by Jo Verity
There’s no law that says a man must wear shorts. And Laurence does look stunning in black tie.
Mimi appeared to have forgiven Jordan for his shift of allegiance last night. She had him cornered by the sink and was making much of whatever was in his carrier bag. Judging by the ease with which they were chatting, Elizabeth guessed that he was more than happy with the way things were panning out.
Suddenly Mimi picked up a glass and tapped it with a spoon. ‘Listen everyone. Jay’s written a song. Haven’t you Jay?’
Jordan blushed. ‘Well … me and Lenny … sort of.’
‘Well done you,’ Dafydd said.
‘That’s wonderful,’ Elizabeth said. ‘What’s it called?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Runaway Heart.’
‘I like it already,’ Diane said.
‘We recorded it.’ Jordan delved into his carrier bag and held up a CD.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Dafydd said.
They traipsed into Dafydd’s bedroom where Jordan removed the disk from its plastic case, taking great care not to touch its iridescent surface as he lowered it, respectfully, onto the flimsy tray.
Jordan’s husky voice perfectly suited the simple but pleasing tune, as he sang about a heart fated to plummet to disaster unless it was saved by love. (‘Like the buggy,’ Mimi whispered in case anyone failed to spot the metaphor.) By the time they’d listened to it twice more, they were all a little emotional, particularly Mimi who wept, possessively, onto Jordan’s shoulder.
When the applause subsided, Elizabeth told him that he had written a beautiful song. And she meant it. He blushed, pulling his hat down, muttering that it ‘needed fine tuning’.
‘God, is that the time,’ Diane said. ‘We should have been away half an hour ago.’
Whilst they were sitting on the bed listening to Runaway Heart, Dafydd had run his hand across ‘her’ pillow and Elizabeth’s world had shifted once more. An hour ago, London had seemed a haven but now she couldn’t help thinking how good it would be to lie beside him, recapturing yesterday morning’s intimacy. But Diane’s remark had triggered a flurry of activity and the room was transformed into a departure lounge, resonating with goodbyes and undertakings to stay in touch.
‘Let me get your bags,’ Dafydd said to Elizabeth. ‘You’d better come and make sure I’ve got everything.’
She followed him into their room. He pulled her behind the door and kissed her. ‘I’m sorry I was such a bastard. I don’t know what came over me. Actually, I do. I was bloody angry.’
‘Angry? With me?’
‘No, not with you. With … life. With the earth for turning too quickly. With that bloody stupid horse. God, I’m such a twat.’
‘One day I shall probably kick myself for not … you know.’ She blushed.
‘Me too.’ He kissed her again, brushing his hand across her breast. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a chance…’
She pushed his hand gently away. ‘I’m tempted but it wouldn’t solve anything. For either of us.’
He sighed. ‘I never intended to damage your marriage. I’ve been on the receiving end and I wouldn’t do that to anyone.’
‘I know that. In fact you may have improved it if that’s any consolation. The stuff I told you yesterday … I need to face up to it.’
‘All part of the service.’ He attempted a smile. ‘And you know where to find me if…’ He cupped her face with his hands. ‘I promise I shan’t try to contact you. I shall want to, but I won’t. And remember,’ he paused, ‘we’ll always have Llangennith.’
‘I’m not crying,’ she said as the tears slid down her cheeks.
‘No, and you mustn’t.’ He pulled a folded handkerchief from one of his many pockets and dabbed her face.
‘What will you do though? About Gwen? I can’t bear—’
‘Shhh. I’m going to hang in there, I think. That bastard may take his eye off the ball one day, blot his copybook – any one of a dozen metaphors – and I’ll nip in like a shot.’
‘I could murder him for you, if you like,’ she said. ‘Something slow and horribly painful.’
‘Now you’re talking.’
They held each other close, swaying gently as if each were soothing a fretting baby.
‘Ready when you are,’ Diane called from the kitchen.
And so swiftly that she could barely believe it was happening, they were out of the house and down the front steps, wishing the girls good luck with their exam results, repeating their thank-yous, piling holdalls and sleeping bags and Jordan’s rucksack in the boot of the car and climbing in.
‘Seat belts, everyone,’ she heard herself say in a voice that sounded implausibly normal.
She turned the ignition key and glanced up at the prosaic little house, made even plainer by the colourless morning. To its left stood ‘Dad’s’ shed, waiting in orderly limbo for events to run their inevitable course. Mimi and Angel – Mair and Angharad – were standing barefoot on the doorstep, half in and half out of the house, yawning and waving, no doubt wishing she would get a move on and drive away so that they could go back to bed. She put the car into reverse, checking the mirrors and swivelling in her seat to look behind. Diane was muttering something about a stiff neck. Jordan was fidgeting, every now and again his knee or his foot nudging the back of her seat. Dafydd was standing in the road, directing her as she edged backwards between the gateposts.
He was there, arm raised in solemn farewell, when she pulled away.
And still there, shrinking in the rear-view mirror, as she rounded the bend at the top of the hill.
30
SATURDAY: 10.15AM
In no mood to chat, Elizabeth slipped The Best of Wolfman into the player and set the volume a couple of notches higher. Rock music and the winding road proved an effective lullaby for Jordan who was asleep within minutes. Not easily deterred, Diane turned the volume down again.
‘I’m a selfish cow, aren’t I?’ There was no regret in her voice, in fact she sounded proud of her failing.
‘What’s brought this on?’
‘Oh, a conversation I had with Joe. I was trying to explain our friendship and he said it seems a little one way. He’s right, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is.’
Diane laughed, clearly choosing to take the truth as a witticism.
Elizabeth said nothing, allowing Diane to continue and prove the extent of her selfishness.
‘I can’t tell you how much better I feel now that you know about Marin. In fact I’ve decided to forget he even exists. If he wants to send me money, that’s up to him. I think that five grand isn’t over the odds for a marriage of convenience. And before you mention Carl, I’ve more or less decided to forget him too.’ She gave a contented sigh. ‘Amazing how a night with a sexy man can make you see sense.’
Lucky Vexler. Poor Carl.
They drove on, past the ruin on the hill, the road following the estuary where the ponies still stood up to their bellies in rushes. As they joined the flow of motorway traffic heading eastwards, Elizabeth became conscious of her friend’s scrutiny.
‘What?’ she said.
Diane reached across, pulling Elizabeth’s collar away from her neck. ‘Is that a love bite?’
‘No. It is not a love bite. It’s a graze.’
She described what had happened, making the horse bigger and friskier, the screech of tyres more emphatic, feeling a childish urge to impress Diane with something.
She glanced in the mirror. Jordan was out for the count, bandana askew. ‘He’s blotto.’
‘I’m not surprised. Neither of us got much sleep last night.’
Okay. We’ve got the message.
‘I worry about you, Lizzie. Don’t laugh. I’m serious. Always in control. Bottling things up. One day – pouf – you’ll explode.’ She tutted. ‘Such a shame.’
‘What “things”?’
‘Everything.’
Diane fell silent, her head tipped back against the headrest
, her eyes closed. Elizabeth was delighted to note that this morning, face muscles slack and grey roots beginning to show, even a leather jacket and any number of piercings couldn’t conceal Diane’s age.
The powerful car hummed along, the milometer clicking away the miles, one tenth at a time. And somewhere between junctions forty-one and forty, where the steelworks belched out its malodorous clouds, the devil got into Elizabeth Giles.
‘Di?’
Diane opened her eyes and yawned. ‘Yes?’
‘How’s your neck?’
‘It’s okay. A bit stiff.’ She stretched her neck from side to side. ‘Good of you to wake me to check.’
‘As a matter of fact there is something I’d like to get off my chest.’
‘Oh.’
‘But before I start, you must promise never to tell anyone.’
‘What? Or you’ll shoot me?’
‘This isn’t funny, Di.’
Elizabeth checked her mirrors, indicated and pulled into the slow lane behind a Stobart truck. To make sure that Jordan was asleep she called over her shoulder. ‘How much do I owe you?’
When she received no reply she continued. ‘It’s been a weird couple of weeks. Laurence going off to France. Jordan turning up. Discovering that my oldest friend is a married—’
‘How about we cut to the chase?’ Diane said.
‘Okay. The first time I met Dafydd I thought he was cocky. Flirty. A bit, “look at me I’m on the telly”.’
She pictured Dafydd, sturdy and hairy-chested, nonchalant in his underpants, grinning at her through the open window.
‘The next day, when we went round for drinks, I realised that I’d got the wrong end of the stick. That’s just the way he is. London makes everyone wary of strangers. And of revealing too much of themselves. When he invited us to Llangennith, I persuaded myself that it would be a good way of keeping Jordan amused. Of course it had nothing to do with Jordan.
‘The night we got there, I couldn’t sleep. We’d had the beach party palaver and when I came to bed you were snoring which didn’t help. I went into the garden and Dafydd was already out there. We talked about this and that. Then he kissed me and asked me to sleep with him. He was very matter of fact. No bullshit about love. He said we should because we’d both enjoy it.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, I refused, of course.’
She risked a glance at Diane who was motionless, eyes wide, fingertips clamped against her lips.
‘But the more I thought about it – imagined going to bed with Dafydd – the more I wanted to.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Diane murmured.
‘Anyway, I told him I’d changed my mind. I had no idea how it was going to happen. But then you volunteered to sleep in the tent and – hey presto.’
Diane raised a fist in the air. ‘So you’re not totally frigid. Or gay.’
Up to this point, Elizabeth’s account of what had taken place, although sketchy was truthful. Now was the time to become more creative and give Diane the ‘happy’ ending she expected.
She checked the mirror again – Jordan hadn’t budged – then continued. ‘I admit I was a little nervous, but after a few drinks…’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He was pretty … accomplished.’
‘Result.’ Diane leaned across and kissed her on the cheek. ‘And last night?’
‘Same again. But better.’ Elizabeth shrugged. ‘There you have it.’
(If she looked in the wardrobe mirror now, she might be surprised by what she saw.)
It had begun to rain. A fine drizzle smeared the windscreen and the wipers squeaked across the glass, leaving a murky stripe at the extremity of their swipe.
Diane raised her palm. ‘I promise that I will never tell a living soul that Elizabeth Giles fucked Dafydd Jones twice—’
‘Four times, actually.’
‘Stop it. You’re making me feel inadequate.’
Elizabeth was enjoying this. ‘I have you to thank. If you hadn’t gone in the tent…’
‘So,’ Diane rubbed her hands together, ‘my work here is done. Who said that? Batman? Jesus?’ She paused. ‘About the tent. I have to confess that wasn’t a totally altruistic gesture. We played Monopoly for a while then the kids got bored. I said I was tired and we zipped ourselves in our little rooms. Joe came to pick me up around midnight.’ Ahhh. The car door. ‘The kids were still making a racket, talking and laughing so it was dead easy to sneak out. We drove down to the beach. Spent a few hours exploring the dunes. And he dropped me back around three.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Elizabeth said. ‘How did you organise it?’
‘When we were at the café. We went outside for a smoke, remember? And he asked if I’d like to go out for a drink sometime.’
‘What? Out of the blue?’
‘No. We’d already had a good old flirt on the beach. I said I’d give him a ring when I was free. So I did. From the tent.’
And here they were, talking about Diane again. She hadn’t bothered to ask whether Elizabeth planned to see Dafydd again. Whether she felt good or bad, liberated or guilty about what had happened. Whether she would confess to Laurence. Diane simply didn’t care.
Your work here is done? Mine too.
Diane pointed to the gantry that spanned the motorway. ‘The next exit’s ours.’
Elizabeth felt something digging into the small of her back. Jordan was stirring. She glanced at the dashboard. They were sixty-six point three miles from Llangennith.
Carl greeted Diane with a bunch of red rosebuds. He kissed Elizabeth and commented on how healthy they all looked. When he asked what they had been ‘getting up to’, by telepathic agreement they gave him the bowdlerised version. Diane described the beach and the dunes. Elizabeth enthused over their walk to Rhossili. Diane explained how Jordan had saved the baby. Elizabeth finished by telling him about their exciting meeting with a rock star and Jordan’s recording.
‘You had a great time by the sound of it. And Jordan – your first composition. That’s something, eh?’
Jordan was sitting on the far side of the room, playing with his phone. Throughout the week, his failure to engage had irritated Elizabeth but now she was more than happy for him to remain silent. He must have known that Joe and Diane had slept together (there had been no other reason for her to stay there last night). He wouldn’t come out with it directly – the ‘oldies having sex’ scenario would be too embarrassing for a fifteen year old to contemplate, let alone speak about. However if he got carried away and went into details of the all-night session and their rush to get back by nine o’clock, Carl might start asking questions. Bugger Diane, she was on her own from here on, but if it came out now it would put her and Jordan in an awkward position.
‘Let’s stop talking about the song and hear it,’ Elizabeth said.
‘It’s good,’ Carl said after they’d listened, several times, to Runaway Heart. ‘You play well, Jordan. And you sing in tune. You understand how to turn a simple tune into something more interesting. I like the way you move into the minor key for the restatement of the melody.’
Jordan grinned with pride and Elizabeth relaxed a little, counting the hours until they could get back on the road.
The kitchen table was already set. Carl had remembered that Jordan was a vegetarian (it would have been unkind to disabuse him) and had prepared a meatless sauce for the pasta. He’d bothered to track down Elizabeth’s favourite brand of grape juice. Over lunch it emerged that, in the few days they’d been away, he’d remembered to collect Diane’s jacket from the dry cleaners and book her car in for a service. He’d sorted out problems with the sticking ballcock, the bank and the loft ladder. Horribly conscious of the time bomb that Diane had set ticking, Elizabeth found his efficiency and enthusiasm overpowering.
From where she sat, she could see the roof of Dafydd’s house, its blue-grey slates slick with rain. And the small window, to the left of the shed, must be where they stood and discussed his good fortune in owning the house, and where she’d been rende
red breathless by his proximity. Before long he would be back there – possibly this evening if he decided to drive straight home after visiting his in-laws.
They’d once owned a handsome, affectionate cat called Rufus. He hadn’t been very old – seven or eight – when he’d developed untreatable kidney problems. The family was distraught – even Laurence – but there was clearly only one course of action. The appointment was made for a Thursday evening and, to make her feel less guilty about what lay in store, she gave Rufus a whole trout for his last meal and even allowed him to sit on the kitchen table. Laurence took him off to the vet’s and the boys had almost stopped sobbing, and she was beginning to feel a little better, when Laurence returned – with Rufus. The surgery had been shut (she’d forgotten why) and they’d had to go through the whole trauma again the following Monday.
Parting from Dafydd this morning hadn’t been easy and she didn’t want to put them both through it a second time.
After they’d eaten, Diane went upstairs to check her mail and Jordan disappeared to watch television, leaving Elizabeth and Carl to clear the dishes and make coffee.
‘So,’ Carl said, ‘did you have plenty of good chats with Diane?’
‘Yes. It was great to catch up.’
‘Did you find out what is worrying her?’
Elizabeth had known that, sooner or later, he would ask. She had been trying (and failing) to think if there was any way of warning him what was about to happen – to soften the blow. Poor Carl. He was a kind (if smothering) man.
‘She seems fine. The same old Di. You know. Up for anything.’
He nodded but concern clouded his face. ‘She didn’t say anything about receiving a package?’
‘A package?’ She concentrated on slotting dinner plates into the dishwasher.
‘Yes. I sent her a little cash, in case perhaps she has spent too much on her credit card or something like that. In case money is her worry. It was an anonymous gift. Diane does not value herself. If she has overspent I don’t want her to feel indebted to me. That wouldn’t be good for her self esteem. Or our relationship.’ He frowned.