Going Dutch

by Katie Fforde

  He came up and kissed her cheek, looking somehow different, yet the same. 'I brought some wine.’

  He appeared to want to hand the bottles that Tom hadn't taken from him to her. The part of her brain that was still seeing things from a distance thought he was like a midwife presenting a baby to a new and nervous father. 'Marcus…' she said, 'there was no need – how lovely – is everything all right?’

  Tom fielded the remaining three bottles and took them to the table.

  ‘I had to come,' muttered Marcus.

  The breath left Jo's body suddenly and only long ingrained social skills enabled her to say, 'Marcus, you remember Philip.' She cleared her throat to stop it sounding so husky.

  Philip came forward. He looked wary and had stopped smiling, as if he sensed something. 'Of course, Marcus old chap, long time no see. This is a bit of a bolt from the blue, isn't it?’

  They shook hands, rather as boxers shake hands before a match, because convention required it.

  ‘This is my daughter, Karen,' Jo said, but Karen didn't take his hand. She obviously sensed something too.

  ‘And you know Miranda and Bill, don't you?' Jo said quickly.

  ‘Of course.' Miranda came forward and kissed Marcus. Bill raised his hand. 'Looking forward to hearing about your latest trip-'

  ‘No we're not!' said Miranda. 'I mean – not everyone here is interested in boats,' she finished lamely, picking up on the tension.

  ‘And this is Sukie and Cliff, Dora's parents. This is Marcus, who took the barge to Holland with us all on it.’

  ‘Not all of us,' said Philip, bristling.

  ‘No, we weren't invited, either,' said Bill.

  ‘Come and have a drink,' said Jo in hostess mode. If she concentrated on doing her duty she might be able to resist the urge to run screaming into the house. 'There's Pimm's, but if you'd prefer wine…' She remembered how he had always appeared to despise her supermarket bargains and added, 'It's quite drinkable, Philip bought it.'

  ‘We've run out of Pimm's, Mum,' said Karen, looking curiously at Marcus. 'Shall I make some more?'

  ‘We've run out of Pimm's, the bottle,' said Philip. 'We'll have to go on to wine.'

  ‘Bill will rustle you something up if you've got some sweet vermouth and gin,' said Miranda helpfully.

  ‘I think we have…' began Jo, suddenly aware that she had no idea what alcohol lived in the cupboard any more. Maybe it didn't even have drinks in it now. The situation was hideously awkward, she just hoped Marcus wouldn't stay long.

  ‘I'll have some wine,' said Marcus.

  ‘I'll go and see what we've got to drink, anyway,' said Karen, and she, Dora and Tom disappeared into the house. 'Well, Marcus,' said Philip, handing him a glass. 'What have you been up to in the past twenty years or so?'

  ‘He's a barge skipper,' said Miranda. 'The best there is.’

  ‘Well, thank you for that vote of confidence, Miranda,’

  said Marcus with a smile.

  Jo realised that she'd never seen Marcus with Miranda and Bill before and felt a pang of something she couldn't identify.

  ‘So this "barge skippering",' said Philip, 'is it a lucrative profession?’

  Jo winced. Philip sounded so pompous.

  ‘Philip!' said Jo. 'You can't ask things like that!’

  Both men ignored her. 'Oh yes,' said Marcus. 'Well, lucrative enough, anyway.'

  ‘People pay a lot of money to have their expensive vessels moved about the place,' said Bill. 'Speaking as one who has.’

  Cliff decided to enter the conversation. 'I always thought you could describe sailing as standing under a cold shower tearing up fifty-pound notes.’

  Marcus and Bill both looked at Cliff. 'Barges aren't quite like that.'

  ‘No,' Miranda agreed. 'It's a hot shower. In other words, much more comfortable. But the fifty-pound note bit is the same.'

  ‘Good God!' said Philip. 'I had no idea.’

  Jo looked about her, wondering if she could flee back to the kitchen, ostensibly to help with the Pimm's prepara tion. Then she decided she couldn't.

  ‘Philip, darling,' she said, 'how's the barbecue? Is it about ready to cook on yet?'

  ‘Oh yes,' he said, moving to where a large chimenea doubled as a barbecue. 'Those coals are nice and grey now.'

  ‘I'm always too impatient with barbecues,' said Miranda. 'The neighbours practically got up a petition to ask me to stop having them. I didn't actually poison anybody, but the food was always disgusting.’

  Jo laughed, hoping she didn't sound hysterical. 'I'll go and get the meat then.' But before she could move she saw Karen and Dora, both bearing trays of prepared meat. Tom had the bowl of salad in both hands.

  ‘I'll get the bread,' said Jo, itching to leave the prickly atmosphere of the sunny summer Sunday for the safety of her kitchen.

  ‘No you don't, Mum, you've been working all morning, you relax and have a drink with your friends. We'll do this bit.' Karen was insistent.

  Philip went over to where the meat had been placed on top of the low wall that surrounded the paved area. 'How many people are you expecting, darling? Any more surprise guests?' He shot a glance at Marcus. 'Jo always over-caters desperately, don't you?'

  ‘Possibly,' said Jo, unrepentant, 'but I'm going to put the rest of the meat back in the cool. It won't do any good sitting in the sun. And you will cook the chicken thoroughly, won't you? You can't be too careful.'

  ‘We'll do it, Mum.' Karen obviously wasn't going to let her mother escape. She picked up one of the trays of meat. 'Why don't I get a cool bag? This could go in if it was sideways?’

  Jo wasn't sure if this sentence made sense but the idea was sound. 'I'll come and-'

  ‘No!’

  Dora came up behind her friend. 'No,' she said, more gently, but just as firmly.

  ‘Well, you don't know where anything is any more than we do,' said Karen, logically.

  Jo sipped her Pimm's. It was now mainly water from the melted ice.

  ‘Jo,' said Bill, 'can I pour you a glass of wine if there's no more Pimm's? Philip's busy.'

  ‘Thank you,' she whispered, and cleared her throat. She mustn't sound as nervous as she felt, it was undignified in a woman of her age, and with her new bra, possibly unnecessary.

  ‘Can I see your garden?' asked Marcus suddenly.

  ‘Of course!' said Jo, delighted at the thought of being relieved of his disturbing presence for a few minutes. She waved an expansive hand. 'Help yourself!'

  ‘No,' he said firmly, 'I want you to show it to me.’

  ‘We'll keep an eye on things here,' said Miranda cheerfully.

  ‘Don't you want to come too?' she asked.

  ‘Oh no, gardens are wasted on me. I'll keep an eye on Philip's barbecue skills and make sure Bill keeps the glasses topped up.' Miranda smiled encouragingly – to Jo's fevered mind, like a chaperone giving her charge permission to dance with a much-approved-of partner.

  There was nothing for it, she would have to show Marcus round her garden and be on her own with him for the first time virtually since they'd got out of the same bed. It would have been easier if she hadn't always felt gardens to be particularly sensual places. It was the fragrance, the velvety textures, the gentle rustlings – they all combined to make Jo feel gooey, even when she wasn't with a man she'd recently had a life changing sexual experience with. She shivered despite the warmth of the day.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She led him down the path, wishing, for the first time, that she hadn't designed it to lead all round the garden the longest way possible, ending with a bench in a secluded corner. A rose which should have been tied back hung over it creating dappled, scented shade. She dreaded reaching it – her emotions might explode. She knew she felt the same about him but she still wondered if he'd meant what he'd said that evening. She had convinced herself that it had just been a one-night stand, and he hadn't even texted her. But he was here now, clearly upset about something.

 
She stopped several times on the way, hoping to bore him into going back to the others. She didn't trust herself to be alone with him. 'I used to grow vegetables there -just a few things, sugar snap peas, runner beans, things like that. My parsley patch has survived though. And I'm very fond of my golden hop although it does need a bit of training..

  His blatant lack of interest stopped her. He took her by the arm and Jo regretted insisting to the lad who created them for her that the paths should be wide enough for two people to walk abreast. 'I don't want to talk about herbaceous borders, I want to talk about us.’

  Jo caught her breath. 'Is there an "us"?' She had assumed, in the moments when she forced herself to have a reality check (something she did as little as possible), that she and Marcus weren't meant to be. Why should he want to stick with a woman of fifty when he could so easily get one so much younger?

  ‘I don't know. You and Philip seemed to be very cosy. You called him "darling".’

  She turned to him. 'Oh, that's just habit!'

  ‘Is it? You really don't want to go back to him?'

  ‘I told you before, no, and anyway, I couldn't. His girlfriend is pregnant. All this is hers now.' And then she did what she most wanted not to do and burst into tears.

  His arms went round her automatically and she found herself sobbing on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath her cheek. 'Listen, Joanna, I only want you to be happy. If this is what you want, this house, this garden and… Philip, I'll back off. But..

  Why oh why did he stop speaking just when he seemed about to say something wonderful. 'But what?' She looked up at him, aware that a tear-stained face was not attractive after the age of about eighteen.

  He lowered his head and kissed her cheek. 'You silly woman. I want you for myself.’

  Jo sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand and then wiped her hand on her new linen skirt. 'Come on, let's go down here where we can sit and I can compose myself. We mustn't be long though, people will talk.'

  ‘As long as we talk first, I don't care.' He took her hand and led her to the rose-shaded area by the bench.

  ‘I think this rose is called Lady Hillingdon, but I can't remember.'

  ‘I don't care a flying-f- fish what it's called.' Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her properly.

  For the first few moments Jo worried about being seen from the house and then she forgot there was a house and just let herself be kissed until she began to kiss him back. She was clinging onto him to stop her knees buckling and then she guided them both to the bench so they could sit down. At last they broke apart.

  ‘I hadn't made that part up then,' said Marcus.

  ‘What do you mean?' She was breathless and still not quite in the present.

  ‘We do have the most amazing sexual chemistry.' Her reply was a shuddering sigh.

  ‘Joanna, if you want a house and a garden like this, I can give you one. You don't have to live on Hildegarde, which I admit is hardly perfect – or any barge.'

  ‘It's a bit early – I mean, this has come as a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Has it? Surely you knew how I felt about you?'

  ‘I thought it was just lust,' she muttered, blushing profusely.

  ‘Lust is a much underrated emotion,' said Marcus, and turned her chin with his finger so he could kiss her again.

  Foolishly, Jo opened her mouth to protest and was lost to his onslaught.

  ‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' said a rather red-faced Philip. 'Take your hands off my wife.'

  ‘Sorry, I couldn't stop him coming,' said Miranda from behind Philip. 'And I can see you obviously don't need me now,' and then she tiptoed away.

  ‘I think you relinquished your claims to Joanna when you took up with another woman,' said Marcus, getting to his feet.

  Jo inched back into the corner of the bench. If she got up too, the rose would take someone's eye out.

  ‘That's not the point! How dare you come to my house and make love to my wife?' Philip went on, his voice rising in anger.

  ‘Philip,' said Jo sternly. 'Marcus is right. I'm not your wife any more. You left me for another woman.' She didn't press the point about how much younger Samantha was or the fact that she was pregnant.

  Philip looked at her with a mixture of bewilderment and pleading. 'Jo, if you want to come back here, I'll work things out with Sam… Seeing you here, in your proper home, made me realise..

  Jo got to her feet, ready to explode with indignation, but before she could, Karen arrived, closely followed by Tom and Dora. Jo removed the eye-threatening spray of Lady Hillingdon and took a deep breath.

  ‘This is really neither the time nor the place for this conversation,' she began, faintly surprised to hear this old cliché coming from her own lips. 'We have guests. Come along, back to the barbecue, everyone.’

  Rather to her surprise, they all followed her meekly down the path. Even through her distress she couldn't help thinking how like a bad television drama the whole situation was, involving as it did a lot of designer shoes, short skirts and St Tropez fake tan.

  Bill was happily turning over steaks and chicken breasts, oblivious to the drama going on at the end of the garden path.

  ‘Have another drink, everyone,' said Miranda, greeting the party as it arrived back on the patio, correctly assuming that Philip's hosting skills would have deserted him. 'Sukie and I were just saying how lovely your garden is, Jo. And there's food ready.'

  ‘Thank you.' Jo's gratitude wasn't just for this informa tion but also for Miranda taking over the social bit for her. She struggled to become the hostess again. 'I think we should all get eating. Sukie, Cliff, help yourselves to some garlic bread.' She looked at the bread and realised she had absolutely no recollection of making it. Was this early-onset Alzheimer's or had Marcus's kisses wiped her memory? There was a moment's hiatus where Jo prayed that everyone would go on pretending that there had been no scene at the end of the garden. Plates were passed, knives and forks distributed, bottles clinked against glasses.

  ‘What's going on?' demanded Karen, just when Jo had started to relax a little.

  ‘Darling, I don't think-' Jo began.

  Marcus interrupted her. 'I was having a private conver sation with your mother, and your father..

  Philip exhaled loudly and indignantly.

  ‘I do wish everyone would just get eating,' said Jo, clinging desperately to her duties as hostess.

  ‘Yes, come along.' Miranda came to her rescue. 'Tom, Dora, Cliff, Sukie, everyone, fill your plates. I would just hate to see all this lovely food wasted.’

  Thankfully, everyone did as they were told and settled themselves on seats, or the wall, depending on age and need for comfort, and began eating. Then Dora noticed that Jo hadn't got anything. She leapt up and put a bit of salad and a lamb chop on a plate and brought it to her. 'There you are, eat that.'

  ‘Can I have a fork, do you think?' said Jo.

  ‘Oh goodness, here.’

  There was a moment's reprieve from the ghastly scene that was about to erupt while everyone except Jo chewed and murmured about how nice it all was. Jo couldn't have eaten if she'd been paid ten pounds a mouthful.

  Marcus had taken a plate as far away as he could and still be on the patio. Philip shot him sidelong glances of resentment and dislike from time to time. Jo almost expected little snarls to emerge from him, as from a jealous dog.

  Jo got up. Staying seated made her feel trapped. She handed things round, noting cynically that although Philip and Marcus were treating her like an old bone, she couldn't help feeling they may not have shown any interest in her at all if the other hadn't been present.

  Bill, Sukie and Cliff were all looking a little startled but politely chose to ignore the air of tension and kept up a discussion about barges with admirable valour. Miranda seemed to be having a one-sided conversation with Philip about antiques and Tom and Dora were telling Karen all about the festival. Marcus was just sitting there, watching everyone in
silence.

  Jo could bear it no longer and, mumbling something about more bread, she headed resolutely towards the kitchen. Once inside, she rested her head on the cool surface of the worktop and sighed.

  ‘Jo?' She heard Marcus say quietly behind her.

  She lifted her head and turned towards him. There was a gentle but resolute air about him.

  `Jo?' he said again. 'I've never been with a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with – until now.’

  His words made her heart contract. She looked up at him and saw how much he meant them in his eyes, but she just couldn't speak.

  ‘I'm staying at the White Swan,' he said. 'I know you can't leave your guests just now, much as I yearn to carry you away, it wouldn't be fair. I want you to come because you want to be there as much as I want you to be there. No pressure.' Then he was gone.

  Almost, Jo could have laughed at his words. Pressure from something, it could have been love, was building up in her diaphragm until it threatened to burst out of her, in the form of either tears or laughter.

  She stood still for a few minutes, her mind in turmoil. Her guests were outside wondering what was going on but were thankfully too British to demand an explanation. And as for Karen and Philip…

  ‘Mum, there's something going on between you and Marcus, isn't there?' Karen said as she and Philip materialised in the kitchen behind her.

  Karen looked so vulnerable and yet so defiant, Jo knew she had to tell them the truth. 'Yes,' she said quietly.

  ‘And you think you can trust him?' Philip said. 'He's never had much of track record..

  Jo bristled, her resolve strengthening. 'If you don't mind me pointing this out,' she said, more calmly than she felt, 'your own staying power seems a bit lacking of late.’

  Philip harrumphed. 'I may have made a mistake.'

  ‘I'm sure you have,' said Jo, suddenly feeling very tired, 'but it's too late to undo it.'

  ‘Would you go back to Dad if you could?' asked Karen. Jo looked at her daughter and shook her head. 'No. I'm sorry, darling, but I couldn't. Not now.'

  ‘Jo, I can sort things out, really I can-' Philip insisted.