by Liz Eeles
When I don’t speak, Malcolm shifts and winces as his knee scrapes along the painted concrete. ‘Flora, don’t leave me in suspense. You know I’d do anything for you,’ he hisses.
I should say something but I’m transfixed by a small shiny patch of scalp on the crown of his head. Malcolm is starting to go bald. He won’t like that.
‘Flora? Are you listening to me? I’m starting to feel like a right prat down here. People are staring.’
He’s right. Becca and Mary are watching us with their mouths open. But when I glance over, they go back to furious table wiping.
‘I don’t quite know what to say,’ I murmur, feeling panicky as, over the top of Malcolm’s balding head, I spot Daniel coming into the café. I can’t cope with another macho scrap. Not right now when I’m making a decision that will affect the rest of my life.
Luckily, Daniel takes one look at Malcolm on one knee and beats a hasty retreat back to his adoring fans. He was mobbed by them the minute his talk ended and this is the first time I’ve seen him since.
‘Well, say something, for goodness’ sake,’ moans Malcolm. ‘My knees are starting to seize up. Just make your decision and come home.’
‘Which is where?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘What I mean is… oh, do please get up!’
After Malcolm has staggered unsteadily to his feet and brushed smashed cake crumbs from his trousers, I take his arm and guide him out into the garden. The café’s adopted stray cat is lying on the patio flagstones in the sunshine and the early evening air is heavy with pollen.
‘We can talk more privately out here. What I mean, Malcolm, is that I’m not sure where home is any more.’
‘It’s in Oxford, with me, of course. Or wherever we decide to move on to next.’
‘Even though you had an affair?’
Malcolm sighs and wipes beads of sweat from his upper lip. ‘I’ve apologised for that already and ditched Marina. Please come back to your old life, Flora, and leave this new life behind. It really isn’t you at all.’
Does Malcolm have a point? Am I shoehorning myself into a life that doesn’t fit? As the cat stretches out in the hope of a tummy rub, my brain goes all Judge Judy and starts reviewing evidence for and against…
My new life is stressful and hasn’t been an unqualified success. Running the shop and café is exhausting, I’ve no idea where I’ll end up living, I screwed up with Caleb, the bake-off ended in a fight and, although Daniel saved the day this afternoon, some local feathers were ruffled by the change of plan. Alan was shooting me daggers from the back of the room, especially when Katrina got all fan-girly over our outed author.
When I think about it like that, going back to Malcolm seems very tempting. Perhaps giving up the shop and The Cosy Kettle and moving on to something new would be best too. And yet… I felt so connected to Honeyford as I marched in the parade this afternoon, and I like spending time with Luna and Caleb and the book club regulars – with Daniel too, when I’m not feeling awkward and out of my depth. Charter Day was mostly a success and championing April Devlin’s book turned out to be a great business decision. Even though it was a decision that Malcolm would have vetoed.
Luna was right. It's like being at a crossroads with my safe, familiar life in one direction and, in the other direction, uncertainty and potential chaos.
‘So what’s it to be?’ says Malcolm, side-stepping the cat, who’s given up on tummy rubs and wandered over for a stroke. ‘Just remember that, to me, you’re the same wonderful woman I married twenty years ago.’
And just like that, my brain fog evaporates and the way ahead becomes clear because Malcolm is wrong – I’m not the same woman at all. When I promised to love Malcolm forever, I needed security and familiarity and a life without too many surprises. But what I need and want has changed over the years, as it has for Malcolm, too. And that’s OK, I tell myself – even though I feel guilty at what I’m about to do.
Taking hold of Malcolm’s hand, I draw in a deep breath of warm, summer air. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about this and I’m really sorry but—’
‘No, don’t say it! I know I’m the only one for you and you’re the only one for me. You always have been.’ Malcolm suddenly stares past my shoulder and goes so ghostly pale, I think he’s about to faint. ‘Oh, good grief,’ he whines. ‘Not now! Is there another way out of here?’
‘There’s a gate in that back wall but we hardly ever use it. Why? Hey, mind the plants.’ Malcolm has gripped my arm and is pulling me across the garden that’s been so carefully cultivated. I wince as his big feet flatten a clump of Busy Lizzies. ‘Phyllis will go mad when she sees what you’re doing to her flowers.’
‘Like I care,’ snorts Malcolm, shoulder-barging the tall black gate that’s set into the stone wall. As he pulls me through it, I glance back. A young woman with dazzling blonde corkscrew curls has just rushed out of the café and into the garden.
‘Is that Marina?’ I ask, as Malcolm pulls me through a narrow side passageway. A young couple, holding hands, have to do a nifty swerve to avoid us as we pile into Sheep Street. There are people everywhere, some of them still in fancy dress from the parade, out enjoying the sunshine and festivities.
‘There are too many people in this stupid little town. Get out of my way! Where to now?’ gasps Malcolm, who hardly knows Honeyford.
Before I can answer, he pulls me into a nearby lane. But Hangman’s Lane leads down to the river, which means it’s a dead end, unless he’s planning on going paddling. Malcolm comes to an abrupt halt at the water’s edge and stares at the fast-moving current in confusion.
‘What the hell is that doing there?’
‘That’s the river and it’s always been there. Are you finally going to tell me what on earth is going on?’
‘Oi, Malcy!’ echoes along the narrow lane that’s edged with the high stone walls of people’s gardens. When I turn around, Marina is advancing towards us, her high-heeled ankle boots clattering on the road. ‘Are you running away from me?’
‘Of course not,’ blusters Malcolm. ‘Flora and I were just going for a walk.’
‘It looked more like a sprint. Anyway, it’s Flora I want to talk to, not you.’
‘It’s all right, Marina. Don’t bother if you’re here to fight over Malcolm.’
‘Aren’t you going to fight for me, Flora?’ whines Malcolm with his hands on his hips.
‘I think our relationship has reached a dead end,’ I tell him, recognising the irony of saying it while stuck in a cul-de-sac. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. So, if you’re here to claim him, Marina, he’s all yours.’
‘I don’t want him,’ puffs Marina, grimacing as though the very thought is distasteful. ‘I told him our relationship was over a week or so after you walked out.’
‘Hang on, let me get this straight. You broke up with him?’
‘That’s not true,’ huffs Malcolm, his forehead wet with sweat. ‘I ditched her, Flora, for you.’
Marina twists her pretty face into a scowl. ‘You’re such a liar, Malcolm. You lied to me about your marriage when you said Flora didn’t care about you any more, and you’re lying now. I so should have listened to Emily.’
‘Emily who used to work in the restaurant?’ I butt in. ‘What’s she got to do with it?’
‘She warned me Malcolm had been flirting with her and that he was a creep, but I thought she was jealous ’cos he was the boss and he was interested in me. I was dazzled by his charisma.’
Malcolm’s charisma has definitely done a runner. In fact, he appears to be shrinking before my eyes as he sinks onto the kerb and puts his head in his hands.
‘So let me get this straight. When you first came into the shop after I left you, Malcolm, and you begged me to come back home, you were still with Marina. You misled and lied to me.’
His muffled voice floats up. ‘I was going to ditch her.’
‘But you were waiting to see if I’d
come home first – basically, you didn’t want to burn your bridges and be left without either of us. But then she beat you to it by chucking you. For goodness’ sake!’
When Malcolm stays silent, I turn to Marina. ‘So why are you here to see me?’
‘I couldn’t believe what he was doing with the writer bloke this lunchtime. He kept encouraging him to drink – he was practically pouring plonk down his throat.’
‘Plonk?’ squeaks Malcolm. ‘That was a vintage Burgundy.’
Blood starts pounding in my ears as Marina’s words hit home. Daniel guessed the truth. My husband, the man who should want the best for me, was doing his best to sabotage my high-profile event all along.
‘How could you do that, Malcolm, after you promised to support me?’ It’s only when he flinches that I realise I’m shouting. ‘You knew how important today was to me but you took advantage of a man who obviously has alcohol problems to try and wreck my event. He’s still upstairs, sleeping it off. Did you want me to disappoint people and look stupid?’
‘I think you’re overreacting horribly,’ grumbles Malcolm. ‘Being with me is what’s best for you, Flora, and I was just trying to make you see sense.’
‘Oh, everything makes perfect sense now.’
Marina clears her throat. ‘Anyway, I thought you should know the truth ’cos, to be honest, I’m quite inspired by how you’ve taken on a business on your own. And I feel like a bit of a cow for going behind your back and everything.’
She stops, giving me a chance to leap in and say that of course she isn’t a cow. But she’s got a long wait coming. When I just stare at her, she sighs.
‘I just wanted you to know about today before you decided whether to go back to him or not. Female solidarity and all that.’ Marina realises the total inappropriateness of what she’s just said, and sniffs. ‘Whatever. I’ve got to go because my boyfriend’s waiting.’
‘I didn’t know you had a new boyfriend.’
Marina’s cheeks glow fuchsia-pink when she smiles. ‘Yeah, Ben’s the same age as me and really nice. He’s got me a job in the garden centre where he works so I’m leaving the restaurant. Did you hear that, Malcolm? I’m leaving.’
My husband doesn’t react. He continues sitting in the gutter with his legs splayed out in front of him.
‘And he’s not…?’ I ask.
‘Married? No. He’s completely single and he’s a rugby player.’
I nod, unsure how these two facts fit together.
‘Anyway,’ adds Marina, sticking out her arm to shake hands. ‘Sorry, again.’
This is the woman who precipitated the break-up of my marriage – the reason Malcolm and I are no longer together. Or maybe she merely highlighted the fatal cracks in our relationship that we’d papered over without even realising it.
I don’t take her hand but I do say, quietly, ‘I wish you well, Marina.’
‘You too, Flora.’ After a final scowl at Malcolm, she turns and clip-clops back along the lane.
When she’s out of sight, I sit on the kerb, stare at the crystal-clear water and wonder how we both reached this point. Two moorhens float past, carried along by the current, and the shouts of excited children reach us on the breeze. Honeyford is alive all around me, but my marriage is well and truly dead.
‘Tell me why you deliberately tried to sabotage my event, Malcolm. After all I’ve done to support you over the years with your restaurants. After two decades of marriage.’
My anger has burned out and left bitter disappointment in its place. I thought I had the measure of Malcolm after so long together, but it turns out I hardly knew him at all. He shifts his backside on the kerb until we’re face to face.
‘You’ve always been so sensible, Flora – someone I could rely on. But you changed when you took a risk on the bookshop and opened that daft café. And I thought if things went wrong and you didn’t feel welcome in this stupid town you’d be more likely to see sense, give up your business, and come back to me and the restaurant. But I hadn’t factored in that man.’
‘Daniel isn’t the reason I’m not coming back.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m absolutely sure.’
‘It’s me, then, is it?’
‘Yes, it is you. And me. If I came back, I could probably get over your affair in the end. But don’t you see we’ve reached a point where we want different things out of life? Me taking over the bookshop and you being unfaithful are symptoms of that and, to be honest, I’m tired of living in your shadow. Tell me, why did you chase Emily and have an affair with Marina?’
‘I didn’t chase Emily. That’s a lie.’
Malcolm is either lying himself or he’s in denial. I try again. ‘Would you have had an affair with Emily if she’d been up for it?’
Malcolm shakes his head but then puffs out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know. Yeah, probably.’
‘Have you had affairs with other women?’
‘No. Absolutely not. No way, Flora. Definitely not.’
I decide to believe him this time, although he’s protesting rather too much.
‘Have you come close to having other affairs?’
Malcolm hesitates, before giving a slight nod.
‘Why do you think that is? Honestly.’
‘I don’t know. Don’t all men have affairs?’
‘No, Malcolm, they don’t. So why?’
‘I suppose I’m getting older and I don’t much like it, and I needed—’
‘Say it,’ I urge him. ‘What do you need out of life?’
‘A bit more excitement, I suppose. I was a bit bored and in a rut, really.’
‘Me too. I need more in my life than helping you to achieve your business dreams and being your oh-so-sensible wife. Can’t you see that we’ve been growing apart for a while?’
Malcolm thinks for a moment. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
It’s time for the million-dollar question and, for once, I think Malcolm might answer me truthfully. ‘Why do you want me to come back, Malcolm?’
‘I love you,’ he says, automatically, but then he shrugs. ‘I do love you, Flora, but it’s more—’
‘Habit? And you like being in control of everything, including me?’
‘Possibly, although I resent the implication that I’m a control freak. The bottom line is that I just don’t fancy being on my own, Flora, and there’s the restaurant, too. Who’s going to help me run that?’
‘You’ll sort something out. I can’t come back to you and my old life just because you’re lonely and you need someone to help with your business. I deserve more, Malcolm. And so do you.’
Malcolm folds his arms and pouts. ‘Are you and that Daniel bloke an item, then?’
‘No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
‘He’s dreadful.’
‘That’s funny. He says the same about you.’
‘And he wrote that stupid drippy book with the awful cover.’
‘I admit it is an awful cover. But the book’s not drippy. It’s heartfelt and beautiful.’
‘Huh, he’s a total pansy and I’m never going to read it.’ Malcolm slowly staggers to his feet and brushes grit from his backside. ‘So is this the end of us? Are you going to change your mind?’
‘It’s the end of our road together. We’ve reached a crossroads and now we’re heading along different paths. But chances are they’re the paths that are best for us.’
‘You’ve been living with that witchy woman for too long,’ grumbles Malcolm, looking confused. ‘She’s zapped her weirdness into your head.’
I take a deep breath. ‘To put it bluntly, Malcolm, I’m afraid our marriage is over. And I’m not going to change my mind.’
He nods and his lips tighten into a thin line. ‘You’d better come and collect all your stuff then.’
‘I will. We can make those sorts of arrangements later.’
‘And I suppose you expect me to take that author bloke back to Oxford Station, even though he’ll most
likely vomit in my Jag?’
‘I rather think he’s your responsibility, if he’s sober enough to travel. Don’t you?’
Malcolm stares at his feet like a naughty child who’s been caught out. ‘Point taken. I suppose this is goodbye then, Flora.’
‘I suppose it kind of is. Goodbye, Malcolm.’
When he turns and trudges away, I get an urge to run after him. My old life is walking away and it hurts and it’s terrifying. But from beneath the pain and the fear, bubbles of excitement and relief are rising to the surface. I’m in control of my new, scary life, so I’d better make it a good one.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The whole of Honeyford has thronged to Memorial Park. Or that’s how it seems. Vast expanses of grass, running down to the river, are jam-packed with families, children eating mountains of pink candyfloss, and couples holding hands.
It’s a perfect summer evening. A light breeze is blowing off the hills, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle that’s mingling with a smoky bacon smell from the huge hog roast. Poor, sweating Vernon – who ended his day handing out enormous rolls crammed with thick juicy slices of pork – will never shake off the whiff of crackling.
I wander down towards the river as the sun touches the horizon and the sky glows ruby-red and burnt orange. It’ll soon be dark and a fireworks display will begin on the opposite riverbank. People are congregating near the water and listening to a local band playing Carpenters covers.
Close by, Alan – still in full monarchic regalia – is ordering three giggling children to obey his commands or risk being banished to the Tower of London. Katrina, sitting on a rug with him, swigs back a full glass of what looks like champagne and gives me a what-is-he-like eye-roll. But she also strokes his back in a rare display of affection. Maybe Charter Day has worked its magic on these two as well. I could stop and have a few words but I’m not in the mood for a chat because I’m looking for Daniel.
Malcolm is back in Oxford, Mr Kinsley – and his cracking hangover – are on a train to London, and Becca is here somewhere with her housemate, Zac. But I haven’t seen anything of Daniel since he spotted Malcolm kneeling in front of me in The Cosy Kettle. He’d finished signing books and had disappeared by the time I got back to the shop after the confrontation with Marina. It was only a couple of hours ago but it feels like so much has happened since then.