‘What about these?’ the shop assistant suggests, unlocking the cabinet and pulling out a small black velvet tray on which a collection of simple, silver cufflinks lie.
Lucy scans the selection and spots two in the shape of acorns. She holds them up to the light and smiles. ‘Acorns from the oak tree.’ Natural. Strong. Everything Tom is.
As the assistant wraps her purchases in tissue paper, the sound of a familiar laugh catches her attention. She glances across the shop floor and sees a man standing several counters away, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a suit, his dark hair slightly receding. He holds a glittering earring up to his companion – a petite lady with dark curly hair and full, red lips. The smile on Lucy’s lips falters.
The woman beams up at Lucy’s brother-in-law, her face a picture of adoration, the diamond earring glinting at her lobe. Andrew leans in closer to the woman and narrows his eyes. ‘They suit you,’ he says, Lucy just able to lip read his words. Lucy frowns. The woman looks young – several years younger than Eve.
Andrew hands the earring to the assistant behind their counter and pulls out his wallet. The young woman at his side grabs his arm and squeezes it tightly. Lucy, watching, feels a cold shard of dread slide into her guts like a knife. Andrew is buying jewellery for this woman? This woman who is clutching his arm and smiling beatifically up at him, like she has won some kind of prize?
Reeling with shock, Lucy can’t decide whether to march over and punch them both, or duck down behind the counter before she is spotted and an embarrassing confrontation ensues. Before she can decide, the shop assistant is handing her purchases over. ‘Thank you for shopping with us today.’
With a small nod, Lucy snatches up the cardboard bag and leaves the store. Andrew? Having an affair? She can’t believe it. Poor, poor Eve.
13
Eve leaves the cash-and-carry at a virtual run and throws the shopping bags of tea lights, paper plates and napkins into the boot of her car. She checks the time on her phone and sighs. It’s going to be tight to make it for school pick-up.
She was only supposed to work a half-day in the offi ce, but as usual, her boss had appeared at her desk at a quarter to twelve with a pile of signed letters that just had to go out immediately. She had been playing catch-up ever since. The queues at the cash-and-carry checkout had been so frustratingly long she almost hadn’t bothered, except she’d known this was one of the last opportunities she had before Saturday to get what was needed for Lucy’s big day.
Scrolling quickly through her messages, she sees one from Margot sent earlier confirming that she will head to Sibella’s, and another from Lucy saying that Tom has tracked down a friend to DJ at the reception and – even better – that he’ll be bringing his own decks and speakers. Maybe her strong words the previous night had got through. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but perhaps Lucy had begun to grasp what was going to be required and was finally pulling her finger out. The last message on her phone is from Ryan at the pub, a reminder that he needs the final numbers for the food and wine for Saturday. His message ends with a string of emojis: champagne bottles, a cocktail glass, a dancing girl and a winking face. She starts the engine and pulls out of the car park.
The route to school is unusually clear and as she draws near, a car pulls out of one of the few coveted parking spaces. Hardly daring to believe her luck, she darts into the spot, leaps out of the car and rushes through the school gates. By some miracle, she is only a couple of minutes late.
May sees her first, rushing at her, an oversize rucksack banging on her back, a large, brightly coloured painting of unidentifiable splodges clutched in her hand. ‘Mummy!’
‘Sorry, darling. Busy day. How are you?’ She hugs May and throws a smile of greeting at the teacher over her daughter’s head. ‘What do you have there?’ she asks.
‘It’s pop art.’
‘It’s lovely.’
‘I fell over at lunch,’ May says, lifting the hem of her school skirt and pointing to a bandage on her knee. ‘Mrs Greenaway gave me a plaster.’
‘She was very brave,’ calls the teacher.
‘Thank you,’ says Eve, ruffling May’s hair and giving the teacher another smile. ‘That’s my girl.’
Chloe appears at her other side. ‘Do I have to go to my piano lesson tonight?’ she asks, scuffing at the ground with the toe of her shoe.
‘Don’t do that Chlo. They’re new shoes.’
‘I hate piano.’
‘We agreed you’d see it through to the end of term. If you aren’t enjoying it then, we’ll talk about dropping it.’
Chloe huffs. ‘Fine.’
She throws the bags into the boot, checks the straps on May’s booster seat. ‘I need to make a quick stop at the pub on the way,’ she says. ‘I have to sort out the last details for Auntie Lucy’s wedding on Saturday,’ she adds, to head off any grumbling.
Chloe eyes her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Can we have a Coke?’ she asks.
‘Nice try,’ laughs Eve. ‘But no, we don’t have time. You girls will have to wait in the car.’
The pub car park is empty when they arrive. The lunchtime session has finished and it’s way before evening opening hours. ‘I won’t be long,’ she tells them, parking out the front before walking around to knock at the rear entrance. She hears footsteps thundering down a staircase and a key turning in a lock before Ryan appears at the door, barefoot, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. ‘Just the woman I needed to see,’ he says, beaming at her. ‘Though I wasn’t expecting you till later. Come in.’
‘I can’t. I’ve only got a couple of minutes. The girls are in the car.’
He nods. ‘Better make it quick then.’ He holds the door open, allowing her to step into the entrance hall. ‘So,’ he says, ‘business first. You’ve got the numbers for Saturday?’
She nods. ‘Trying to get a straight answer from Lucy on anything is virtually impossible, but I think we’ll be safe if we assume eighty people.’
‘You’re happy with the menu? The platters and the vegetarian options?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great. And the grog … red, white, champagne and some kegs of the local beer?’
‘Grog?’ she laughs. ‘You’re so Australian.’
He shrugs. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’
‘Yes to the grog,’ she says. ‘It all sounds perfect.’
‘No problem. I’ll give you a refund on anything you return unopened.’ He smiles and takes a step towards her. ‘So now we’ve got the boring stuff out of the way …’
‘The girls,’ she says, weakly. She’s told herself the whole way from the school that she wasn’t going to let this happen. ‘The car’s round the front.’
‘Come here,’ he says, either oblivious to her reticence or ignoring it. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all day.’ And then he pulls her closer, leans down and kisses her on the mouth.
She knows it is wrong. She knows she shouldn’t respond. She knows she should tell him that she can’t – she’s married – and what they’re doing is wrong. But it’s as if a switch has been thrown. Feeling a rush of desire, she wraps her arms around his waist and presses herself up against him until they are leaning against the open doorway. He feels so different – so other to Andrew – with his hard, muscular body and his strong arms that it shocks her. She pulls away with a groan. ‘I have to go.’
‘I know.’ Ryan gives her a solemn look. ‘But we’re still good for tonight?’
‘I’m sorry. Andrew has to work.’
Ryan frowns. ‘Is this about the other night?’
‘No! God, no. Of course not.’
He nods. ‘So it’s OK between us? I’ve been wondering, you know, after what happened.’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, because I want to see you again. It will be … better … next time. I promise. Tell me when.’
Eve frowns. Alongside the lingering desire, she feels something else – something unexpected. There, loitering a
mong her want is a tremor of irritation, exasperation that there is someone else needing something from her. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘This weekend I’ll be flat out with family stuff. I won’t be free until next week, at the earliest.’
And even then, she thinks, realisation creeping over her, does she really want this? After their last encounter, she has wondered more and more what she is playing at. Ryan is not the type of man she has ever been attracted to in the past. He is loud, bombastic, physically strong and full of masculine energy. She’s seen him propping up the bar late at night with his guests, his ruddy cheeks evidence of his tendency to overindulge. Unlike her husband, there is something so raw and physical about him – immature, yes; unreliable, probably; a drink problem, quite possibly – and yet … and yet, here she is, standing weak-kneed in his arms.
Ryan shrugs. ‘No worries. Next week. You know where I am.’
Eve’s stomach plunges at another realisation. ‘But you’ll see me on Friday night,’ she says. ‘We’re all coming to the pub for a family dinner.’
Ryan raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, that will be interesting.’
Eve groans. ‘I’m sorry. Not my idea, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ Ryan grins and folds his arms across his broad chest. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I’ll be on my best behaviour.’
Something in his words brings Margot to Eve’s mind. God, she thinks, so many people on their ‘best behaviour’. What a minefield the next few days are going to be. She imagines, momentarily, an evening when they are all together and on their ‘worst’ behaviour and a hysterical laugh threatens to escape her. But then she is forgetting all about Margot and the looming dinner because Ryan is leaning in again and kissing her hard on the mouth and she is only thinking about the fire building in her belly and the pulse of desire between her legs. She is remembering the spark of attraction that she had first felt for him – a risky, reckless abandon, a feeling of being desired and desirable, a sense of falling away from all the responsibility and convention holding her in check.
They are still kissing as a car pulls into the car park and pulls up near the back entrance. ‘Shit.’ Eve jerks backwards, pulling herself from Ryan’s grip, her eyes on the blue car. ‘Who is it?’ She rubs her lips. ‘Did they see us?’
‘No.’ Ryan peers at the car. ‘It’s only Stacey. Coming to prep the bar for later. She wears specs like Coke bottles. She won’t have seen a thing.’
Eve slaps Ryan’s arm lightly. ‘Don’t be rude.’
‘What?’ He mock protests. ‘It’s true. I’m not sure she sees much of anything.’ He smiles broadly. ‘Not judging by the state she leaves the bar each night.’
‘You shouldn’t be mean about her.’
‘I’m not. Stace is all right.’ He winks. ‘I think she might have a little crush on me.’
‘What if she saw us?’
‘Calm down, we’re fine.’ He reaches out and rubs her arm. ‘God, I want to kiss you again. You’re such a MILF.’
This time she does hit him. ‘I told you, don’t call me that.’
Stacey’s footsteps crunch across the gravel towards them. ‘Hiya,’ she calls, flashing Ryan a smile.
‘Hi, Stace. So I’ll drop your order round to the house about midday on Saturday?’ he asks Eve pointedly, his tone laughably businesslike.
‘Thank you.’
‘And we’ll sort a date for that meeting next week, to go over the figures,’ he adds with a wink.
On the way to Chloe’s piano lesson, the radio playing a little too loudly and the girls babbling away in the back, Eve allows her mind to wander back to Ryan.
It had started innocuously enough at the school summer fete. She had arrived for her rostered shift on the BBQ stall to find the new manager of the Bridge Inn standing in front of the smoking BBQ wielding tongs. She had held out her hand. ‘I’m Eve. Nice to meet you. You don’t have kids here, do you?’
‘No. No kids. No wife – at least not any more. She left me,’ he’d added. ‘I’m Ryan.’ He’d squeezed her hand firmly.
‘Oh. Sorry.’ She hadn’t known what to say. ‘So how did you get roped into this?’
He’d waved his branded Bridge Inn apron at her. ‘The pub is sponsoring the BBQ today.’
Eve had leaned back, impressed. ‘That’s very generous.’
‘Thought you Poms might need a proper Aussie to show you how it’s done.’ He’d grinned at her. ‘Besides, it builds good will with the local community. I tend to think you get back what you put in at these sorts of events.’
‘Well, you’d better budge up,’ she’d said, pulling her own apron over her head. ‘I’m your helper for the last hour.’
The air was hot, sticky and grease-scented. Eve’s hair had turned limp. Sweat had trickled down her back. But Ryan had maintained a cheerful demeanour and soon they had devised a simple but clear delineation of responsibilities. Ryan had flipped the burgers and sausages while Eve had stood beside him taking orders, buttering rolls and pouring squash for thirsty kids. She’d found herself enjoying the simple task of serving the crowds and Ryan had made it fun. ‘We make a good team,’ he’d said, watching her slap cheese slices onto the burgers sitting on the grill.
‘We do,’ she’d agreed, grinning back at him.
‘Nice buns,’ he’d added suggestively, nodding over at her towering pile of pre-prepared rolls awaiting sausages.
She’d laughed and cringed simultaneously.
Once or twice their hands had met as she had passed napkins or bottles of sauce. And afterwards, when the last sausage had been sold and the gas bottle turned off, he had pulled two beers out of an icebox and clinked his bottle against hers. ‘We’ve earned these,’ he’d said, and then, before she’d known what he was doing, he’d reached out and stroked the side of her cheek with his forefinger. ‘Mustard,’ he’d said, smiling, putting his finger to his tongue.
‘Oh.’ Eve had blushed, looking down at her grease-stained apron. ‘I’m such a state.’
‘No,’ he’d said. ‘You’re gorgeous.’
One touch. One compliment. It was all it had taken. A sudden rush of heat had risen within her – a surge of desire so strong she’d had to turn away and busy herself with tying off a huge black bin bag of rubbish and wiping down the sticky tables. Men like this – full of energy and confidence, the life and soul of the party – were to be avoided. He was a flirt. She knew it didn’t mean anything.
Only later that night, at home, she had studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her nose was sunburnt. There were shadows under her eyes and crow’s feet when she squinted. She’d sucked in her cheeks, then turned sideways and pulled in her stomach. You’re gorgeous. The way he’d said it, so openly, in that broad Australian drawl. What had he seen in her? She couldn’t fathom it. Was it some inappropriate fetish for haggard women with bad roots and shapeless mum jeans? She was a wife and mother. She wore those badges plainly, for the world to see, in the gold ring on her finger and the extra pounds she had carried since childbirth. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t gorgeous.
She had returned to the living room where she’d slumped into her usual position on the sofa, Andrew lifting his feet then dropping them again unceremoniously into her lap. She’d only half-watched the tense medical drama he’d had playing on the TV. She’d been too distracted by thoughts of Ryan.
With the arrival of the summer holidays, Eve’s days had been filled with the mind-bending juggle of children and work. There had been a strained week away as a family of four on a stark, volcanic island where an unseasonably cold spell had arrived, a brisk wind blowing for the full seven days, bringing storms and rain. Andrew had grumbled about how his week out of the office was a washout and Eve had reminded him that it was supposed to be a holiday for all of them and that surely the fact of their being together should bring him some joy. Frankly, it had been a relief when the girls had gone back to school and the familiar routines could be picked up again.
She ha
dn’t thought of Ryan at all until she had walked into the Bridge Inn for the first PTA meeting of the new school year, relocated to the pub thanks to a clash with a school choir rehearsal. Ryan stood polishing glasses behind the bar, and had given her a cheeky wink as she ordered a red wine. Joining the other parents and teachers grouped around a table, she’d wondered if she was imagining the weight of his gaze.
The first meeting after the holidays was always a long one and the session had run late as the committee had debated the placement of a climbing frame and the logistics for a new, online payment portal. As the debate had droned on, Eve had found herself glancing back to the bar. Her eyes had met Ryan’s. The second time it happened, as the school treasurer had stood self-importantly, hiking his trousers up over his belly and clearing his throat, Ryan had rolled his eyes at her and Eve had feigned a cough to cover up her laughter.
At the meeting’s close, there had been a sudden rush for the exit, but Eve had lingered, gathering a few empty glasses and carrying them to the bar. ‘We owe you a big thank you,’ she’d told Ryan. ‘We raised over two thousand pounds for the school last summer.’
‘It was my pleasure. Always happy to help. One for the road?’ he’d offered, waving a half-open bottle of red at her.
‘I shouldn’t. I’m driving.’
‘Shame. I was going to ask for your help with some cocktail tasting. I need a new recipe for our autumn menu.’
She’d smiled. ‘Sounds fun. Another time.’
‘You’re the last to leave,’ he’d said, looking around. ‘Let me walk you to your car. Just to be safe.’
‘There’s no need.’ But he had followed her out and as she’d turned at her car door to wish him goodnight, she’d found him standing a little closer than strictly necessary. ‘I … um … I should get going.’
He’d nodded. ‘Look, I know I shouldn’t say this, Eve, but I think you’re really hot.’
Eve had stood frozen, her heart thumping in her chest as Ryan reached out and took her face in his warm hands. She was reminded of the moment he had touched her cheek at the fete and the response it had generated in her. Before she could stop herself, she had leaned in and kissed him.
The River Home : A Novel (2020) Page 10