‘Find out what?’
‘About Rowena. She just answered the phone. I was going to tell you in person this weekend.’
Hang on a minute, I thought to myself. He’s having an affair! And he’s trying to dump me! I wasn’t going to have that. I was calling to finish with him!
‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about, Nigel. I was just calling to say that I don’t think our relationship’s working. I’m sorry to do this to you, but I think it’s time we both admitted that we’re going nowhere.’
‘Riiight,’ he said, sounding a bit nonplussed. ‘Um, okay, maybe you’re right . . .’
‘I’m definitely right.’
‘Yes, and actually . . .’
I sighed. ‘You’re going to tell me you’ve been having an affair, aren’t you? With this Rowena?’
‘I’m sorry, Bess. I should have said something a long time ago.’
‘How long’s it been going on?’
‘A couple of years.’
‘A couple of years?’ I was staggered. And angry. I mean, you hear about this sort of thing happening to other people, but you don’t think it could happen to you, do you? ‘Enid was right about you all along,’ I murmured, more to myself than to him. ‘Just tell me, Nigel, why have you been wasting my time like this?’ I felt my voice breaking, then my cheeks beginning to burn with the shame of it. The shame of not realising. ‘Why now?’ I asked then, before Nigel had a chance to answer. ‘Why did you decide to tell me now?’
Nigel cleared his throat. ‘Well, it’s good news, really, in a way . . . You see, Rowena’s expecting. She’s pregnant.’
I felt like I’d been winded. The lump in my throat grew so big I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. I didn’t slam the phone down – I was on my mobile, so it would have been impossible. I just hung up, quietly, and immediately used Fred’s method of blocking Nigel’s number. Not that he was likely to call me back. After all, the business was done. And how convenient for him that I’d decided it was over myself. The break-up was one thing, though; the affair and the pregnancy were quite another. I needed to talk to someone.
I wanted Morag, my comforting flame-haired friend. I jumped in the car and drove down to St Aubin. It was lunchtime and I knew she wasn’t due to go into college until the afternoon. I managed to find a space at the top of the old high street and walked down the cobbled street, tears streaming down my face as I went over and over the telephone call like a record on repeat. I rang the bell.
‘Bess!’ It was Harry, standing at the door with a sandwich in one hand and looking, unsurprisingly, alarmed at the distraught state of me. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Is Morag here?’ I blurted, wiping at my tears with my coat sleeve.
‘No, I’m so sorry, she’s just nipped off to the supermarket. I’ve popped home from school for lunch. But come in! You need a cup of tea.’ He put a big arm around me, guiding me along the hallway and through to the kitchen, where he sat me down in an armchair beside the Aga. ‘Let me make some tea and then you can tell me what’s wrong,’ he said. ‘You know what us men are like, hopeless at multi-tasking.’
I bit my lip, trying to hold back fresh tears as I took off my coat. Eventually, Harry placed a steaming mug in my hands and then crouched down next to me.
‘This isn’t like you, Bess. What’s happened? Is it Enid?’
‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘It’s Nigel. I’ve finished with him.’
Harry looked almost as pleased as Enid had when I’d told her my plans to dump him. ‘Oh, well, I’m sorry – didn’t he take it well?’
‘It’s not the dumping that’s upset me. He admitted he’s been having an affair with this woman called Rowena for two years!’
‘Rowena? She sounds awful. I’m sorry, Bess, but he’s a rat. You’re better off without him.’
‘I know, I really do . . . but he also told me some “good news”, as he called it. They’re expecting a baby, Harry. She’s bloody pregnant!’
Harry looked horrified. ‘What? But . . . but . . .’ He was lost for words.
‘I know.’ The tears had stopped and I breathed a shuddering sigh. ‘I desperately want kids – he knew that; he knew my chances of getting pregnant were declining with every minute; he knew he was busy having it off with someone else – and clearly someone he was far more serious about than me. That’s what I can’t stop wondering. Was her pregnancy accidental or did they plan it together? And did she know about me? So many questions . . .’
‘But the answers are unlikely to make you feel any better. Perhaps they’d give you closure, though. Don’t speak to him again. But maybe you’d let me call him? I wouldn’t give him a piece of my mind, unless you wanted me to, but I could get you the answers you need. Would that help?’
‘Oh, that really would! I know I need to move on. I want to move on. But I think, painful as those answers may be, I need to know.’
‘Leave it with me – and his number. I’ll pop round to see you tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Harry,’ I said, gulping down the rest of my tea and giving him a brief hug. ‘Now, I’ll let you get on. You need to get back to school.’ I blew my nose. I felt stronger for having unburdened myself to Harry. ‘I have some good news, at least – Fred’s on his way. He’s arriving in London any minute and he’ll be here this evening. I need to get everything looking welcoming at the cottage. I should probably give Enid’s place a quick check too while she’s with you at the school this afternoon. I’m just so glad I managed to get hold of Fred in the end and persuade him to travel over.’
‘Does Enid know?’
‘No,’ I said, shrugging my coat back on. ‘Don’t let on when you see her!’
‘I won’t; I love a nice surprise. Let’s hope that’s what it is!’
‘It had better be!’ I replied. ‘After all this.’
My afternoon was busy, thank goodness, and I managed not to think too hard about Nigel and Rowena. I gave Enid’s house a quick check (everything was as orderly as expected) and left her a note inviting her round for supper. Then I set to work on my own cottage – chilling wine, laying the fire, putting on lamps and preparing supper. The temperature had plunged so I turned up the heating then switched on the TV beside the Aga to watch the forecast while I chopped vegetables.
‘If you thought the snow from last month was the island’s allocated cold snap for this year then think again,’ said the balding weatherman. ‘As Storm Glenda, rolling in from the Atlantic, looks poised to collide with a weather front nicknamed “The Siberian Beast”, a combination likely to cause sub-zero temperatures and blizzard conditions.’
‘No way,’ I said to myself as I started frying onions. The forecaster and newsreader began bantering about the chance of a white Christmas and I switched over to another channel showing The Holiday. A white Christmas! Fred would love it! I checked my watch, finished my cooking, and then took a shower and changed into my crimson jumper dress.
It was just as I was pouring a glass of wine that my plan started to fall into place and Enid turned up. I poured her a glass with a slightly shaking hand. Something about the excitement of the surprise and the morning’s difficult news was making me all twitchy. When the doorbell rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I shut the door to the sitting room and went through to answer it.
‘You made it!’ I whispered to Fred, giving him a hug. ‘I can’t believe you’re here!’
‘Nor can I! It’s freezing!’
‘It’s going to get worse. It looks like we might get a white Christmas!’
‘Awesome! Where’s Enid?’
‘She’s in the kitchen, let’s just drag your case in . . .’
At that moment we heard the door through to the kitchen creak open. Enid stood in the doorway and I saw her taking in the tall, suntanned figure standing next to me.
‘Fred!’ she said, and she sounded so happy I thought I might cry. A moment later, though, I was calling Laura – our local doctor.
‘Laura,
I don’t suppose you could pop round, could you? I think we might have a case of concussion on our hands.’
Chapter Thirty-two
Wednesday 20 December 2017
Fred
When Fred woke up on Wednesday morning he had to take a moment to recall where he was. Turning his head, which was slightly throbbing, he had an instant reminder in the bed: Enid. She looked like she was asleep, but when he shifted slightly she opened her eyes immediately. Fred was mesmerised by their clearness and warmth: they were so unusual – a sort of golden colour. With her heart-shaped face, and those striking eyes, she was beautiful – but the real beauty was that she didn’t know it or even care whether she was or not. She was the most natural woman Fred had ever met.
‘How are you?’ she asked, concerned.
‘Bit of a headache. That could be the wine, though, more than the knock to my head!’
Talk about making an entrance. Fred couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid, but then, in his defence, it wasn’t like Aussie houses had such low ceilings. He’d been out cold for about thirty seconds, but then he’d come round and some doc had turned up and checked him over. He’d been given the all-clear, but the woman had told them to call her if he started feeling sick. The doc had left and they’d all looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.
‘I can’t believe you’re here!’ Enid said. ‘I mean, what happened? Did you plan it all between the two of you?’
‘Yeah, third time lucky!’ Fred replied, as the three of them made their way into the kitchen and Bess grabbed Fred a beer from the fridge. It was warm in there and Fred rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his intriguing tattoo.
‘Third time?’ Enid asked, frowning. ‘What do you mean? I didn’t know you’d tried to get here at all!’
‘We need to make a confession,’ Bess admitted. ‘Fred tried to travel over as soon as the Gatwick incident happened, but his first attempt failed, then he was about to get on the plane second time around when I told him not to come.’
‘But why did you do that?’ Enid asked in astonishment.
‘Because you were in a low state at the time!’ Bess replied in exasperation. ‘You made me promise Fred wouldn’t make a visit. It was before you had a change of attitude, but by then it was too late.’
‘I’m so ashamed,’ Enid said, looking at Fred apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry I said that.’ Then she turned to Bess. ‘And that I put you in such a difficult position.’
‘Well, I acted like a total prick after Bess called me,’ Fred confessed. ‘I was so furious and hurt. I told Bess that it was over with you, then I went home and the next day I called up Terri-Lee.’
‘The girl who’s been after you for years?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you want me to leave you two to it?’ Bess suddenly piped up, sensing the delicacy of the conversation, but Fred shook his head.
‘Let’s face it, you’ve been part of everything, Bess – as much as I bet you wish you hadn’t been. Enid, I thought it was all over with you, and some stuff happened with Terri-Lee. Not much, but—’
‘It’s okay,’ Enid said, stopping him. ‘Look, let’s forget about Terri-Lee. I don’t want to think about her, or Gatwick, or anything negative. Let’s start from now, this moment right now. But with the added benefit of already being friends.’
But later in the evening, when they’d said their slightly drunken goodbyes to Bess, and headed next door to Number 2, Fred found himself feeling suddenly awkward. At last, it was just the two of them – what they’d wanted for so long – but now that it was finally happening, it felt a little strange.
‘Um, would you like another drink?’ Enid asked, standing in her kitchen looking uncomfortable.
‘Nah, I’m good. I’m whacked, should probably get to bed.’
‘I’ll show you to your room,’ Enid said, sounding formal. Fred picked up his case and followed her up the creaky little staircase. The room she showed him was cute but impersonal, a brass bed nicely made with plenty of covers, a bedside cabinet, but not much else.
‘I just need to use the bathroom,’ Fred said then and Enid led him there. It felt a little like she’d suddenly transformed into a realtor. But then suddenly Enid’s cat bundled up to him, getting in his way as he headed towards the bathroom, and Fred bent down and picked him up.
‘Aaah, he’s a cutie! What’s his name again?’
‘Clifford.’
‘Clifford,’ Fred repeated. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, mate,’ he said, nuzzling his cream fur with his nose. Enid moved towards them both and started stroking Clifford’s fluffy tummy. She looked up at Fred and it felt as if she’d suddenly dropped the guard she’d put up as soon as they’d been alone together. Fred looked down at her and then popped Clifford on to the floor before taking hold of Enid’s shoulders. He moved her very gently towards him and, finally, almost unbelievably, they kissed.
Now, Fred carefully moved a bit of Enid’s hair out of her face. ‘I can’t believe this isn’t a dream,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t believe I’m here and we can get to know each other properly at last.’
‘Do you mean physically?’ asked Enid.
‘Well, that too, but I suppose I want to know what makes you tick.’
‘It’s all a bit unusual,’ Enid admitted.
‘But that’s what’s so interesting.’
‘It isn’t really. I eat a cheese-and-tomato sandwich on brown bread every lunchtime.’
Fred laughed. ‘Okay, so maybe that’s not the most fascinating fact about you . . . Tell you what, will you show me round your house? My mum used to say you never really know a person until you’ve seen where they live.’
‘Okay, I’ll give you a guided tour, but first let me give you a present. It’s one of the Christmas gifts I bought for you, but I thought you might want it early.’
Enid handed over something small and neatly wrapped. Fred immediately tore the wrapping open to discover a little portable radio with earphones.
‘So you can listen to the Ashes,’ Enid told him. ‘I know you like cricket, so . . .’ She looked embarrassed.
Fred looked at her, gobsmacked. ‘I’ve never had such a thoughtful present in all my life,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how to thank you!’
‘Well, I can think of a way, if that guided tour can wait?’
‘It can wait,’ said Fred, his voice husky with longing.
Chapter Thirty-three
Wednesday 20 December 2017
Enid
Fred is perfect. Everything about him is perfect: the way he is, the way he looks, the way he smells (fresh, but not perfumed. He told me he hates the smell of grapefruit, too. How amazing is that!). Actually, I told him how perfect he is, and he said that no one is, but to me he’s all I’d hoped for and more. I love him, but not only that: I love what he makes me.
All the things about me that in the past so many people seemed to think were in some way ‘wrong’ (school friends, acquaintances, ex-boyfriends), Fred is just fascinated by – in a good way.
When I gave him a guided tour of the cottage he was intrigued by the state of my wardrobe.
‘It looks so orderly. How’s it arranged?’ he asked.
I felt my cheeks burning: such pernickety behaviour is not generally considered a positive, I know that much, but I explained.
‘Jeans are on blue hangers, then shirts on green, jackets on grey, the only two dresses I own are on white, and then on these shelves here I have my T-shirts stacked in colours – white, khaki, beige and navy – and then below, on this shelf, are my jumpers and fleeces all arranged in the same colours again. Then shoes and boots are under here, look.’
‘I love it, it’s so neat! My mum, bless her, was so haphazard and messy and such a hoarder. You should have seen her wardrobe.’
‘I’d have had to sort it out for her!’
‘She’d have enjoyed that, having you organise her. But why is everything white, green, beige or blue?’<
br />
‘It sounds odd, but I hate bright colours, so I just stick to shades that I find soothing. I told you I’m weird!’
‘You’re not weird, Enid. You’re quirky. And I love that about you – you’ve got to believe me. If I’d wanted someone conventional I’d have stayed in Australia and hooked up with Terri-Lee.’
The mention of her name made my stomach lurch, but it was clear to me that Fred meant everything he was saying. There was no point in feeling jealous. He’d chosen me, after all. Which made me feel good. Very good. With every room I showed him, my confidence grew. Fred was so full of enthusiasm about everything (including, importantly, Clifford and the hedgehogs) that I began to stop feeling nervous about revealing my oddities.
When we reached the art studio, Fred stood in silence for a moment. My nerves started to come back. But then, ‘This is incredible!’ he said eventually, taking in my sausage dog painting. Morag was going to pick it up the next day and take it round to the customer. ‘Enid, you’ve a real talent!’
‘One of the upsides of Asperger’s,’ I told him. ‘We’re more likely than neurotypicals to have a talent, and we have the passion to nurture those gifts, though sometimes to the detriment of our own health.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I used to just paint and paint, without stopping to eat or shower or do anything, really. It made me sick in the end. So Bess helped me create a routine so that I can do my painting, but not overdo it.’
‘She adores you, doesn’t she?’ Fred said as he followed me out of the studio and along to the kitchen, where he was instantly drawn to the picture window while I put the kettle on.
‘She’s always looked after me,’ I replied. ‘Since we were kids, even though she’s the younger one. She taught me how to get by in this society we live in. Though she couldn’t stop the bullying. Things got better, though, after school – at least until our parents died. After that, we both had to work through the grief. Bess threw herself into finding us somewhere to live – these cottages were pretty derelict at the time and she had them renovated and decorated. I sometimes feel bad about Bess; I think she’s put her life on hold for me.’
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