She rapped at his door and rang the bell for good measure. Getting colder by the second, she realized coming out with bare feet was not a good idea. The gravel had spiked her soft soles. And although it was August, there was a chilly sea breeze – it was draughty right up and under her dressing gown, in places she’d much rather keep warm.
He seemed to take an age getting to the door, then looked through the glass panel quizzically at her. ‘What on earth –?’
‘Bloody hot water’s done a bunk.’ She launched herself into the warmth of his hallway. ‘Mid-shower, no-bloody-less. Can I use yours? Pleeease?’ She felt herself shiver and her teeth beginning to rattle.
‘Of course. Go on up before you catch your death. So the house from hell’s at it again.’
She’d rather have liked his arms around her at this point to warm her through, but it didn’t happen.
‘Yes, I’m sure the old bugger’s set it up as a death trap to torture unsuspecting guests so they never want to come back again, and he doesn’t have to bother any more. I have persevered, but …’
‘I bet you’re his only ever repeat booking.’ Ed grinned. He spotted her shivering. ‘Oh, go. Go on up and thaw out in the shower. Top of stairs to the left.’
‘I know.’ Having been to the bathroom only this morning. She gave him what she hoped was a sultry look through soap-squinted eyes.
‘Of course …’
She began to thaw under a stream of hot, power-jetted water and helped herself to a squeezy blob of his bodywash and shampoo, which smelt all fresh and manly. She half hoped he might pop his head round the door for a sneaky, sexy peek at her, or indeed whip off his clothes and leap in to join her. She’d enjoy soaping up that lovely chest … and more. But he didn’t materialize. Oh well, it felt kind of naughty and nice just thinking about it. And a proper power shower was a delight – hot, bubbly bliss.
Ed obviously had a lot of work on and stayed downstairs. Hopefully trying to finish whatever project he had, to free up some time tonight. She began to soap herself slowly, sensually, remembering the feel of his touch. She couldn’t wait for round two. Just a few hours away.
Finally, stepping out, she couldn’t resist using one of his huge fluffy towels, hot off the chrome radiator rail, folding her old damp cottage one on the floor. Aaah, she felt so much better. She towel-dried her hair and found a comb on the side to neaten it up a little, having left her own brush at the cottage in her rush. She wandered out to the landing. All was quiet. Glimpsed his bedroom, where they’d lain and loved only last night. Could this be the start of something beautiful? It surely felt like it. She was drawn to the open doorway and looked at the bed, which was still a little crumpled. She could smell his aftershave and was almost tempted to pull a pillow up to her face and sniff. God, she’d got it bad. She smiled.
Then her gaze locked onto a photo frame that was set on the far bedside table. It hadn’t been there last night. She’d slept on that side – she would have remembered it, for sure, especially when she’d got up this morning. She moved in closer, froze. It was an image of a woman, a very attractive dark-haired woman with a toddler, and behind them, with arms wrapped around them both, was Ed. The child’s eyes were the exact same green as his.
Oh my God, what was she seeing? They looked so happy, so close. It had to be his son. And the way his arms were held tight around the woman – she looked so much more than a sister, a friend. A wife, partner, lover?
So was everything last night a lie, a betrayal? What kind of a man was he? Oh no, she should have trusted her first instincts – the grumpiness, the offhandedness. The coolness again this morning. Had he got a family at home all the while? Had he just lured her with food and wine into his bed because he fancied a bit of playing away? She’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker. He must have been using her all along. She felt sick.
She’d always steered clear of married men, of anyone taken. This was not her thing at all.
She wrapped the towel tightly around her, left the bedroom and its memories, now tainted with betrayal, grabbed her dressing gown and the damp towel up off the bathroom floor and ran.
What an idiot she’d been. And she’d given herself so freely – believed him when he said she was beautiful. He’d probably put up with a scar for a quick shag. How could she ever be beautiful with a body like that? She’d so wanted to believe it. Believe him. Another liar, another man. She’d just been an easy lay.
She got to the front door and dashed out, not bothering to close it. Shit, the gravel was nipping under her bare feet. Bugger it. No more. No more men, no more so-called bloody romance. No more being duped and made a fool of.
She ran into her own cottage, slamming the door behind her. Heard his shout across the yard – ‘Claire … Wait … what the …?’ She turned the key in the lock and ran up to her room, grabbing her case and shoving clothes and shoes in haphazardly. She pulled on some knickers, jeans and a T-shirt, and slipped into plimsolls. There was no point staying now, stuck next door to that prick of a man. She never wanted to set eyes on him again.
Let him work it out. That she wasn’t playing his game any more. She wouldn’t be someone’s bit on the side.
She stormed into the kitchen, grabbed the food she’d brought and shoved it all into plastic bags. Time to get out of here. Time to go home.
She scoured the driveway – no sign of him for now. Bolting out of the door, she piled her bags into the boot, locked the cottage door and put the key back under the flowerpot outside. Security wasn’t tight, but who the hell would want to break into that hovel anyhow.
‘Claire.’ His voice was taut. Shit, he was out of his house, striding across. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
As if he didn’t know. She tried to make it to the car.
‘You tell me, Ed. You tell me.’ The bitterness spilled over into her voice.
‘What the –?’
How dare he play the innocent.
‘Oh, come on, I’ve had enough of being lied to, Ed. The woman, the photo by your bed.’
His face dropped. He paled. At least he didn’t try to deny it. He just didn’t say anything.
So he’d been caught. No defence. No, ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
She opened her car door, got in, slammed it closed. Pulled the gearstick into reverse and turned the car with a satisfying spin of the gravel. A few more inches back and she might have hit him. The bastard would have deserved it. She pulled out into the main road, throwing a glance at the rear-view mirror. He was just standing there staring after her.
19
The first time I heard my daughter giggle
Sean, LA
Back to work. Back to reality.
Sitting at her desk on Tuesday morning, Claire stared out of the window, past a section of the brick-built office block opposite them at a corner of the Tyne Bridge and a fragment of blue sky and puffy white clouds.
‘Earth calling … Claire? Do you read me?’
‘Uh … Oh, hi, Andrea. Sorry, not quite with it there for a mo.’ This was no good, drifting off into some lost zone in her head. She was meant to be writing her latest article. Focus woman.
‘I can tell. I was asking if you wanted a cup of coffee? I’m just about to make myself one.’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Maybe caffeine would do the trick, perk her up a bit.
She’d been finding it really hard to settle since getting back from Bamburgh and the seaside cottage. Not that she should even be letting that tosser of a man into her thoughts. And it was a bloody shame he’d spoilt her seaside retreat now too. She really couldn’t face going back there now, not with that asshole next door.
Okay, enough of that – she shouldn’t even give him the credit of head space. Andrea was heading off in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Thanks,’ Claire called after her. She flicked to her emails on the laptop screen – thirty-nine new messages. Twelve appeared to be junk, and – ooh, great – she was getting some more in with the subject line ‘My Ma
gic Moments’.
She clicked on the first one: ‘Hi, Claire. Loved the last blog! My magic moment is the five minutes’ peace I get sitting alone in the kitchen with my first cup of tea of the day, before my hubbie and the kids get up. It’s so quiet and still, sometimes I might just hear a bird tweeting outside and that’s it. I can sit and sip my Tetleys and then the lovely but crazy family bedlam takes over.’
She clicked on the second: ‘Claire. Magic moment. Bubble bath and a book!’
And there were more when she looked at the Herald’s Facebook page: ‘When Newcastle United beat Sunderland 5–0! Now that would be a magic moment!’
‘A winter-wonderland Icelandic evening with a good friend, a cosy bar, a guitar player, hot mulled wine and the snow falling softly outside.’
‘Hi Claire. The first time I heard my daughter giggle. Thanks for a great feel-good column, Sean x’
Then she spotted a hand-written envelope, addressed to her, that must have been put on her desk by one of the secretaries a little earlier. The paper was crisp white vellum, the handwriting neat and gently looped but with a slight wobble, suggesting the writer might be someone elderly. She leant back in her chair as she read:
Dear Claire,
Hope you are feeling much better now, my dear. My magic moment is the kiss my husband gives me at night before we go to sleep. It’s the last thing he does every day, and he has done this since the day we got married. We’ve been married for fifty-five years this July. We are also very lucky to have a lovely family, including six grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.
Very best wishes,
Jean and Duncan Brown.
Ah, how sweet. Her heart felt a little tug. So there was some romance left in the world after all. She leaned her elbow on the desk, rested her hand on her chin, and gave a small sigh.
‘Coffee time.’ Andrea delivered a large steaming mug of Nescafé, just a dash of milk, no sugar – just as she liked.
‘Thanks, you’re a star.’
‘You okay, hun? You seem a bit quiet since you got back from your weekend.’ Andrea looked at her quizzically. ‘Is everything all right? You are feeling okay?’
Her closest friend hovered beside her desk, waiting for her reply. Since she’d had cancer, there was always this extra layer of concern from her friends, colleagues and family. It was only natural, but so many conversations seemed to have this backdrop of worry. What if ‘it’ came back? Like an elephant in the room, cancer loitered. Waiting to gate-crash her life with heavy, stomping feet and a desire to crush her all over again. But she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it, couldn’t let it stomp all over her when she’d been told it wasn’t even there any more.
‘I’m fine, honest. Thanks for asking. All good on the health front. Not due for any more checks for another two months.’ She pasted on a bright smile. She really did have so much to be thankful for.
‘Well, that’s good. So you’ll be fancying another night out soon, then? What about a few drinks and some dancing down on the quayside? I could get Gary from the sports team out, and a few of us from the office?’
Not Gary again. It seemed Andrea was still dedicated to hooking them up. It’s true he was pretty fit – obviously practising sport in his downtime as well as writing about it – but he really wasn’t her sort. A little too full of himself for her liking, and she’d heard he’d been a bit of a player in his time.
‘Are you still harping on about Gary? Give me a break, Andz.’
‘Recently spilt with his girlfriend,’ she added.
Another heart-crushed casualty, no doubt. Even more reason to steer clear. ‘I’m off men, anyhow.’
‘Pray tell. Anything I should know about?’
‘No.’ There was no way she was taking the lid off the recent can of worms. ‘Just the whole ex-husband saga. That’s enough for anyone. The house sale is going ahead and I’m packing up, trying to get ready for a new place on my own, so as far as Gary is concerned, thanks, but no thanks. Though I might be up for a couple of drinks one evening and a boogie with the girls.’
‘Fine. I’ll see what I can get fixed up. Check out when the others are free. It’ll do you good to let your hair down a bit.’ Andrea looked at her friend’s crop; the still-recovering head of hair. ‘Ah, shite, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’
See – there was that elephant again!
‘It’s fine. No worries!’ Claire laughed. Hair was the least of her issues; at least she had some now.
David, the newspaper’s main editor, came out of his office, and strolled down the aisle towards the pair of them, pausing pointedly to say, ‘How’s that article going, Andrea? Deadline for two p.m. I need that copy filed asap.’ There was obviously far too much chatting going on.
As he turned his back, they pulled a told-off-at-school face at each other, and Andrea sidestepped her way back to her desk. Claire looked fondly across at her friend’s computer, which was draped in a fuchsia-pink feather boa. Photos of her and Danny together were Blu-Tacked onto the partition board between hers and the next desk, and an assortment of Malteser and Twirl packets, both empty and full, were strewn alongside the keyboard. Andrea’s main role was compiling the ‘What’s On’ listings, and she did a lot of reviews. She often took Claire with her to see first nights at the Theatre Royal and the Comedy Club, and to various cinemas for new releases. It had its perks.
Head down for her next article. Alongside ‘Magic Moments’, which was a weekly fixture now, Claire was working on a couple of human interest stories for the newspaper’s website. She was hoping to get a piece in the main paper too – an item on a local lad who was undergoing treatment for Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and who’d been doing a lot of fundraising locally. David thought Claire the ideal person to interview him. It was going to be quite an emotional visit – she was scheduled to meet him and his family in two days’ time at the hospital. She’d heard about him on the radio and she wanted to write up the best article she could, to highlight his charity. At times like this, Claire really loved her job. She felt she could make a difference, do some real good, hopefully brighten someone’s day.
‘Something happened, didn’t it?’ Sally eyed her across the kitchen that evening. ‘Come on, spill the beans. It wasn’t that hunk next door, was it?’
It was the first time she’d seen Sal face to face since last weekend. She felt herself flushing up, the telltale heat rising at her neck. Trust Sal to hit the nail on the head.
‘Hah – it did, didn’t it! I knew it. You lucky thing. Was he as delicious as he looks?’ Claire didn’t answer. ‘Okay, so why the long face? And why did you get back a day early? You never did say. And come to think of it, you look like shit.’
‘Well, thanks.’ You could always rely on a sister for an honest opinion. Too bloody honest sometimes. Claire let out a slow sigh and hugged the mug of coffee that Sal passed to her. ‘Oh Sal, why does it always turn into a bloody mess?’
Sal came to sit down across from her at the wooden kitchen table. ‘What happened?’ Her tone had softened.
The boys were out playing football with Mark, so there was no one to interrupt them.
‘Okay. We did get it together.’
Sal couldn’t help an envious quirk of her eyebrow, she noticed.
‘I spent the night. It was great … or seemed to be. And then it all went bloody wrong, as per usual. I should have known better … Why would a guy like that be on his own?’
Sal sat quietly listening, love and concern etched on her pretty features.
‘Well, I had to go back later that next day. The shower had packed up in my cottage.’
‘No surprise that, hey.’
‘No, well anyway, I went to use his, and when I came out of the bathroom, I shouldn’t have been so bloody nosy, but I took another look in his room. Well I’m glad I did in a way, or I’d never have found out.’
‘What exactly?’
‘He’s married, or got a girlfriend at least. And a kid, by the
looks of it.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘No, I saw a photo by the bed. It had to be.’
‘But did he say that? That he was married, in a relationship?’
‘No, not exactly. But it was bloody obvious. Just the look on his face. He didn’t deny it or anything.’
‘Oh, Claire, what a bummer. You’ll just have to put it down to experience’.
‘Maybe … but I just feel awful. You know, it’s just not me. I’d never have been there if I’d known there was anyone else involved. Oh Sal, I feel so shit that I might have just buggered up someone else’s life.’
‘Claire, you can’t blame yourself for something you knew nothing about.’
‘I know, I know. But getting involved with someone who’s already in a relationship … Aagh.’ She knew first-hand how much that could hurt. The damage of deceit and lies. Why would she do that to someone else?
‘It’s not your fault, Claire. You’re not a mind-reader – give yourself a break.’
‘S’pose … I think I’m just feeling a bit vulnerable at the moment.’
‘Yeah I can see it’s got you. Just when you were getting back on your feet, too. But are you absolutely sure? If he never said.’
‘Well, I can’t think of any other explanation, can you?’
‘A sister, a friend with a kid?’
‘Right by his bedside? And it’s funny how it wasn’t there when he had me in that bed. Anyway, if it was a sister, wouldn’t you put that kind of pic on a sideboard or in the lounge or something? I wouldn’t have you stuck next to me every night. Much as I love your pretty face.’ She managed a wry grin.
‘Cheers. But, yes, maybe you’re right. So you didn’t give him the chance to explain?’
My Summer of Magic Moments Page 15