What was happening to her? The old Emma in England wouldn’t be having any of these thoughts! As if on cue, her mobile went as soon as she’d handed over the money, reprimanding herself for being so wasteful. Twenty euros would have paid for at least three dinners back home.
‘Em?’
Emma’s heart began to race. ‘Mum! Is everything all right?’
‘Stop flapping.’ Her mother’s voice was crisp. ‘I just wanted to know where you’d put Gawain’s spare Spider-Man outfit. The others are all in the washing machine.’
‘Spider-Man! I want to be Spider-Man!’
It was Gawain. She could just see him now, stamping his little feet in fury. Immediately, Emma was transported back home. Gawain wouldn’t wear anything else apart from the red and blue top with matching trousers, just like his hero. ‘Try the back of the linen cupboard. It’s a bit of a mess; I meant to organise it before I left but—’
‘Got it! It’s all right, Gawain, you can wear it now. Say hello to Mum.’
‘Mummy?’ Her son’s little voice made her body go limp. ‘Where are you?’
This was awful! Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I told you before, darling. I’m on an island in a place called Greece.’ She was walking through the sea now, feeling the waves slap gently against her ankles. ‘I wish you were here. One day, Daddy and I will bring you. Would you like that?’
No answer.
‘Gawain?’
Her mother’s voice cut in. ‘He’s run off to play. You just enjoy yourself.’
Enjoy herself? She’d been doing OK, but now Gawain’s little voice and her own stupid behaviour last night – coupled with this ridiculous desire to have sex like everyone else – just made her want to go home.
Still, only another day and a half and then they’d be getting the plane back. Frankly it wouldn’t be a moment too soon. It had been very sweet of Bernie and the girls to splash out, but she’d had enough of honeymoons to last her a lifetime.
Then a noise above her head made Emma stop, shading the sun with her hand to peer up at the rock above. She’d noticed it before. It was very flat – perfect for sunbathing. In fact, quite a few of the locals sat there. But today there were only two people on it. Jack. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, Alice. Lying very close to each other.
What was it Melissa had said? The children were playing football with Jack. Well, it didn’t look like football. And Alice’s younger brother certainly wasn’t there. Emma hurried on. Should she say anything to the girl’s mother? Or should she just leave them to it? Emma’s heart softened.
There really was nothing like young love before real life got in the way. Who was she to spoil it, just because Tom had spoilt it for her.
TRUE HONEYMOON STORY
‘We didn’t have a honeymoon. My husband went off to Bosnia the next day.’
Mary, now mother of three young children
Chapter Twenty
WINSTON
Winston couldn’t get the headline out of his mind: ‘Twenty Things You Didn’t Know About Winston King!
So far, the series hadn’t come up with anything drastic. The name thing was no big deal. Nor was the fact that he’d been brought up by his grandmother after his parents had died. Or that he spoke fluent Spanish and was allergic to anchovies.
But it was what they were going to run next that was worrying him. In fact, Winston had been so rattled that he’d hardly been able to concentrate during the yoga class.
Would it be the usual stuff about the morals of shooting to kill (the armed forces were always being asked that one)? Or could it be the story behind Nick? And if so, how much of it did they know? They might well have got hold of the inquest report, Winston reasoned. There was nothing he could do about that. But what if they’d interviewed men who’d been with him on that day? It was rare for a Green Beret to talk to an outsider about an incident. There was usually a sense of loyalty that could be stronger than blood ties. But there was always a danger that someone might be persuaded to talk for enough money. Life after the services wasn’t always easy.
‘Got a bit of a migraine,’ he confessed to Melissa after lunch on the terrace when she asked if anything was wrong.
‘Poor you.’ She reached up and did a little circular motion with both her thumbs in his temples. ‘Does that help?’
Not much. In fact, the touch of her fingers made him feel even worse. He loved this woman so much. Adored the way she was different from anyone he’d met before. Scatty one minute yet organised the next. Arty. Maternal (even though she let the kids get away with murder). But above all, vulnerable. He had to protect her.
Yet if everything came out, she’d be hurt all over again. People would talk. They would point fingers. That bastard of an ex-husband of hers would tell her that he knew all along that Winston was a no-good, lily-livered coward.
But even worse, she would think badly of him.
‘Think I might go and lie down on the bed for a bit,’ he found himself saying. Melissa gave him a surprised look, as well she might. He wasn’t the type to lie down like that wimp who was married to Emma. How could a man be so pathetic as to spend his entire honeymoon in bed, alone?
‘Look, darling.’ She stroked his arm. Melissa was one of those touchy-feely women, he’d discovered, even when she didn’t know someone well. At times, it made him feel quite jealous. ‘I’m really sorry, but …’
He felt a horrible apprehension. Was it to do with Marvyn and whatever he’d said to the Globe? Did she know what was going to be in print?
‘… but I can’t come up to the room with you,’ Melissa continued, putting her arms around his waist as far as they would go. ‘I really ought to go and check if the children are all right.’
Was that all? Relief flooded through him.
‘They promised to be back for lunch and they’re late.’ She bit her lip worriedly. ‘Freddie said they were going to play football with Jack.’
Good. So the boy was doing his bit then. ‘They’ll be fine. You’ve got to give them some freedom or they won’t grow up.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Melissa was shaking her head crossly as though he was the child. ‘It’s not as simple as that.’
Wasn’t it? He would have argued it out but the throb in his temples was getting so bad that he just had to get away; otherwise he’d be sick right there on the spot.
Instead, he only just made it up to Mrs Harrison’s loo off the bedroom, with its pretty pink walls and frilly lavatory roll holder that reminded him of England about twenty years ago. Winston wiped his mouth with a towel. It had been a long time since he’d had a migraine, although there had been times when he’d thrown up after action. There’d been sights there that would make anyone sick.
If that was the kind of thing they ran in this Globe piece, it didn’t matter. It was the other stuff he didn’t want in it. The details from the inquest, for a start.
In an attempt to ease the pain in his head, Winston sat upright on the bed, stretching his head from one side to the other. It was during the right-hand twists that he noticed the photograph. It was the only one here, which seemed a bit odd, since, in his experience, people who were a long way from home generally had quite a few pictures around. (His men certainly had, although he’d been the exception. When someone had occasionally commented on that, he’d given them a short, sharp answer: ‘I don’t need photographs to remind me of the people who matter.’)
This picture, he noticed, showed a youngish girl with shoulder-length hair with her arms around another girl of about the same age. Judging from their clothes, he’d say it had been taken about fifteen or maybe twenty years ago. Winston bent his head further to the left and heard his neck scrunch like little crystals being ground up. Now to the right, where he could see that photograph which was beginning to bug him. There was something about the girl with long hair that appeared familiar. Was it Rosie Harrison when she was younger? Possibly, although she’d changed a lot if that was the case. It wasn’t just t
he hair length; it was the face itself. The photograph showed a girl with a very sweet, innocent look.
If he was right, and the two were the same, that expression had certainly gone now. Mrs Harrison looked as though she didn’t suffer fools gladly. Perhaps life had treated her harshly, he mused. Then again, you probably didn’t get to run a place like this without keeping your wits about you.
Winston leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to shut out thoughts of the awful newspaper ‘exclusive’. Did these people have any idea of the fear they caused when they declared their intention to expose someone? Fair enough if the person involved had deliberately broken the law. But he had tried to do the right thing. God knows he’d tried.
‘Nick, Nick,’ he found himself muttering. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Shut it out. That’s what the post-traumatic stress counsellor had said afterwards. Think of something else to replace it. For some reason, Mrs Harrison swam back into his mind, together with her Greek boyfriend. Winston hadn’t cared for the cut of his jib. The man’s eyes had actually narrowed when he’d seen him on the beach this morning after the yoga class.
He’d been bringing his boat in with the night’s catch, and when Winston had raised his hand in greeting, he’d scowled and walked past with his head high. Maybe he didn’t like tourists.
The pain was subsiding now. Perhaps he’d go downstairs and find Melissa. The sickening thought occurred to him that it might be one of his last chances to be with her. If – when – all this broke, there’d be a lot of explaining to do. She might not understand.
Making his way down the stairs, Winston passed through the small lounge and nodded at Rosie Harrison, who was vigorously cleaning the windows. She worked hard. He’d give her that.
‘I know I’ve said it before, but we do appreciate you giving up your room,’ he began awkwardly, wanting to make amends.
As she whipped round, he realised he’d startled her. Indeed, she looked quite flustered. ‘Not at all,’ she said, smoothing down her hair. ‘We like to keep our guests happy, and besides, it was our mistake. I’m afraid my son might have got the booking wrong. He’s still quite young and maybe I gave him too much responsibility.’
Mrs Harrison’s eyes met his challengingly. ‘But he’s a good boy. He told me about you offering him money to look after your stepchildren, but I could have told you that he’d refuse.’
‘You paid Jack to take out my children?’
Shit. It was Melissa, standing in the doorway behind him. Winston felt the sweat pouring down his back. Now he’d really had it.
‘Only on one occasion,’ he blustered.
Melissa’s eyes were black with fury. ‘The night he took her out on the bike?’
This was getting worse. ‘It was only so that we could have some time on our own,’ he faltered.
His wife was shaking with rage. Rosie, he noticed, had turned her attention back to the windows. ‘How could you, Winston? My kids are part of me. If you wanted to get rid of them, you shouldn’t have married me.’
‘No. Don’t say that!’ Winston made to hold her but she stepped back, oblivious to the fact that Rosie wasn’t the only one who was staring at her. So, too, was that fisherman, who’d slipped in through a side door.
‘Do you two know where my kids are?’ demanded Melissa fiercely. ‘I’ve been looking for them everywhere.’
Rosie bit her lip. ‘Your son’s watching television in the conservatory. I’m not sure where your daughter is.’
The Greek threw back his head and laughed. ‘I can tell you that. When I was mending my nets this afternoon, I saw them going into the cove. The one by the point.’
Melissa gasped. ‘Oh my God. Quick. Show me.’
Winston tried to hold her back. ‘Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, they’re entitled to some privacy, aren’t they?’
His wife rounded on him, her eyes flashing like a wild animal. ‘They’re kids, Winston. And if you had them yourself, you’d understand.’
Winston hadn’t realised how fast Melissa could run as they headed for the beach. It reminded him of a story he’d once read about a mother lifting a car up off the ground and saving her toddler who’d been trapped underneath. ‘If that boy has touched her, I will never forgive you for this,’ she snarled.
Rosie, on the other side, was panting slightly as she spoke. ‘I’m sure Jack wouldn’t do anything. He’s a responsible boy. They’re just friends.’
There was a sharp laugh from the Greek. ‘They looked more than friends to me, I can tell you. See! There they are!’
So they were. Sitting together on a rock. Fully clothed. Not even holding hands. Winston’s heart leaped with relief.
‘Mum!’ Alice was very red, or was that just the sun? ‘What’s up?’
Melissa grabbed her daughter’s arm, yanking her away from the kid. ‘What are you doing here? You said you were playing football – all three of you.’ She spun round furiously to face Jack. ‘Did you take advantage of my daughter? Tell me. Did you?’
‘Mum!’ spluttered Alice, appalled.
‘Because if you did, my husband – I mean Alice’s father – will kill you.’
So she still saw Marvyn as her real husband, did she? Winston felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. It was just as he’d feared. When someone had been married for over fifteen years, as Melissa had been, it was pretty difficult to take over after just three months.
‘We didn’t do anything,’ stammered Jack. ‘We were just talking. We’re friends.’
Rosie had her hands on his shoulder protectively. ‘If that’s what my son says, I believe him.’ Her voice was defiant. No longer was she the owner of the Villa Rosa, trying to do everything she could to please the guests. She was a mother, Winston recognised. A tiger ready to protect her young, just as Melissa was.
He had to – grudgingly – admire them both.
‘I think we all ought to go back,’ he said quietly. Rosie took the lead, striding ahead with Jack and whispering urgently. Alice, on the other hand, refused to talk.
‘Don’t ignore me,’ pleaded Melissa to her daughter, as though it was she who was in the wrong. ‘I was only trying to look out for you.’
‘That’s true,’ added Winston but Melissa shot him a furious look. ‘Don’t even say anything. This is your fault. If you hadn’t tried to bribe that boy to take my kids out, it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘What?’ Alice ran up to Jack, tugging on his arm, two small red spots forming on her cheek. ‘Winston paid you to be with us? Is that true?’
‘Yes. N-n-n-no.’ The poor kid was stammering again. ‘He just gave me some money the first time – but I wouldn’t take anything after that.’
‘I thought you wanted to be with me!’
‘I do.’
Alice burst into tears. ‘I hate you,’ she said, rounding on Winston. ‘I really do.’
‘Darling, come back!’
But ignoring her mother, Alice pushed past and raced on up towards the villa. ‘Leave her,’ said Winston firmly.
Melissa looked as though she was going to scratch his eyes out. ‘Leave her? After what she’s just found out? You don’t get kids, do you, Winston? I must have been mad to have thought you’d understand.’
She was off, racing after her daughter. Winston’s mouth felt dry the way it used to in action, on the few occasions when he’d made the wrong call. If his wife was acting like this now, what was she going to do when the Globe did its worst?
‘Now she’ll never want to see me again,’ groaned Jack.
There was a snort from the Greek. ‘Teenage love. It is so fickle, is it not?’ The man shot him a nasty look, his eyes narrowing. ‘It is so strong and it can have such consequences.’
Winston shrugged. ‘Suppose so.’ He stopped as they reached a part of the beach where there was only space for one person to squeeze past the boats at a time. He gestured to Rosie to go first, and then the boy, polite kid that he was, let Winston go past.
As he did so, Winston froze. ‘Would you like to tell me why your shirt is inside out?’ he said to the boy quietly.
‘We didn’t do anything. Honestly. Not … not that. I promise. We just cuddled and kissed a bit.’ Then he glanced at his mother, who was walking ahead with the Greek bloke. He looked up at Winston pleadingly. ‘I really like Alice. But I’m worried now that I’ve ruined my chances.’
Winston nodded grimly. ‘And I really like the mother, kid.’ Then, without meaning to, he added, ‘But I’m worried I’ve ruined my chances too.’
He slapped Jack on the back. ‘Promise me you didn’t go too far?’
The boy nodded. ‘Promise.’
‘Then we’ll say no more.’
‘Thanks.’
The relief on the boy’s face made Winston feel good about himself for the first time since his agent had told him about the Globe series.
But now he had to face his wife.
TOP FIVE HONEYMOON HORRORS
• Food poisoning
• Ants on floor of ‘luxury’ hotel
• Inadequate sex
• Bumping into old flame
• Lost luggage
Taken from a recent honeymoon survey
Chapter Twenty-One
ROSIE
Promising that she’d meet him later that night, Rosie left Greco at the gate to the villa and marched back to the kitchen. Thank goodness Yannis – who’d turned out to be a real asset in the kitchen – had had the initiative to start halving the red peppers for tonight’s dinner. They were going to stuff them in a minute: something that took time and care.
When you ran a business like this, there was no room for emotional domestic dramas. Jack had been brought up in the business, she thought indignantly. He knew she needed all hands on deck – and he’d already made them way behind by not being here to prepare lunch, which in turn had made them late for dinner. But even so, she couldn’t get her son’s distraught face out of her head.
After the Honeymoon Page 19