by JL Merrow
“Oh, I know, I know. Linny found the whole thing a terrible bore too, and at least she had Georgie to keep her amused. No, no—no reproach there. But the reason I bring it up is, I got talking to your mother, and she mentioned one of your old students was asking after you. Rang her up right out of the blue. She thought he was selling something to start with and nearly hung up on him, but they managed to get it all straight in the end. One of the young men from Potter’s Field, before you had your brainstorm or mid-youth crisis or whatever it was that made you leave a perfectly good job teaching A Levels to come and wipe bums and noses in Ye Olde Village School. And honestly, Emsy, you can’t still think that’s a good career move, can you? I mean to say, the salary must be abysmal. Thank God your partner of choice isn’t likely to suddenly start breeding. You’d be back sponging off your parents before you could say Knightsbridge. And then—”
“Fordy,” I interrupted with some force. “Who was asking about me?”
“I don’t know, do I? I never met any of your students.”
“What exactly did Mother say?”
He shrugged. With some effort, I forbore to throttle him. “Not a lot. Simply that she’d given out your new address to some young man or other, and wasn’t it marvellous that he’d been so inspired by your teaching as to want to write and thank you personally?”
Oh God. I felt sick. The almond croissant seemed suddenly to have left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
Fordy frowned. “Are you all right? You’re not going to upchuck, are you? I get quite enough of that at home, believe you me. Nine months of Linny throwing a rainbow every time I looked at her, and as soon as she’d stopped, the baby started. Use the paper bag from the bakers, it’ll probably hold. Or if you can hang on long enough, I’ll fetch something from the kitchen. Got any least favourite saucepans?”
“Fordy, please stop talking. It’s really not helping.”
“Huh. Funny, that. Just what Linny says.” He beamed. “And here I was thinking you two had absolutely nothing in common. You know, you really must come and visit. The house is an absolute pigsty, reeks of sour milk and shit, but Georgie’s a fabulous little chap. You’ll love him. Well, you’ll have to, being his godfather, it’s one of the job requirements, but—”
“Fordy,” I said warningly.
He frowned. “What? Oh, right.” He mimed zipping his lips, turning an invisible key and chucking it over his shoulder. And looked at me expectantly.
“Oh God.” I put my head in my hands. Moments later, I heard Fordy moving. My chair shifted, not without protest, as he perched on the arm and began to pat me on the shoulder. It was so Fordy. I had a vivid picture of him offering the same awkward comfort to Linette as she panted in agony during childbirth. I wondered if she’d walloped him, and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a somewhat hysterical giggle.
“Um,” Fordy said. “Can I speak again, yet? Because I may not be the sharpest log in the watershed, but I’ve got the strongest feeling something’s amiss. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, obviously, but, well, if you do…”
I looked up. “I don’t. Really.”
“Oh. Fine, fine. Fine.” His expression was a curious mix of relief and disappointment.
“It’s just… There’s someone from Potter’s Field I’d really rather not see again.”
“Ah.” Fordy scrunched up his eyes. “But won’t that Quentin Crisp fellow already have your address?”
“Crispin. And no. Or yes, possibly. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not him.”
Fordy’s always rather exuberant brows had now entirely met in the middle, like a couple of very small, coy ferrets exchanging a kiss. “No? Who else were you shagging, then?”
“No one!”
“Oh.” Fordy looked honestly baffled. The ferrets parted, as if surprised by the younger ferret’s father coming home unexpectedly early and catching them at it. “Then why don’t you want to see him again?”
“It’s complicated. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Problem shared, problem halved?”
“Not this one. More like problem shared, problem squared. Or problem to the power of n, where n equals infinity.”
“Fair enough, then. I’ll take your word for it. Never was that good at maths. As you know, of course. Don’t know how I’d have got through the GCSE without you helping me. Sure I can’t return the favour here?”
I shook my head.
“Is that a no, I can’t, or no, you’re not sure?”
“I’m sure. You can’t.” I took a deep breath. “I just wish I could forget it ever happened. Not that anything actually happened,” I added hurriedly. “Anyway, how come you’ve been let off nappy duty to come here?”
“Linny’s mother is staying. I’m a total spare part. Worse than. Not even fit for purpose, from the way she looks at me. You know she never wanted Linny to marry me. Wanted her to get back together with the theology student. Think she fancied being mother-in-law to a bishop someday. Being able to mention casually to her friends that she’d be visiting the palace, that sort of thing. And she’s desperately fond of purple. Ghastly colour. Makes her look like an alcoholic, though, between you and me, she’s always been fond of a glass or six. So I skipped out, said I’d come over and ask you to be godfather to the sprog. I did ask you to be godfather, didn’t I?” I nodded. “Good. Expecting a delivery, are you? Only there’s a chappie in a motorcycle helmet coming to the door.”
I twisted around to look out of the window. Oh God. It was Sean. I hadn’t even heard the bike. Should I ask him in to meet Fordy? Well, quite clearly I should. But what if Fordy said something about me leaving Potter’s Field? Or, to be blunt, put his foot in it some other way? Fordy meant well, but he had an unfortunate way of making Prince Philip look positively tactful.
Sean’s knock sounded loud and clear while I was still debating furiously with myself. “I, um. I’d better answer that.”
“Unless it’s likely to be a summons. They have to deliver those into your hands or the whole thing’s invalid. Less use than a bicycle in an arse-kicking contest.” He frowned. “Or do I mean a fish? Anyway, I could tell him you’re out, if you like.”
“No—it’s not a summons. It’s, well. It’s someone I know.” Avoiding Fordy’s eye, I hastened to the front door.
Sean had taken off his helmet by the time I opened it. “Hi,” he said, with a hesitant smile. “You all right?”
“I—fine. I, er, wasn’t expecting you.” I hung on tight to the door handle with one hand and the frame with the other.
“Yeah, well, thought I’d just drop by. See if you were around.” He glanced at his feet. “Wanted to apologise for last night. Think I was a bit, well, you know. Might have overreacted a bit.”
“Oh—no, that’s fine.” I smiled at him, but it felt forced and Sean was giving me an odd look. I abandoned the attempt.
“How’s the head?” he asked.
“The Head?” I queried, confused.
“Yeah. You said you had a headache last night.” Sean was frowning now.
“Oh—yes, of course. Much better, thank you.” Damn it. Why hadn’t I remembered that?
“So are you going to let me come in?”
“I… Well, I was just about to go out, actually,” I improvised hastily, my stomach tying itself in knots. The weather forecast had said it would be mild today, but there was a definite chill in the air on my doorstep. “Maybe we could get together later? Tomorrow, even?”
“Right. Guess we’ll have to. If you’re busy now.”
“Yes. Sorry. Really do have to dash, I’m af—” I stopped abruptly. Sean’s expression had changed. The knots tightened as I realised he was looking over my shoulder.
To my utmost horror, Fordy clapped me on the back. “All right here, Ems? Thought I’d better come and see what was keeping yo
u. This fellow giving you any trouble? Told you, you should let me answer the door.” His voice turned brisk, obviously directed at Sean. “Well, what is it? What seems to be the problem?”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. I suddenly had a horrible insight into how Fordy must come across to people who didn’t know him. With his plummy vowels and self-important manner, he probably sounded like a member of the House of Lords addressing a tradesman. Worse—a member of the House of Lords upbraiding a tradesman for the shoddiness of his service. And most likely calling him a pleb, to boot.
“There’s no problem,” I said quickly, half turning to him. “Fordy, this is Sean Grant. My…friend, here.” I knew Fordy would understand what I meant. “Sean, this is Malcolm Fordham. We were at school together.”
“Right,” Sean said slowly, his expression not softening. “Fordy, right? Yeah, you mentioned him.”
Oh God. I’d told him we’d slept together, hadn’t I?
“Delighted to meet you,” Fordy said, shouldering me out of the way as he thrust a hand towards Sean. “You’re the rat man, yes? Hah, sounds like something from a comic book. Can’t stand the things myself. Rats, not comic books. Not particularly into those either, to be honest, but given the choice, I’d take them over vermin any day.”
Sean had looked at Fordy’s hand, given it a brief shake and dropped it. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. “Fordy just popped round,” I explained. “Didn’t even phone to say he was coming.” Which, of course, Sean hadn’t done either. Would he think I was criticising him?
“Right. So where are you two off to, then?”
“Off to?” Fordy asked in a baffled tone. “Are we going somewhere, Emsy? You didn’t mention you were taking me anywhere. Not that I mind, of course not. You know me. Always happy to be taken up the garden path.”
Oh God. I’d told Sean I was going out, hadn’t I? “Er…”
“Yeah, well, never mind.” Sean cut me off, his voice hard. Brittle. “You can tell me all about it some other time. Or not. Wouldn’t want to keep you, anyhow.” He jammed his helmet back on his head and stalked back to his bike, swung his leg over it and roared off up the High Street at significantly more than twenty miles an hour.
Chapter Twenty-One
My heart was heavy as I closed the door behind Sean.
“Oops,” Fordy said behind me. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Fordy.” I spun to face him, about to tell him in no uncertain words to shut up, but the worried frown on his face forestalled me. I sighed. “He knows about us.”
“Us?”
“You know. That we were… friends at school.” I sank down to sit on the stairs.
“Well, for goodness sake, Ems. You were at boarding school. He can’t have expected you to emerge virgo intacta after all those years. Or should that be intacto? Funny, that, isn’t it? All those years having Latin crammed into the old brain with a metaphorical sledgehammer—wouldn’t have put it past old Pickles to use a real sledgehammer, mind, if he’d thought he could get away with it—and the one time I actually need it, I’m clueless. Of course, I was pretty much clueless all through school, come to that. God knows why you ever put up with me, I’m a hopeless case, really.” As usual, Fordy beamed as if proud of that fact. I’d always used to find it rather endearing. “Anyway, he can’t seriously believe we’re still carrying on. Can he?”
“I don’t know, damn it.” Had Sean jumped to the conclusion I was cheating on him? That would be ridiculous, surely. He had no evidence whatso—
Oh. Apart, that was, from the way he’d caught me lying to him about why I didn’t want him coming in the house. Oh God. I jumped up. “I need to talk to him. Explain.” I grabbed for my Barbour and started looking around for my car keys.
“Whoa, there, Ems. Ems. Hold the horsepower.” Fordy was making calm down gestures—at least, I guessed that was his intention. It came across more like someone trying to bat away a particularly dozy fly. “If you go haring after him now, guns blazing, headlights, well, blazing, isn’t it going to look rather like a guilty conscience? Linny explained all this to me. Said coming home late from work and starting the conversation with, “I’m not squiffy, darling,” just screams out drunk as a lord to a woman who’s in the know. Not that your rat man is a woman. Didn’t mean to imply that at all.”
“I wish you’d stop calling him my rat man,” I muttered. I leaned against the wall and massaged my temples. “You really think I should wait?”
A large, heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Absolutely. Trust me, Emsy. I’m a banker.”
Manfully, I resisted the urge to weep.
I took Fordy for a brief tootle around the villages in Portia and then for lunch in a pub we’d spotted en route, but it was just a quick sandwich and soft drink. Fordy kept looking at his Rolex, and I had a feeling that guilt over abandoning the family had set in.
After we’d hugged and I’d waved him off in his Audi (which I’d been mortified, earlier, to find he’d parked right outside the lych-gate of St Saviour’s, meaning the driver of a hearse had had to double-park when he’d arrived for a funeral) I slumped, depressed, onto the sofa. Fordy had spent the last couple of hours trying to cheer me up, but he’d been visibly struggling to find positive things to say about my local area, careers in primary education and young men who worked in pest control, with the net result that I was now wondering if I’d made a ghastly mistake moving here. “Are you sure it’s really you?” he’d asked seriously. “It’s not just some kind of rebound thing?”
Well, that had been the gist of it. There had been a lot more words involved when Fordy had said it, of course.
Was he right? While he didn’t know the whole story, Fordy did know Crispin had let me down somehow. Perhaps Sean was simply a reaction to the breakup—someone very different, and, not to put too fine a point on it, someone to whom I could, in some ways, feel superior? To make up for all the ways in which I wasn’t fit to…to bait one of his mousetraps?
He was probably better off without me.
And as for the job—I’d thought I’d been enjoying teaching younger children, relishing their fresh, imaginative outlook and spirit of fun, but had I simply been glad of the relative lack of pressure of a much lower-flying career?
The sick knot in my stomach tightened. I closed my eyes in despair.
Then I opened them again. “Oh, bloody hell,” I said out loud. “Emsy, stop wallowing in the sodding misery mire. Time for a run.”
I didn’t precisely leap off the sofa and into my running gear with a single bound, but I managed to shake off the sloth well enough to get out and about while it was still light.
It had been a mild day, but there was a cold snap in the air, and my breath steamed as I jogged down the familiar road to the park. There were few people around, making it easy to avoid the gaze of anyone I knew. I upped the pace and sprinted down to the river, where I slowed once more.
The rabbits were chomping in the fields, the sky was streaked a lazy orange, and there were little rustles in the hedgerows that betrayed the presence of furred and feathered companions on my run. The air was almost painfully fresh with a hint of coming frosts. It was a beautiful late autumn afternoon. And I was being an idiot.
Filled with sudden resolve, and despite the fact I’d only been out for fifteen minutes, I turned my steps back towards the Old Hatter’s Cottage.
Should I change? I wondered as I approached my front door. But if I changed, I’d have to shower, which would take far too long. And Sean had said he liked me in my running gear, hadn’t he? I gathered my car keys from the house, whispered a heartfelt apology to Portia for inflicting my unwashed self upon her pristine white leather interior, and set off up to Sean’s. It really wasn’t all that far, up the hill and nearly at the farthest expanse of the village in that direction, which was probably just as well for the avoidance of second thoughts.
&nbs
p; I had a moment’s doubt when I reached the house he shared with his sister, fearing Sean might be out, but the motorbike was parked outside, so he couldn’t be too far away. I pulled into a space a little way down the road, between a once-white van and a Robin Reliant three-wheeler I could only assume was an ironic statement of some kind. I breathed a silent prayer that they’d look after my girl and went to knock on Sean’s door.
Debs opened the door, a plain red scarf on her head and an incredulous look on her face. “Bloody hell, trying to blend in with the natives, are you?”
I blinked, then recalled I was still in my long-sleeved T-shirt and jogging bottoms. “I’ve been for a run,” I explained. “Is Sean in?”
“He’s in.” Her tone was flat. “I’ll go and see if he wants to talk to you.”
I swallowed, a little of my optimistic buzz dissipating in the chilly twilight air. As she hadn’t invited me in, I scuffed my trainers on the doormat while I waited.
Sean’s face, when he came to the door, was wary. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was an idiot. I was so worried you’d get the wrong impression earlier that I, well, I think I gave you entirely the wrong impression.”
“Yeah? So I was wrong about you not wanting your posh mates to know about me?”
“What? That’s ridiculous! Um. Sorry. It’s just…” I couldn’t believe he’d thought that. “Absolutely not. Really. I mean, I’d already told Fordy all about you, anyway. Um. Sorry about him, by the way. I mean, when you get to know him, you’ll love him. Really. It’s just he has a bit of a tendency to talk without really thinking about how he comes across.”
There was the merest suspicion of a lightening of Sean’s frown. “So why’d you make up all those excuses to stop me coming in and meeting him?”
“Because I’m an idiot? I, well, I was worried you’d think there was something going on between us. Fordy and me. Because I told you we’d been, ah, close before.” I felt a little uncomfortable, because it wasn’t completely the truth, but it was true enough, wasn’t it? I had worried he’d thought that.