by Marc Scott
The interval arrived. A mass exodus from the tables ensued, many heading for the toilet area or the bar, others to the smoking platform outside. Dean opted for a walk to the bar at the far end of the hall. He was still hell bent on getting his money’s worth for hiring out the tuxedo. The drinks were still free, so there was something of a queue at the bar. He suddenly felt a presence behind him and turned around to find Krista. The stare was still there. He knew instantly that he was ‘in the doghouse’.
‘Having a good time?’ she asked in a sarcastic tone. ‘Having a good time making me look stupid?’
‘What?’ Dean asked, turning away to avoid her glaring eye contact.
‘You, with everyone at the table. You pretending to be ‘Mr Perfect’. I am starting to see the real you now.’
Dean looked back at her and shrugged his shoulders. ‘This is me,’ he said. ‘I am not the one putting on an act.’
‘What was all that shit about?’ she asked, mimicking his voice. ‘She is only two and a half, she started playschool last week.’
‘I have a daughter,’ Dean said. ‘You have to learn to deal with that, Nylund.’
Krista raised her voice a little louder. ‘I have been dealing with it every day for more than two years. Could you not have just given it a rest for one night?’
Dean seemed to be avoiding this confrontation. He raised his arm to get the attention of the barman. ‘Drink?’ he asked her.
‘Shove your drink!’ was her immediate response.
At that moment Mrs Penning and one of the table guests walked past them, looking for her husband. Dean and Krista both raised a smile and nodded as if everything was fine between the two of them. Dean was handed a large Jack Daniels by the barman. He seemed happy. Krista was far from happy. ‘You were all over that slutty ginger woman. I saw you, you couldn’t take your eyes off her tits,’ she said.
Dean seemed bemused. ‘What the hell are you talking about? I was just making conversation.’
‘Shame that fake tan can’t hide her freckles,’ Krista pointed out. ‘She looked really ugly when the lights went up.’
Dean sighed. ‘Here we go again, here comes the psycho!’
Krista’s rant continued. ‘And that teenage waitress, is that the type of thing you like, Dean, or do you just do it to wind me up?’
‘You are so paranoid, Nylund, you need to chill out, you are making a fool of yourself.’
‘Paranoid?!’ she said. ‘Paranoid?! Are you not fucking surprised that I am paranoid?’
Dean was taken aback, he rarely heard her use the ‘F’ word unless they were having sex. He started to realise how upset she really was. Krista was now in full swing, she needed to get everything off her chest. ‘You turn up late, again! You spend half your time chatting up some ugly ginger bitch and the hired help and the other half pretending how blissful things are with you and your daughter at home. No, Dean, I am not paranoid, I am angry, I am really angry!’
‘I can hardly sit there holding your hand, can I?’
‘Maybe not, but you could start to appreciate what you have. Half the men in here would love to be sitting where you are tonight and to have what you have with me.’
Dean snapped back at her. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? I made the effort. It was over a hundred quid to hire this bloody monkey suit. I am sitting there listening to them all drone on about the best place to eat when you visit Marbella and all that shit. Isn’t that enough?’
‘If you didn’t want to come tonight you should have said so.’
‘Oh, what and have you on my case, telling me that I never make any effort to be with you.’
‘Well, you don’t, not really. It is always me these days, Dean.’
The bubbly blonde from their table, clearly a little drunk, walked past them at that moment and their heated conversation came to a halt. They both offered her a polite smile as she waddled off to find the toilets. ‘That will teach her to hog the red wine to herself all night,’ Krista said, now seemingly having an axe to grind with most of the guests on their table.
It was Dean’s turn to vent now and he did not hold back. ‘So what was all that shit about you and your boyfriend not being together anymore? Or was that just for other people’s benefit?’
‘He has moved out. We are finished now, for good.’
‘Oh what, like the last time and the time before that?’
‘No, Dean, he has really gone now. It didn’t feel right, sneaking around behind his back all of the time.’
‘So now you expect me to do the same thing with Hannah?’
‘No, Dean, I never said anything because I didn’t want you to feel under any pressure.’
Dean shrugged his shoulders. ‘No pressure on me!’
‘No, of course not, Dean, why would there be? Everything is great in your life, everything is so bloody rosy in Dean Jarvis’s little world!’
‘Here we go again, let’s spoil a perfectly good evening.’
Krista’s anger began to escalate. Dean could see she was almost at breaking point. ‘You don’t get it, Dean, you really don’t get it. I don’t ask for much out of what we have, but you just take the piss, you take me for granted all of the time.’
They broke off their argument to let a couple of stumbling party revellers get nearer to the bar. ‘I see you once, maybe twice a week,’ she continued. ‘It is always when you want to meet. Everything has to work around you.’
Dean didn’t like home truths, but he knew he was in the wrong this time, so he let her continue. ‘You are always late or cancelling at the last minute. You were even late tonight.’ He started to explain the reason, but she spoke over him. ‘Is it too much to ask for a bit more? To ask you if this is really what you want?’
‘You know I can’t leave her, not at this moment. Hannah is not stable, I have told you about her problems. I can’t leave her with Poppy, I told you what she said she is capable of, what she might do.’
Krista looked him in the eye. She had heard this so many times before. ‘I don’t believe you, Dean. I don’t believe that you think she could harm her own daughter. Jesus, you make her sound like she should be locked up in an asylum. If you were really that worried you would report her to Social Services or something.’
‘And risk losing Poppy?’
‘You wouldn’t lose her, Dean. If your wife is really ill, like you say she is, they will give her help. But I am sorry, I just don’t believe you, I think it’s all bullshit. I think you will keep using her illness, if she really is ill, as a reason for staying with her. I don’t know, maybe you still love her. Do you, Dean, do you still love her?’
‘No of course not,’ he said. ‘You can believe what you want.’
The two stood in silence for a few seconds, both regretting some of the things they had just said. Krista began to shake a little, as if she was about to cry. ‘Maybe we should just finish it, Dean. Maybe that would be best for both of us.’
‘No!’ Dean snapped, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him. ‘I can’t lose you!’
And then it happened, as they stood at the crowded bar, face to face, they were close enough to feel one another’s breath, both desperate to taste the other’s lips. He gripped her hand so tightly he almost crushed her tiny fingers. Dean looked deep into her eyes, those mesmerising whirlpools of unbridled temptation. They drew him back in, they sent his ship sailing on towards the dangerous waters, back towards the rocks and the sirens. He knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t say it, but he knew he needed to, the words just left his mouth. ‘I love you, Nylund,’ he said. ‘I can’t lose you, I love you.’
Krista was dumbstruck, she was completely stunned. A dozen or more voices were sounding out behind her back, but she heard nothing, nothing but those three words, a simple sentence that she had never expected to hear that night, or maybe ever. She blushed. In tha
t moment they seemed to be alone. They were surrounded by hundreds of partying revellers, there was loud music piping out from the speakers, but they heard nothing. It was as if they were on a small island, somewhere else, somewhere magical. Krista immediately thought of their visit to the lake.
Dean began to open his mouth to say something, but Krista’s finger stopped him, sealing his lips closed, so she could let those few words linger in her head, words that she had waited almost three years to hear. ‘Don’t say anything else,’ she said. ‘Just don’t say anything else.’ In her mind she wanted those three words to be the last she ever heard. If the world were to end that night, those words would still be resounding in her head. Her heart raced, and she felt slightly giddy. ‘Let’s go back to our table,’ she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the crowd of smart suits and dinner dresses. She was not bothered about any rules they may have. So what if this was a display of public affection, she no longer cared, he had said he loved her, he had said he loved her and that was enough for her.
As they took their seats and shared the remainder of a bottle of Chablis, the toastmaster asked guests to return to their tables for the remainder of the awards ceremony. The constant flash of a busy photographer’s camera could be seen moving around the room, snapping shots of drunken guests, some pulling strange faces, others taking his artistry more seriously. Arriving at the Imediacom table he shouted over to the couple that had exchanged less than a dozen words since that moment at the bar. ‘Smile!’ he said as they faced the camera. ‘Try to look like you are really having fun.’ They didn’t need to try very hard. Krista and Dean looked like a couple that had won the lottery. Their eyes shone like sparkling jewels, their fingers wrapped tightly together. The photographer probably didn’t know it when he took that photograph, but he captured an embrace that would live for all eternity.
The tribute band had received a very mixed reception. They may have dressed like the original artists but sounded nothing like the band they were imitating. Those who thought their covers of one or two classic songs were worth singing along to were either very drunk or had hearing difficulties. Brian Needham gave a closing speech, thanking all for attending and their continued advertising support to the Gazette, the latter being the more important of the two. All that was left was an hour or so of music and dancing, which Dean and Krista decided to watch rather than join in. Dean, as was his way, ridiculed most of the guests’ moves on the dance floor, not that any of them seemed too bothered. The topics of conversation had been limited since Dean’s declaration of his love, but there were no more mentions of Hannah or Poppy and no further shows of jealousy from an ever-smiling Krista. Their hands parted just once, when Dean raced across to steal a half bottle of wine from another table as its guests were departing.
As the night began to wind down the happy couple’s attention was drawn to the man who had been sitting next to Krista at the table. He was dancing very closely with the busty redhead. They seemed to be whispering in one another’s ear, his hands, at the time, placed firmly on the woman’s buttocks. ‘I wonder if they will end up fucking,’ Dean said. ‘Maybe we should give them the number for that Regal place we stayed at last year.’ Krista thought about his comment for a few seconds. ‘The Regal Deluxe rooms,’ she said. ‘Oh my god! That was such a disgusting shithole, Dean. I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone.’ She suddenly started scratching her arms. ‘It makes me itch just to think about that place.’
Dean smirked and then a large smile appeared on his face. ‘But it was a great night there though. I wouldn’t have changed that night, would you?’
Krista’s eyes lit up and her beaming smile matched his. ‘Not for anything in the world,’ she replied.
George Penning and his wife said their farewells to their employees and guests, George giving Dean a hard stare as he shook his hand. ‘He has never liked me,’ Dean observed. ‘Your boss, the tortoise man, he has never really liked me.’
Krista smiled. ‘Not many people do at our place, Dean. In fact, I think I am the only one at our offices that tolerates you.’
He saw the funny side of her comment and was lost for words for a few seconds. Suddenly he spotted something which had clearly amused him. ‘Look, Nylund,’ he said. ‘Over there in the corner,’ pointing out that their table guests had gone from smooching on the dancefloor to fully locked lips. ‘Lucky bastard!’ he added, a comment which Krista showed her contempt for by giving him a hefty dig in his ribs.
‘Wait ‘til he sees her in the lights,’ she said. ‘He will run a mile.’
As the bar finally closed and flocks of staggering revellers started to search for taxi numbers, Dean clutched Krista’s hand tightly. ‘So,’ he asked, ‘if it is not the Regal Deluxe and it is too far to get to the lake, where are we going tonight?’
The answer was instantaneous. ‘Back to mine of course!’ she said.
Finishing the remains of his drink he pulled her close to his chest and gazed directly into her beautiful eyes. ‘Is that a good idea?’ he asked.
Krista nodded. ‘Yes, but you will need something when we get there, otherwise we might have a problem.’ Dean looked slightly puzzled by her remark, until she produced a tiny key for the padlock on her dress and slipped it into his hand. ‘And I love you too, Dean, with all my heart.’
It was an evening that had brought them closer together, closer than they had ever been before. Dean spent the whole night with the tempestuous siren of his dreams, totally unaware of what the consequences of this stolen night away from his wife would bring.
Chapter Fifteen
The smell of the probation office always reminded Poppy of the butterscotch sauce they served in Chez Blanc. It was clean and fresh, like pine. She assumed that Joe cleaned his room vigorously every night after seeing off the last of his criminal delinquents that day. Maybe, she thought, in a strange way, he really did believe that cleanliness was next to godliness. The room never looked any different to her. The blinds were always half drawn, the comfy black sofa and matching chairs never moved. That awful photograph of his family on his desk was staring out at his visitors. Maybe it was his way of showing his children the type of people that they would become if they strayed onto the path of evil. And there looking down on her from the wall behind his desk was that large clock, the symbol of the time she had spent inside that small prison.
They were more than halfway through their session. As usual Joe had done most of the talking, throwing in the odd biblical parable along the way. It had all been going well until her probation officer began studying a new folder with Poppy’s name on it. She hadn’t noticed this one before, it looked very official. He seemed to be focused on one section of the folder. His facial expressions gave her the impression that something in that report was bothering him. When he left the folder open to refresh his glass with water, Poppy noticed a photograph of herself on the inside cover and quickly realised that the file was something to do with Bronzefield prison.
When he returned to his chair, Manning got straight to the point. ‘I have noticed that you have still not arranged the anger management course, Poppy, the authorities are not very happy about that.’ Poppy did not respond, she knew there would be more to come. ‘You have been telling me for months now that you were going to call Mrs Bishop. I believe she has also tried calling you, without success.’
Poppy knew that her lies had finally caught up with her. She tried a slightly different tack. ‘I think we just keep missing each other. She always calls me when I am busy at work and I didn’t want to call her late at night.’ Her would-be mentor wasn’t really listening, he was still engrossed in the fresh folder. Poppy looked up at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to go and only five sessions left. Take your time with that report, Joe, she thought. Read the whole bloody thing from cover to cover and then read it again, read it ten times if you want, read it until it gets us past eleven o’clock.
But Ma
nning had more questions, he always had more questions. Wiping his glasses, he gave her a stern but friendly stare. ‘It says here that you spent some time at the assessment centre attached to Bronzefield.’
Poppy couldn’t deny it, she hated hearing that word ‘assessment’ again. She simply nodded. ‘They did lots of tests there.’
‘They looked at ways that you could deal with your anger issues,’ Joe said. Poppy didn’t know if that was a question or a statement but nodded again. ‘What sort of tests were they, Poppy?’ Manning asked.
She didn’t have to think hard, she remembered it well, the loud-mouthed American woman and the two softly-spoken staff with painted-on smiles, all of them asking her a million awkward questions and doing all those crazy tests with the colours. She certainly wasn’t going to share any of that with him today. ‘Just tests,’ she said. ‘Just like questions and things.’
Joe was still pawing through all the new reports he had received but there was no let-up in his line of questioning. ‘The report says that the anger management course was a condition of your release, Poppy, that you had to complete a minimum four-month course.’
She had to tell another lie. She hoped it would get him off the subject. ‘I am sure they said it was voluntary, that I could choose. They said I only had to do it if I thought I needed it.’