“Jesus, Mark, the children!”
He sighed. “I know I’m not much of a father, Holly, but even I wouldn’t leave them at home on their own.”
“I didn’t think you would!” I exclaimed, and then the realisation of exactly how much trouble he’d had to go to for me dawned on me.
“Who did you get?”
“I rang Dawn.”
“Dawn? But what about Daniel?”
“The last time I checked she had a husband of her own?”
“Oh God!” I put my hand over my eyes.
“Look, I told her I had an emergency to go out to. Your sordid secret is still safe.”
“It’s not a sordid –” I started to object, but stopped myself. To be fair, it was sordid enough and I was very glad that he hadn’t told her the real reason behind his emergency. “It’s not sordid,” I finished, “but thank you, I appreciate you not telling her.”
“You’re welcome.”
And that had been literally the last word spoken between us.
After what seemed like hours we’d arrived back at the house.
Dawn had looked at me in surprise.
“Holly! I wasn’t expecting to see you. Don’t you look gorgeous?”
“Doesn’t she just,” Mark said drily. “I knew Holly would be coming home around this time so I rang her to see if she’d like a lift.”
“Well, you certainly couldn’t let her wander around the countryside looking like that!”
“Indeed.” Mark wasn’t even trying to conceal the sarcasm in his voice.
I knewDawn was just trying to be nice but I felt like screaming at her to shut up.
By the time I managed to get her to stop babbling on, Mark had gone to bed and I hadn’t seen him since.
And now he was home for lunch.
He walked into the kitchen to where we were sitting but, before I could even look up, Amber said her clearest words to date.
“Holly cry.”
“Amber!” I hissed, before muttering, “I wasn’t crying. I had something in my eye.”
“Of course.” He walked over to the fridge.
“Amber, if you’re finished would you like to go and pick out a jigsaw?” I said.
She scampered out of the room and, taking a deep breath, I said, “Look, Mark, I want to thank you for –”
But before I could finish my sentence, he put down a set of keys on the kitchen table.
“I only came home to give you these. Fenton’s wife is changing her car. It’s yours if you want it.”
I opened my mouth to object, but he put up his hand to stop me.
“Just take it. I’d rather you had your own transport when something like last night happens again.”
I closed my mouth.
He turned to leave the room, and then stopped.
“And Holly, don’t fool yourself. It will happen again.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter 38
After the door shut behind him, the house was quiet. Amber was in the playroom taking out every jigsaw she owned and I didn’t care. I had turned off my phone as I wasn’t up to finding out what was worse, knowing Oliver was trying to ring me and not answering, or knowing he wasn’t . . .
I had half an hour until we were due at the Mother and Toddler Group.So I did what I’d started doing with any spare minute I had, and brought down my laptop.
Though to be honest, even the babyline was getting complicated these days.
It had all started simply enough. I’d logged on as MarshaG to ask about my fictional three-year-old’s messy poos. Having got a more comprehensive response than I ever could have imagined, I’d relayed all my findings to Mrs Fagan, advising firmly that she discuss any moves with her doctor first. After all, the last thing I wanted was to be logging on next week asking about a child who didn’t poo at all . . .
And I would have left it at that. Except the next time I logged on there was a raft of enquiries wondering how I’d goton.
These enquiries ranged from Suki10 wondering if I’d gone to the doctor and Dingdongdell inviting me to some giant babyline coffee morning in Bewleys. Oh, and some other poster called Goatgirl was offering me a month’s supply of “goat products”.
There was nothing for it but more lies. So I replied that I’d consulted the doctor, started her on the lactose-free milk and that her poo was now second to none. And of course I’d thanked them all emphatically for their help but that I wasn’t free the morning of the coffee meet-up as I was getting my ingrown toenail removed. I even told Goatgirl that my neighbour had a goat and that he’d kindly offered me lots of “goat products” but that I’d contact her as soon as I had a shortage.
And again, I should have left it there.
But well, I was lonely, and they were nice girls, and there was a bit of chat, and one thing led to another. To make a long story short, when I had to start keeping a notebook with notes on the character I’d created, I knew I’d gone too far.
Within a week, MarshaG had been developed to be the proud mother of four children. DS1 was five, and in school – I’d decided it was probably no harm to create him in case Jamie had any school issues – and of course the messy poo DD was three. And then, in a moment of madness, I’d decided that twins of four months would be useful – I mean, there was bound to be some mad new mother in the village that was going to have some crazy question for me. That was when things got really complicated. But, the thing was, I had zero baby experience – the only baby I’d ever been within ten feet of was Dawn’s Daniel, and I didn’t think it would be realistic for one poor baby to have all the ailments that I might need advice on.
For example, I was about to head out now to the Mother and Toddler Group where some variation of baby argument was always underway: correct time to start solids, which car seat, which buggy, which formula . . . I swear, no wonder mothers with babies stick together – no one else could listen to that kind of obsessing, over and over and over again.
Then of course there had to be a father for all these children. I’d deliberated a lot over him. I wanted someone who wasn’t around much. I’d toyed with a businessman type but, in the end, my evil streak had created a long-distance truck driver for poor Marsha.
I swear, the girls on the babyline thought I was a martyr altogether.
But I’d settled into my groove with MarshaG. I found that it was grand, so long as I kept one eye on my notes. I’d nearly given everything away once when I’d got the sex of the twins mixed up, but the babyliners had all given a virtual nod of understanding when I blamed baby-brain for the misunderstanding.
So it all ran along fine untilI got involved in the discussion at the school gate about little Ben Thompson and the fact that, at one year of age, he still wasn’t sitting up.
And MarshaG didn’t have a one-year-old.
So there was nothing for it but to register a second time. SlippyDippy was created solely for her non-sitting-one-year-old DS, and the whole thing began again . . .
But the babyline had its funny times too. Last Saturday morning, when I’d eventually got the new playroom sorted and found a spare five minutes to myself, I’d logged on only to find a thread titled “Dishy Dentist on the Late Late”.
It had to be . . .
It was.
Unlike my mother, the babyline ladies had no problem with how Chad had looked on Friday night. What they didn’t say they’d like to do to my squeaky-clean, dazzling-gnashered brother! My mother would be drowning him in Holy Water if she knew. By the end of the discussion there were ladies offering to “slightly damage” each other’s molars just so they’d have an excuse to make an appointment with my darling brother.
I sighed at the memory of that thread. Yes, it was definitely getting complicated. I closed the laptop and went to get Amber ready for going out.
“So where were you going all dressed up last night?”
We were walking down to the community centre when Dawn asked the question I’d been drea
ding.
“Oh, nowhere in particular,” I answered, trying to sound coy, while really feeling like telling her to mind her own business. That damn dress – I felt like binning it at this stage.
“Eh sorry – but nobody wears a dress like that to nowhere in particular! I think there must be a man on the scene . . .”
I grunted without meaning to.
“Oh dear. Touchy subject?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“Did you have a row?”
“Kind of.” She was going to guess I wasn’t in good humour anyway so there was no harm in telling some of the truth.
“Was it over Mark collecting you?”
I had to laugh. Damn, this girl was good. I nodded.
“Oh but that’s okay – it’s good he’s jealous!”
“Well, he has no reason to be.” I hadn’t the heart to tell her that short of shaving my head and sitting naked on O’Connell Street, there was very little else I could do to show Oliver how serious I was about our relationship.
“Oh, come on! I know you don’t think so, but Mark is a very good-looking guy.”
Automatically my hand went to my cheek as it started to flame at the memory of his kiss. I wasn’t going to admit this to her, but she was right. There was no escaping the fact that I was starting to find one side of Mark very attractive. For example, despite my embarrassment the night before, I was very impressed at the effort he’d made to rescue me from a pub in the back end of nowhere. I mean, he’d literally swooped in like a knight in shining armour and the fact that my plight had even concerned him impressed me no end. I’d spent the most part of my life looking after myself and someone putting themselves out like that for me was definitely a novelty and it certainly didn’t bode well that Oliver had been prepared to leave me to my own devices.
But there was a whole other side to him that made my blood boil. He was grumpy, aloof, cold and had worse mood swings than any woman I knew. He could be smiling and chatty one minute and an absolute asshole the next. He also had a bad habit of making me feel like an absolute fool and, God knows, I was well able to do that much myself.
“With a very dead wife whom he still can’t speak about,” I retorted, my quick inner review of all his bad points helping me to come back to my senses. “I doubt he’ll ever go out with anyone again. And if he does, God help her, she’llnever live up to Emma Fielding! Though I’m sure Tara Harper would give it a pretty good shot.”
“Tara who?”
“Oh, his boss’s daughter. Blonde, blue-eyed, face like a cherubic angel.”
“And they’re going out?”
“Not that I know of, but come on, how suitable would she be? She understands the business, the hours, and from the way she simpers at him at the moment he can do no wrong.”
“Holly Green! Are you jealous?”
“No!” I almost screeched, embarrassed at my Tara-rant. “Mark Fielding is not, and never will be, my type. End of story!”
“Okay, okay, I believe you. But to be fair, it’s not me you should be telling, is it? That poor man of yours is probably feeling a bit insecure – what with a hunky man swooping in to rescue you! Were you talking to him today at all?”
“Yep. I hung up on him. And then turned off my phone.” Damn her, I was starting to feel now like I might have overreacted.I suppose if the shoe was on the other foot and some Amazon had swept in and bundled Oliver home in a jeep I wouldn’t be too impressed either.
“Oh, come on. Give him a ring.”
“No way.” No, I wouldn’t go that far. But I did guiltily take my phone out of my pocket and switch it back on.
If he rang, he rang.
By now we’d reached the Community Centre. All the usual crowd were there. Maureen Costello was in full flow at one end of the room, with two girls I didn’t know already developing a glassy-eyed look from listening to her.
I got my coffee and sat down as far away from her as possible. I really just wasn’t in the mood today. Now that my phone was switched on, the fact that it hadn’t rung was really starting to worry me.
To make matters worse, all everyone was talking about today was that Christmas was fast approaching and how little they’d all done.
I felt like turning around and snapping at them that at least they knew what country they’d be celebrating it in and more importantly who with!
Listening to them, I felt even more depressed. I’d been looking forward to Christmas so much. It was going to be me and Oliver, walking through the snow in Central Park, ice-skating at the Rockefeller Centre. Lying, our limbs entangled, watching old movies and eating chestnuts roasted on an open fire.
Or whatever.
If there was a clichéd romantic Christmas situation to be imagined, I’d imagined it.
And now, everything was all up in the air again.
In three weeks it would be Christmas Eve. And my entire life was spiralling out of control.
“Hey, what’s up with you today?” Ellen asked, noticing my doleful expression.
“Oh she had a little row with her boyfriend,” said Dawn.
Great, now the entire female population of the village knew my business. I was about to murder her for saying anything when inside my pocket my phone began to ring.
I took it out, and sure enough Oliver’s name was flashing on the display. I no longer cared who knew anything about me!
“It’s him!” I hissed at Dawn. “Keep an eye on Amber for me, will you?”
I dashed from the hall to whoops and calls of “Good luck!” from the assembled mammies.
I waited to get outside before answering.
“Yes?” I said, trying not to sound as if I’d just run fifty feet to answer the phone and that my heart wasn’t hammering in my chest with anxiety. In fact, for a second I thought I’d overdone it and that my voice was too cold.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
Scratch that. Coldness was perfect. In fact, more was needed . . .
“For what exactly? For standing me up, or for shouting at me today?”
“Both. Honestly, Holly. It’s just that it drives me mad, not getting to see you, not knowing what you’re up to. You don’t understand.”
I almost melted with relief and felt like punching the air screaming ‘He loves me, he loves me!’ but I knew I had to keep calm for just a few more minutes . . .
“How could I not understand, Oliver? This situation is not much better from where I’m standing.”
“I know, I know. Anyway, look, I want to make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, my voice softer now.
“I know, but I want to. How do you feel about a whole weekend away, just the two of us?”
How would I feel?
I’d feel like this was way too good to be true, that’s how I’d feel . . .
I’d wonder how you were going to get away for a full weekend when you couldn’t manage three hours last night . . .
“How would you manage that?” I couldn’t keep the scepticism from my voice.
“Look, I’ll manage. Now, what do you think?”
“When are you talking about?” Now that the offer seemed to be genuine, I was getting worried about the practicalities. After all, I had responsibilities . . .
“This weekend. I’m meant to be at a course in London, but what if we were to head down the country instead?”
This weekend. Shit. Mark would be on duty.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? I thought you’d be thrilled?”
“I am, I am! It’s just I had something else on. Let me see if I can rearrange it, that’s all.”
“Something else on? Well, if you don’t want to go!” He sounded huffy now.
“I do! For God’s sake, of course I do. I’ll work something out, I promise!”
“Well, I’ll see you then.”
“Eh yes, I suppose you will.”
I returned to the hall, deep in thought.
“Well?” came the
chorus.
I’d forgotten that the entire room was waiting with bated breath to see if my relationship was back on.
“Everything’s okay,” I smiled. There was a communal sigh of relief from the mammies, who then went back to their respective conversations on weaning or whatever.
“You don’t look like everything’s okay,”saidDawn, wisely noticing that I was not exactly jumping around the room with joy.
“He wants to take me away for the weekend,” I said glumly.
“What? That’s brilliant!”
“Not really. It’s Mark’s weekend on. What am I going to do?”
“You are going to go,” said Dawn firmly. “We’ll sort something out. I can mind them.”
“Oh Dawn, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? Maybe you can pay me back sometime when me and Graham go away on a dirty weekend!”
“Yes. Yes, of course I would,” I said lamely, knowing that there was every possibility that I wasn’t going to be around for that.
“Well, that’s sorted. Now you just have to tell Mark.”
Yes. All I had to do was tell Mark.
My stomach lurched at the thought.
Chapter 39
“You’rewhat?”
I winced at the look of fury on Mark’s face even though I’d been totally prepared for this kind of reaction.
“Look, I understand it’s my weekend to work, so honestly, if it’s really a big problem, it’s fine, I’ll cancel.” I was aware that I was babbling, but at this stage my whole body was shaking with pure nerves.
“I’m not talking about the fact that you are meant to be working – I’m just really surprised that, after last night, a seemingly intelligent girl like you would be, you know –”
Oh God, not this again.
“He’s really sorry. Honestly, something came up and he just couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, something came up alright.”
“Mark!”
“It’s not good enough. He left you stranded, Holly.”
“It wasn’t his fault that I forgot my phone and wallet,” I said defensively.
“So what about his wife? I’m presuming she knows nothing about what the two of you are up to?”
Between You and Me Page 25