What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story)

by Shaw, O. C

  “Steady there, girly,” Pete says, grasping my hand to pull me back to the verge. I giggle when he doesn’t immediately let go of it again once I’ve re-stabilised myself. We walk that way, hand in hand, following the group surrounding Annie until we get back to the house, where I push to the front of the group, brandishing the key. After a couple of attempts I unlock the door and we all pile through. Annie immediately makes for the stairs and our room, ignoring the protestations of her entourage.

  “I just need to put the key back,” I stage-whisper to her, the image of James’ stern expression immediately coming to mind, and stagger off in the direction of the kitchen. Key replaced, I return to the now dark entrance hall and make my way carefully up the stairs and along the corridor to our room. When Pete lurches out from a dark doorway and puts an arm out to stop me going any further, I actually squeal like a small piglet.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, breathing alcohol fumes at me. I know he’s drunk too.

  “To bed,” I say assertively.

  “Oh don’t, please,” he wheedles, trying to put his other arm around my waist. “What happens on tour stays on tour,” he whispers, moving closer.

  “No, I’m not interested,” I say, more loudly this time as my anxiety level rises. The sound of a door opening causes Pete to jump back from me. In the dark hallway I can see the light reflecting off two bright eyes.

  “I think the lady said no,” a voice drawls quietly but assertively.

  “Yeah, right,” Pete says, backing away and looking embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says, looking at me. I just nod at him and watch him depart.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, lurching back towards where James had been standing, but he’s already gone and all I hear is the click of his door closing.

  Chapter 12

  In the morning the light wakes me early because neither Annie nor I had thought to close the curtains in our drunken stupor, and anyway I’ve always tended to be an early riser ever since I had the boys. I creep to the shower before pulling on some fresh clothes, trying all the while not to wake Annie. I needn’t have worried; it seems she sleeps like the proverbial dead. A glance at my watch tells me it’s 6.30am, and I’m gasping for a cup of tea – fortunately the only symptom of my excesses from the night before. Thank God I don’t tend to get hangovers. I make my way down the now familiar route to the kitchen, find the kettle, mugs and tea and make myself a cup. The house is silent. I wander from room to room, discovering two more sitting rooms, a games room which included a snooker table, a formal dining room and a library. I return to the prettiest sitting room and stand at the picture window, admiring the view out over the countryside. The theme tune to the James Herriott All Creatures Great and Small vet T.V. programme (I had watched when I was a kid) starts playing in my mind, and I start humming it as I stand there drinking my tea.

  “Wrong county,” a voice from behind startles me.

  “Sorry?”

  “All Creatures Great and Small. It was filmed in North Yorkshire, and we’re in Derbyshire.”

  “Oh,” I say faintly as he walks further into the room, embarrassed again. Why do I always feel so stupid around him? I wonder. He’s wearing jeans, faded by years of wear rather than fashion, and a fleecy jumper. He manages to look sexy and yet dressed for the elements. How does he do that? What is it about rich people that they always have just the right outfit for any occasion?

  “How are you feeling?” he enquires. “Hungover?”

  “No,” I say a tad defensively. An image of him seeing Pete off the night before flashes to mind. “Sorry for disturbing you last night,” I say, blushing slightly.

  “I wasn’t asleep.”

  “Oh, well thank you anyway.” Why does every conversation feel so awkward with him? I wonder. I move to the fireplace and pick up the photo of him with his arm around a striking blonde. She looks vaguely familiar. I recognise the location as the top of the staircase in the house.

  “My partner,” he says before I ask.

  “She’s beautiful,” I force. Entirely perfect for someone as perfect as him. I feel a spike of jealousy. What right do I have to feel jealous?

  “We’re separated,” he adds. My heart leaps. What the hell am I thinking? I’m married, for God’s sake!

  “You need to be careful, Lily.” He has stepped up behind me now, and I can feel heat rolling off his body and his warm breath tickling the back of my neck.

  “Why?” I whisper, my mouth suddenly dry, but not from the alcohol.

  “You stand there, a naturally beautiful woman, looking luscious and sweet with your kissable lips and big innocent brown eyes, and I want to eat you up.”

  His breath is brushing my cheek now, and I have to will myself not to lean back against his firm chest. I can’t look at him, or I know I would be lost. My mouth opens slightly, and I feel my nipples tighten at his proximity. Oh my God, he hasn’t even touched me yet, I think in despair.

  “And so do most of the other men on the trip, it seems to me,” he says, stepping away again, his voice sounding less intimate. “What was your husband thinking letting you out alone, I wonder?” Is that censure I can hear in his voice?

  “Hellooo,” a voice calls from the hallway. It’s Stuart. “Ah,” he says on finding us, “I thought the kettle was hot so someone must be up.” He’s totally oblivious to the overt sexual tension in the room, or at least he’s choosing to ignore it. “Need to wake up those others in a minute if we’re going to get this show on the road by 9.30. Some of them are going to need breakfast, rehydration and paracetamol before any walking can happen, I expect.” He looks at me before adding meaningfully, “you okay?”

  “Yes!” I say it a tad more defensively than necessary, perhaps, given the state of me last night. “I didn’t drink that much.” Both James and Stuart snort. I choose to ignore them. “Want me to knock on some doors?” I ask. “I’m used to waking teenagers up, so how hard can a few hikers be?” I say it for effect, to emphasise my family – judging by the smile on James’ face, he sees straight through the tactic.

  “Oh would you, sweetie, that’s great. Face like an angel and the personality to match – your husband is one lucky guy, eh, James?” Stuart smiles at me before looking at James.

  “Indeed he is,” says James, eyes on my lips.

  I literally scuttle out of the room and up the stairs, wondering what the hell just happened there – did I imagine it? Had he just made a sort of pass at me? Men like James don’t notice me. My newfound freedom must be going to my head, I tell myself sternly. Focus on the task at hand before you make a fool of yourself.

  An hour and a half later, and everyone is up and gathered in the kitchen drinking coffee and orange juice. The fact it can accommodate us all gives an indication of its size. A large oak table with benches running along either side is the centrepiece. Porridge, croissants, bacon and toast are all available to eat, although a couple of the group seemed a little too fragile for food. I hear James explaining to Arthur that his housekeeper Mrs Edge had got in some supplies in advance of our visit.

  “She even got some food in for this evening, but I told her we wouldn’t need her to prepare or serve it, so I hope someone here knows how to cook a roast chicken with all the trimmings.”

  “I’m hopeless in a kitchen,” Sarah whines before continuing, “and I can’t bear to get food under my nails – plus,” she’s warming to her theme now; “these extensions cost a fortune. And if any break, I don’t want to look tacky for the do tomorrow night.” James turns to her, and she withers under his look of disapproval.

  “I can cook,” I say in a small voice.

  “Good, well that’s sorted, then. You can be head chef, and I will be your sous chef. The kitchen is the only place I take orders.” His tone is light, but I hear the teasing underneath it.

  Oh my God, I am starting to see sex everywhere, I despair. Now I have the prospect of an evening of trying to avoid him in the kitchen to look forward to, endeavouring not to e
mbarrass and humiliate myself any further. I look around at the group, but no one seems concerned now the decision has been made about who’s cooking. Only Sarah is looking at me with a scowl spoiling her pretty face.

  “Morning, Peeps!” a lyrical voice announces, and Annie floats in looking like a vision of loveliness in her skinny jeans and t-shirt. She grabs a croissant and a coffee before turning to me and asking, “What did I miss?”

  I blush, and she laughs. Curse my blushing, I think angrily, what am I feeling so guilty about? I haven’t done anything wrong…Yet. And that right there is the problem, really.

  By half past nine we’re all on the coach again, with packed lunches made and cagoules packed. Countryside this beautiful doesn’t get this green and lush without plenty of rain. I’m glad for my waterproof walking boots but still feeling a bit nervous about how I’ll manage with the pace the group has set, considering how new I am to the whole exercise thing. Some of these guys have been working out for years. When I raise my worries with Annie, she just shrugs and says that lifting weights does not necessarily mean you are good at walking hills. I hope she’s right and I’m not about to humiliate myself yet again. Still, judging by the state of some of the team, not everyone will be operating at their best.

  We’re heading for the first peak, called Kinder Scout. The coach stops in the village of Edale, and the initial part through the village and the first part of the moor makes me more hopeful I can actually cope. We’re following the brook upstream, and the gradual gradient is relentless, but I can manage. People have naturally begun to split into different-paced walking groups, and I find myself walking with Pat, Pete and Colin. Annie is with the lead group, with Sarah desperately trying to keep pace with her from the looks of things. It seems Sarah has decided Annie is her competition for the title of top girl, or top bitch in Sarah’s case. Jeez, where is all this girly animosity coming from? I wonder. James is in the middle with Stuart, the pair of them continually checking behind to see we’re still with them. Or at least that’s what Stuart is doing; James just seems to look at me, or am I imagining things now and just seeing what I want to see? What had that all meant this morning? I need to talk to Annie about it, I realise – I need a second perspective.

  The ground has become boggy, so much so that in places it’s almost bouncy where there’s a firm top layer over wetter parts. Everyone enjoys springing about on it until the earth gives way on Stuart and he finishes up ankle-deep in bog, at which point everyone focuses back on getting through it without any more mishaps. It’s a relief when we get onto the firmer ground for the last part of the climb. It’s steeper here, but I keep up well.

  In fact everything’s okay until I trip over a rock and land hard on one knee. It hurts briefly, but my pride takes a bigger hit. Pete is beside me in an instant and offers me his hand, which I gratefully take, giving myself a moment to rub my knee. As I stand up I scan the group to see who had noticed; only one pair of eyes seems to be watching me as ever, and they actually look pissed off for some reason. Pete has taken up position beside me and continues to reach out to help me over trickier parts, and I just try to ignore any dirty looks I’m getting from James. It’s hard work, and I barely look up from my feet until we reach the high ridge. When I do, the view is spectacular: out towards Snowdonia one way and the distant smog of what we think is a city – in all likelihood Manchester – in the other. We pause for our lunch huddled down on the side facing away from the wind. I’m sitting with Annie, but Pete comes to sit behind me. His perpetual presence around me is becoming slightly concerning. Oh shit, now I’m going to have to say something. That’s just great, I think. How much more embarrassing can things get?

  “Look, Lily, I just wanted to say sorry,” he starts, sounding awkward, “for last night, I mean,” he stutters. “I shouldn’t have been so in your face. You’re a lovely girl, but I knew you were married and I shouldn’t have pushed like I did – I drank too much. Will you forgive me?” He looks sincere and genuinely sorry, and I figure what the hell, he’s a nice guy the rest of the time. I want us to be friends; I don’t have that many of them.

  “Sure,” I decide, “I’ll give you a second chance.” He smiles with relief, and I smile back at him.

  “Well, well, well, and what have I been missing, please?” Annie demands. Pete looks sheepish as he describes the pass he made at me the night before. When he comes to the part where James appeared, I see Annie’s eyes widen slightly. At the end of his rendition Annie ribs him mercilessly, and to his credit he takes it, until Stuart announces it was time to make tracks again. Pete springs to his feet with a look of relief on his face and moves off to join some of the other guys in the group. There was obviously only so much he could take.

  The descent is, if anything, at least as hard as the ascent, which is a bit of a shock to me. My knees are killing me as we travel along the ridge and down Jacob’s Ladder. Annie is walking with me this time, mostly in silence, with the occasional comment about the scenery which is astoundingly beautiful.

  “I think he wants you,” Annie suddenly says out of nowhere.

  “Who? Pete? Maybe last night when he had his beer goggles on, but he knows the score now. He doesn’t really want me, he just wants someone. He’s not married so he’s got nothing to lose,” I excuse him.

  “No, not Pete, my dear.” I stop in my tracks and look at her.

  “Then who?”

  “James.”

  My pulse leaps at the mention of his name. I hadn’t imagined it, and here was the confirmation I was after. I pause before answering, asking carefully: “What makes you think that?”

  “So you don’t deny it, then?”

  “I didn’t say that. I asked why you would think he wants me. I mean look at me!” I say dismissively, pointing at myself.

  “Don’t be silly, Lily, you’re a beautiful girl who is completely oblivious to both your inner and outer beauty. Better to ask how could he not want you? You’re like a butterfly emerging at the moment, Lily. You just can’t see it yourself yet. Or won’t – I’m not sure which. Anyway, the fact remains the man wants you; it’s written all over his face every time he looks at you – which is often, by the way. My question to you is what are you planning to do about it?”

  “I can’t quite believe it’s true,” I say frankly. “This sort of thing doesn’t happen to me. People look past me, not at me. People look at people like you, not people like me, especially people like him,” I say, nodding towards James, who’s about fifty metres ahead of us.

  “That’s a lot of people,” she nods sagely.

  “It is,” I grin.

  “But just say this time it was different, that people like him,” she says, nodding in James’ direction, “did want people like you this time – what would you do?”

  “I’m married.”

  “I know. You might still want to give it some thought, though. Lily, I sense you’re at a crossroads here. You need to be sure you take the right path for you, honey. Choose what you want rather than making bad, quick decisions in the moment. I’ll say no more, but I’m here if you want to talk to me, anytime,” and she grasps my arm firmly. “No judgement,” she adds.

  “Thanks Annie, I really appreciate it,” I say, hugging her swiftly.

  We return to our companionable silence as we continue with our descent. The group has done well, completing the walk in four hours, with another hour for lunch. The weather has been unusually kind too. I’m proud I have managed it with apparent ease, and I take a moment to bask in a sense of personal achievement on the coach back.

  We are back at the house by 4.30pm, so I have a bit of time to kill before I need to start the dinner. I nip into the bathroom first to luxuriate in a bubble bath, using the cooking card to trump Annie, whose face looked alight having just been asked to meet Stuart for a drink before dinner. As I wallow in the warm waters I feel my joints relax and the aching parts of me ease slightly. Hair washed and legs and armpits freshly shaved, I make my way b
ack into the room where Annie is lounging on the bed reading, waiting for her turn in the bathroom. I marvel at how glamorous she managed to look with absolutely no effort, even when she was filthy. I grab my clean jeans, an old shabby t-shirt and one of my favourite cardigans and begin to dress when Annie suddenly says, “No, no, no, Lily!”

  “Sorry?” I say, looking at her to see what’s wrong.

  “No, Lily, I am not going to allow you to leave the room looking like that. You dress like you are 67 and not 37 for God’s sake, woman. No wonder you have no idea how lovely you are. Show me all your other clothes, and we’ll try and salvage a decent outfit from it. Maybe I have something that might work,” she adds thoughtfully. She proceeds to rifle through my possessions, choosing my best jeans and handing me a black capped-sleeve shirt of hers to try.

  “This won’t fit me,” I protest, trying to hand it back.

  “It will! It’s stretchy, and my back is broader than yours – I’m bigger than you seem to think. And you are certainly smaller than you seem to think. Just try it – please? For me?”

  I give in and put the shirt on. It’s tight, and feels revealing compared to what I’m used to wearing, but when I look in the mirror I’m pleasantly surprised by what I see.

  “Lovely!” Annie claps her hands together, pleased with herself. “Now you may leave the room.”

  A quick look at my watch tells me I’m already late. “Shit!” I worry as I sprint to the kitchen.

  Chapter 13

  James has turned the oven on to warm and is already there setting ingredients out on the sides when I walk in, trying desperately not to look like I’ve been running or am in any way flustered.

  “At last,” he says as he hears the door. “Thought you were going to stand me up and leave me to fathom out how to cook for all these peop–” His words stop as he turns from the worktop to look at me. He takes me in, eyes raking up and down my body but resting longest on my cleavage which must have been made all the more apparent by the shirt’s plunging V-neck. “Wow!” is all he says as he stalks towards me. My heart thumps so loudly I’m sure he must be able to hear it as he stops directly in front of me.