by Maria Savva
He approached the table where Cara and Annabelle were seated, introduced himself, and offered to buy them a drink.
‘No thanks,’ Annabelle said, glancing at her watch. ‘We’ve just finished our lunch and have to get back to work.’
‘Where do you work?’ he asked Cara.
‘Across the road, at the solicitors’ firm,’ she replied.
Annabelle glared at her.
Cara continued to gawk at Frederick.
He smiled and she felt insanely happy, flattered by the attention.
‘As I said, we have to go,’ muttered Annabelle, standing up and nudging Cara.
Cara did not want to leave; she could lose herself in this man’s eyes for ever. Reluctantly, she picked up her handbag and followed Annabelle.
As she walked to the door, Cara could not resist turning back to steal another look at him; to her delight she saw that he was still watching her. A satisfied smirk on her face, she made her way out of the pub. Once outside, her feet refused to move any further, and she held on to the door unwilling to close it completely.
‘Come on, Cara, we’ll be late,’ grumbled Annabelle. ‘And why did you tell that man where we work?’
‘Why shouldn’t I have?’ Cara asked. ‘He was handsome, don’t you think? He looked like an actor or something.’
‘Yes, but he’s not from Huddlesea. You shouldn’t make a habit of talking to strange men. Do you want to get a reputation?’
Usually she would agree with Annabelle when they discussed such matters, but today was turning out to be quite a curious day. Annabelle—dressed in a dull brown suit, her long mousy brown hair in a sensible plait—suddenly represented to Cara everything she hated about Huddlesea: the small-mindedness of the residents, the stuffy conservatism. The same people drove her best friend, Beattie, to her death through their lack of compassion and understanding. Ever since the day Beattie died, Cara had been searching for a way to escape the chains of living in this small town with its closed minds and staid rules restricting her freedom.
A sense of rebellion took hold. ‘Annabelle, I’ll see you back at work, I need to go to the toilet,’ she said as an excuse to re-enter the pub.
Walking into the pub, Cara saw Frederick seated at the bar, his back to her. His smart suit made him stand out. Gazing at him in wonder, she racked her brain trying to find something to say that would make her sound sophisticated.
As Cara hesitated in the doorway, the door opened and she felt herself being pushed forward.
‘Sorry, dear,’ said a croaky voice, which sounded as though it belonged to an old man. A strong smell of cigar smoke filled the air.
Cara turned around and saw Barry Higgins, the owner of the tobacconists that was situated across the road from her father’s grocery.
‘Hello, Cara.’
She nodded at him, feeling guilty, as if he knew why she’d returned to the pub. Then George, the barman, looked in her direction, and her cheeks reddened.
‘How are you today, Cara?’ asked Barry Higgins.
‘Fine, thanks,’ she said, not wanting to get into a conversation with him, worried Frederick would spot her. She smiled at Mr Higgins and quickly walked past him, making her way to the ladies’ toilets, praying Frederick wouldn’t notice her. Her heart began to beat faster and she was physically shaking as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Everyone in this place knew her. How could she speak to Frederick with all of them gawping and gossiping?
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the ladies’ toilets, she saw her cheeks were flushed. She took the hairbrush out of her handbag and ran it through her long red hair with a trembling hand, breathing deeply to settle the nerves that rattled inside her.
As she replaced the hairbrush, she remembered that she had some lipstick in her bag. The lipstick was still in there from last Thursday when she’d been out for a meal with the girls from work to celebrate Carrie’s fortieth birthday. She did not usually wear lipstick, except on special occasions like weddings or parties. Taking it out of the bag, she carefully ran the pink colour over her lips.
She walked back into the bar area, heart racing, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone.
Deliberately brushing past Frederick, she turned her head to face him. Her cheeks were burning and she prayed they didn’t look as red as they felt. Above the pitter-patter of her heartbeat, she heard him speak.
‘Are you sure you won’t let me buy you that drink?’
She almost accepted but knew she couldn’t risk being late for work. ‘I have to go.’ As she uttered the words she wished it wasn’t true, wanting to spend the rest of the afternoon with Frederick. Might this be the last chance she would have to get to know him?
‘We can meet up later,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts and answering her question.
She beamed with delight.
‘I’ll be in here at seven o’clock,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Breaking with Huddlesea’s traditions, Cara met Frederick that evening at The Horse and Dragon. She’d told her mother she would be staying at a friend’s house. She embraced the freedom her rebellion brought her, but it also tore at her conscience. Meeting a man who was not from Huddlesea, without her parents’ consent, made her a traitor of sorts. She knew that. Yet, there was a part of her that yearned to be independent and ever since meeting Frederick Johnson that part was battling to be heard.
Frederick drove them to a wonderfully secluded seaside spot on the outskirts of Huddlesea. As they walked hand in hand along the beach, he told her he had come from out of town for work. She listened intently to every word, loving the sound of his voice, so deep and soothing.
It was liberating to escape the stifling town and the sense of paranoia that pervaded it: eyes always watching, ready to report back to her parents. Here no one knew her; she was able to relax. She felt invincible.
Cara and Frederick stayed at a hotel and spent a passionate night together.
He drove her home early the next morning.
Reminiscing about the evening’s events, Cara found herself mystified. The girl swept away by Frederick seemed like another person: the person she’d always dreamed of being. Somehow, the time she’d spent with Frederick outside Huddlesea had given her the courage to make her dream a reality. She could think of nothing but him: his face, his eyes, his smile.
Frederick told her she was beautiful. She mused over how she’d occasionally been called “pretty”, often as an afterthought by some insensitive relative or friend of her parents who might have been openly complimenting her sister, Gloria, on her beauty whilst ignoring Cara. Gloria stole the limelight: everyone commented on her good looks, and Cara felt quite plain in comparison. Cara had run-of-the-mill ginger hair, whereas Gloria’s was a deep auburn colour; Cara’s eyes were an unremarkable shade of green but Gloria’s were a searing ice-blue. Cara hated her freckles, envious of Gloria’s flawless porcelain skin. Somehow, hearing ‘You’re beautiful, Cara,’ from Frederick’s lips, made up for all the years of insecurity about her appearance. He was, in her eyes, the most beautiful person she had ever seen.
Thinking back to the night before, she could hardly believe she’d slept with Frederick. What scandal it would cause in Huddlesea if anyone found out. Her brow creased as she brooded over how narrow-minded they all were. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
When Frederick wasn’t with her, Cara was dreaming about being with him, anticipating their next date.
‘You look like you’re keeping a secret,’ commented Annabelle when they were leaving the office one evening.
Cara noticed her friend’s serious expression. She secretly hoped Annabelle would find someone like Frederick, someone to bring her a bit of happiness.
‘You’re always smiling,’ said Annabelle.
Cara’s smile widened even more as she became aware of it. ‘Aren’t I allowed to smile?’
‘Hmm… of course, but people usually need a reason to smile. Are you keepin
g something from me?’
‘No.’ Cara avoided her friend’s questioning gaze.
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re in love.’
Cara skipped ahead of Annabelle, making her way to the old bridge where Frederick said they should meet after work. ‘I am in love.’ She giggled as she turned to face her friend.
Annabelle stared at her, aghast.
‘I’m in love with life!’ Cara twirled like a ballerina, and then ran towards the bridge.
Cara and Frederick met most weekdays after work: always away from Huddlesea, the town that may as well have had four walls such was its claustrophobic atmosphere. The nights they spent together were romantic and passionate. She wanted to tell everyone about him, but he said people would talk.
‘People don’t understand love, Cara. You’ve told me how small-minded the people in Huddlesea are. We can’t tell them yet.’
She was about to ask him when they could tell, but he lifted her up in his arms and kissed her. All else was forgotten.
Cara asked him why they couldn’t spend weekends together and he explained he had to work long shifts at weekends.
Consequently, weekends became the worst time of the week for her. If she ever did lose her constant smile it was on a Friday evening, knowing she would be going home to her parents’ house and wouldn’t see Frederick for two whole days.
‘Most people look forward to the weekend when they get a couple of days off work, Cara,’ her mother commented one Friday. ‘You mope around the house as if you’ve lost a pound and found a penny.’
Now and then, Cara wondered why Frederick never took her to his house, but not being quite sure where they would end up spending the night made their meetings more exciting and added an element of adventure.
She finally told Annabelle about Frederick a few weeks into the relationship.
Annabelle, recalling the meeting in The Horse and Dragon, looked up from her typewriter and frowned. ‘I didn’t like the look of him.’
‘But he’s gorgeous!’ exclaimed Cara.
‘I don’t mean he isn’t handsome, but just because someone’s handsome doesn’t mean they’re to be trusted. The way he came straight over and offered to buy us a drink, makes me think he’s one of those men who makes a habit of asking young women out, if you know what I mean.’ She raised her eyebrows disapprovingly.
‘He’s really nice, Annabelle.’ Cara thought about Frederick and smiled to herself. She loved his self-assuredness.
‘I’m sure he is nice, but I… I don’t know. He’s older than us, isn’t he?’
‘He’s not much older.’
‘You should be careful. He’s not even from Huddlesea. He could have all sorts of skeletons in his closet,’ warned Annabelle, appearing stern, momentarily reminding Cara of her mother.
‘I like the fact he’s not from Huddlesea. Everybody knows everybody in Huddlesea: if I was to go out with someone from here, I’d know everything about him already. That’s what’s great about Freddie; there’s so much I don’t know about him, so much to learn.’
‘All I’m saying is, I’d prefer to know a little about someone before I go out with them,’ said Annabelle.
Cara regarded her friend in her plain grey suit, long brown hair tied up as usual in one tidy plait. It was easy to see Annabelle wasn’t the adventurous type.
‘I don’t want to be a secretary in Huddlesea for the rest of my life,’ retorted Cara. ‘Anyway, the whole point of courting is to find out about the other person.’
‘So where does this Freddie come from?’ quizzed Annabelle.
‘I don’t know exactly—’
‘And have you met many of his friends?’ she asked, before Cara could elaborate.
‘No, not yet. They don’t live in Huddlesea.’
‘What job does he do?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ Cara said, shrugging.
‘Well, you haven’t found out much about him,’ snorted Annabelle, sarcastically. ‘What exactly do you do when you’re together?’
‘We go out. You know, we… spend time together. We do all the things normal couples do.’
‘What do you have in common?’
‘Lots of things.’
Annabelle rolled her eyes. ‘But you’d have far more in common with someone from Huddlesea.’ She spun around on her chair, turning her back on Cara, and carried on typing.
‘Freddie’s sophisticated, not like the men here. I mean, do you know any eligible bachelors in Huddlesea?’
‘There must be some. What about Peter Jones?’ Annabelle glanced over her shoulder. ‘You used to fancy him at school, remember? I’ve heard he’s still single.’
‘Why aren’t you pleased for me?’ Cara wished Beattie was still alive. Beattie would have liked Frederick. Cara had shared all her secrets with her best friend, who was always so enthusiastic. ‘I’m happy,’ she said. ‘Freddie is so… so wonderful.’
‘He struck me as the type who just wants a bit of fun.’ Annabelle adjusted her glasses at the end of her nose.
‘He’s not like that.’
‘Has he talked about marriage?’ She spun around in her chair to face Cara.
‘Not yet, but it’s early days.’
‘Have you told your mother about him?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Probably because you know she wouldn’t approve.’
‘I think you’re jealous, Annabelle Smart.’
‘I am not!’
But Cara didn’t believe her: she would have been jealous too, if Annabelle were courting Frederick. She carried on with her work, a satisfied smile dancing about her lips.
After dating Frederick for nearly two months, Cara felt sure the relationship was progressing well; she decided to tell her parents about him. They asked to meet him.
‘No daughter of mine is going to be gallivanting about town with a strange man. What will everyone say? Remember what happened to Beattie,’ warned her mother.
On hearing her once best friend’s name, Cara closed her eyes against the raging in her head she knew she could not express.
When Cara told Frederick her parents had asked to meet him, he changed. From that moment their relationship went downhill.
For nearly two months they’d hardly spent more than a couple of days apart, but now he didn’t contact her for a whole week, and she had no way of contacting him, didn’t even know where he lived. He’d never given her his address and she didn’t know where he worked. Cara felt lost and alone, unable to concentrate; then, to make matters worse, she missed a period. The first thing that sprang to mind was what had happened to Beattie.
Cara was desperate to talk to Frederick: being older he would know more about such matters. If she was pregnant, she feared she’d be ostracised just as Beattie had been. She tried hard to convince herself that she was just panicking, after all, it wasn’t so unusual for her to miss a period; it had happened once before.
Then one day Frederick called her at work, unexpectedly.
‘I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to see you recently,’ he said. ‘I’ve been really busy. I miss you. Let’s meet at Turner’s Bridge after work. We can go for a drive to a nice little hotel I know.’
Cara floated on an emotional high for the rest of the working day. It appeared she’d read too much into his absence from her life. He even sent an enormous bunch of roses to her office. She noticed the envy written on the faces of her colleagues when the flowers were delivered.
‘I’m the luckiest girl in the world,’ said Cara as she sat in the passenger seat of Frederick’s car that evening.
‘Yes, you are. Just remember that.’ He flashed his broad, cheeky smile, and she felt a familiar tingling in her stomach. She truly loved this man. They were “just right” for each other. They fitted. They could get married and everything would be all right. She breathed deeply, taking in the fresh early evening air, savouring their time together.
‘I love being with you,’ she said
.
‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘That’s only natural.’
‘Stop it, Freddie, you’re supposed to say you love being with me too!’
‘I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’ He laughed and winked at her, then fixed his gaze on the road ahead as he drove.
‘I think we were made for each other,’ she said.
A brief silence followed.
‘Freddie?’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Won’t you reconsider what I said? I’d love you to meet my family.’ How could she broach the subject of her possible pregnancy? ‘We’ve been seeing each other for a while.’
He did not reply but slowed the car and parked at the side of the road. ‘I can’t meet your parents.’
‘Oh, Freddie, they don’t bite!’ The tense atmosphere made her voice shake, but she laughed to cover her nerves.
Frederick didn’t join in with the laughter. He seemed distant, as if he had something weighty on his mind.
‘And you’re going to have to meet them one day,’ she persisted in a higher-pitched voice, anxiety getting the better of her, ‘especially if we’re going to get married and spend the rest of our lives together.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ He held his forehead. ‘I can’t marry you, Cara.’
‘Why ever not?’ Her question was a half-whisper as she inwardly kicked herself for mentioning marriage. Perhaps he would have preferred to be the one to ask her, when the time was right; that would explain his reaction. She tried to reassure herself with these thoughts, but an odd sense of insecurity had taken over. She bit her lower lip waiting for his reply.