by Jo Verity
She searched his face for signs of irony but found none.
‘I thought I must have been doing something to put you off. Snoring or drooling.’
‘Only slightly.’ Taking the edge of the sheet he wiped imaginary saliva from her chin. ‘Would you have preferred me to have woken you?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m sort of surprised you didn’t. I thought men …’ she recalled her exchange with Diane yesterday ‘had needs.’
‘Needs? You’re suggesting that men are only interested in getting laid?’
He was teasing but she felt her face colour. ‘Well—’
‘In my book, nothing beats a good old cwtch.’ He raised his eyebrows obviously expecting her to demand a translation.
‘I know what a cwtch is.’
‘So, bilingual already, is it? You’re very beautiful, by the way.’
Imagining what her early morning face must look like, she yanked the sheet up until only her eyes and the top of her head were visible.
He cleared his throat. ‘Something’s been puzzling me. I know you and Diane were school friends but that doesn’t explain why you’re still so close.’
‘I suppose we do seem an unlikely pair. We were from the start. I was a real swot at school – couldn’t help myself. Being Diane Shapcott’s best friend made me a cool swot. It saved me from getting a lot of hassle.’
‘What was your role in the friendship? Did you do her homework or what?’
She laughed. ‘God, no. Diane didn’t bother with homework. My role? I passed a lot of messages, provided alibis, that sort of thing. Not that her parents cared what she was doing. Hanging out with a chunky beanpole made her look good, too.’
‘You’re not chunky.’
‘You didn’t see me when I was fourteen.’
‘You must have had other friends.’
‘Not really. If Di thought I was getting too friendly with anyone, she warned them off. She could be quite scary.’
‘Boyfriends?’
‘Diane went for the Jack-the-lad types. By the time she was fifteen she was going out with men.’
‘You?’
‘Oh. I liked boys who made me laugh and who had things to talk about.’
‘It sounds like a very one-way friendship to me. What did she give you in return?’
‘Status. A way of winding my parents up. Diane Shapcott was the girl you wouldn’t want your daughter to pal up with. Whatever else she may be, she’s never boring company.’
She stirred uneasily.
‘And?’ he coaxed.
‘Sex by proxy. She used to tell me everything she got up to. It was pretty explicit at times. We both used to … get off on it, I suppose you’d say. And she taught me how to masturbate.’ She held the palms of her hands against her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe I told you that.’
Then she described how Paul Raines had arrived on the scene, briefly giving Diane love, hope and stability; how his death had snatched that away and sent her into freefalling despair. Finally she told him of her promise to stand by Diane, come what might. ‘There you have it,’ she said brightly, ‘nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘A promise kept for thirty years? That’s pretty extraordinary.’
He was silent for long enough for her to think the conversation was over then he raised himself on his elbow. ‘I’m still not clear why you’re here with me.’
Neither was she. Apart from laying his finger on her lips, they hadn’t touched since waking. Whatever was going on in this bed might have started off being one thing but was turning into something different.
She closed her eyes. ‘Men have never seemed interested in me. Or to find me interesting. Diane says I scare them off. That I’m too “cerebral”. She says I should act dumb and learn to flirt.’
‘Diane isn’t the ideal mentor for someone like you.’
‘Someone like me? You’re making me sound weird.’
‘Not at all.’ He sat up. ‘Look. Why don’t I get us a cup of something? Tea? Coffee?’
‘I’d love a glass of juice.’
‘Don’t go away.’
She’d spotted a comb on his table and, as soon as he’d gone, she grabbed it, barely having time to run it through her hair before he returned with two glasses of orange juice.
‘Any sign of life in the garden?’ she asked.
‘No. I reckon we’ve got a good hour to ourselves.’
She was sitting up now, leaning against the pillows, her knees raised and the sheet covering as much of her as possible. He took up the same position but on top of the sheets.
‘Where were we? Ah, yes. Men don’t find you interesting. Or so you’d have me believe.’
‘I’m making it sound like a big deal but it’s just something that strikes me once in a while. I have a husband, and sons, but occasionally I think it would be nice to have a few men as friends. Is that odd?’
He fumbled beneath the sheet and found her hand. ‘If those arsey London types don’t appreciate you, it’s because they’ve got their heads up their own … bumptious egos.’
Squeezing her hand, he nodded that she should continue.
‘As I say, it’s been no big deal. But now, out of the blue you’ve come along and made me feel … interesting. I’m becoming addicted to you. I like the look and the sound of you. I like knowing that you’re watching me. I like our nothingy conversations. I like the way you make me feel about myself.’
‘Which is?’
‘Special. Happy. Satisfied.’
‘Doesn’t Laurence do that?’
She stretched out her legs. They were bound to get to Laurence sooner or later.
‘After the abortion, Fiona, the girl I was sharing a flat with, made it her mission to fix me up with a new bloke. Cheer me up. Fresh start. New horizons. She had a cousin who worked with this lovely young solicitor called Laurence Giles. You can probably imagine how it went from there.’
‘Were you still in love with Kyle when you met Laurence?’
She drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes I was. And with the baby I didn’t keep. I was in the pits. And knowing that I’d brought it on myself only made it worse. I’d turned down Kyle’s offer of marriage and motherhood. I even persuaded him that a clean break was the only way.’
‘You said “the time wasn’t right”.’
‘It wasn’t. But I suppose I wanted him to sweep reason aside. To threaten to kill himself, or something, if I didn’t marry him.’
‘You’ve never tried to contact him?’
‘There are things that can’t be mended.’
He went to kiss her cheek but she pulled away.
‘No. Let me finish. Laurence was different from the crowd I’d hung out with at uni. Grown-up for a start. Urbane. Confident. He was considerate and gentle, too. He didn’t crowd me. I felt safe with him. I knew he would never let anything bad happen to me.’
‘He sounds more like a carer than a lover.’
‘A carer was exactly what I needed,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t forget I’d seen Diane go out of her mind after Paul died.’
‘That would never have happened to you.’
‘Want to bet?’
‘Twenty-two is ridiculously young. Why didn’t you wait – you had all the time in the world?’
‘When you’re in a burning building, you daren’t count on getting a second chance of rescue.’
He shook his head. ‘Well I’d say he took advantage of you.’
‘Not really. He could have had any one of those posh girls he met at hunt balls. He was handsome, clever, amusing. Eminently eligible. And he was tall – that’s important when you’re five foot eight.’
He dropped his shoulders and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Thanks.’
‘I accepted his proposal on condition that our children, if we had any, wouldn’t be sent to boarding school. I was amazed when he agreed.’
‘He loved you.’
‘Maybe. But I sometimes wonder if it was because something hor
rible had happened to him at school. He was sent away when he was eight. Eight – can you imagine that? For ten years he lived in a totally male environment. Laurence gets on well enough with women, but I’m sure he sees us as a different species. I bet you’ve got a sister.’
He nodded. ‘Two.’
‘It shows.’
‘You’ve never tried to re-educate him?’
‘You have to understand that when we got together my self-esteem was on the floor. I was in awe of him, too. He’s very intelligent. By the time the boys arrived, we’d sort of adopted our positions.’
A look of disbelief crossed his face but he didn’t interrupt.
‘Don’t look so horrified. When I married Laurence, I knew how it would pan out. It has, more or less. And that’s okay. When I see what some people have to put up with, I know I’m very lucky.’
‘Stop it,’ he moaned. ‘You’re sounding like a martyr. Don’t you want more than “okay”? It’s time you two stopped being so bloody polite. Get this stuff out in the open.’
‘With a view to what? It would only make Laurence anxious.’
His lips parted and she thought he was going to berate her but he kept silent.
‘That’s why he gets uneasy whenever Diane turns up. He’s afraid she’ll rock the boat.’
Is that the reason I tolerate her? Because she rattles Laurence?
‘Have I rocked it?’ he asked.
‘A little. In the nicest possible way.’ She smiled. ‘You’re a very lovely man. You make everything so easy.’
He checked his watch. ‘Time’s going on. Perhaps we should get dressed. D’you want to grab the shower?’
Their conversation had been nudging her towards something important. She was reluctant to lose the thread but it wouldn’t do for the youngsters to find them in bed together.
Standing in the shower, she tried to recall everything that they’d said. Apart from the location, an eavesdropper would have found the conversation unremarkable. Two acquaintances learning a little more about each other. But it was remarkable because she’d never opened up to anyone like that. She might even go so far as to compare it to a revelation in that it had revealed her obduracy.
Dafydd had asked if she was still in love with Kyle when she married. She was – or had believed that she was. And she’d fashioned this belief into a thin but steely shell to insulate her from her new husband. (Understandable in the beginning, perhaps, considering how fragile she’d been during those first months of their marriage.) But she’d allowed that shell to remain in place, rigid and impermeable, for almost thirty years.
Why?
She scoured her shoulders, her arms, her thighs and the soft flesh of her bottom, rubbing hard, picturing a layer of dead cells gurgling down the plughole, imagining microscopic parts of her lodging in a crevice or a joint in a pipe and remaining in Llangennith for ever. Leaning her head into the cascading water, she worked shampoo into her hair, massaging the flesh beneath with the tips of her fingers.
Had it suited her to cling on to that heartbreak? Had she used it to fuel – and continue to fuel – a flicker of resentment towards Laurence? Why would she do that? Laurence had done nothing wrong. On the contrary, he’d rescued her.
And yet.
By marrying her, Laurence had planted a seed of obligation. Or had she planted one herself then left it there from habit, or cowardice?
‘It’s all yours,’ she called as, wrapped in a bath towel, she made her way to the bedroom.
She dressed in the clothes she’d borrowed for the barbecue and then went into the kitchen. The tiles were cool beneath her bare feet. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she studied the tent, still zipped and inscrutable.
She remained puzzled as to why Diane had volunteered to sleep out there. Peacekeeping wasn’t Diane’s thing. Might she have twigged that something was going on with Dafydd and discreetly left the coast clear? Diane and discretion? Never in a million years. So why? She’d wheedle it out of her later and, if she refused to come clean, Jordan could, in all probability, provide some information. (It would cost her, of course.)
Dafydd joined her. His damp hair stood up in haphazard clumps. He wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt. She noticed his feet, broad and tanned in well-worn flip-flops. No lumps or bumps or unsavoury toenails.
‘You okay?’ he said. ‘I didn’t overstep the mark, cross-questioning you?’
‘Not at all.’ She passed him a mug of tea. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
‘There’s nothing to say. What you see is what you get.’
‘Mister Perfect, then?’
‘On the contrary. Making love with you would have been delightful but, before you go beating yourself up on that score, there’s something you should know.’ He drew the palms of his hands down his face. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way but I’m kind of glad that we didn’t.’
His confession surprised her and she looked down at the table, preparing herself for what might come next.
‘When Gwenno took the London job, I assumed she’d pack it in after a few months and bring the kids home. Instead of telling her how much I loved her and that I couldn’t manage without her, I sat on my high horse and did nothing. I was in the right, she was in the wrong. End of.’
‘I can’t imagine you being like that.’
‘A selfish prick, you mean?’
‘You didn’t offer to go to London?’
‘I should have. And I would now, like a shot, if she’d give me a second chance. But that’s never going to happen because she’s with bloody Sam fucking Dean now. Everyone tells me that I should “move on”. Great. So how do I do that?’ He dipped his head and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Find an eighteen year-old blonde with false boobs, false nails and a fake tan? I tried a few of those, God help me. I came away feeling like a dirty old perv.’ He shook his head.
She gave it a moment before asking gently, ‘So how was sleeping with me going to help?’
‘You appeared from out of the blue and reminded me that there are lovely women in the world. Dignified. Intelligent. Good company. Like I said, you made me feel good about myself. And that in itself was wonderful enough. But then you came out into the garden that night and asking you to sleep with me seemed the right thing to do.’
‘What made you change your mind?’
‘I watched you sleeping. You looked so … innocent. I couldn’t wake you. Having sex might have made you hate yourself. And I would have ended up feeling worse about myself than I already do… Still think I make everything easy?’
‘Do the girls know how you feel about their mother?’
‘That’s another thing. I have to keep up this charade. “Everything’s fantastic. Mum and I are best friends. Sam’s a terrific guy.” It’s a killer.’
‘You’ll be able to tell them one day.’ She knew it was little consolation. ‘I think Gwen’s insane to have left you for this Sam person. God, he doesn’t even speak Welsh.’
He took her hands in his and raised them, one at a time, to his lips. ‘Now I’ve got that lot off my chest, you’d better watch out tonight.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘Here come the happy campers.’
Mimi and Jordan emerged from the tent, Mimi wearing Jordan’s Stuff the Goldfish T-shirt. Elizabeth had little doubt that Mimi had requisitioned it but nevertheless she found this evidence of attachment strangely touching.
Diane appeared next, walking gingerly across the lawn, rumpled and pale-faced, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
Elizabeth offered her a mug of black coffee. ‘How was the air bed?’
‘Air gets bloody hard after a couple of hours. But I’ll be okay when I’ve had this,’ she raised the mug ‘and a quick ciggie if I can find the bike shed.’
‘No hanky-panky?’
Diane looked bewildered. ‘Oh, you mean the kids? Come off it. With me lying a few feet away? But I’m sure they’ll get together if they’re dead set on it. Sex is a potent incentive.’
Angel was the last to arrive and the sisters went into a giggly huddle, leaving Jordan watching nervously from the sidelines. It was difficult to envisage him anywhere but the sidelines. She’d seen him fired up a couple of times – carbon footprints and the Goldfish – but his default mode was that of spectator. Passive. Neutral. His phone was in his hand and she suddenly remembered his ‘project’. Yes, he made an excellent observer.
They began a lazy breakfast marathon, plying back and forth between kitchen and garden in an on-going relay of teas and coffees, cereals and toast.
‘Are we going back today or tomorrow?’ Diane’s question came out of the blue. ‘When’s Laurence home? You told me but I’ve forgotten.’ The volume of her voice seemed to increase when she said Laurence – as if to make damn sure that everyone was aware that Elizabeth had a husband.
Dafydd, who was spreading butter evenly on a piece of toast, paused, mid stroke, but didn’t look up.
‘Sunday. His plane’s due in at four.’
Knowing that in one more day this charming parallel life – or whatever it was – would cease was bad enough. To have that day snatched from her was unthinkable.
She cleared her throat. ‘I thought we’d leave tomorrow morning. If that suits Dafydd. Then I’ll head back to London in the evening. Leave Cardiff around five-ish. It’ll be cooler then and the traffic should be pretty light. Maggie’s on cat-feeding duty until Sunday morning.’ Stop wittering. ‘If that’s okay with everyone.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Dafydd said quickly. ‘Now. I’ve been checking the forecast. The weather looks like breaking over the weekend. I suggest we make the most of the sunshine and go on an expedition.’
Mimi groaned and flopped back on the grass.
‘Do we have to, Dad?’
‘Yes, we do. I thought we could stroll over the Downs to Rhossili, have lunch in the pub and then come back along the beach.’
‘But that’s miles.’
‘Don’t be wet, Mimi. We need to walk off this breakfast. Make room for lunch. Get some good Welsh air in your lungs.’