Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels (16 page)

‘We wouldn’t, no, but then we’re decent people.  This is Sophie.’

‘Which hospital is this child supposedly in?’ James asked, pacing the room, glass of wine in hand.  Grace could practically see the cogs turning as his brain processed the news.

‘Birmingham Children’s,’ Tom replied.

‘Well, here’s what we do.’

James was taking charge, as he was prone to do in a crisis.  Sometimes Tom resented that about him, but for once he looked visibly relieved to be letting someone else take over; his head hurt from thinking too hard.  Grace wondered how James was really going to be able to help them, other than offering moral support.

‘First of all, we’ve got to find out if there really is a child, and if there is, is he really sick?  Just how big is this lie?’

‘But how the hell do we do that?’

‘Well, one of my clients is fairly senior in the management at that hospital.  And yes, I know they have to abide by patient confidentiality rules and all that, but, hey, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?  I mean, it’s not as if we’re trying to find out his medical details, we just want to know if Sophie really is sitting at the bedside of her sick boy day after day, or if the whole thing is just one big, fat lie.  We have to try, it’s all I can think of for now.’

‘Oh, James, that would be brilliant,’ Grace said with a sigh.  ‘But be careful, don’t get yourself or this friend into any trouble, will you?’

‘No, I won’t.  And don’t you worry, you two.  We’ll get to the bottom of all this.’

Tom and Grace lay in bed that night, mulling over the day.

‘Whoever would have thought, twenty-four hours ago, that all this would have happened today?’ Grace asked.

‘Yeah, I still can’t get my head round it.  I just hope to goodness James does manage to find something out.’

‘Don’t make contact with her though, until he’s tried that.  Don’t answer any calls, or texts, or anything, promise me?  You’ve got to distance yourself from her, find out what’s going on first.  Promise me that?’

‘Of course I will, love.  Don’t worry.  You have nothing to worry about, we’re going to get this sorted out.’  He pulled his wife closer and tucked her body up against his.  He felt safe with her by his side.  He could cope with the worst that Sophie threw at him, as long as he had Grace.

James had insisted on driving.  Evie had insisted on giving directions.  It was just the mood she was in.

‘Up there, up there,’ she shouted, as the Sat-Nav tried to take them the wrong way up a one-way street.  ‘Look, they obviously want all the cars to go up that way, to keep their pretty little village free of traffic.  Someone’s put a homemade No Entry sign up.  Just go, James.  That’s what it says.  Ignore the bloody Sat-Nav, she’s never been here, has she, SHE’s not a real person, remember.  Just a voice inside a box.  Listen to me, not HER.’

Evie needed to calm down.  Since coming up with the idea of the trip the previous morning, she’d had time to get used to the idea of her husband coming along too, but on the drive here, she wished she had just declared she was going on her own, and gone quickly.  But then she’d have had to cope with his sulks, and hell, life was just so bloody complicated sometimes, trying to keep everyone happy. 

‘Park in there, look.  Along with all the other English cars.’  Evie loved the Dordogne, but sometimes there were so many Brits around, they felt like they were in the Cotswolds.  Same pretty stone buildings, similar scenery, just a few more cliff faces.  Better weather, though, definitely.  She knew for a fact that the UK was not basking in the same high-twenties temperatures as they were here. 

But Evie liked to be amongst foreign voices when she went away; next year they would go somewhere where English visitors were so rare that the locals would speak to them in their native language, and if they didn’t understand, well, there was always pointing, shouting or mime to resort to.  Here, you barely got a chance to practice your school French before they would come back at you in perfect English.  And they often handed you English versions of the menu, too, Evie hated that.  Even if you couldn’t really understand what it was – and they were lucky, as James spoke fluent French – food always sounded more appetising with a French label instead of a poor, Google-Translated interpretation.  She’d seen a ‘Salade de Chèvre Chaud’ translated as ‘Hot Goat Salad’ and could just picture the poor decapitated goat’s head perched on a bed of lettuce, eyes bulging, ears sagging.  But the best yet had been the ‘Man Crunch’ and ‘Lady Crunch’ for Croque Monsieur and Croque Madame.  They sounded like something from ‘Fifty Shades’, she thought, but hey, at least there was something for everyone…

The chateau looked beautiful, and as they crossed the road towards the ticket office, Evie had a little chat with herself, vowing that she would snap out of this mood she was in, and would have a good day and be nice to her husband, no matter how hard she had to try.  The easy part had been telling James a year ago that she wanted him back, that she wanted their marriage to work, not just for the sake of the girls, but for all of them.  She did still love him despite everything and he adored her. 

The hard part of that plan was putting all the events behind her, and it had been a long, slow process.  She told James that she
could
forgive and forget, which was why they still lived under the same roof, but here she was, sometimes still struggling to accept her husband back fully into the fold of their family, no matter how much she wanted to, and how hard he tried.  He’d done the crime and done the time, she knew that, it was water under the bridge, she needed to forgive and forget and… how many more clichés could she think of to describe her current predicament?  

There was an internal battle going on, head versus heart.  Her heart said ‘Go for it, you love him, he loves you and you have a beautiful life and family together,’ but her head said, ‘He did all that, and you
still
took him back?  Spot the sucker!’  Time was a great healer, and it would get easier, and that was one cliché that she just had to believe in.

Evie planned to enjoy this trip, however well or badly things were going between herself and James.  She would immerse herself in the history of the place, which would be a great distraction.  She’d buy the guide book, and they’d read it as they went round, and hopefully both would have a pleasant day – at least that was the plan.  But in order to achieve that state of contentment she had to stop being gripey with James now. 

She glanced at him.   She did love him, really she did, but some days she had a complete mental block and couldn’t help herself from being mean to him.  For his part, he took it; either he was so thick-skinned that he didn’t really notice, or he saw it as his continued punishment, and put up with it, for a quiet life.  Evie suspected the latter.

‘Oh, wow, look at this place!’ James exclaimed.  ‘Thank you for letting me come, love.’  He grabbed her hand as they walked towards the chateau, pulled her to a stop and looked into her eyes.  ‘I love you, you know.’  He didn’t say anymore, just kissed her gently on the cheek, and then they carried on their way.

The chateau had been home to Josephine Baker, the 1920’s black erotic dancer who later became a pillar of the French Resistance, receiving a Croix de Guerre for her efforts.  Evie loved all the glamorous costumes – ‘My goodness, she was tiny!’ – and the pictures of the children of different nationalities she had adopted – the Rainbow Tribe – and brought to live at her magnificent home.   It was a very moving, and in the end, tragic story.  Evie was utterly enchanted by it all, buying Josephine’s biography after the tour. 

‘We need ice cream!’ James declared as they emerged from the chateau into the brilliant sunshine.  ‘And then it’s the Birds of Prey demonstration.  Fancy that?’  Evie wasn’t ready to go home yet, either.  She was enjoying her day alone with James more than she’d like to let on.

‘Ooh, yes please.’  James had been wonderful company on the chateau tour.  The pair of them had taken their time looking at all the items on display, reading the captions and getting thoroughly engrossed in the story.  He had kept a protective hand on the small of her back as they walked round, and she was surprised that she had been happy for him to leave it there, more comfortable with his touch than in a while.  For the duration of the tour, life felt as though it had almost returned to normal, and she remembered just how well they used to get on, how they would love to go out together on days like this.

She reached for his hand as they walked across the courtyard, and he looked down at her, love and relief showing on his face.

He loves me
, she smiled to herself, as James went off to fetch the ice cream menu.  Unbeknown to her, James was having the very same thoughts, and feeling more optimistic about their marriage than he had done for ages.  Evie knew it would take more than a pleasant day out to restore their relationship to its former glory, but it was a start, and Evie also felt far better about what the future held than she had done in a long time.

‘Here, I couldn’t resist this,’ James said as he returned to the table.  He was bearing the menu plus a small bottle of lemonade, hilariously name ‘Pschittt!’  You have to send a picture of that to Ana, she’ll love it!’

Evie laughed and then her face fell serious.  ‘We need to do this more often, James,’ she said.  ‘Today has been lovely.  I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit of a grouch lately, but…’

‘God, you don’t need to apologise, Evie, that’s my job and I’ll spend the rest of my life apologising if I have to.  I know it’s been a tough year for you and the girls, but I’ve loved today.  Best day we’ve had in ages.  It feels like being back to the old ‘us’.’  He took a deep breath and sighed, his voice trembling slightly.  ‘I’m just so glad you’re still mine.’

Grace had popped round to Evie’s to borrow a handbag for a wedding the following weekend.  If anyone would have the perfect bag to go with an outfit, then Evie was your woman.  Once upon a time Grace would have beaten Evie hands down when it came to shoe and bag collections, and if she didn’t own quite the right one, then she’d have gone out and bought it.  These days, she was perfectly happy to beg or borrow from her friends. 

‘Did you hear about Susie and Graham?’ Grace asked as she rifled through Evie’s box of clutch bags.  ‘Splitting up, apparently.  Such a shame, isn’t it?  I mean, I don’t know them that well, but it’s just sad to hear, especially when there are kids involved.’  Susie wasn’t in Grace’s circle of close friends, but she and Graham were very friendly with Alex and Mark, so they had often dined together at the Hopper household.

‘Yeah, I had heard,’ Evie said uncomfortably, shifting in her seat and trying to deflect attention by pouring Grace another cup of tea. She wanted to confide in her friend, needed to, but putting her thoughts into words would make them seem a lot more real.  But the time had come to make them real, she thought.

‘Talking of which, Grace, can I tell you something?’

Evie’s face was ashen, and Grace hoped to goodness she wasn’t right about what was coming next.  Oh no.  Not these two as well, surely not.  But if it wasn’t the marriage, it had to be something else awful like a serious illness, and if she had to have one piece of bad news, she wasn’t sure which one was the lesser of two evils.  Grace had never seen her friend look so worried.

James and Evie’s marriage had always been the envy of their friends.  In Grace’s eyes they were the ‘perfect couple’.  All the trappings of an affluent middle-class existence, a beautiful home, two luxury cars on the drive, children at private school.  But there was far more to it than purely the material side of almost two comfortable decades; the pair of them fitted each other perfectly, they were the true definition of soul mates, each worshipping the ground that the other one walked on.  When Grace and Mark started to have problems, Grace had used Evie’s marriage as the benchmark for happiness; keeping that thought in her head had given her the strength to fight on in the hope that one day she would have a relationship like that, too.

‘Evie?  What is it?’  Evie seemed to be lost for words, which wasn’t like her at all.  Grace was really worried now. 
Please, lovely friend, don’t go and shatter my illusion of your perfect marriage.

‘I think James might be having an affair.’ 

They’d had this conversation years before, shortly after Grace had fallen into difficulties with Mark.  Grace had struggled then to believe that James could have eyes for anyone but Evie, and had managed to reassure her friend as such.  On that occasion she had been quite right, and Evie’s fears had been without substance.  James had been behaving oddly, and Evie had caught him on the phone to his somewhat mumsy PA several times, looking very sheepish afterwards, but it had all been for a very good reason.  After a few days of anguish, and wondering if she should check his pockets for evidence, follow him, all that sort of suspicious cheated-on wife stuff, she had confronted him.  It turned out he had been planning a surprise trip for Evie and himself to Florence, to visit Evie’s sister, Lydia.  His PA had been helping him with the organisational side of it all. 

This time, a few years on, Grace was more mature, and with that came more cynicism.  She was far more philosophical about people’s relationships these days; if it could happen to Susie and Graham, a rock solid pair
–
or so it seemed
–
then it could happen to anyone.  They had a few friends who had split up from long-term partners over the past couple of years.  It was all incredibly sad, but it seemed to be a stage in life they were going through, their age maybe, the fact that some of them had been together since their teens, and even that some of their older friends were now suffering from ‘empty nest syndrome’, deciding to move on to pastures new at the same time as their adult children.  And anyway, wasn’t it all just statistics, to a certain degree?  From a position of utter happiness and security in her relationship with Tom, and despite all the facts and figures, she still found it very hard, and so very sad, when she heard news of another couple’s demise.  But it was the way of the twenty-first century world, unfortunately.  Despite that, she still didn’t want her lovely friends to become a statistic.

‘Evie, surely not.’  This time she felt she couldn’t repeat with any confidence the words that she had said to Evie all those years ago, about James worshipping her and never giving any other woman a passing thought.  James
did
worship her, no doubt about it, but she had seen, too, how he could be at parties, gregarious and overly flirtatious towards female guests.  That was just the way he was, and goodness knows, they could all be a bit like that sometimes.  But just recently that Bransford woman had been at one of their barbecues, and Grace had seen how he’d behaved around her.  Like a silly little love-struck schoolboy, if she had to be blatantly honest about things.  Surely Evie didn’t think he was having an affair with
her
?  The woman was awful!  Beautiful, yes, a complete ice-queen by the looks of it, but more than a handful for any man brave enough to take her on.  Surely he wouldn’t?  Would he?

‘I think he is.  I think it’s Naomi.  The bitch.  Let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time
she’s
done something like that.  But why does she have to do it with
my
husband?’   Tears started to stream down her face as her anger turned towards James.  ‘Idiotic bloody fool, what does he think he’s doing?  Making a mockery of me and the girls and the life we have, that’s what.  Bloody stupid mid-life crisis, honestly, Grace, that’s what I think.  Stereotypical man in his late forties.  Why can’t he just get a motorbike?  But no, thinking with his pants, not his brain, that’s what.  She’s a client, for goodness sake.  A man like him has to rise above things like this, be more professional.  This isn’t just him and our marriage at stake here, it’s his professional integrity, and our livelihood.  Everything we’ve worked all our lives for.’

Oh my God.  Grace didn’t know what to say.  She pulled her friend forward for a hug, wishing there was something she could do, something she could say.  That was what friends were for, wasn’t it?  To reassure, but in an honest way.  To bolster, yet not to deceive.  To tell you that no, your bum didn’t look big in that skirt, but to tactfully suggest that wearing one with a couple more inches on the hem might suit you better?   She wished this was as simple as an opinion on a skirt; she so wanted to provide Evie with that little snippet of hope that everything was just as it was before, that James loved her and the girls and would never do anything so stupid.  But she couldn’t.

‘What do I do now?  Ask him?  Confront her?  God, can you imagine if all this gets out?  I mean, she’s in the press every bloody week, it feels like.  Before long, if he carries on like this it’ll be James’ face in there with her, and then we’ll have bloody journalists camping out on our doorstep.  Can you imagine it, Grace?  What am I supposed to do?’

Evie was desperate.  She had absolutely no hard evidence to support the fact that James might be having an affair, it was purely speculation on her part.  But something was definitely amiss, maybe you could call it women’s intuition.  Or a lifetime of living with and loving someone for so long that you picked up on the subtlest of changes in their behaviour and personality.  And if he was having an affair, was it even with that woman? 

James had certainly been acting out of character recently.  If Evie had to say when it all started, then she wouldn’t really be able to put her finger on it, but it had certainly been for a few weeks, at least.  His behaviour was downright odd at times, unpleasant at others.  He was distant, snappy, distracted, jumpy.  On the phone in a locked room.  Closing the study door when previously he never had.  Paranoid about leaving his mobile unattended.  Then there had been the sudden surge in evenings out, then overnight stays.  The list was endless.  All the signs of a twenty-first century illicit affair, the behaviour of someone who had something to hide.

All she had to do now was confront him.

‘Hello Auntie Evie, did you have a nice time at the castle? 
Were
there any baddies?’ Jack asked, ever hopeful of some detail or other about dragons, brave knights and bows and arrows.  He was such a sweet little boy to even think of asking if she’d had a nice day – shame she would have to disappoint him about the lack of baddies.

Auntie Evie looked far happier than she had done first thing this morning, Grace thought.  Auntie Evie was beaming from ear to ear, had a rosy glow to her cheeks
and
was holding James’ hand; it looked as though her day out with her husband had given them the time together they needed to find some closeness again.  Grace was so pleased for them.  It had also given her and Tom some time on their own to mull over what had happened the day before, and try to get their heads round it.

‘Well, Jack, we didn’t see a single baddy.  But a lovely lady used to live there who looked after lots of children who had no homes, so it was very interesting, and then we saw some massive birds doing a display.’  Jack looked nonplussed.  ‘
And
we ate ice-cream sundaes, huge ones.  With chocolate sprinkles on the top and loads of chocolate sauce.  And little umbrellas in them.’  Jack’s eyes boggled.  As long as there was ice-cream in the world, then life was worth living.

‘Well, we’ve decided on a night out in your absence,’ Grace announced.  ‘We’ve booked up a lovely little restaurant in the village, La Petite Tonnelle, looks great.  For all of us, kids too.  We managed to get onto the WeeFee for long enough to look at some reviews, and Henri says it’s fab, too.  So, we’ve booked a couple of taxis, no one needs to be designated driver.’

Evie thought it sounded like the perfect end to a lovely day, and after yesterday, probably just what their friends needed, as well. They’d self-catered at the chateau most nights, partly because they just loved being there, and after a long and lazy day it was easy for anyone to knock up a simple pasta dish, or a risotto, and keep everyone happy, and partly because some evenings the kids refused to get out of the pool till the heat went from the sun, and by then nobody could be bothered getting dressed up to go anywhere.  It was a lovely, relaxed way of living, such a contrast to the constraints of term-time life with the girls, when everything was so regimented and constant clock-watching was a necessary evil they couldn’t escape from. 

The men had done most of the cooking, too.  Women went on holiday to get away from the everyday grind of putting meals on the table for their families, whereas it seemed men relished the chance to have some time to inflict their culinary skills on them.  James and Tom were both great cooks, if sometimes a little over-zealous with their ideas, and there had been some interesting combinations of flavours emerging from the kitchen, especially when the pair of them conspired to produce something a little bit special.  Much alcohol was consumed ‘to aid creativity’, as James put it, and sometimes they were like a couple of giggling schoolboys – with juvenile sense of humour to match – by the time everyone joined them at the table to eat.

‘Oh, how exciting.  Sounds lovely, thank you.  So, what’s everyone wearing?  Well, more importantly, what are
you
wearing, Grace?’  Evie had brought some ‘going out’ clothes but they were still hanging, unworn, in her wardrobe.  It would make a change to put on something more glamorous than a pair of shorts and sun top. 

‘Oh, I only brought a couple of dresses,’ Grace replied, ‘so I don’t think it’ll take me too long to decide.  But I did bring some heels, too, just in case.’  She smiled at her friend, who knew only too well how Grace had weaned herself off her shoe obsession over the past few years. 

‘Good girl, I knew you still had it in there somewhere.  Better get to it then!’  And Evie was off, eager to get started on beautifying herself for the evening.

‘Come on, girls,’ she said, rounding up Ana and Immy on her way through the living room.  They were still in their bikinis, draped over the sofa and engrossed in an American soap opera, which they were watching in French, with English subtitles.  ‘Off you go, have a shower and put something pretty on.’

There was a groan from both.  Putting on ‘something pretty’ wasn’t generally a thought that occurred to teenagers.

‘Can Pascal come, Mum?’ whined Immy, knowing exactly what her mother’s reply would be.

‘No, love.  But I’m sure we can sort out you seeing him, here one afternoon maybe, when we’re all around.’  Evie could remember what young love was like, with your parents attempting to thwart every opportunity you had to set eyes on the object of your desires.  But at the same time, Immy was only sixteen, far too young to be left alone with a young man like that.  Especially one who looked as good as Pascal.  Phew, it was enough to make you hot under the collar.

She could sense both daughters rolling their eyes at one another behind her back as she left the room.

Evie stood naked in front of the full length mirror in their bathroom.

Not too bad for my age, if you ask me,
she mused, peering over her shoulder to see the white marks her bikini had left on her bottom.  It was very white, but still firm and still as small as it had been twenty years ago, and her tanned stomach belied the fact that she had been through two pregnancies. 
Not a stretchmark in sight, all those years of sit-ups paid off,
she mused.  Still she couldn’t help the old, negative thoughts creeping in: 
I look this good at my age, I take care of myself, I exercise, eat well, get my hair done regularly, I’m only a couple of years older than her, James and I have a lifetime of shared memories, and a lovely family, so what the hell has she got that I haven’t? 
It didn’t do her any good, she knew she had to banish these clouds, it was a self-destructive downwards spiral.