Coming face to face with Antonia was finally forcing Laura to confront what she was up against. She’d spent so much time in the past few weeks burying herself in plans and projects, avoiding the issue. She had so many conflicting emotions – doubt, fear, worry, despair – that it seemed easiest to avoid them. She had even, for a tiny moment during their exchange, felt pity for Antonia. It must have taken quite a lot of courage to come and knock on her door, and she was impressed, despite herself. It showed a certain sort of backbone.
But then a thought occurred to her. Had Dom persuaded her to do it or even actively coerced her? Had he made her feel so culpable for wrecking his marriage that he’d managed to get Antonia to come and beg Laura’s forgiveness on his part, by twisting her arm and laying on the guilt?
No, she thought. That wasn’t Dom’s style. He wasn’t manipulative or scheming.
Mind you, she hadn’t thought he was adulterous.
Oh God. It was all so confusing. What was she supposed to think? What was she supposed to do?
She decided to call Sadie. She had kept her personal life to herself as much as she could, but sometimes you needed the cavalry, to stop yourself going mad. And at least she would have the fun of the drama; she could imagine Sadie’s face when she told her about Antonia’s impromptu arrival. Sadie would be outraged and indignant, and it would go a little way towards comforting her, in her raw state.
Sadie turned up at seven with a rescue package: a Thai meal from the best takeaway in Bath and a bottle of Waitrose champagne.
‘We’re not celebrating, obviously,’ she said, easing out the cork. ‘But champagne is very good for drowning sorrows in.’
‘What about for drowning mistresses in?’ said Laura, putting the takeaway cartons in the warming oven to heat through.
‘I think “mistress” is glamorising her.’ Sadie looked at the picture of Antonia on Google. ‘You are ten million times hotter than she is.’
‘But I don’t think Dom wanted hot,’ said Laura sadly. ‘That’s the whole point. He wanted supportive.’
‘No. I know this type. It’s always the quiet ones,’ said Sadie, tapping Antonia’s face with a painted nail. ‘The psychopaths who look for a man’s weak spot before homing in. They are clever and dangerous. Much more trouble than silly tarts like me who look predatory but are actually pussycats. I would never touch a married man. Never.’
Laura smothered a smile. Sadie’s memory was a tad selective, she thought, but she didn’t pull her up on it. Those transgressions had been a long time ago.
‘She was absolutely adamant I should have him back, though. I have to say, I quite admire her for her bravery. How did she know I wasn’t going to scratch her eyes out?’
‘So what are you going to do?’
Laura nibbled on a prawn cracker while she thought.
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. What are the rules? What are the choices? Forgive and forget? Or divorce and take him for everything he’s got? I want to go back to not knowing. I want to go back and start again – to not be the sort of wife he wanted to cheat on.’
‘Laura – stop blaming yourself.’
‘Oh, let’s change the subject.’ Laura was starting to feel uncomfortable. She didn’t want her marriage under the microscope. ‘Look at this.’ She reached behind her onto the dresser and picked up the recipe box. She put it on the table between them.
‘These are our family recipes. It goes right back to my great-grandmother’s recipes from the war. Mostly for jam and marmalade and chutney – they had an amazing vegetable garden here. Kanga said it kept all of them going during the war – her and Ivy and the family she looked after.’
‘Wow.’ Sadie leafed through them. ‘They’re so sweet. Look at that tiny neat writing. And all the comments.’
‘This,’ said Laura proudly, ‘is part two of my plan for world domination. But I’m not going to tell you the details until I know it’s going ahead.’ Laura put the lid down and grinned. ‘You’ll have to wait and see. Anyway, I’ve got two rooms to finish painting out first. I’m nearly finished. It’s taken much longer than I thought. It’s all the bloody woodwork.’
‘You’re unstoppable. You’re a one-woman reality television show. Dragon’s Den meets The Apprentice.’
Laura took a swig of her champagne. ‘You just don’t know with life, do you? Look at Kanga. Ivy’s had a fall and has had to go into a home. They’re ninety-three, Sadie. Ninety-three.’
‘Your grandmother is a legend. After everything she’s been through. The war. Losing her parents. Your mum. Your grandad.’
Laura didn’t reply for a moment. Sadie was right. Kanga was so strong and dignified. She realised Kanga must have been around the same age as Laura was now when she’d lost Laura’s mother, her daughter, Catherine. Laura couldn’t begin to imagine the pain. But she had never let the four-year-old Laura see her grief and suffering. She had been calm and kind and endlessly patient. As had Jocelyn. Laura knew Jocelyn wasn’t her real grandpa – that he’d scooped Kanga up after the war – but the details of how and why had been something that Kanga had never shared with her. And you didn’t intrude on Kanga – you just didn’t. She thought it was probably out of respect for Jocelyn that she had never shared her story, who to all intents and purposes had been Catherine’s father.
‘I know. She’s an inspiration.’
‘Has she said anything about Dom?’
‘You know Kanga. She doesn’t judge. But she’s really supportive. She’s there when I need her.’
‘Just like me then,’ twinkled Sadie.
‘Do you think we’ll still be going strong when we’re that age? Still mates?’
‘I hope so,’ said Sadie. ‘I’m banking on you to be doing the cooking. I’ll be fit for nothing by then. Raddled with booze and ogling the window cleaner.’ She laughed, but something flickered across her face. ‘At least you’ll have your children to come and visit you.’
Laura looked at her friend. It wasn’t like Sadie to be bitter. She had always been defiant about not wanting a child.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, frowning.
Sadie drained her glass. ‘I just feel sad. That it’s come to this. I thought you had everything. Everything I wanted, anyway.’
‘But you love being single. You love being the girl about town.’
‘I did,’ said Sadie. ‘But then it kind of became a habit. And I gave out the wrong messages. Secretly, I long for all this.’ She waved her hand around the kitchen. ‘This beating heart of a house, and a family.’
‘Oh, Sade.’ Laura sat down opposite her friend and put out a hand. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I don’t think I did. Until now.’ Sadie looked tearful. ‘Oh God. Don’t listen to me. I’ve drunk too quickly on an empty stomach and I’m getting all emotional. But maybe what I’m saying is don’t throw it all away. You don’t know how lucky you are.’
Laura was astonished. Sadie had always been the glamorous single career girl without a responsibility to anyone but herself. She’d had no idea she was harbouring such longing.
‘It’s not too late for you, Sade,’ she said softly.
‘Oh, yes, it is,’ said Sadie. ‘There are no single men my age who’d look at me. They all want a younger model.’
There were bright tears in her brilliant blue eyes as she poured the last of the champagne into their glasses.
‘Yes,’ said Laura ruefully. ‘You’re right there.’
‘Oh God,’ said Sadie, starting to laugh. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean … Oh God. I’ve put my foot right in it.’
But Laura was laughing too. That was the beauty of a great friend. You could say terrible things to each other and it didn’t matter.
22
‘You didn’t tell me she was beautiful.’ Antonia hated herself for saying it, even as the words came out of her mouth.
‘It’s not the sort of thing you say,’ said Dom. ‘But yes. In a very natural way, Laura’s stunning.’
&n
bsp; It was Sunday morning and Antonia had been for her run. In the end, she couldn’t stay away. She’d run through Victoria Park and found herself pounding along the pavement in front of the Royal Crescent, admiring the burnt-orange leaves on the sweeping lawns, and then before she knew it she’d been in front of Wellington Buildings.
Now, here they were in his makeshift office. Taped to the walls were all the plans for the house: the electrics, the plumbing, the cabling, the fire doors. Diagrams for every single plug and light-fitting and smoke alarm. At the far end of the room it got more interesting: the kitchen and bathroom layouts, swatches of carpet, colour schemes, and pictures of all the appliances – state-of-the-art cooker hoods and whisper-quiet dishwashers and top-loading American-style washer-dryers. The people on track to buy these apartments would want every modern luxury.
Dom hadn’t long got up. He’d been sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the corner of the office, in a sleeping bag. He was making himself a coffee from a nasty jar of powdery instant. He was still in his lounge pants and a ratty T-shirt.
‘Isn’t that the best kind of beauty?’ she asked. ‘Who wants to be beautiful in a fake way?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dom didn’t want to be reminded. He shook a milk carton hopefully. The lumps banged against the sides; there was no fridge. ‘Bugger. The milk’s gone off. So what did she say?’
‘Not a lot, really. I’m so sorry. I thought it might help.’
She’d told him about going to see Laura the day before. He hadn’t seemed pleased. On the contrary, he had looked at her as if she was mad when she’d told him.
‘Of course it didn’t. No woman wants to meet the other woman.’
‘But I’m not the other woman. That’s the point. Not any more, anyway.’
She’d done the wrong thing, realised Antonia. And now Dom was cross with her. Though he was trying not to show it. She was worried about him. He’d gone into a total decline. He looked awful. His face had a grey tinge to it. At first she had thought it was building dust, but then she realised it was his skin colour. And he didn’t seem to have shaved for a few days. And he smelled as if he had been drinking – she wondered which pub he had been to. He’d been trying to stay away from his usual crowd so they didn’t find out about him and Laura.
‘How did she seem?’
‘Well, I don’t know her, so it’s hard to say. But she seemed quite together. I think she was painting. She had paint in her hair and on her hands.’
‘Paint …?’ Dom frowned in bemusement. ‘But she seemed OK?’
‘Well, she was up and dressed and doing things.’ The remark was a little pointed. Dom flashed her a suspicious glance to see if she was getting at him. Maybe she was. The confrontation with Laura had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She had found her so far away from what she had imagined. Not that Dom had ever said anything to justify the image she’d had of Laura in her head, of someone middle-aged who didn’t really bother. He’d only ever talked about the emotional side of their relationship, not what she looked like. He’d talked about the strain of Willow’s illness and the impact it had on their marriage.
But it was his inability to deal with it all, rather than Laura’s, that had made it a problem. And why he’d turned to Antonia.
‘I wish we’d never started this,’ Antonia said in a very small voice. ‘I think I thought I was helping you, when it began. But there wasn’t anything wrong, was there? Not really?’
‘Don’t say that,’ said Dom, his voice sharp. ‘You’re making me feel even worse. It was awful, Willow being so ill. And I stopped confiding in Laura about the business because I didn’t want to worry her, because it all seemed so trivial next to whether Willow might …’ He didn’t want to say the word die. ‘But it’s been bloody hard, keeping it all together and pushing the projects through and making enough money for us all. And Wellington Buildings is a nightmare. I wish I’d never bought it but I thought I was being clever. I’m in too deep now.’
‘It’s starting to come together,’ said Antonia. ‘Isn’t it?’
It certainly looked to have moved on since she was last here, although it was a long way from being ready to put on the market. He didn’t have long. She wasn’t going to remind him. He knew well enough.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Dom. ‘I’ve used you. I’ve used your strength and your certainty and your knowledge to prop me up, because I’m too bloody pathetic to handle it without someone cheering me on.’
‘You haven’t used me. I knew what I was letting myself in for. I used you,’ she said.
He looked askance.
‘I’m too much of a coward to have a proper relationship with someone,’ she went on. ‘I don’t like compromise and I don’t like sharing and I don’t like commitment. So it suited me. To have a time-share in you.’
A smile flickered across his face at the metaphor. ‘A time-share?’
‘What’s the Stevie Wonder song? “Part-Time Lover”?’ she asked. ‘I knew that’s what I wanted and I set you up for it.’
‘I’m not going to let you take the blame, Antonia,’ said Dom. ‘It’s very gallant of you to try and let me think I had no choice. Of course I had a bloody choice. I’m a cowardly little shit. I don’t deserve to get Laura back. And you shouldn’t be here either.’
‘I wanted to see if you were all right.’
Dom crossed his arms.
‘I’m fine. I’m going to get showered and have a shave and then get to work. I’ve got piles of paperwork to get through.’
She nodded.
‘It’s bloody cold in here. Do you want to have a bath at my place? I’ve got real coffee. And milk.’
For a moment he hesitated, and she wanted to implore him. She wanted the comfort of his presence. She felt insecure. She missed him.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you?’
She shook her head, miserable. ‘No.’
He sighed. ‘I just want to say thank you,’ he said eventually.
She looked puzzled. ‘Thank you for ruining your marriage?’
‘No. For trying to save it. Not many people would have done that.’ Dom looked at her. ‘You are quite unique, you know. You deserve someone special.’
She looked away. She was going to cry. ‘I don’t feel as if I do. I just wish I was normal.’ Her throat felt tight.
Dom’s instinct was to comfort her, but he didn’t think body contact would be helpful right now. Luckily she recognised that too, and walked away without saying any more, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the enormous house.
23
Antonia didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to go back to that bloody perfect anodyne flat and wonder what to do with the rest of her day. The day that stretched out, empty and pointless.
Almost as pointless as she was.
Self-loathing bubbled up inside her. Seeing Laura had shocked her. Had made her feel the lowest of the low. If only she hadn’t taken the risk. It had been totally out of character. But Antonia feared going back to the person she’d been before: the controlled, vanilla, sensible, boring creature who never stepped out of line. That Antonia, she realised, had never felt anything. How could she go back to a life devoid of passion? Of reckless abandon? Of spontaneity? All those wonderful things her affair with Dom had made her feel?
There was only one person who would be able to kick her out of this self-destructive mood. She put her hands in her pockets and headed across Bath. She hoped he’d be in. He’d probably still be in bed – he’d have been out the night before.
Antonia thought her brother was probably the most infuriating person on the planet. But the really annoying thing was that no one knew her better. No one else could hone in on her faults, tell her where she was going wrong and then tell her what to do about it, quite like Herbie.
She arrived at the gates of Hedgemead Park and made her way through the trees to the tiny row of villas where Herbie rented the end house. Around the back of the house was a r
ow of ramshackle outbuildings where he stored his coffee roaster and sacks and sacks of coffee beans.
She was so proud of how far he had come, and of her part in that story. And now, maybe, it was Herbie’s turn to show her the way. They were like chalk and cheese.
He hadn’t been christened Herbie. His real name was Martin. But from the age of fourteen he had been the purveyor of illicitly grown substances to everyone who needed it in the dreary little town they’d grown up in ten miles outside Bath, and he had a lot of customers, because that was one of the few ways to escape. Someone had nicknamed him Herbie and it stuck – it suited him.
It had been Antonia who had picked him up by the scruff of the neck ten years ago and frogmarched him to Bath, where she had kept him captive in the flat she was renting at the time. Her parents weren’t going to do anything about him, she could see that. While he was quietly stoned in his bedroom he wasn’t going to ask anything of them, which suited them perfectly. Their mother, certainly, whose only interest in life was dog rescue. She didn’t give a fig for humans, it seemed, if her disinterest in her own children was anything to go by. And their father was their mother’s lapdog, who did everything she asked and never thought for himself. He ran the pet-food shop which financed the rescue charity. They had no time for anything or anyone else.
To Antonia’s amazement, Herbie had turned himself around under her iron rule. It seemed all he had needed was a few boundaries and a bit of bossing about. He’d found a job as a barista and had fallen in love with coffee. In six months he had branched out on his own, started importing coffee beans and had found the house near Hedgemead Park to rent. He had a roasting machine in the garage, and bagged everything up in there. He did all his own design and marketing and distributing. He was a one-man band and happy with his lot.
And although he’d sorted himself out, he hadn’t compromised himself. He was still Herbie. He was vibrant, funny and so unbearably good-looking it hurt – his hair and his stubble were just the right length to give him a tousled rock-god look, his triangular torso poured itself into his skinny jeans. There weren’t many people who didn’t love him at first sight.
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