Between You and Me

by Margaret Scott

  “There must be a light here somewhere,” I muttered, fumbling about in the darkness with my hand. Ha! I found the switch and flicked it on.

  Looking around I recognised all the boxes that Harry had carried up for me the morning we’d cleaned out Emma’s study. Then I spotted the last, smaller box and remembered that it contained all the photographs. Out of pure curiosity I dragged it over and opened it.

  I don’t know what I was looking for really. I suppose I just wanted to torment myself with another peek at how Mark’s life had been before the tragedy of his wife’s death had turned him into such a cold, tortured soul.

  The albums seemed to be in date order, and I picked one of the earlier ones first. In each shot Emma was the epitome of life, radiant and glowing and laughing. But in every one of those pictures, my eyes were drawn to Mark and the look of utter pride on his face. My heart twisting slightly with jealousy, I opened the next album. These seemed more recent; some of them included shots of the children. Again in every shot Emma had her head flung back, but in these Mark seemed tired, strained – obviously at this stage he was working every hour God sent him. In one particular shot, it looked like Amber’s christening, his face was visibly thunderous next to Emma’s animated laughter and I wondered what client he was worrying about.

  Comforted by the fact that he looked grumpy even then, and slightly puzzled that in every shot Emma looked the picture of health, I closed the album, packed it back into its box, and made my way down the ladder to fetch the last of the presents.

  Afterwards I wandered aimlessly around the empty house, picking up stray toys and straightening cushions. It was almost seven o’clock – surely he’d be back soon? I started to get dinner ready. I’d bought two nice steaks and had just about enough energy to peel potatoes for homemade chips. I’d have opened a bottle of wine but for the fiasco the night before.

  Anyhow, I wasn’t sure my stomach could take it.

  At eight o’clock I could wait no longer. I started to cook, hoping that at any minute he’d come through the door to the smell of steak and onions wafting through the house.

  You sad bitch.

  By eight thirty, there was nothing for it but to cover his meal and sit at the prettily laid table, alone, and start to eat.

  Bet you feel silly now.

  At nine, I could keep my eyes open no longer. I got up from the table and started to scrape my dish into the bin. I heard the sound of the front door open and someone tiptoe down the hall towards the kitchen.

  “Oh! I thought you’d be in bed,” Mark said when he saw me.

  “Sorry to disappoint you – don’t worry, I’m going now,” I said, putting my dish in the dishwasher.

  I hadn’t meant to sound so cross, but I couldn’t help it.

  “I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” he said. Then he spotted the place laid for him at the table and he winced. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know –”

  “Of course you didn’t. Don’t mind me, I’m just tired.”

  “Well, I’m still sorry – I ate at Fenton’s, we had some stuff to discuss and, well, time got away from me.”

  “Mark, it’s okay.” I couldn’t even look at him. It was so obvious that he’d stayed out for as long as he could in the hope that I’d be in bed when he got home. Well, he could have what he wanted, I was going to bed. “You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

  “What are you talking about?” He stepped in my way as I tried to leave the kitchen.

  “You know what I’m talking about.” I stood there, barely inches away from him and looked him straight in the eye.

  “Oh.”

  “Look, it’s fine, forget it.”

  He leaned back against the door frame and now it was his turn to avoid eye contact.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, and I suppose I was putting it off. I’m sorry, Holly, but –”

  “It’s okay,” I interrupted quickly, “You’re absolutely right. It should never have happened.”

  “It’s not that –”

  But I’d heard enough, I ducked under his arm and ran from the room.

  Chapter 53

  Rrrrrrrrrrrriiinnnng

  Rrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiinnng

  I leapt at the sound of my phone penetrating the night. I pulled it quickly out from under my pillow to see Oliver’s name flashing on the screen. Everything came flooding back to me and with a sinking heart I remembered that I hadn’t returned his call the night before. Now he was going to be annoyed with me too.

  “Oliver?”

  “Hi.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call back, the phone was flat and I fell asleep and –”

  “I have some news.”

  I shot up in the bed. “News? What news?” All the time my head trying to figure out what news he could possibly have at seven thirty on a Sunday morning.

  “I’m on my way. We’re going to New York, baby!”

  “We’re what? When?”

  “Today?”

  “What? Today? Wait – you got the promotion? But it’s Sunday? You got promoted on a Sunday?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Well then, what? Oh! You broke up with Catherine? Is that it?”

  “Look, it’s a really long story. I’ll tell you all about it on the plane. How soon can you be packed? If we don’t make today’s flight we can stay somewhere in town tonight. The dream starts here, baby!”

  “Whoa – what’s a long story? That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve broken up with her, haven’t you?”

  “Jesus Christ, Holly, yes, I have.” He paused. “Kind of. She broke up with me actually. Can you believe it, it’s quite funny really.”

  I started to get a really strange feeling in my stomach.

  “Oliver, I’m not finding it that funny to be honest. I need to know what happened. Now.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Holly, what does it matter? She found out, right? She found out about you, she went berserk and, well, threw me out. What does it matter?”

  “She found out about me?” I almost screamed into the phone. “How?”

  He started to laugh sheepishly. “I told you it was funny. Remember that night we stayed in Rathmoylan House? I put it on the wrong bloody credit card.”

  “Oh, Oliver.”

  “I know, it’s a bit of a cliché alright but, come on,what does it matter? She went mad, so what? We never need to see her again.”

  “So no promotion?” I said slowly. I felt there was something I was missing – but my head felt like it was full of cotton wool and I couldn’t think.

  “Holly, come on! There you go again, stressing the negative! This time tomorrow we’ll be in the Big Apple, in the US of A, just me and you. I kind of thought this might be a nice surprise.” He sounded hurt now.

  “It is, of course it is.” I rubbed my eyes, wondering how much of this would have filtered back to the New York office by the time I got there. “Just give me a minute, Oliver, I need to think.” My head felt like it was spinning.

  Oh Christ. Mark. What was I going to tell him?

  “Now hold on,” I said. “I can’t just get up and leave here at the drop of a hat.”

  “Why not?”

  Yes, Holly, why not?

  I was starting to realise that this might just be the answer to all my problems. This time tomorrow I could be back in New York, and this horrible nightmare would be behind me.

  For God’s sake – this whole stupid plan had worked.

  I had what I wanted.

  I had Oliver.

  “Hey, you there?” Oliver sounded concerned.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re crying?”

  “Yes,” I said, now half laughing and crying.

  “Well, look, I’ve a few things to tidy up this end, and then I’ll be down for you. You’d better text me your address. I presume on this occasion it’s okay to come to the house. Hairy is not going to punch my lights out or anythin
g?”

  “No. He’s not here.” With a sinking heart I remembered that Oliver thought I was living with Harry, not Mark.The same Markwho would be here, waiting for the children who were due home at lunchtime.

  Oh God, the children – I couldn’t go without saying goodbye to them.

  “Look, I can’t go until lunchtime – I need to pack and –”

  “Right, well, I’ll ring you when I’m on my way down.”

  When he hung up, I sank back down into the sanctuary of my warm bed, the now quiet phone still clutched in my hand.

  Oliver was on his way.

  This whole awful saga was almost over.

  I would be gone from this house by lunchtime, never to return again.

  I replayed his words over and over in my head, a habit cultivated over the last few weeks.

  I will tell her.

  I will go to New York with you.

  Some day we will be together all the time.

  He hadn’t been lying. He was on his way.

  And there I lay, curled in my small, single bed under the eaves, like a child, my arms automatically clutching my stomach, marvelling at the dull, nagging pain that was sending it into knots.

  For God’s sake, this is good news, Holly.

  How long had I waited for this moment?

  We’re going to New York, baby!

  I had dreamt of this moment, of Oliver telling Catherine calmly and quietly, telling her that they were breaking up, that he was leaving to go to New York. That there were no hard feelings, but that he was moving on.

  But that wasn’t what had happened, was it? He hadn’t told her, she’d found out. She’d found out and from the sounds of it had thrown him out without further discussion.

  Catherine Taylor found out her boyfriend was cheating and didn’t want him any more. I almost laughed aloud. Never, in my wildest dreams, when I’d imagined this situation, had I thought for a second that my admiration would lie with Catherine, and not Oliver.

  Fair play to her.

  She’d done what I hadn’t.

  And that was it. The nagging feeling in my stomach was one of disappointment. I was disappointed that my moment had been somewhat sullied by one minor detail.

  Oliver hadn’t told her.

  He’d been caught.

  Oh for the love of God, Holly, what does it matter?

  I swung my legs out of the bed and sat up. I had to pack. He was going to come and collect me.

  I had to tell Mark.

  Oh God, Mark.

  I decided to wait until I heard him get up. There was no way I was going to go knocking on his bedroom door,that was for sure.

  I showered and changed while I waited and put my make-up on.

  I definitely needed make up for this.

  When I heard movement downstairs, I went down. He was in the kitchen.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi. Tea?” he asked, turning towards the kettle.

  “Mark, I need to speak to you.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He didn’t turn around. I was almost glad. It made it easier.

  “I’m leaving,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, “I thought you might. Where are you going to go?”

  “New York. With Oliver. Like we planned.”

  Still he wouldn’t turn around. He stayed with his back to me, methodically dunking tea bags in and out of mugs.

  “When?” His voice was quiet. I could hardly hear him.

  “Today, as soon as the kids get back.”

  He stopped dunking the tea bag.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I know it’s short notice, but, well, he’s onhis way.”

  “And what about his girlfriend?”

  “She knows apparently. It’s all over.”

  “You’d better get packing so.”

  Oh, turn around, you coward!

  I felt like screaming at him. But I didn’t. There was no point.

  He was right.

  I had packing to do.

  Chapter 54

  I went up to my room and sank down on the bed. It was all too much to take in.

  Oliver was on his way.

  To get me.

  And I had to pack, but I didn’t know where to start. I looked around the tiny room, at the entire contents of the last six weeks of my life. Coiling my laptop lead around my hand, I resisted the urge to open the babyline for the last time.

  There was no point. I knew I should log on and bid MarshaG’s farewells, but I wouldn’t. I’d seen discussion threads before wondering as to the whereabouts of various absent users – perhaps there’d be one for me eventually.

  I picked up the bundle of child-rearing books and placed them tidily one by one on the shelf beside the bed. I’d leave them for the next nanny. Though hopefully she wouldn’t need them as much as I had.

  But she would need some notes! I couldn’t let her find out everything the hard way like I had! I scrambled around for some paper and a pen but just as I started to scribble down some hasty thoughts, there was a soft knock on the door behind me.

  Without waiting for an answer, Mark came into the room.

  “Have you got a minute?”

  I sighed, and put my notes to one side.

  “I need to talk to you about Emma,” he continued.

  To be fair, I hadn’t expected him to say that. Still I didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to care. He sat down on the bed beside me and began to speak.

  “I absolutely adored her.”

  Okay, stop right there.

  “You know what, Mark? You don’t need to explain anythingto me. It’s fine. It’s all worked out for the best.”

  But he wasn’t listening. “I adored her. But not as much as I hated her.”

  I gasped. If he was trying to catch my attention, he had it.

  “I remember the first time we met. She was a friend of Harry’s.”

  “I know, Harry told me.”

  “Did he? Well, anyway, that should have warned me. I rarely went out with Harry but that particular night was his birthday. She came late. She used to work as a waitress in a little restaurant on Wicklow Street. Wanted to be an actress, you know, but it never really seemed to work out for her. Anyway, I saw her the minute she entered the bar, tall, blonde, quirky. Like no girl I had ever seen before. I’ll never forget it, that feeling of ‘I have to have her’.”

  He gave a bitter laugh.

  “It sounds stupid, but I’ve often thought since that it was like that time we found a baby fox at home – me and Harry wanted to keep him but Mam wouldn’t let us. She said he wouldn’t survive in captivity, so she got Uncle Joe to bring him to the sanctuary. Of course she was right, but we gave her merry hell. Well, Emma was just like that baby fox. I knew she was out of my league, but this time I didn’t give up.”

  I really hadn’t time for this. I put my notes into my bag and stood up to start emptying the wardrobe.

  “The funny thing was,” he continued, “she didn’t put up much of a fight. She seemed to be ready to step outside her bohemian lifestyle. She teased me so much about studying so hard. She thought I took everything too seriously. To Emma, life was one big joke. One big party. She still went out with her arty friends, sometimes not coming home till morning. But I had my finals coming up, so I would study and she would sleep. It didn’t seem to matter as long as we were together. I would look over at her, curled asleep on the bed, knowing, even then, that it was all too good to be true.”

  This was the most words that Mark had spoken to me in all the weeks I’d been with him. Just my luck that he’d decided to chatwhen Oliver was on his way here for me. But there was no way of getting him to stop. So instead, I continued to take clothes off hangers, and he continued to talk.

  “The night of my graduation ball, I was so excited. Because we rarely socialised with the college, I don’t think anyone really believed she existed. I wanted to show her off. Well, she didn’t disappoint. She wore this white dress. Emma didn�
��t do high fashion. She was all floaty and fabulous.”

  I opened my mouth to say ‘I know, I saw the pictures,’ but then closed it again quickly. But he didn’t notice.

  “I can tell you, I was the man that night. I was so goddamn proud I proposed, and six months later we were married and living here in Duncane.”

  He swallowed before continuing.

  “It was all my fault really. Like that poor little fox, Emma couldn’t cope with captivity, with rural life. I knew within a week of moving here that we had made a dreadful mistake. But still I wouldn’t give up. I just wouldn’t admit that Mr Perfect Mark Fielding had messed up. So we ignored the cracks and next thing Emma was pregnant with Jamie. That changed everything for a while. It seemed to give her a purpose, something of her own to obsess about. We were so excited. And then he was born, and he was so perfect. It was all perfect for a while.”

  He seemed to be getting distressed now. I turned but he wasn’t looking at me. He was still just sitting on the bed, staring down at his feet, his hands joined.

  “So what went wrong?” I asked quietly.

  “I had to work! That’s what went wrong – I had to work. I was a first year vet. Fenton had specifically hired me to take over a lot of his clients. I couldn’t say no.” He laughed that bitter laugh again. “Okay, I could have said no to some stuff, but that’s what I do – I work. It was always that way – like when Dad died – who else was going to take over? Harry? Not bloody likely with him off chasing the snow. It’s what I do!I don’t know what happened then. She got lonely, I suppose. Bored. She started heading back up to town the odd evening. I couldn’t blame her, because she’d be on her own here practically all week. Then she’d head up for the odd night, then the odd weekend.”

  “And you let her?”

  “What choice had I? I could hardly say no.I wanted to but how unreasonable would that have been? She said she was staying with her mother, but her mother was no better. Flaky to the core. I bet she didn’t know where she was either. Well, wherever she was she’d come home and I’d know. I could smell the cigarettes, the wine,the cheap aftershave . . . I knew from her face, the way she couldn’t look me in the eye . . . And of course Harry didn’t help.”