Marriage and Other Games

by Veronica Henry

  ‘I’ve been to collect the girls,’ he explained. ‘I always have them at the weekend. Jade and Amber, this is Charlotte.’

  Charlotte climbed into the front seat and turned to smile at Jade and Amber. They were sweet - all pink and orange striped tights and felt pixie hats, with long pigtails and gaps in their front teeth. They chirruped away at her.

  ‘Daddy says you’re from London.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ve never been to London. Is it nice?’

  Charlotte considered her answer carefully.

  ‘Parts of it are very nice. Like Big Ben. And the Thames. And London Bridge. But some bits of it aren’t very nice at all. You’ll have to see for yourselves once day.’

  ‘Do you live near Big Ben?’

  She didn’t live anywhere any more.

  ‘I used to live . . . quite near.’

  ‘Cool.’

  Charlotte was quiet for a moment. It seemed a million miles away, the metropolis that had been her home for so many years. That she had never imagined being without. That she had taken for granted. It was so removed from Withybrook, and although she was becoming fond of her new home, she missed London dreadfully. In the old days, she and Ed would lie in on a Saturday morning, then cook a huge breakfast before going off shopping to buy food for their dinner guests, or to buy nice wine and chocolates and flowers to take to someone else, and maybe something new to wear. Superficial, self-indulgent stuff to make up for the fact that they both worked so hard all week. She had loved Saturdays . . . Stop it, she told herself. Those days were gone, never to return.

  As Fitch pulled off Charlotte wasn’t sure if her stomach was going to survive the journey, but Amber offered her a Polo and it took her mind off it. They drove out of the village, over the cattle grid across the moor, then along a tortuous road that to Charlotte seemed endless, although it was probably only a couple of miles until they finally stopped in a car park in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Charlotte, scrambling out of the car and shutting the door.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Fitch led her along a path up a scrubby slope as the girls ran on ahead. As they climbed over the crest, Charlotte gave a gasp. The landscape opened up to a vast expanse of gorse-covered moor, before dropping vertically down to a shimmering, deep green sea that stretched as far as the eye could see. The cliffs stood out against the sky. They looked as if they were covered in flock velvet, as if some model railway enthusiast had carefully moulded their every curve. Beneath, jagged rocks jutted out of the water, their cold, hard surfaces in direct contrast to the grassy knolls above. The waves crashed, their white spume providing a frill around the coastline.

  ‘My God,’ breathed Charlotte. ‘I’d no idea . . . It’s . . . incredible.’

  She was staggered. She hadn’t a clue that this was practically on her doorstep. Yes, she knew that Withybrook was a stone’s throw from the sea, but not that the scenery was so jaw-droppingly, mind-blowingly dramatic. The panorama made her feel incredibly small and insignificant, as if the cliffs and the rocks and the ocean had been here since the dawn of time and she had only been dropped on the planet as an afterthought.

  Fitch stood next to her.

  ‘Kind of puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?’

  Charlotte breathed in the air, great gulps of salt-tinged oxygen.

  ‘It’s pretty levelling. I feel like nobody. But somebody, at the same time.’

  ‘I come here when it all gets too much,’ admitted Fitch. ‘It makes you realise that no matter what you decide, the world is going to carry on.’

  ‘That we’re just mere mortals, whose problems are insignificant?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Fitch. ‘But it also makes you realise life is worth living. How could you not stand here and want to live?’

  Charlotte looked down at the sea. It was impossible to tell how deep it was from here. It could be two, twenty, two hundred feet deep. She shivered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Charlotte. ‘It’s given me a terrible urge to jump.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Fitch. ‘It’s bloody freezing at this time of year. I don’t want to have to fish you out.’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘You’ve been chivalrous enough already.’

  They gazed down at the water.

  ‘So - why the urge to jump? Primeval instinct?’

  ‘I don’t mean it. It’s just . . . life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect, does it? And I don’t know if I can cope with any more surprises. Sometimes I just want it all to go away.’

  Fitch put an arm round her and squeezed her to him. Charlotte leaned against him, feeling comforted.

  ‘How’s the head?’

  ‘Do you know what? I feel much better. You were right.’

  ‘Just think,’ he teased, ‘you could still be snoring your head off in bed. Come on.’

  She followed him obediently as he strode off with Dido still on her lead; the moors were covered in sheep that even the best-behaved dog couldn’t resist chasing. Jade and Amber had scampered on ahead, sure-footed. This was clearly their territory. Charlotte picked her way more carefully along the narrow footpath. It would be terribly easy to lose your footing and go tumbling down the cliff.

  Eventually the two girls stopped some way ahead of them. Fitch waited for Charlotte to catch up. She was slightly breathless, unused to the strenuous exercise. They watched Jade and Amber, who were sitting on a low stone wall, lobbing stones down the cliff-side, competing to see who could throw the furthest.

  ‘They’re gorgeous.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And they don’t deserve the shit they’re going through.’

  ‘They seem very happy.’

  ‘Kids are resilient, aren’t they? And I do my best to give them a stable time when they’re with me. But their mother will pull every trick in the book to get what she wants. Even at their expense. I shouldn’t be telling you all this . . .’

  Fitch was angry with himself. It was all very well thinking those things about Hayley, but it was a different matter sharing his private thoughts with a girl who, let’s face it, he barely knew.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine—’

  ‘It’s just I don’t know how things are going to end up,’ Fitch burst out, suddenly. ‘Is she going to marry this bloke? And if so, where are the girls going to end up? Bloody Watford or wherever it is he lives? I don’t want them to have a stepfather - some creep with more money than sense who can just buy them stuff to keep them quiet . . .’

  ‘Maybe it won’t come to that,’ said Charlotte gently. ‘Maybe Hayley just needs to get it out of her system.’

  Fitch gazed at the horizon. He’d said too much.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. You need some serious hangover food.’

  He whistled for the girls to follow, then turned and headed back the way they had come.

  Fitch had cooked a big ham the day before. He served it up with huge chunky homemade chips that he cooked in the oven, and a delicious crunchy coleslaw. The girls insisted on baked beans too, and he bartered with them that as long as they ate some salad he would concur.

  They chattered incessantly all the way through the meal, and Charlotte watched how patient Fitch was with them, pandering to their whims and rituals: making sure they had their favourite glasses to drink their squash, how he put Jade’s ketchup carefully on the side of her plate and squirted it liberally all over Amber’s chips, just as they liked. He was so calm and confident with them. She thought of her friends who had children: the husbands she knew didn’t have a clue what to do with their own kids - none of them would have been able to rustle up a meal like this without making a terrible fuss and suborning every female in the vicinity to help them out. But Fitch’s capability didn’t make him any less masculine - in fact, quite the opposite. Fitch was no wuss reluctant to get his hands dirty. He’d got it sussed. He was prepared to make the effort in order to make life easy for everyo
ne.

  After lunch, Charlotte helped to wash up then sat on the sofa in the living room while the girls went out into the garden to play and Fitch made tea. She picked up the Saturday Independent magazine and started to leaf through it, but her eyelids became heavier and heavier. She fought against sleep, but she felt so relaxed and comfortable, it wasn’t long before she’d drifted off.

  She woke with a start to find a dark-haired woman standing over her.

  ‘So it’s true,’ said Hayley, with a triumphant smirk. ‘Darren and Bradley couldn’t wait to tell me you’d been pouring drinks down her throat all night in the Speckled Trout. And you were seen coming out of her house this morning.’

  Fitch stood in the doorway with a mug of tea in each hand.

  ‘I wasn’t pouring drinks down her, Hayley. Darren and Bradley were. And I stayed the night to make sure she didn’t choke to death.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ chortled Hayley. ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’

  Fitch frowned. ‘I think what you’ve forgotten,’ he said patiently, ‘is that under the circumstances I’m entitled to do whatever I like with Charlotte. Even though I’ve done precisely nothing.’

  ‘I . . . think I’d better go,’ said Charlotte awkwardly, getting to her feet.

  ‘Don’t go on my account,’ said Hayley.

  ‘Stay right there,’ commanded Fitch. ‘I’ve made you tea.’

  ‘Honestly,’ said Charlotte, ‘I’ve got lots to do. Thank you for a lovely lunch.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be a lovely night?’ Hayley couldn’t resist a dig. Fitch threw her a warning glare and followed Charlotte to the door.

  ‘You shouldn’t let Hayley frighten you off.’

  ‘I just don’t want to cause trouble.’

  Fitch rolled his eyes. ‘She’s frustrated because lover boy was busy this weekend, so she’s looking for trouble.’

  ‘Will you be OK?’

  Fitch nodded. ‘Fine. I can handle her.’

  Charlotte leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks. You’ve been a real life-saver. And you should copyright your hangover cure - you’d make a fortune.’

  Fitch smiled and shut the door, then went back to confront his wife for spoiling what had been a very pleasant and perfectly innocent afternoon. She was on the sofa drinking Charlotte’s cup of tea.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said lightly, ‘what’s sauce for the goose . . .’

  ‘There’s nothing in it and you know there isn’t.’

  ‘I just don’t know what Jade and Amber are supposed to think.’

  ‘They enjoyed having someone else to talk to at lunch.’

  ‘It’s confusing for them, though, don’t you think? Parading her in front of them like that. I’ve deliberately kept them away from Kirk so they don’t get confused.’

  Fitch slumped in his chair. Hayley’s vision of what was right and wrong was always skewed. Her explanations for her behaviour were preposterous. If she’d kept the girls away from Kirk it was because she didn’t want them cramping her style. Nothing to do with protecting them. Hayley only ever acted out of self-interest.

  ‘For the last time, there’s nothing going on between me and Charlotte. She came for lunch, that’s all.’ He spoke wearily, knowing his denial was almost pointless, because Hayley would believe what suited her.

  Hayley plonked her cup down and put her feet up on the coffee table, waggling her bare toes and admiring her navy blue nail polish.

  ‘By the way,’ she said casually, ‘I might as well tell you my plans. We’re going to Dubai for Christmas.’

  Fitch shrugged. ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I mean me and Jade and Amber. Kirk’s offered to take us all. Club class. To a five-star hotel. We’ve got a suite.’

  Fitch jumped up immediately.

  ‘No way. You are not taking the girls away for Christmas.’

  ‘Too late. It’s booked.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘It’s a fantastic opportunity. When have they ever been abroad on a luxury holiday?’ She was goading him now, getting at him for not being a good enough provider. ‘You can’t deny them the chance of a lifetime.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  ‘I know.’ Hayley stood up and crossed her arms. ‘Let’s ask them, shall we? See where they’d rather be? A luxury hotel on a sun-drenched beach? Or stuck in bloody cold and boring Withybrook?’

  Fitch clenched his fists. There was no point in arguing with her while she was in this mood.

  ‘OK,’ he said, trying to keep his voice even. ‘Maybe you’re right. They’re very lucky. And Kirk’s very generous.’

  ‘He certainly is,’ smirked Hayley. ‘I’ll send you a postcard.’

  As soon as Hayley was gone, Fitch rushed up the stairs to the filing cabinet on the landing which held all their paperwork. He pulled open the drawer and rifled through the files until he found the one marked ‘Passports’. He flipped it open and his heart leaped into his mouth. There was only one in there: his.

  Hayley was obviously cleverer than he’d given her credit for.

  Ten

  Catkin pulled in the belt of her red Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, tied the knot with a flourish and slipped on her patent leather boots. She nodded approvingly at her reflection. It was the perfect outfit - chic, a little bit sexy, but not too much. It was, after all, only the Withybrook Christmas Fayre she was opening, not switching on the Oxford Street lights.

  She hoped she wasn’t going to be expected to stay all afternoon. She was exhausted. As well as her usual daily slot, she had been filming some extra inserts for the run-up to Christmas about the stresses and strains of the festive season. Some of them had been trivial - how to deal with family feuds and competitive present-giving - but others had moved her deeply. People who were alone at Christmas, for example. It was these deeper, more thought-provoking inserts that had convinced her even more that it was time to move on from the superficiality of Hello, England to something more edifying, but her schedule had been so frantic that she hadn’t had time to follow it up.

  One thing was good, though: Sebastian seemed to be working his socks off. When she had arrived home the night before it had been all she could do to coax him out of his studio. He eventually emerged, paint-spattered, looking as if he hadn’t eaten, slept or washed for days. Normally that would set off warning bells, but he didn’t smell of booze and had assured her it was the unkempt façade of the motivated artist.

  ‘Nothing matters when I’m absorbed,’ he told her.

  She’d frogmarched him into the bath quickly enough, and phoned Tommy to fetch them a Thai take-away from Comberton.

  She called to see if he was ready. It had been Sebastian who had talked her into opening the Fayre. His mother had been instrumental in starting it nearly twenty years ago, and he still seemed to feel weirdly responsible for its success. He always sold hand-painted Christmas cards, which Catkin told him off for. People only bought them because they hoped they might be worth millions one day, not because they wanted to send season’s greetings. But Sebastian told her she was cynical. Besides, he pointed out, all the money raised went to the local children’s hospice, so surely what he was doing was a good thing.

  The village hall was heaving, full of festive cheer and the fug of mulled wine that Fitch was selling by the gallon. He had built a faux Alpine hut to serve it from, strung with fairy lights, and was doing a roaring trade as the scent of cinnamon and cloves lured customers over. Jade and Amber were dressed as elves, and sold bags of roast chestnuts.

  He had been astonished to find that Hayley was here. When he’d queried her presence, she’d looked back at him with wide-eyed innocence. She wouldn’t miss the Fayre for all the world, she’d told him. It was all part of the run-up to Christmas. He’d managed to bite his tongue and not mention Dubai. He never wanted to be accused of sniping.

  Jade was pulling his sleeve. They’d run out of chestnuts. He left the stall to go and put
some more to roast in the ancient oven in the kitchen.

  He found his mother-in-law washing teacups.

  ‘Hi, Barbara.’

  The two of them were always polite to each other. And they’d never really discussed his marital situation. It was the elephant in the room. They discussed arrangements for the children, but they hadn’t touched upon the sticky subject of Hayley’s infidelity once. Fitch had no idea what Barbara’s attitude was.