The Big Five O

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  ‘Did she? Really?’

  ‘She was drunk. Asked me to help her change a spotlight in her kitchen she couldn’t reach. Then was extremely fulsome in her thank-yous. It was all a bit embarrassing.’

  Sherie was surprised to find herself pierced with the same sort of pang she’d felt when Diane had told her Marquis went in her kitchen.

  ‘She’s a good-looking woman,’ she said uncomfortably.

  ‘Not my type.’ He paused. ‘I tried to be tactful. I told her I had a strict moral code about married women.’

  There was a pause. ‘I feel sorry for her,’ Sherie said eventually. ‘I think her husband is unfaithful.’

  ‘Who knows.’ Nate sounded as if he didn’t much care. ‘Maybe she’s driven him to it. I find drunk women quite difficult to deal with.’

  Sherie bristled slightly. ‘Only women? What about drunk men?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t like them either. But it was my frequently-smashed mother who made my teenage years a misery. So that’s left me with a particular prejudice I suppose.’ Nate shrugged.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Sherie felt immediately contrite and guilty. She’d had quite a lot to drink that night in the Swan – had he been disgusted? Was him asking her if she wanted a gin, and putting a bottle of red wine in front of her the other night, some sort of test?

  ‘I try not to drink too much,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘And you don’t,’ Nate said. ‘My mother had a bottle of wine a day, every day, and could easily do half a bottle of sherry in one sitting. Then she’d either get argumentative or she’d cry. My brother begged her not to get drunk at his wedding, but she still did. Luckily by the time it had kicked in, he was about to leave and didn’t realise.’

  ‘And she’s still around?’ Sherie asked tentatively, aware that all this had been in the past tense.

  ‘Oh yes. Up in Sheffield, still drinking. Doctor’s told her to stop but she doesn’t listen.’

  There was another pause. ‘Anyway,’ said Nate with forced cheer, ‘what sort of day have you had?’

  ‘Fine. Busy. I’m fairly bushed now. I must have a bath.’ She flexed her toes, hoping he would take the hint and leave. ‘My feet are killing me.’

  ‘Did I tell you I was a trained reflexologist?’

  She stared at him in amazement. ‘Are you really?’

  ‘No, but I do a shit-hot foot massage!’

  Before she could protest, he had bounded across the room, squashed himself into the end of the sofa and taken one of her feet onto his lap.

  She squealed. ‘Oh no you can’t – I’ve been walking on them all day – they must be …’

  ‘Hold on!’

  He sprang up again and went to the kitchen, returning with the tube of freesia hand-cream she kept by the sink. Squeezing a conker-sized dollop into his palm he began to smooth it over her weary soles, working his thumbs across her instep.

  Sherie started to protest but it was utter bliss. She gave a sigh as he expertly kneaded her tired muscles, pulling gently at her toes, sweeping his fingers round her ankle bone in a way that sent a ripple of pleasure right through her. She felt she should pull away, discomfited by the intimacy, and at the same time wanted to stay there for ever.

  ‘Relax,’ he said softly. His hands were warm and strong – working on her second foot now, pressing and stroking, releasing the tension from her soles.

  ‘You are good at this,’ she murmured, and he swept round her ankle again, looking into her eyes in a way that made that pleasure rocket through her again. Sherie suddenly wished she’d had a gin after all – that her inhibitions would melt away. Where was this going? Sherie was torn between excitement and alarm.

  Nate was pulling her towards him. Her heart jumped. ‘Sit on the floor – I’ll do your shoulders.’

  ‘I’m hot!’

  The fire was pushing out too much heat for the July evening but the flames were entrancing now. ‘Incredibly real-looking,’ said Nate, as she crossed the room to turn it off. ‘You’ll love that in the winter.’

  She felt as if she were ablaze herself. Nate was sitting in the middle of the sofa now. He indicated the space below him. ‘Sit here.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’

  ‘I’m good at necks too.’

  He was. She hesitated, embarrassed, then sat on the carpet leaning back against him, as his fingers found the knots in her shoulders and upper back. Her heart thumped as gently he moved the straps of her dress down over her shoulders and rubbed more cream into her upper arms, his fingers circling and caressing, filling her with a heat that had nothing to do with the gas supply. Sherie found she was holding her breath, wondering what was going to happen.

  He’d stopped massaging now and was stroking her, his fingers trailing across the back of her neck and around and across her throat. Sliding across the tips of her shoulders and down her arms, gently touching her earlobes, and smoothing her hair. Sherie’s whole body was touched with tiny fluttering thrills of delight. Her mind was racing.

  He leant over her and kissed her softly on her cheeks. ‘You are so lovely …’ he murmured. She could feel his breath deepening. Part of her wanted to twist round into him and fall with him to the floor, the sensible rest wanted to scuttle upstairs and shut herself firmly in the bathroom.

  He had bent further over and was softly kissing her eyelids, his fingers stroking her face. And then somehow he had slid down and was sitting beside her, turning her into his arms. As his mouth met hers, she could feel herself slipping, melting into him, her own breath coming more quickly. Her mind was still resisting – she really couldn’t do this – but her body was moulding into his and his hands were touching, caressing, moving from her collar-bone, gliding with delicious slowness across her décolletage and down to …

  ‘NO!’ She jerked away from him. ‘Please don’t.’

  Nate straightened abruptly too – his hands out in front of him in a gesture of appeasement. He looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry!’

  She shook her head, unable to look at him. He took her fingers in his. ‘Sherie, I’m sorry if I was too–’

  ‘It’s OK. I just can’t–’

  ‘We can take it slowly–’ He tried to put his arms around her and pull her back to him but she arched away.

  ‘I was just going to give you a hug.’ He sounded hurt. She still couldn’t meet his eyes.

  She got to her feet and pulled the straps of her dress back into place. He stayed where he was, looking upset.

  ‘I want you so much but I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with – you’re really important to me, Sherie,’ he said urgently. ‘I don’t want to ruin anything.’

  She picked up her empty mug. ‘Please could you go now? I really need a bath and some time on my own.’

  ‘Sure, but please talk to me first. What happened there? One minute you were–’

  She felt her cheeks heat up. ‘I know. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have. I was giving the wrong message and I apologise.’

  ‘The wrong message?’ He raised his eyebrows, looking incredulous. His voice was tinged with anger now. ‘So you didn’t want to do any of that?’

  ‘No, not really.’ She saw his expression harden and rushed on. ‘Well, yes, I did, but– look I can’t explain. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. It won’t happen again.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘Sherie, I really like you. We get on well, don’t we? You’ve become special to me …’

  She looked away from him again, finding the scene excruciating, longing for him to leave.

  ‘I’m too old for you.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘I’ll be sixty before you’re even forty-five.’

  ‘Ah! That’s what it’s about!’ He looked relieved, smiling at her again. ‘So what? Right now, you are the most gorgeous forty-nine!’

  Sherie again felt a twinge of guilt at knocking a year off for Diane. She’d never told Nate how old she was …

  ‘Fay told me about the party,’ he
said, as if reading her mind. ‘So one day you’ll be a pensioner. Shall we cross that bridge when we come to it?’

  She stared at him, feeling sick. ‘We’re not going to have a relationship!’

  ‘Aren’t we? I’m sad about that. And out of interest, why not?’

  ‘I’ve told you.’

  Nate gazed at her. ‘I don’t care about how old you are.’

  Sherie made herself look into his eyes and tried to speak firmly although her voice was shaky. ‘I’m not looking for a relationship. I like being on my own.’

  ‘Is that why you were on a dating site?’

  Sherie felt herself flush. ‘I’m not any more,’ she said tightly.

  Nate sighed. ‘When I said I really like you, I was playing it cool.’ He smiled at her, as if willing her to smile back.

  She held herself rigid, unable to speak.

  ‘The truth is, I’ve got it bad – I think about you all the time – I look forward to seeing you all day. I’ve been trying to get up the courage to let you know.’ He held out his hands again. ‘I can’t be any more honest than this – I’m in love with you, Sherie.’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head wildly.

  Nate’s voice was calm. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I am.’

  She willed her voice not to break. ‘Well you wouldn’t be if you knew everything.’

  ‘Try me.’

  He came closer to her again, looking into her face. ‘There’s nothing you could tell me that would affect how I feel about you. Will you just let me in, please?’

  She turned away from him, feeling as if her heart would fracture. ‘I’m tired, Nate. I need you to go now. Please.’

  ‘OK.’ He nodded slowly. Pushing his feet back into the battered leather mules he’d discarded earlier. Picking up his glass and carrying it to the kitchen. She waited in the hallway, trying to hold herself together until he’d gone.

  He touched her briefly on the shoulder as he went past, opening the front door and turning to regard her sadly. ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’

  She looked back at his hurt, puzzled expression and hated herself.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Chapter 29

  After all the weeks of playing the strict headmistress, Roz felt like a disgraced schoolchild. She could actually feel her knees shaking as she waited for Charlotte to open the front door. Charlotte had told her sharply to post the keys from the second house through her letter box but it seemed cowardly not to ring on the bell.

  Roz cringed with fresh horror and shame as she recalled the previous day and Charlotte’s expression as Darren scuttled away down the drive while she, Roz, tried desperately to explain, knowing there was nothing she could say that made what she had done all right.

  ‘I trusted you,’ Charlotte had said coldly, waiting stiffly while Roz gathered her things and left the house. ‘Imagine if the clients had been with me!’

  Roz didn’t want to think about it. She felt sick to her core. Charlotte had been so kind to her – so generous – and she had repaid her so badly. Roz was clutching flowers which she knew were woefully inadequate. She had risked Charlotte’s business and probably lost one of the best friends she’d ever had. At a time, she thought tearfully, when she felt she’d never needed her more.

  The door was opening. Roz swallowed hard.

  ‘Hello you,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Yes, I was bloody incandescent,’ Charlotte summarised, when she had dispensed coffee and tissues. ‘But I have calmed down now. Nobody died.’

  She looked serious for a moment then gave a sudden chuckle. ‘Though that poor guy looked like he might be about to.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Roz said again. ‘I feel absolutely terrible.’

  ‘You don’t look too clever, I must say,’ Charlotte said.

  Roz wiped her eyes. ‘I couldn’t sleep. And then when I eventually did, Sherie called at some ungodly hour on her way to yoga.’

  ‘Is she OK?’ Charlotte asked, sounding concerned. ‘She seemed quite stressed when I phoned about the balloons.’

  Roz shook her head. ‘I don’t know. We haven’t spoken for ages. I couldn’t really work out why she was calling and I was a bit distracted myself because of all this …’

  ‘So,’ said Charlotte. ‘Tell me. For the money, you said. Are things that bad?’

  Roz nodded. ‘I’ve tried to economise. But I just don’t earn enough.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘And there are no more hours for me. Oh Charlotte, it’s all a mess and I feel so ashamed. I suppose it was Jamie who tipped you off, wasn’t it? Probably cross because I’ve been ignoring his texts …’

  ‘Of course Jamie didn’t tell me,’ Charlotte said, when she had given Roz another tissue. ‘I was driving a client around a few different houses and I saw your whipping boy going in. I didn’t know if you were there – I couldn’t see who had opened the door. I thought I’d better come back as soon as I was on my own and check it out–’ Charlotte stopped. Then she stared. ‘You mean he knew? Oh bloody hell, does he–?’

  ‘No, no,’ Roz shook her head, sniffing. ‘He’s not a client! But he found out …’

  She told Charlotte the story. Charlotte was clearly having trouble keeping a straight face. ‘Oh my word,’ she said when Roz had finished. ‘I wasn’t going to drink today, but I think I now need a glass of rosé …’

  Roz didn’t dare have any. She had the car with her and still felt wobbly but Charlotte poured herself a generous glass full and got out some pretzels.

  ‘Jamie likes you a lot,’ she said, when she was halfway down the drink. ‘He must do if he’s still keen after going through all that!’ She laughed. ‘Why are you playing hard to get?’

  ‘He’s got a girlfriend.’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘Not what he told me.’

  ‘Well according to his daughter, there’s a string of them. Including one who was in meltdown because he was out with me! I can’t be getting involved with that. And anyway I don’t want to do anything to upset Amy – we’re getting on so much better since I’ve come clean about her father.’

  Charlotte looked at Roz thoughtfully, when she’d finished explaining. ‘I always wondered if her dad was married. You are such a dark horse … What else don’t I know about you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Roz shook her head and looked up at the clock above the Aga. ‘I must go – I need to buy something for dinner.’

  Charlotte topped up her glass. ‘Yep, I need to get something out of the freezer. Joe’s at football – he always comes home ready to plough his way through the entire fridge.’

  She walked with Roz to the front door. ‘Despite the circumstances, it’s lovely to catch up with you – we haven’t had a proper chat for ages. I miss that …’

  As she hugged Roz goodbye, she pressed the set of keys Roz had returned, back into her hand. ‘The other house will be officially under offer in the next couple of days, but this one still needs looking after.’

  Roz looked at her with tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t deserve you. But thank you. And I promise, I won’t ever–’

  Charlotte nodded, interrupting her. ‘I know you won’t.’

  Two hours later, Charlotte looked in exasperation at her husband. ‘There must be something she can do.’

  Roger sighed. ‘Well if there is, I’m not the one to ask. I’m the in-house lawyer – I don’t employ anyone. And even if I did, your friend Roz is a lovely woman but what skills can she bring to a wealth management company?’

  Charlotte took a mouthful of wine. ‘It’s just not fair, she is lovely and she works hard and she’s doing the best she can and she’s a single mother and she can’t make ends meet. I want to help her …’

  ‘Well you give her a job then.’

  ‘I have – you know I have – she’s doing the cleaning and flowers for me but she needs more …’

  Charlotte wondered wildly about hiring a work space for Roz – from what she had said, there were no end of men willing to pay good money to have th
e living daylights beaten out of them. Maybe Roz needed to rent a proper room and kit it out accordingly. Perhaps she should start a business with her. Employ this friend Melody to manage it?

  But she had felt Roz’s discomfort and shame. Melody might thrive on it – and Charlotte, having heard the rates charged in ratio to the energy expended, could see the appeal – but Roz wasn’t natural dominatrix material. She was shy and genteel – into obscure plays and fine art …

  ‘Would she even want to drive to Ashford every day?’ Roger asked.

  Charlotte shrugged, thinking about what Roz had told her – about the headmaster who’d lied about his wife. She’d had enough alcohol to feel reckless – to want to push at the boundaries of risk. Roger was sitting opposite her at the kitchen table. Joe had eaten vast quantities of moussaka and garlic bread and repaired to the sofa and that ghastly comedian on TV who Charlotte had seen making jokes about dead Grannies and blocked toilets. Every now and again, she heard her son hoot with laughter.

  ‘He can turn that rubbish off now,’ continued Roger. ‘I want to see the news.’

  ‘Have you been in touch with Hannah?’

  ‘When?’

  It was the wrong answer. Charlotte’s stomach flipped over.

  ‘Any time,’ she said sharply. ‘Any bloody time at all since you promised me you’d never be in touch with her again?’

  Roger looked immediately both wary and confused. ‘Where has this come from?’

  ‘Have you?’ She glared.

  Roger gazed steadily back at her. ‘Yes – once.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About six months ago.’

  Charlotte’s stomach twisted again. Was that when he’d first started looking shifty? As if he had something to hide?

  Roger went on: ‘She got in touch with me through Linked-in.’

  ‘I bet she fucking did.’

  ‘She just said she was saying hi.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ said Charlotte hotly. ‘She wants you back! I knew there was something going on–’

  Roger shook his head vigorously. ‘She’s married with a baby! She came across me when she was looking for someone else.’