The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  “How are the girls?” he asked at last.

  “Fine,” Angela replied. “I know they would have sent their love if they’d known I was coming to meet you.”

  “Where do they think you are?” he enquired.

  “At a meeting,” she replied. “They didn’t query it. They’ve got used to the fact that I have to go out or work late some evenings.”

  “Mmm, I suppose they have.” Ian looked across at her. Silence lapsed again. They were getting nowhere. He must take the plunge. He took a deep breath and said, “Angela, we must talk.”

  “Yes, you said on the phone.”

  “Yes, well we must.” He rubbed his cheek with his hand, as if massaging his face. Angela readily recognised this unconscious sign of uncertainty. “It’s just, well I don’t quite know how to put this.”

  “If you’ve something to say, you’d better get on and spit it out,” Angela said coolly. She put down her glass and looked him in the eye across the table. “For God’s sake, get on with it, Ian.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. It isn’t easy.”

  “Then I’d better say it for you,” said Angela tersely. “You and Desirée have decided you want to get married, and so you want a divorce as soon as possible. Don’t worry, I won’t stand in your way…” Her voice trailed away as she saw him shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Well,” she rejoined sharply, “isn’t that what this is all about?”

  “No,” Ian said quietly. “It isn’t.”

  Dignity! She thought, Keep your dignity. So she said nothing and waited for him to explain exactly why they were there.

  “Angela, I have something to tell you. Annabel knows already. I didn’t tell her, she found out by chance, but now she knows it is only fair that you should know too.” He smiled wryly, “I no longer live with Desirée. We’ve split up. She’s moved on.”

  Angela stared at him in disbelief. “What are you saying?” she asked.

  “I’m saying that there is no Desirée in my life any more, and that I wish there never had been.”

  “Why? I mean. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it concerns you the most. You are still my wife. The girls are still my children.”

  “Didn’t suit you to remember that when you wanted Desirée, did it?” said Angela, bitterly.

  “If you want me to say that I’m sorry, I will,” began Ian.

  “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?” Angela snapped.

  For a moment, Ian didn’t answer, then he said, “Did you come here tonight to ask me for a divorce? Is that what you meant when you said that things should be finally sorted out?”

  The question threw her and she glowered at him. “No,” she admitted at last, “but I assumed we had reached the stage when you wanted it and we were going to have to discuss divorce. After all we can’t really go on as we are, can we?”

  “So, what shall we do? Do you want a divorce?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, as if considering. “No,” she said finally, “not at the moment, but if you think you can come waltzing back into our lives simply because your mistress has deserted you, you’ve got another…”

  “I don’t,” Ian interrupted. “I promise you I never thought that.”

  “So, what did you think?”

  “I thought I would ask you if, one day, you might ever forgive me for what I did to you and the girls,” he said simply.

  Angela felt the tears pricking her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Oh Ian, I don’t know. It’s too late. Too late to go back to how we were. We’re not even the same people anymore.”

  “I know that,” he agreed, “I’m not asking you to turn the clock back. I’m not asking for me to come back home, either. I’m just asking if I can see you sometimes, for a drink, or for dinner. Is that too much to ask?”

  “I don’t know,” Angela repeated.

  “Is there someone else?” he asked tentatively. “Someone else you’re seeing?”

  Angela sighed. “No,” she said, “there’s no one else.” She stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, Ian,” she said distractedly, “I can’t discuss this anymore now. I have to go home.”

  He got to his feet as well. “Can I phone you?” he asked. “Please?”

  She looked at him for a long time and then said, “Call me at work. I don’t want any speculation on the part of the girls.” And she walked out of the pub into the night.

  It was several days before he rang, and during those days she had thought of little but Ian, and what he had said. Could they possibly get back together again? They were certainly different people from the couple who had married all those years ago. After the hurt and the upheaval, could they really rebuild their marriage? It would be a risk and she didn’t know if it would be worth taking it. She had held out against divorce in the hope that Ian might one day come to his senses, and now that he had, she wasn’t certain if it was what she wanted after all. How would the girls feel? Would they welcome him back with open arms, or would they feel that his betrayal and desertion had been too great to forgive? She knew they still loved him, but would they be able to accept him back into the family again? One thing was for sure, if there were any moves in that direction they would be made very slowly.

  When he did phone, it was to ask her out for a meal. Would she join him for dinner one night this week? She was free every night, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She hummed and ha-ed and then agreed to Thursday, and pleading another evening meeting to the girls, left the house feeling an inner turmoil, as if she were going to meet an illicit lover.

  The evening had been a success. They had not discussed the things that lay between them, those were not on the agenda. They talked about a play they both wanted to see, about how Annabel was getting on at the college, Chantal at Chapmans, incidents at work, normal everyday things that any couple might discuss. They found they were laughing a good deal, just like they used to, and when the evening was over, they parted easily.

  “When I come for the girls at the weekend as arranged,” Ian said, “may I come in?”

  “If you want to,” Angela replied.

  After their first date, they met often. They met as they used to in the old days, going for a walk by the river, meeting for a quick drink after work, or at lunchtime. They went to an organ recital in the cathedral, and once even went to the zoo. They grew more relaxed in each other’s company, but Ian realised that nothing could be hurried. He knew that he was on trial, that he must woo his wife, as he had before, but he became more and more determined that they should try to start their married life again. She allowed him to kiss her cheek in greeting and at parting, but that was as near as she would let him come. Every time he saw her, he ached to take her in his arms, to beg her forgiveness and ask her to take him back, but he was terrified if he moved too quickly she would back off, and decide that she had learned to live without him.

  Angela held on to her dignity and her pride, determined to keep him at arms’ length until she knew how she really felt, but she was beginning to think there might be some future for them if Ian really wanted to try again. He came to her with the same freshness that he had when they had first met, he made her laugh, she could talk to him or be silent without awkwardness, but most of all, he still had the ability to stir her, so that her heart pounded when she caught sight of him, when he touched her hand, when his face was lit by his smile.

  He had, with great difficulty, got tickets for the play they had both wanted to see, but they were for a Saturday evening. Normally they didn’t meet on Saturdays because that was the day the girls often spent with their father. However, after a little persuasion, Angela gave in, and agreed to go.

  “I’m going to the theatre with some friends from the office,” she told her daughters. “I won’t be very late I don’t expect.”

  “Can I go out too?” Chantal had asked. “It’s Mad’s birthday on Saturday, and I’ve been asked over for a drink.”

  “I should think
so,” Angela agreed. “Just one glass of wine now, Chantal, OK? Are you going too, Annabel?”

  Annabel shook her head. “Doubt it,” she said. “I’ve got this essay to finish for Monday.”

  So Angela had left them to it, and had met Ian at the theatre door, filled with the same glow of happiness as she’d had when they were first engaged. She had made her decision in the past few days. If Ian wanted to come back, and the girls wanted him, then she would give it a try. She wasn’t sure how she was going to tell him, he had never asked her outright to take him back, but she knew that was what he wanted, and she knew she wanted it too. She had never stopped loving him, and she was now able to admit the fact, to herself and to him.

  All through the play she wondered how to approach him. Should she make him ask, or should she do the asking, and tell him she wanted him as much as he wanted her? What about the precious dignity she’d been so carefully preserving?

  In the end, it was surprisingly easy. They had a drink in the interval, in the crowded theatre bar, and as he raised his glass to her, she held out her hand and said, “I want you to come home, Ian. Will you?”

  For a moment, he stared at her and then a look of joy suffused his face, and taking her glass from her set down both the drinks and gathered her into his arms. He crushed her against him and murmured into her hair, “Oh my darling, I swear to you, you will never regret it.”

  There were some mildly surprised looks from other people in the bar, but neither of them was aware of those. Very gently Ian kissed her, and then released her and said softly, “Do you want to see the second half?”

  Angela smiled and shook her head. He took her hand and together they left the theatre, and once they were safely outside in the anonymous darkness of the street, he gathered her to him again and whispered huskily, “Oh, my darling, I want you so much!”

  “Where shall we go?” Angela asked, her voice equally unsteady, “Not your place or mine!”

  “To a hotel, come on. We’ll check into the White Bear.”

  “But we’ve no luggage,” Angela protested, laughing.

  “I don’t need luggage, I just need you.”

  They went to the hotel in the centre of town and Ian checked them in. Angela stood apart as he did so, feeling the eyes of the receptionist on her, and imagining her thinking, well I suppose Haven makes a change from Smith.

  They were given their key and made their way to the room. Once inside with the door locked, they stood for a moment looking at each other and then Angela said softly, “Welcome home Ian.”

  Later, much later, they lay in each other’s arms. “I ought to go,” murmured Angela. “The girls will be wondering where I am.”

  “Don’t go! Stay the night,” Ian urged. “You can phone them, tell them you’ll be back in the morning.”

  “I can’t,” laughed Angela. “Where on earth should I tell them I am? I’m supposed to be at the theatre, with friends!”

  “Tell them you’ve had too much to drink to drive home,” suggested Ian, beginning to massage her back. “Tell them you’re staying with the friends and that you’ll be back in the morning. Let’s face it, if you leave now you’ll only confirm the receptionist’s worst fears!” He kissed her again, and as he felt her yielding he added softly, “After all, we’re going to tell them tomorrow anyway, let’s just have tonight for ourselves.”

  Angela gave in and made the call. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” she told Annabel. “See you then.” She hadn’t asked if Chantal was safely home, Chantal hadn’t been on her mind.

  It was a night of rediscovery, and when they finally left the White Bear the next morning, both of them knew that their marriage was being given a second chance.

  “Come round this afternoon,” Angela said, “and we’ll tell the girls together.”

  “Is that the best way to do it?” Ian wasn’t sure. “You don’t think you ought to sound them out first, do you? Supposing they don’t want me back?”

  “They will, especially when they see that we both want it,” Angela reassured him. “They never stopped loving you as their dad, you know. They may take a little while to get used to it, that’s all.”

  So it was arranged, and Angela drove home in a haze of happiness. She let herself into the silent house, no sound or movement from upstairs, and she decided to let them have their lie-in, she would tell them the great news when they finally surfaced, in the mean time she hugged it to herself.

  The ring on the doorbell, and the arrival of WPC Ford with her devastating news, had brought Angela down to earth with a bump, and now she had to face Chantal and find out exactly what had happened while she, Angela, had been in the arms of her husband.

  Gone was any thought of allowing the girls to have their Sunday lie-in. Angela went upstairs into Chantal’s bedroom and drew back the curtains, allowing sunlight to flood into the room. For a moment she looked at her daughter, asleep in bed, one arm round her favourite teddy bear, the other flung back over her head. She looked so young, so vulnerable, that Angela knew a moment’s rage that anyone should have violated her innocence. Her fists were clenched so tightly in fury, that her nails dug into the palms of her hands, and if Dan Whoever-he-was had been there at that precise moment, she might well have punched him in the face.

  Consciously she made herself relax, and then she reached out and shook her daughter awake. Chantal muttered and kept her eyes firmly closed, but Angela wasn’t giving up. “Chantal!” she said loudly. “Chantal, wake up. Wake up and get up. I need to talk to you.”

  Chantal opened her eyes, and screwed them shut again against the bright light. “Mum,” she muttered, “What time is it? It’s Sunday.”

  “I know it’s Sunday,” Angela replied briskly, “but I need to talk to you. I’m going downstairs to make some coffee. Put your dressing gown on and come down straightaway.”

  There was something in the tone of her voice that brought Chantal wide awake, and as Angela left the room, Chantal had the sinking feeling that she knew what her mother wanted to talk about. But how could she? Annabel wouldn’t have said anything. They’d agreed last night when that awful policewoman left that it was better that Mum knew nothing about it.

  “After all,” Chantal pointed out, “I’m all right. I had a bit much to drink, that’s all, and I just let Dan go too far.”

  “How far?” demanded Annabel.

  Chantal reddened. “All the way,” she muttered. Then she looked up at her sister defiantly, and added, “And I liked it.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. She’d enjoyed the kissing and cuddling, and Dan had awakened and introduced her body to all manner of delicious sensations, but when it had come to the actual sex bit, the pushing and pumping, and the mess between her legs afterwards, she hadn’t really liked it at all. Still, it was done now, she thought philosophically, and it would probably be better next time. She’d get used to that bit even if there didn’t seem to be much in it for her, but at the moment she felt in sudden need of a bath.

  What worried her more was the arrival of the policewoman, and the recollection of the look on her face as she’d found them in an untidy heap on Charlie’s bed. The way Dan had scrambled into his boxer shorts and grabbed at his jeans had made her feel cheap. She knew instinctively that he hadn’t wanted to be caught with her, that she meant nothing to him and he wanted to escape.

  “But I thought Dan was Mad’s boyfriend,” Annabel was saying.

  “He was.” Chantal agreed, and added with bravado, “Now he isn’t, he’s mine.”

  “I doubt it,” Annabel said discouragingly. “It was probably just a one-night stand.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” snapped Chantal, and though Chantal was defensive, Annabel was honest enough to know that she had no right to comment on her sister’s behaviour. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “So what happens now?”

  “Nothing,” Chantal said with more confidence than she felt. “If you don’t tell Mum, there’s no need for her to
know. Then she won’t be upset. And after all I never told about Scott Manders, did I?”

  “No.” Annabel had to agree that Chantal had kept her promise there. “OK, well I won’t say anything, but for God’s sake be careful, Chantal. It would finish Mum if you got pregnant too.”

  “I know,” Chantal agreed. She gave Annabel a wan smile and said, “Right now I want a bath,” and she knew in her heart that it wasn’t only her body that felt dirty. She sat in the hot water and scrubbed herself all over, and then lay back in the warmth to relax before going to bed, but even so, somehow she still didn’t feel quite clean.

  Now she crawled out of bed and pulled on her clothes. The events of the evening came flooding back to her and she felt sick inside. She remembered again, the face of the policewoman as she’d come into the bedroom and found her on the bed with Dan collapsed across her, and the feeling of bravado she had maintained last night with both the policewoman and Annabel, but now she slid into a trough of self-disgust. How had she let it all happen? She remembered that he’d been waiting for her outside the bathroom, but the rest seemed confused. Slowly she got out of bed, feeling as if a heavy weight rested on her shoulders, and now she had to face Mum, who seemed to know… what?

  She went into the bathroom, and found that at least one of her fears had been extremely short-lived, for, as she sat on the loo she discovered that her period had started. The relief was overwhelming!

  Feeling slightly better now that that particular fear had dissolved, she got ready to go downstairs. She felt somehow, that she would be at a disadvantage if she faced Mum in her nightie, so she pulled on her clothes before she went down to find out how much her mother knew about what. Angela was sitting in the living room with the coffee pot and two mugs in front of her.