Another Love

by Amanda Prowse

  Romilly pulled her daughter close alongside her. ‘No. Thanks, Sara, but it’s rare that I have time for the walk and we can have a proper chat. Plus the fresh air will do us the world of good.’

  ‘Oh, a proper chat, my favourite thing. Well, enjoy your walk and have a great day, Celeste. Rom, if you can get a late pass, you know where I am!’ And without waiting for a reply, she pulled her large-framed sunglasses from her hair and placed them on her face before roaring off up the street and onto the main road.

  ‘What’s a late pass?’ Celeste asked as she skipped alongside her mum on the pavement.

  ‘What would you like for tea? If you could have anything, anything at all?’ Romilly was keen to change the subject.

  It seemed to do the trick. Celeste immediately placed her finger over her lips, as she did when she was thinking, and hummed. ‘I like pizza or I like roast chicken and red jelly.’

  ‘Roast chicken and red jelly, eeuuw, on the same plate?’

  ‘No, Mummy!’ She laughed. ‘Or one of your pies.’

  Romilly arrived home with the heavy carrier bags of supper supplies making her fingers cramp. Walking into the kitchen, she dumped them on the floor and noticed that the little red light of the answer phone was winking. With a trembling finger, she pressed play and stood back.

  ‘Romilly, hi, it’s Mike Gregson here. I think we need to talk, so do call me back. You have my direct line and my mobile number, or if it’s easier, call Marta and let her know when’s a good time and I shall endeavour to call you back when it’s convenient. Thanks, Romilly. Talk to you soon, I hope.’

  She rushed forward and deleted the message, pressing the button again and again and only feeling content when she heard twice over that there were ‘no new messages’. She didn’t want David asking any questions.

  Her heart thudded and she felt the beginnings of a headache. Her hand shook as she unloaded the ready-to-roll pastry, chicken fillets, leeks and tub of cream onto the work surface. She put the shopping away and emptied the dishwasher. Glancing at the digital clock display on the cooker, she noted that it was 10.15.

  Romilly ran the vacuum cleaner over the bedroom floors and folded the linen from the tumble dryer. She was considering what should be her next chore, undecided between watering the tubs in the garden or cleaning the bathroom, when the phone rang. Without too much thought, she sat on their bed and answered it.

  ‘Romilly, hello, it’s Mike Gregson here.’

  ‘Shit!’ she mouthed. Dr Gregson was her boss. She felt her stomach drop, making her feel sick. She hadn’t expected him to call again so soon.

  ‘Hi, Mike, how are you?’ She concentrated on keeping the quiver from her voice, tried to sound normal.

  ‘I’m good. Very good, thanks for asking, but the reason for my call is that I am more concerned with how you are.’ He was a kind man and his tone was one of genuine concern. She pictured his eyes crinkling at the sides as he spoke.

  ‘I’m great, apart from this bug that I emailed Marta about. Still not over it, I’m afraid, and I didn’t want to give it to anyone else.’ The lie caused her cheeks to flame. She removed her spectacles and wiped the sweat that had gathered at the corner of her eyes.

  ‘Yes, I was sorry to hear that.’

  There was a pause while both considered where to go next, each wondering whose line it was. Both knew that she lying, which made it all the worse. It was Mike that finally drew breath.

  ‘The thing is, Romilly, I’m a little worried about you.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need, really. I’m sure I shall be right as rain in a few days or so.’ She swallowed, trying to strike the right note between jovial and poorly, willing him to end the call with a cheery goodbye.

  There was another awkward pause.

  ‘I am fond of you, Romilly. We all are. You are an absolute asset to the team.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her voice cracked.

  She thought about the day last week, early afternoon, when Tim had cornered her in the lab. ‘This is really awkward, Rom, and you know we’re mates, right?’ She’d nodded. Yes. Yes, she knew that. ‘But have you been drinking? I’m embarrassed to have to ask you…’ Her denial had been swift and emphatic; she had switched to aggression, the first form of defence. ‘I’m sorry, Rom,’ he’d said with a look of utter mortification, ‘this isn’t easy for me, it’s just that…’ What? She’d snapped, daring him to disclose more. ‘You’ve made a few mistakes recently and that’s okay, we all get tired and stuff happens – do you remember how I mucked up that batch of samples shortly after Phoebe was born and I was just too tired and you helped me? That’s what it means to be part of a team, isn’t it. We all cover for each other. But…’ What? Again she’d barked at him, her eyes narrowed. ‘Warwick has asked if he can switch to a new mentor and I think that’s probably a good idea. He’s noticed, in fact I’ve noticed too, that you smell of booze sometimes and you don’t really seem that with it.’ She pictured Warwick’s open face, keen to learn, and she closed her eyes, humiliated. She hadn’t been sure Tim would raise his concerns with the powers that be, but clearly he had. Thanks a bunch, Tim, you bastard.

  Mike drew her back to the present. ‘You truly are an absolute asset, but I need you to be safe, Rom.’ He spoke slowly. ‘I need to know that things are okay with you, especially as you’re working in a hazardous environment. You understand that, don’t you?’

  She closed her eyes and spoke to the darkness; it was somehow easier than with their wedding photo staring back at her. Images from that incredible day flashed into her head – the beautiful brooch he’d given her, the girl she had been, the feeling of absolute wonder that David Arthur Wells wanted to marry her. ‘I do.’

  ‘Good. That’s good. I am here as and when you want to talk to me. You have some close friends here, you know, friends who care very deeply about you.’

  She knew this was his way of saying don’t be mad at Tim.

  ‘But first and foremost I have to think about safety, everyone’s safety, not just yours. Do you understand where I’m coming from?’ His voice was firm but warm.

  ‘I do.’ She nodded. From now on she would need to be a lot more careful.

  She made her way down to the hall and headed straight for the cupboard under the stairs. Opening it, she stared at the shoe rack, crammed with trainers in various stages of decay, boots, rollerblades, sandals and flip-flops. It was their little family, represented in so many bits of footwear. Stepping forward, she took her right wellington boot from its slot and tipped it upside down. The bottle of Chardonnay slid from its dark hiding place.

  After carefully replacing the boot, she nipped into the kitchen and took a knife to the seal, carefully unwrapping the strip of plastic and twisting off the cap. There was no point in pretending: she didn’t reach for a glass or even a mug but simply put the bottle to her mouth and tipped her head back as she lifted it. The familiar thrill of placing the hard glass against her lip hadn’t dulled. The wine slipped down her throat, giving her an immediate, sharp jolt of euphoria and relief that tingled along her spine and fired out along her limbs. She smiled and closed her eyes, feeling instantly better. It was like the very best medicine.

  Pausing, she thought about Tim’s interrogation and Mike’s slightly condescending tone. What was it to do with them how she lived, what she drank? It was up to her. Taking up the Chardonnay again, she polished off the plonk as she stood in the middle of the kitchen. Then she inhaled deeply, letting the feeling of bliss wash over her, before rinsing out the bottle and replacing the cap.

  Pulling on David’s gardening shoes that were at least three sizes too big, she carefully carried the bottle out into the street. The Rashids’ car wasn’t in their driveway; they’d probably gone to the supermarket or over to their son’s to babysit. After a quick glance up and down the road, Romilly hurried across the block-paved driveway of the house opposite, lifted two empty jars of pasta sauce, a bottle of olive oil and an old jam pot, before stowing the empty win
e bottle at the bottom of the box and replacing the items so no one would notice. Back inside the house, she ditched David’s shoes, cleaned her teeth, gargled with mouthwash and turned up the radio as she danced round the kitchen to Absolute 80s, feeling a huge sense of relief that all was now right with the world.

  *

  David walked through the door at half past six.

  ‘Wow! Something smells good.’ He smiled at the sight of his wife busying in the kitchen and Celeste setting the table for supper. ‘I rather like you not working, if this is what I get to come home to every night!’ He winked at his beautiful, academic wife, knowing that a week of staying home and playing the domestic goddess would have her climbing the walls. He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her cheek and then her mouth.

  ‘Yuck!’ Celeste yelled from the table.

  ‘You wait till you get a boyfriend and then marry him, you won’t think kissing is yuck then.’ Romilly laughed.

  ‘Mum’s right,’ David said as he slipped off his jacket and removed his tie.

  ‘I’m never going to have a boyfriend and I’m never going to get married!’ she shouted.

  ‘You don’t know that!’ Romilly snickered as she cut the pie and drained the tender-stem broccoli.

  ‘I do, because boys are horrible, they won’t let you play football even though you are better than Billy and Hamal and they call you Celery even though your name is Celeste, which is nothing like celery, which I don’t even like.’

  Romilly and David stared at each other, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to reassure their little girl that boys could be a bit daft at times and that when she found her voice and her confidence, she wouldn’t mind being called Celery so much. They settled on a conciliatory, ‘Oh, darling!’ and a hug.

  David and Celeste picked up their cutlery and exchanged comments on how lovely their supper looked, while Romilly popped into the garage and returned with two chilled bottles of Spanish lager. David watched as she popped the lids and set one by his plate and another by her own.

  ‘Beer on a school night?’ He laughed, wary of spoiling the atmosphere. ‘Not sure if I want one actually.’ He concentrated on forking a tender chicken chunk into his mouth.

  ‘Don’t be boring, David, it’s only one beer! I thought it would go nicely with the pie. If you don’t want it, leave it.’ She sighed. The truth was that if he didn’t have one, she felt that she couldn’t either and this made her anger flare.

  David picked up the cool, slippery bottle and held it up towards his wife. ‘You’re right, it’s only one. My training can wait. After all, I’m eating pastry and cream, how much harm is a beer going to do?’ He clinked the neck of the bottle against hers and they both sipped.

  Dinner was a success. David and Celeste had cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher while Romilly soaked in the bath. With their daughter now sound asleep, the two turned off the main light and switched on one bedside lamp before slipping beneath the duvet. David opened his arms as Romilly removed her glasses, placed them on the bedside table and wriggled up to him before laying her head on his chest. He held her tight, running his fingers through her beautiful Titian locks. ‘Your hair will always fascinate me. It was the first thing I noticed about you.’

  ‘Was it?’ She smiled against him.

  He nodded. ‘I saw you walking out of the Student Union one day and your hair was so bright, it was like everyone around you was two-dimensional, flat, beige, but you were solid, 3D, standing proud and in focus with this shining head of hair that caught my eye. I only saw the back of you and I told Rob that you were probably ugly, as any girl that was that fit from the back had to have something bad going on at the front.’

  ‘How mean are you!’

  ‘Not really. It was a case of self-preservation. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I’d known what was waiting for me at the front.’ He sighed. ‘I kept looking for you and then one day, in the library, there you were, my Bug Girl, with your nose in a textbook. And I just stood by the door, staring at you. Your face… those enormous eyes hiding behind your glasses. I had never seen anyone that was such a combination of sexy and vulnerable. I didn’t know whether to wrap you in cotton wool or shag you!’

  ‘David!’ She batted his chest, laughing.

  ‘It’s true! I fell for you hook, line and sinker. And that was that. I knew you were the one.’

  ‘Proper love,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes, proper love.’ He kissed her scalp, then slid down the bed until they were nose to nose and kissed her again, hungrily, on the mouth. The two held each other fast as they celebrated their deep love in the way they had been doing since university, the main difference being that now they weren’t squashed into a single bed whose fitted sheet kept escaping from one corner, and they kept the noise down not so he wouldn’t be found out, illicitly staying over in the girls’ hall, but so as not to wake their little girl.

  Skin to skin they lay, arms and legs entwined. ‘That was lovely.’ She kissed the base of his throat, enjoying the flames of satisfaction and contentment that flickered inside her.

  ‘It was,’ he breathed. It felt good to lie there, still in each other’s arms, without an alarm or a chore, just enjoying the now. ‘I knew from the first time I stayed in your room that I would do anything you ever asked me.’ He smiled.

  ‘Well, if I’d known that, I’d have made you get up and get me tea!’ she quipped.

  ‘I would gladly have made you tea, even though I don’t think you owned any mugs other than the one with your toothbrush in.’

  ‘That’s probably right.’ She chuckled, picturing the chipped mug on the side of the sink with dried toothpaste and a paperclip in the bottom. It was always lovely to share the details of those days, a reminder that they were bound by their history. It made her feel secure.

  She sensed his sudden hesitation and waited for him to speak.

  ‘And I still would, you know, Rom. I’d do anything you asked me, including make you tea, anything, if I thought it would make you happy. I’d move, have another baby, change my job, anything, anything to make us work, and to ensure that we keep working in the future.’

  Romilly shrugged her arms free and scooted across the mattress to her pillows. ‘I get the feeling you’re saying that because you want to ask me to do something,’ she whispered. ‘You know, like, “Ooh, Celeste, Daddy really wants to try some eye drops, but he can’t because they’re yours! Do you want to try them now?”’ She smiled at the memory.

  David propped his head on his crooked arm and gazed at his wife. He looked close to tears. ‘I love you.’

  His expression removed any trace of her smile. ‘I love you too. But that sounds very much like question avoidance.’ Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me, David.

  ‘You’re right, I do want to ask you something.’ He licked his dry lips.

  Romilly reached for her glasses and popped them on as though what might come next required her full focus.

  ‘I… I want you to stop drinking. I want you to give up booze completely for a month. That’s all. Just a month.’ He patted the mattress.

  ‘Why a month?’

  ‘To see how you feel, to make you think about how much you do actually drink and…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘I guess to see if you can.’ He snatched at a loose thread on their bed sheet.

  Romilly pulled her knees up and placed her head on them. Her tears were swift to find release; her breath came in shallow pants. ‘David… David…’ It sounded like she was begging.

  ‘Come on. Come on now, don’t cry!’ He coaxed her from the bed. ‘Let’s go get that cup of tea.’ He kissed her face and they shoved their arms into dressing gowns and stumbled downstairs.

  They ended up on the sofa. The only light came from the moon that flooded through the sitting room window. Romilly sat crying, facing David side on, her feet under his dressing gown, resting against his thigh. Half an hour passed in which she sniffed
and he sat in silence, waiting for her to speak. Eventually she dried her tears, blew her nose and began.

  ‘Can I have that cup of tea?’ she whimpered.

  ‘Course. You stay here.’ He sprang from the sofa, placed the grey faux-fur throw over her toes and left her alone for five minutes.

  She cast her eyes over their sitting room. Interior design had never been her thing, but what they had achieved was comfortable, if a little predictable. She had selected items from catalogues and room sets and simply copied the way the sofas, mirrors and lamps had been arranged. It was only when she went inside houses like Sara’s, where there was a vivid splash of colour, a feature piece of art or a clever idea to use space, that she realised just how safe their decor was.

  David sat back down, handing her a large mug with a bumblebee on it, her favourite, which she held gratefully between her palms.

  ‘Shall I put a lamp on?’ he asked, his voice soft.

  ‘No.’ Romilly knew that it would be easier to be honest without being able to fully see his expression.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ She stroked the throw. His desire to make her as comfortable as possible still surprised and reassured her. They sipped their tea until Romilly found her voice in the half-light.

  ‘I remember when the twins were born. I was only little, but I felt this huge shift in my world, and I couldn’t explain why, I didn’t really have the words. But I felt… I felt spare, like my parents had finally got the babies they desired and I was just… spare. I know that if the twins had come first, they would never have had me. I heard my mum say that to Aunty Di once.’

  ‘Oh, people say all sorts, especially when they’re run ragged and their kids are babies. And you know what your mum’s like, she lets her mouth run away while her brain is still catching up. Your parents love you, they always have. They’re so proud of you!’ He squinted at her, trying to find the relevance.

  ‘I know they are, but I also know how I felt. Maybe I’m not describing it properly, but I didn’t feel like anyone really, truly wanted me, not until I found you. And you wanted me and yet you were perfect. You are perfect, and I felt like, at any moment, you’d see that I was just very average and dump me for someone less ordinary.’