The Red Oak (The Searight Saga Book 3)

by Rupert Colley

  Fifteen minutes later, Tom was sitting on a squashy settee inside Rachel’s living room, re-familiarizing himself with his surroundings while she made him a cup of tea. The settee was far too big and soft for Tom’s liking and covered with oddly coloured cushions. Beams of sunlight highlighted the layers of dust; the room was cluttered with papers, newspaper supplements, schoolbooks, and various coats and items of clothing. The stereo was almost obscured by a jungle of CDs and records; all jumbled around with discs lying out of their cases and on the floor. The walls were painted a bright mauve colour decorated with prints of impressionist paintings. Next to the fireplace stood a foot-high brass figurine of an angel. ‘Where’s Blue... Adrian?’ He shouted through to the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rachel shouted back. Even when she shouted, her voice sounded gentle and slightly high-pitched.

  ‘Doesn’t he live with you?’

  ‘God no, he’s far too messy.’

  Tom suppressed an ironic laugh. ‘I’ve seen him before. He knows Claudette.’

  ‘Who?’ she yelled from the kitchen.

  ‘My boss.’

  A coal-black cat wandered in and greeted Tom with a gentle meow. Rachel appeared with two mugs of tea. She looked lovely, he thought, even slopping around at home; she was always so alluring, almost mysterious. He wondered how she managed financially. She probably didn’t – hence the trip to the bank. She seemed to flit from one lowly paid job to another. Abigail’s father had bolted the minute she was born. He’d been a roadie for a rock band and obviously, the allure of casual sex and life on the road appealed more than the responsibilities of fatherhood. Rachel was wearing a thin, rainbow-coloured top and black leggings which accentuated her slenderness, and a pair of long decorative earrings. He remembered how struck he was the first time he met her. ‘Herbal tea, OK? I’d offer you a biscuit if I had any,’ she said, handing Tom his tea.

  Had she forgotten, he wondered, he hated herbal tea? ‘So how long have you been going out with Adrian?’

  ‘Why do you assume we’re going out?’

  ‘Well, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sort of,’ she said, sitting down on the squashy settee next to Tom. ‘How well do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve only met him a couple of times; he works for a competitor. What I want to know is what he and Claudette are talking about. Our two firms are meant to be deadly rivals.’

  ‘Your boss is called Claudette?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘Don’t know. It just sounds like a bossy name, that’s all. So tell me, did the library book provide any clues?’ She pulled on an earring.

  Tom closed his eyes for a few moments and nodded. ‘Mr Moyes,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What? Abigail and Charlotte’s history teacher? But he’s a drip with floppy hair. You are joking me.’

  ‘How I wish I was, the bastard.’ Her instinctive reaction depressed Tom further. If Julie was desperate enough to fall for a drip with floppy hair, where did that leave him?

  ‘Oh, Tom, I’m sorry. Do you know how long it’s been going on?’

  ‘The library couldn’t tell me that,’ he said tonelessly.

  Rachel laughed her little delicate laugh that he’d always loved. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He sipped his tea; it tasted like flowery soap. ‘I can’t believe she’s doing this to me, I really can’t. I keep asking myself – where have I gone wrong?’

  ‘Tom,’ she said, sidling up to him, ‘you’ve done nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve you, you know I’ve always thought that.’ She rubbed his leg reassuringly. She’d always been a tactile person. This was why he had come. This is what he wanted to hear; to have his leg stroked and his shattered ego caressed.

  The cat brushed against his shin as if in sympathy and purred. He leant down and stroked it. ‘I thought we were doing OK; I had no idea this was happening. How stupid of me.’

  ‘She’s greedy, Tom, always has been. If she wants something, she thinks she can just click her fingers and it’ll come.’ She clicked her fingers to emphasise the point. ‘I’m sorry to say this, but I never thought you were right for each other.’

  He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. He had expected nothing less from her. But she was wrong; he and Julie were right for each other, they’d been married fifteen years, and they had a happy existence, a happy life. He loved her and she... well, he thought she loved him, but how could he be sure any more. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’

  ‘Confront her; what else can you do?’

  ‘I’m scared. I know that sounds silly but I’m scared of what I might find out. I don’t want to lose her; I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

  She placed her mug on the floor and looked at him directly, her face inches away from his, her bright crimson lipstick glistening. ‘You’d come back to me, Tom, that’s what you would do,’ she whispered. ‘Back to me where, in your heart of hearts, you know you belong. I’d never do this to you, you know that, never.’ She leant slightly forward and kissed him delicately on his closed lips. He could taste the lipstick and camomile tea on her lips. The cat purred. Then, almost with a jolt, he came to his senses.

  ‘Rachel, no. Please.’

  ‘I know it was a long time ago; sixteen years is a long time. But I’ve never forgotten and I know you haven’t either. And then there was that night in Lewisham.’

  ‘Lewisham?’

  ‘You know full well,’ she said quietly.

  Yes, thought Tom, wandering home in the sun, he remembered it well – a drunken, intoxicated kiss at a party in Lewisham three years previously. He’d regretted it immediately. He and Rachel had finished sixteen years back; he’d met Julie, got married and that was it. Lewisham was a mistake. He was out with friends, got drunk, gone to a party, bumped into Rachel and had been swept along in a drunken haze of nostalgia. That’s all it had been – a nostalgic kiss with an old flame – nothing more.

  Chapter 4: The Café

  ‘Perfect mother and the model wife,’ Julie muttered for the umpteenth time as she made herself a cup of coffee. ‘As well as holding down a full-time career,’ she added resentfully. ‘Bloody superwoman.’ How in the hell she managed to find time to have an affair, she had no idea. Her whole life was an admirable example of time management; she could write a book on the subject – if she had the time. She could call it “How to keep your husband and your lover satisfied, whilst cooking, cleaning and doing all the housework, teaching 30 adolescent kids and looking after one truculent teenager of your own”. How do you do it, all the other mums would ask. Simple, would be her caustic reply, you drink too much, eat too much, resent the things you love, and have the occasional breakdown. But having a lover with a tongue like a lizard has its compensations.

  She sat at the kitchen table and looked at the pile of exercise books awaiting her attention; the radio in the background playing ‘Everybody’s Changing’ by Keane. She glanced at the vase of flowers at the end of the table that Tom had bought her for their wedding anniversary the previous week. They were beginning to look faded – said it all. Her mobile phone rang, the tinny sound of ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ bringing her back to the present. She glanced at the number – it was Mark. He was forever phoning her on her mobile, sometimes at the most awkward of times, and however many times she told him not to, he’d always forget – or pretended to. She wondered whether he did it on purpose, hoping to force the issue by exposing their secret. This time, she’d been expecting his call and was relieved he hadn’t phoned in the middle of supper; she wouldn’t put it past him. But she wasn’t sure if she could face him yet. She let it ring until the answer facility kicked in and listened back to his message after he’d hung up. Unsurprisingly, Mark sounded hesitant. It was a “we-need-to-talk” type message. He suggested they meet for lunch at “the usual place” at one o’clock.

  No, not any more, she thought. She’d had too close a shave and it’d brought a few truths home t
o roost. The affair was finished, and that was it. She never wanted to go through that again. OK, she felt sorry for Mark; it was going to be hard for him. If he had his way, she’d up and leave Tom and Charlotte today, and move in and set up a new life with him; he really had a shine for her. She couldn’t call it love, she felt embarrassed even thinking of the word, and anyway, she did not want Mark to be in love with her. Things were complicated enough as they were. But for her, Mark was a distraction, an occasional screw – an enjoyable screw, but no more than that.

  The phone rang again, this time the main telephone in the hallway. She picked it up. ‘Yes,’ she said impatiently, knowing it was Mark.

  ‘Julie? It’s Rachel.’

  ‘Rachel? Oh, Rachel, I’m sorry, I thought... it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I know it’s a bit out of the blue but I wondered if you fancied a coffee.’

  And so it was arranged. But Rachel was right, it was out of the blue; they hadn’t seen each other in ages. Julie didn’t want to go out so she persuaded Rachel to come over. She quite fancied the company; any excuse not to do the marking. Julie quite liked Rachel, even if she was a bit dippy and too flirty with Tom. Not that Rachel was Tom’s type, she was far too fey and girlie for him, too much of a modern-day hippie. Oddly enough, thought Julie, she’d be more suited to Mark, what with his earnest social conscience and his left-wing credentials.

  Back in the kitchen, she opened the first exercise book and flipped to the last pages. What terrible handwriting, she thought. She wondered whether to meet Mark. Perhaps after eighteen months, he deserved an explanation. They had met two years ago at a teachers’ conference in Brighton. He may’ve looked a bit vacant, but he was clever. He was delivering a lecture on meeting the needs of multiculturalism in the Special Needs classroom, but Julie couldn’t concentrate. He wasn’t particularly attractive in any normal sense of the word, but he possessed a conviction, a passion even, for what he did and what he spoke about. Later that evening, she bumped into him in the conference bar. She complimented him on his talk but because she hadn’t been listening, she couldn’t keep up with the resultant conversation. Her attempts to steer the subject to less politically-charged topics appeared obvious and ham-fisted. Feeling disadvantaged by his conviction, and unable to bluff her way out, Julie made her excuses and left. But six months’ later, she saw him again. He’d come to her school for a meeting between regional secondary schools. It transpired that not only did he teach locally, but that he actually taught at her daughter’s school and Charlotte was soon due to be in his class. This time, being on home territory, Julie felt more at ease. They hit it off and followed the meeting with lunch at a local pub, the Rose and Crown. Within a fortnight, they had slept together for the first time.

  Turning the radio off, Julie picked up a small pile of exercise books and, with her coffee, went through to the sitting room. She sat down on the plump sofa with a sigh and wondered why she was risking so much. Why was she having an affair with Mark when she couldn’t wish for a better husband than Tom? He still made her laugh, they enjoyed each other’s company, and their love life was still good, albeit routine. And, most importantly, she still loved him. Yes, she still loved him. So, what was the reason? Was it purely the sex? Her face flushed at the thought. Even admitting it to herself, it seemed so immoral, so dirty. As a teenager, she’d been in no hurry to lose her virginity and when finally she did, it was to the man she would later marry. Yes, there’d been a couple of other boyfriends before they married, but she’d never slept with them and they’d been so brief, she could barely remember their names let alone their faces. Then she met Mark and she realised that after thirteen years of marriage, she wanted to experience sex with another man. She needed to satisfy her curiosity and once she had, she became addicted to Mark’s lovemaking and his surprisingly daring attitude to sex. Julie smiled at the thought. On impulse, she snatched her mobile, rang Mark and said, ‘Yes, I’ll meet you at one, see you there.’ She hung up before Mark had chance to say anything – just as the doorbell rang.

  *

  Julie Searight was not the only woman reminiscing about a man. Rachel had thought of nothing but. Adrian rang and said he’d be around later, but she said no, she was going out to the bank. Yes, she had got the time mixed-up. There was no way she wanted to see Adrian, not now with Tom back on the scene. It had been sixteen years since their relationship ended, but she remembered every detail. Their dates, their nights out, the long conversations, the sex. She was heartbroken when she broke it off, but what choice did she have? He’d started seeing another woman behind her back and she wasn’t prepared to play second fiddle, without a future, without his full devotion. She met a new man and had a child just at the same time as Tom and Julie, his new woman, had Charlotte. Living nearby, the two women got to know each other from various playgroups while their daughters were still toddlers. If truth be known, Rachel had engineered it, purposely bumping into Julie. They became friends of sorts, if only because of the girls. She couldn’t stand the woman. She was a self-centred, devious cow and so obviously mismatched with the kind-hearted Tom. Over the years, she’d kept in touch from a safe distance while Abigail and Charlotte became best friends and were often at each other’s houses.

  In the meantime, Rachel had had her fair share of boyfriends, but none that mattered. She resigned herself to the life of a single parent. The thought of rekindling her relationship with Tom had entered her mind many times but never as a serious possibility. At least, not until now. The fact Julie was having an affair came as no surprise. What luck, she thought, surely even Tom couldn’t be that forgiving; he’d leave her and destiny would take care of the rest. But first, she had to give destiny a helping hand.

  Julie answered the door, greeting Rachel with a hug and a peck on both cheeks. ‘Rachel, long time no see, come in, do come in.’ Rachel followed Julie through into the kitchen. She sat down at the large wooden table that dominated the oversized room and noticed the poor excuse for a bunch of flowers. She accepted Julie’s offer of a coffee. While Julie rinsed out a couple of mugs, Rachel reacquainted herself with the kitchen. It was all far too chic for her taste, spotlessly clean, always had been. Everything had its place; everything neatly ordered and organised. It was nauseating.

  ‘So, Rachel, it’s so nice to see you after all this time. It’s been ages. How are tricks?’

  ‘Not bad, not bad.’

  The two women talked quickly, catching up on their news – Rachel’s work, Julie’s work, house prices, Rachel’s ex-boyfriend with the blue beard; Tom, the lovely Tom.

  ‘And how’s Charlotte?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘Oh, she’s fine, enjoying her half-term. Decaffeinated all right? She’s out at the moment, don’t know where. I think she said she was going to see the new Harry Potter film this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s just come out, hasn’t it? The Prisoner of Azerbaijan. Decaffeinated’s fine.’

  Julie laughed. ‘Azkaban. Azerbaijan’s a country.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Mmm.’ She pulled on her earring. Typical Julie, she thought, always such a know-it-all.

  ‘So, how’s Abigail? Is she doing this First World War project?’

  ‘Yes, she’s forming a girl group, three of them. They’re calling themselves the Passchendaele Sisters.’

  ‘Passchen what?’

  ‘It was a battle, apparently. Abigail asked Charlotte to be part of it but I think Charlotte’s keen on doing some poetry.’

  ‘Yes, silly girl, she’ll be terrified on stage by herself, but she thinks she can do it so who am I to argue?’

  ‘Perhaps she’s under pressure from the teacher, what’s his name?’ She wanted to hear her say his name.

  ‘Mr Moyes. Sugar? Milk?’

  No hesitation, thought Rachel, not a flicker. ‘Neither, thanks. Do you know him, this Mr Moyes?’

  ‘Yes. Occasionally we have these meetings between local schools; I’ve met him on a couple of those.’

  I bet, thou
ght Rachel. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Oh, you know, nice enough. A bit serious.’

  ‘Don’t forget it’s parents’ evening this week. Wednesday, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, Rachel, it’s Tuesday.’

  ‘Ah yes. Of course.’

  The women continued speaking at length about their daughters and their friends at school, about their preferred choices for GCSE subjects, the teachers and the standard of teaching. Rachel noticed Julie glance at the clock a couple of times. She needed to push the conversation on. ‘I saw Tom yesterday in the park.’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t say.’

  ‘He was walking the dog.’

  ‘Was he? He often does. Fancy a top-up?’

  ‘I’m fine thanks. We all go back a long way.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You’re so lucky to have someone as kind as Tom; he’s a good man. And so handsome. He hasn’t lost his looks, has he?’

  Julie laughed. ‘No, I guess not. Bit greyer round the edges.’

  ‘Aren’t we all? It was nice to see him again after all this time. He does make me laugh sometimes, always did. We all ought to go out again, like we used to.’

  ‘Did we go out that much?’

  ‘Why, yes. Don’t you remember that party we all went to in Lewisham, about three years ago?’

  ‘Yes I do – someone’s fortieth. But I didn’t go, remember? Charlotte was ill, or something.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Pity, you should’ve been there. We all got so drunk, it was funny.’

  Julie laughed again. ‘Yes, I think I remember Tom rolling in, his shirt stinking of smoke and cheap perfume.’