After the Honeymoon (27 page)

‘It was nothing. Any time.’ Emma had almost forgotten her painting now. ‘Listen, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is it possible to use your Skype? It’s just that I’d love to try to contact the kids; I’d give anything to see their faces.’

‘Sure. I’d better not lend you our iPad as Winston will want it, but you can borrow Alice’s.’

‘No way.’ The girl had crept up on them again. It was slightly unnerving. ‘It hasn’t got much battery left and I forgot my charger.’

‘Alice! Emma wants to talk to her children.’

‘Well, maybe they don’t want to talk to
her
, just like I don’t want to talk to my mother.’

Emma tried not to show her shock, but Melissa just looked resigned rather than angry. Reluctantly, the girl got it out of her bag. ‘Do you know how it works?’ Alice demanded, as though Emma was the child and not the adult. ‘You can only talk to someone if they’re online.’

With any luck, Bernie might be around. She was having the children, Mum had said, so there was an outside chance.

Emma could hardly wait for the class to finish (the teacher had nodded approvingly at her flower!) so Alice could show her how to look up Bernie’s Skype address. Within minutes, her friend’s warm, chubby face swam into view.

‘Emma!’ She was eating something. A chip, from the look of the bag next to her. ‘What are you doing online? You should be making wild, passionate love on the beach with your new husband.’

Emma flushed. ‘Hah!’ She went beetroot, unable to look at Melissa or her daughter, who was sniggering. ‘A … a friend has lent me her iPad so I can talk to the children.’

Her heart was thumping with excitement.

‘Gawain!’ Bernie yelled out, swallowing her mouthful. ‘Come and look at this. It’s Mummy on a special television. No, love. Not like the one that Granny lets you watch all day long.’

There was an ‘ahh’ sound from Melissa as her little boy came into view. ‘Isn’t he sweet? What gorgeous blond hair. And is that your daughter sitting next to him? She’s beautiful.’

Emma gazed with longing at her little ones, perched on stools at Bernie’s kitchen table, making Play-Doh shapes.

Willow was staring at her with her wide blue eyes, as though she didn’t even recognise her. The pain made Emma feel sick. But Gawain’s voice called out through the miles. ‘Mummy!’ he was saying, reaching out to her. ‘Mummy.’

Oh dear. He was crying. Banging his little arm on the table, the way he did when he was upset. This was selfish of her, Emma realised. Gawain couldn’t understand why he could see her but not touch her. She was unsettling him.

‘Mummy’s going on a boat trip later on,’ she said in as light a tone as possible, as though it was quite natural for her to be doing something different away from the children thousands of miles away.

But Gawain was yelling so much now he didn’t seem to hear her.

‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,’ said Bernie hurriedly. Even though the screen was getting blurry and out of focus now, Emma could make out her friend’s arms wrapped protectively round her son. It should be
her
doing that. ‘It’s all right,’ her friend was saying soothingly. ‘Your mummy will be home soon. Let’s have another go at telling the time, shall we?’

Teaching him the time? That was
her
job!

Then Gawain’s face disappeared and Bernie’s swam back into view. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll stop crying when you’ve gone. Having a good time, are you? Your mum says Tom’s feeling better now. Everyone at this end has stopped being sick too.’

That was good. Then she remembered her manners. ‘Thank you so much for looking after them and for organising the honeymoon,’ she began. What? How did that happen? The screen had gone blank.

‘The Wi-Fi reception is shit here,’ said Alice scathingly.

‘Darling, I’ve told you before not to use words like that.’

‘It’s true.’ Alice leaped up, snatching the iPad back. ‘I’m going for a walk. Yes, I am, Mum. You can’t stop me.’

The two women watched the young girl flounce off, texting furiously as she went. ‘She thinks she’s in love with Jack,’ said Melissa quietly. ‘I hadn’t expected this so soon.’ She smiled sadly at Emma. ‘There’s nothing like your first boyfriend, is there?’

Emma, still aching from the sight of the children, thought of Tom, wryly. Bernie had been right when they’d been at school. She should have had more fun before settling down.

‘You’ve got all this to come,’ continued Melissa. ‘Make the most of it while your two are young. At least you know where they are. Teenagers are like fleas: always jumping in and out of the house without notice.’

She patted Emma on the arm. ‘See you on the boat later tonight. I’m hoping it might distract Winston. Sounds rather good fun; there’s going to be a wonderful picnic, apparently.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Thanks so much for listening. It really helped to talk.’

Emma felt a glow. It was so nice to help others out, even though she didn’t think she’d done much. Meanwhile, she didn’t feel like going back to the cottage. Not yet. She would have to tell Tom that she’d Skyped Bernie and that Gawain had got upset. Then he’d tell her that she should have left them to it and that might lead to another argument …

Instead, she dangled her legs in the pool, thinking about the future. Seeing the children had put life into perspective. It would be all right, she told herself, when she got back into the groove of things at home. The routine with the children; her little job; Mum; Bernie and her other friends. They would all distract her from these silly unsettled feelings she was having about Tom. She watched Rosie walk past with a small, wrinkly-faced woman. Maybe it was natural to have these doubts. They were no more than post-wedding nerves, that was all.

As for Yannis, with his handsome Greek face and his way of looking at her as though she was the only woman in the room, she’d just been really silly. She wouldn’t drink tonight, she told herself. Just stick to non-alcoholic punch.

‘Excuse me,’ said a voice, slicing into her thoughts. ‘Is this the Villa Rosa?’

Emma turned round. Even though she had never met a journalist before, she had a funny feeling that this young woman, with her sharp, foxy face and notepad sticking out of her bag, wasn’t your usual tourist.

She nodded.

The girl’s eyes lit up. ‘I’m looking for someone called Winston King. Don’t suppose you know him, do you?’

Emma found herself shaking her head. ‘He was staying here but he’s moved on.’

‘Any idea where?’

She shook her head again.

‘Well,’ said the woman, handing her a plain white business card with a number on it, but no name or mention of a company, ‘if you happen to hear, can you give me a ring?’ She smiled coldly. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

More than half of all newly-weds are too tired or argumentative to have sex on their wedding night.

National newspaper article

WINSTON

WHAT IT WAS REALLY LIKE TO WORK FOR WINSTON KING

‘Self-absorbed, paranoid about privacy and a loner’ – that’s Poppy Pops’ verdict on her old boss.

‘He made me book different hotels all over the world to keep his Greek honeymoon destination under wraps,’ reveals Poppy. ‘But I got my own back by cancelling his reservation. I know it was wrong, but I felt he needed to be taken down a peg or two.’

So the muddle over rooms had been Poppy’s fault and not Jack’s! Winston reread the opening lines to the feature on his iPad. How dare she?

‘He never spoke about his experiences in Afghanistan or Bosnia …’

Why should he? He wasn’t the only ex-Green Beret to block it out.

‘And once, when he’d fallen asleep in his dressing room after filming, I heard him muttering someone’s name. I can’t say for certain what it was but I always felt that Winston was hiding something …’

Winston stiffened, running his eye down the rest of the feature. There was nothing else as far as he could see. But it was enough.

Did these hacks have any idea what damage they did to people, digging into their private lives like this?

It was really unfair, thought Winston angrily. Everyone had a past, didn’t they? Frankly, he had a sneaking sympathy for politicians whose earlier lives were keenly scrutinised for anything that might have been at all dodgy. After all, they hadn’t known when they were younger that they were going to be in positions of power. Besides, how else could a young man (or woman) learn about life, unless they made mistakes?

His eye was drawn to the paragraph at the end of the offending article.

‘Don’t miss tomorrow’s issue! ‘How Winston caught my wife on the rebound,’ by Mrs King’s former husband.

The rebound? Winston’s heart gave a little thud. Melissa’s divorce had come through two days before they had met. She’d been vulnerable, certainly.

Was
that
why she’d married him? Not because she’d been carried away, as he had been?

The bedroom door flew open. Hastily, Winston made to put the iPad away. ‘Are you coming or not?’ Melissa stood there in her white shorts and tee-shirt, her black eyes cool. ‘We’re meant to be going on the trip now.’

She glanced at the iPad. ‘Don’t bother filling me in on today’s feature. I’ve already read it.’

‘So is it true?’ he heard himself say. ‘
Did
you marry me on the rebound?’

Melissa gave a little laugh. ‘It’s not
that
you should be worried about, Winston. Let’s just hope that Marvyn hasn’t told the world that you tried to pay the owner’s son to take the kids off your hands. It doesn’t make you look like a great stepfather, does it?’

‘How would he know that?’

Melissa’s cheeks coloured.

Then he realised. ‘You
told
him, didn’t you?’

She shrugged. ‘Marvyn and I might be divorced but we still talk about our children. Now do hurry up. Everyone’s waiting.’

Bloody fishing trip! It meant they were all stuck in one boat together for God knows how many hours. There was no chance to go for a long, thoughtful walk on his own, which was what he really wanted to do. ‘You don’t have to come,’ Melissa declared coolly as they walked down to the harbour together, carefully keeping a distance between them.

Clearly, she hadn’t forgiven him for paying Jack. Nor had the kids. Instead of arguing, they were presenting a united front for a change. Freddie was following his sister around like a lost dog, sucking up to her, as if trying to make up for the fact that he’d slunk off and got her and Jack into trouble.

Even now, his wife was ignoring his outstretched hand as she stepped into the boat, manned by the grinning Greek fisherman who couldn’t keep his eyes off the villa owner.

She was a strange one. He couldn’t make her out. There was still something about that photograph in her room that unsettled him. Rosie, he thought to himself. Rosie Harrison. The name didn’t seem familiar. Yet there was definitely something about her that was nudging his memory.

‘Everyone on board?’ the Greek was calling out. ‘Fantastic! There are lifebelts in the chest under the deck – see? – but do not look worried. They’re just a precaution. The weather, she is fine. We will stop in an hour or so, on a small island which is not inhabited. No tourists go there, so you are in for a treat, I think!’

Emma shuffled over, looking nervous. ‘I hope it’s safe.’

Melissa, he could see, was giving her new friend’s hand a quick squeeze. ‘I’m sure it is, otherwise they wouldn’t risk taking us all there.’

I’m not sure that’s true, Winston almost said, but managed to hold his tongue before Melissa bit his head off again. If only she’d turn some of her anger towards her children.

Take Alice, who was sitting at the far end of the boat, shooting him filthy looks and texting furiously at the same time. She’d been told not to use her phone so much; the bill would be horrendous. Melissa would pay, of course, but now she was married, her personal settlement from Marvin had gone. So now he, Winston, would have to fork out.

Wistfully, Winston thought back to the day he’d asked Melissa to marry him and she’d accepted, rather fast.
On the rebound
… Maybe, he thought, trailing his fingers in the water as they set off,
he
was the naive one.

Winston glanced at Freddie, carving his initials into the wooden box marked LIFEBELTS, next to the French couple (who were snogging as usual). These children were impossible! If only he could persuade Melissa to send them both off to boarding school. It had certainly taught
him
how to behave.

Or had it? There were some things in life that he would do very differently next time round. Winston felt sick again, thinking of tomorrow’s paper. It was like waiting for the guillotine to drop.

‘Have you got a second?’ He looked up to find his wife’s new friend squatting next to him. Now what? A request for an autograph? Or for a personal exercise programme? Melissa had confessed to him that she’d confided his identity to this Emma. Another example of his wife’s naivety …

‘Someone was asking for you on the island this morning. She had a notebook poking out of her bag and she looked as though she was on business rather than holiday.’

Winston’s skin crawled with fear. ‘I’m afraid I said that you had been staying here but that you’d moved on.’ The blonde bit her lower lip. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but something made me think she might be a journalist and I didn’t think you’d want that. Not on your honeymoon.’

She glanced down at her shiny wedding ring. ‘I’m really grateful to you for finding this. I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost it.’

Suddenly Winston felt a wave of compassion. ‘That’s very nice of you. Thank you.’

‘Not at all.’ She seemed embarrassed now as she lumbered to her feet. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. I expect you don’t get much of that in your job.’

He’d misjudged her. Abashed, Winston watched the woman waddle off. So they were after him! The
Globe
, perhaps, or one of the other papers. Had they found out about Nick?

‘Enjoying yourself?’