. Trust me? Yeah, right.
Still, if this was Cal and he had an exceptionally good reason, she’d probably forgive him – although he’d have to really grovel first…
“Gemma! Are you upstairs?”
Oh. Angel. Another person who was seriously in Gemma’s bad books right now.
Thump. Thump. Thump. For such a slim fairylike creature Angel certainly stomped up the stairs like an elephant. When she appeared in the doorway the reason for this became clear: Angel was wearing a huge pair of Dubarry boots under her ball dress. With her long blonde hair tumbling down from her updo and her cheeks slapped pink by the cold, she looked like she was off to do a photo shoot for Mulberry. Cara Delevingne would probably rock up in a minute too.
“Blimey, your house is cold,” said Angel, rubbing her bare upper arms. “No wonder you and Cal never have sex. He’d freeze his bits off.”
When it came to the day God handed out diplomacy, Angel had been right at the back of the queue, or sleeping in.
“The reason Cal and I aren’t having sex, as you so tactfully just reminded me, is because he’s seeing Aoife,” Gemma told her. Saying it out loud made her stomach clench and a wave of nausea swept over her, because now this was real.
“Oh, Gemma, what a load of old bollocks,” Angel declared. She clomped into the room and hurled herself onto the bed. “Of course he isn’t. This is Cal we’re talking about. He’s not got a cheating bone in his body.”
“Of course he hasn’t. He’s just been secretly meeting his sexy lawyer ex behind my back for a coffee,” Gemma said sarcastically. “Silly me.”
“I know it doesn’t look good,” Angel was saying, putting herself right up there to win Understatement of the Year, “but I really think you ought to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. I know there’s bound to be a totally innocent explanation.”
“Angel, if there was, Cal would have told me.” Gemma was certain of this. Why else would Cal hold back? It didn’t make sense.
“Maybe he can’t tell you?”
“Of course he can’t: he’s having an affair!” Tired of this circular conversation, Gemma hauled herself onto her feet. “I don’t know why you’re so keen to stick up for him. You’re supposed to be on my side. If Laurence was cheating on you I’d want to throttle him.”
“If Loz dared to cheat on me he’d soon be wearing his willy as a new kind of dicky bow,” Angel said firmly, with a toss of her blonde mane. The look on her face said that she wasn’t kidding either. “Anyway, I’m not taking sides. I just think you should give Cal a chance to explain. Wait until the contract is over for the show.”
Arrah! If Gemma heard that phrase again she was going to explode. First Cal and now Angel.
“While the contract’s still binding anything Cal says and does is up for grabs,” Angel continued. “He’s got zero privacy, which means that your relationship with him is totally in the public eye. He knows how much you hate that, babes. Maybe he’s waiting until he can speak?”
It was a nice idea but with one fatal flaw.
“The cameras don’t follow us home,” Gemma reminded her friend. “That was why we moved here.”
“It certainly wasn’t for the heating,” Angel said. Her slender arms were covered in goosebumps and her nose was starting to turn blue. “Can’t we go back to the Hall and warm up? I’m starting to feel like Jack in Titanic.”
Gemma ignored her moaning and, abandoning the bedroom for the landing, began to thump her suitcase down the stairs. “Cal and I can talk in private any time we like when we’re at home. If he wanted to talk he’d be here now – but no, he’s far too busy filming.”
“Filming is his job! It’s what he gets paid stupidly big amounts of money to do! Here, let me help with that, for heaven’s sake, before you hurt yourself.” Angel grabbed the end of the suitcase and together the girls manhandled it down the rest of the narrow stairs. Once they were in the hallway, Angel added, “And FYI, when I left he was having the most almighty row with his harridan of a mother. You should have seen him, Gem! He’s furious with her.”
Gemma laughed bitterly. “Of course he is. She really dropped him in it.” She dragged her case to the door. “He nearly got away with it.”
“Not because of that! Because she’s been such a bitch to you!” Angel grabbed Gemma’s arm and swung her friend round to face her. “You should have heard him; he was wonderful. He told her that he loves you and that if she carries on being so unpleasant and disrespectful she can get straight back on the plane. You’re making a big mistake if you walk out on him! Cal loves you. I know he does.”
For once Gemma’s best friend was serious. The pouty, hair-twirling, designer-crazed Angel was gone and in her place was the razor-sharp and determined woman who ran a successful TV company and who’d managed to convince one of the richest and toughest Russian oligarchs on the planet to help her. For a moment her vehemence made Gemma hesitate. Was Angel right? Ought she to give Cal a chance to explain?
Then again, how many chances did he need? He’d lied about meeting Aoife. What else had he lied about? Where was all the cash from the show going? If Cal’s share was “stupidly big”, as Angel had said (and with the high ratings the show had enjoyed this year, Gemma had no reason to think this wasn’t true), then why was there never any money? What or who was he working so hard for? Why wouldn’t Cal level with her about this? And then there were the mysterious phone calls and the wiped browsing history. Gemma’s head was spinning from thinking about it all.
It wasn’t just this business with Aoife. There was something much deeper going on and Gemma was tired, just so bone tired, of it all. She needed a break to clear her head.
“I need some space,” she said wearily. “I can’t go on like this. It’s impossible.”
“You’re really leaving him?” Angel asked. Her blue eyes were wide with horror. “Gem, you can’t! You mustn’t! You love Cal and he loves you! This is mad!”
“If Cal loves me so much, why isn’t he here?” Gemma said quietly. There was still a treacherous little part of her that was longing for Cal to stride through the door and put everything right, although with every second that passed this was looking less and less likely.
“Because I said I’d come and talk to you!” Angel cried. “Gem, he doesn’t think you’re leaving. He was sorting out his mum and then finishing the final shots. He asked me to make sure you were all right.”
Typical, Gemma thought. She was second as usual and Cal had farmed out checking on his betrayed and heartbroken girlfriend to somebody else. Enough really was enough.
“I need to get away,” she repeated. “I’m not asking anyone’s permission, Angel. I’m doing this for my own sanity. If Cal wants to put things right he can tell me the truth. Until that happens I really don’t think I want to see him.”
“Where are you going?” Angel asked. Her voice trembled.
“Cornwall,” Gemma told her. Until that moment she hadn’t given any thought to where she was going, but now a plan was taking shape. “I’ve got that cottage in Rock booked, remember? The one I was hoping to go to with Cal? I may as well make the most of it.”
Escape for Christmas: A Novella (The Escape Series Book 2) Page 13