Authors: Elizabeth Haynes
There are many things you have resolved in the past week. Your life has changed irrevocably, and at times it’s hard to keep up with what’s going on. Who you are supposed to be. How you are supposed to behave.
You have resolved that you are not going to tell her. You will not tell her anything. Already this is becoming difficult. You wondered how much Jim had said, and you are certain now that she knows nothing at all about why you left, where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing. This gives you all the more reason to keep quiet about it. To say anything now would do no good at all, certainly not for her. It might make you feel better. Briefly.
You have realised that you have no control over your feelings.
You have decided that, perhaps, if things progress you might have to start again: a new life, a new career, something legitimate. It’s time to put the past behind you and earn your money doing something that you can actually discuss in polite conversation, even if it’s not going to earn you nearly as much. You need help to do this. Sarah Carpenter can help you. She doesn’t know this yet.
You have realised that acting all the time is incredibly difficult, and downright exhausting.
You tell yourself that if you act it long enough, it will become a habit and then it will be easy. One day at a time. It’s the only way you can do this.
You put on a sweatshirt and head out into the darkness to see if the fresh air might help. It’s insanely dark here at night; the nearest street-lights are down in the valley, pinpricks of orange light. Up here there is nothing but the lights shining from Sarah’s upstairs windows.
You follow the path round to the garden, up a steep, grassy slope, hoping for some sort of a view of the valley; but when you reach the dry stone wall you nearly fall over it. Looking back, there is nothing but the darkness, the lights in the valley, and the black outline of the house, hunkering down into the hillside.
You are not going to fuck Sarah Carpenter again. It was a mistake; you lost control. That cannot happen. You need her as a friend. You can’t expect her to help you if you’re going to dick around with her feelings the way you did last time.
A light comes on in one of the windows and you watch as Sarah runs a bath. You stay still, watching, even as she undresses.
You watch her from the darkness of the garden under her window, and you realise that, if the opportunity does arise to fuck her again, you are probably not going to be able to stop yourself.
Sarah sees Aiden’s car parked outside the cottage when she takes the dogs out, first thing. The curtains are closed, the lights are off, but it’s still early, not quite seven. All the way up the hill she thinks about whether to knock on the door later, about nine maybe, offer him a coffee. She’s got a dentist’s appointment at ten, which gives her the perfect excuse to make it quick. Just a little chat to smooth things over, yes?
Look,
she can say,
I’d had a bit to drink. Let’s pretend it never happened, shall we?
She practises saying it in her head, brightly, with a smile, because this is what she thinks he probably wants to hear. He regrets it, he must do, otherwise why would he leave her while she was asleep? Why would he not come round the following day, or call or text? It’s the sort of fucked-up way men behave, she thinks, or maybe not all men but certainly Aiden – that’s how he operates. Why on earth should she have thought he might have grown up a bit in the last twentysomething years?
Tess and Basil have disappeared over the top of the hill. When she gets there the sun bursts through the clouds, bathing the valley in a rich golden light that is so unexpected it takes her breath away. She can see everything, the whole world laid before her: tiny houses, fields, the snaking road with miniature vans and cars and Matchbox-sized lorries trundling away towards York.
I don’t need him,
she thinks.
I was doing fine before he got here.
But then, there is the not insignificant matter of the money that was deposited into her bank account the day he arrived: one thousand, six hundred pounds. Needless to say, it has fallen into the pit of her unauthorised overdraft, but it has at least filled it almost to the brim. Next month, she might be able to start paying back some of the money she owes on credit cards.
And it’s nice to feel that someone is there, just in case. She promised him that she wouldn’t ask him to fix the septic tank, but it’s not that she worries about. Sometimes it feels like a long way from the nearest human being, up here. If she screamed, nobody would hear.
This thought makes her laugh; over in the cottage, Aiden probably wouldn’t be able to hear her if she screamed anyway.
Best not to start screaming, then; it won’t do any good.
Basil is running up the track towards her, something hanging out of the side of his mouth. Tess trots along behind him, grinning in the sure and certain knowledge that he’s about to get into trouble and not wanting to miss it.
‘Basil! Drop it! Drop!’
He waits until he’s close, like the good gundog he thinks he is, sits and deposits the wing and well-rotted carcass of a big black bird, a crow or a rook or something, neatly at her feet. Wagging his tail cheerfully as she retches and turns away.
As she heads back down the hill, stumbling awkwardly because she has put Basil on his lead to stop him going back for his find, Sarah’s phone rings. She juggles lead and phone and gives up, unclipping Basil. He’s either forgotten or he’s desperate to get home, because thankfully he scampers downhill.
‘Hiya,’ she says. It’s Sophie.
‘Hey. You free for a coffee later?’
‘Love to. What time? I’ve got the dentist at ten.’
‘How about eleven? At Barker’s?’
‘Super. I’ll call if I get held up.’
Basil is already waiting at the back door when she reaches it, his tail half-heartedly wagging in case she’s going to give him permission to go back and fetch his prize.
At twenty to ten, breakfasted and ready to go out, Sarah stands at the kitchen sink looking out of the window at the cottage. The curtains are drawn. She thinks about going over there anyway, waking him up – after all, what time is this to be still sleeping? – but if she’s going to confront him it would be better if he was at least wide awake, fully dressed and not grumpy.
Better to wait?
You’re woken up by a knock at the door, loud enough to suggest that the person knocking has been doing it for some time. You look at your watch. It’s nearly ten. You get out of bed and walk barefoot to the front door.
It’s Sarah’s friend, Sophie. The one with the dark hair and the eyes that miss nothing.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she says brightly. ‘Did I get you up?’
‘Don’t worry,’ you say. ‘I was working late. Do you want to come in?’
You don’t expect her to accept – after all, you’re in your boxers and a T-shirt that should really be thrown away – but she smiles and comes in, her heels making an authoritative clatter on the tiled floor.
‘Tea?’ you offer. ‘Or coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great,’ she says. ‘Black, no sugar.’
You fill the kettle and put it on to boil. She probably wasn’t expecting instant, but for the moment that’s all there is.
‘Make yourself at home,’ you say. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Jeans, a clean shirt, socks. Deodorant. At least you feel a little less exposed.
When you come back into the kitchen, Sophie is making the coffee. She is undeniably very attractive – beautiful, in fact. But there is something unspoken between you, and you wonder if it’s about to be brought out into the open.
‘I thought I’d pop over,’ she says, without turning round. ‘Sarah’s gone to the dentist.’
‘Oh,’ you say. ‘I haven’t seen her for a day or so.’
‘Really,’ she says, putting two mugs down on the kitchen table, without any pretence at surprise. ‘How are you settling in?’
‘Fine.’
There is a pause. You get some milk from the fridge and add it to your mug. She is sitting at the table now, watching you.
‘I feel we might have got off to a rather bad start,’ she says candidly.
‘Did we?’
‘You know we did. And you also know exactly why, so you can stop the act.’
You sit opposite her, your expression neutral. She’s right, there’s no point pretending. Not when it’s just the two of you here, facing each other. Sarah isn’t here. If you can’t be honest now, when can you? In fact, it’s almost a relief.
Sarah is so lost in thought that she only realises her name is being called when she is almost back to her car.
‘Sarah! Sarah!’
It’s Will, calling her name from across the car park. He jogs across to her, which gives her a few moments to arrange her face into an appropriately cheery expression. Across his back a guitar case is slung, which bumps against his backside as he runs.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I was miles away.’
‘How are you?’ he asks. ‘I had such a great time the other night.’
In the pub? With all those boring old farts?
‘I’m glad,’ she says, vaguely. ‘I’ll tell Sophie; I’m just off to meet her now.’
He gives her a smile that, later, she will think is slightly odd. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘tell her I said hi. And thanks.’
‘Where are you staying?’ she asks, and then regrets it immediately.
‘Oh, I’m going to be house-sitting for some friends of Sophie’s in the village,’ he answers. ‘They’re going on holiday to Paris. So I’ve got a nice place for a weekend. After that, who knows?’
‘And your mum? How’s she doing? I meant to ask, the other night.’
The smile slips a little. ‘She’s doing okay. Last I heard. Emily is in the school band.’
‘Ah, what does she play?’
‘Trumpet.’
‘Takes after her big brother,’ Sarah says, looking at the guitar. ‘Musical.’
The smile comes back, briefly. ‘Yeah. Guess so. I miss her.’
‘And your dad? And Robert?’
‘Don’t hear from them as much, but they’re okay. My uncle opened up another garage in Paisley, so my dad’s managing that. Robert’s moved over there too.’
The wind has picked up while they have been talking, and Sarah can feel the first spots of rain. ‘I’d better get going,’ she says. ‘Nice to bump into you again.’
‘I’ll see you soon, then,’ he says.
She watches him go, jogging across the square towards the Co-op. Waiting, despite the rain that’s getting heavier by the moment, because she wants to see Sophie by herself today, doesn’t want him gatecrashing this particular get-together.
When he is out of sight, Sarah turns and heads through the little alley that leads to a courtyard containing Barker’s Tea Rooms, their favoured daytime meeting place. Sophie is already there, sitting on the dark leather sofas at the back. Sarah unwraps her wool scarf and peels off her jacket, which is wet; hangs it up on the coat rack.
‘I got you a tea,’ Sophie says, giving her a hug. ‘They’ve got fresh scones if you’re peckish. I’ve just seen them coming out of the oven.’
‘I’ve lost my appetite a bit,’ Sarah says.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Sophie says, ‘it’s Aiden.’
Sarah frowns. ‘What makes you say that?’ She’s right, though, of course. It’s either Aiden, or the tail end of her hangover, or Basil’s decomposing half-bird.
There is a pause. Sophie stares at her, weighing up her approach. ‘Thing is, I thought I recognised him.’
‘What?’
‘In the pub. He looked familiar.’
Sarah considers this, pouring tea from the pot. It’s proper tea, dark, brewed. ‘You must be confusing him with someone else,’ she says. ‘He’s got one of those faces.’
‘I’m good at remembering people,’ Sophie responds, ‘you know I am.’
It’s true. Sophie never forgets a name, or a face. It’s partly what makes her such a great partner for George: she can turn on the charm like a lightbulb, making everyone feel as if they must be incredibly special to be remembered by her, when they only met the once.
‘But he’s been in Japan,’ she says, lamely. She takes a gulp of tea. ‘Or somewhere.’
‘I remember you telling me that he was abroad. I remember you invited him back for Jim’s funeral, didn’t you, and he didn’t come? But he must have come back for a visit, at least once,’ Sophie says.
‘Where did you see him?’
‘It was a few years ago, in London. It was when I bumped into Jim in town. Do you remember, I told you about it? He was in the restaurant at the Athenaeum. I was meeting Lois Buckingham?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Jim was with this guy. I went over and said hello, what a surprise, all of that. And he said he was having lunch with a friend and introduced me to the man he was with. It looked like a business thing, they were in suits – I didn’t think any more of it. I didn’t pay attention to his friend at all at the time. But it was him. Aiden.’
‘When was this?’
‘It must have been a couple of months before Jim’s accident. It certainly wasn’t any longer than that.’
Sarah wants to insist that she’s mistaken, that it must have been someone else. Aiden hasn’t been back to the UK in
years. Why would Jim have met up with him in London and not told her about it? It doesn’t make any sense at all.
‘Sarah? Are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ Sarah says. She feels odd, hot. When she puts her teacup down on the table it gives a little rattle.
‘I went to see him earlier,’ Sophie says, ‘when you were at the dentist.’
‘What?’
‘I told him that I’d recognised him. He didn’t deny it. He says he met up with Jim a couple of times a year, sometimes more often.’
‘Why – I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t Jim have told me?’
‘I asked him that. He said he didn’t know, but he was lying.’
‘This is crazy.’
‘I know, that’s exactly what I thought. I’ve got some good news, though.’
‘What’s that?’ Sarah says, wondering what on earth’s coming next.
‘He might be hiding something, and I think you need to be a bit careful with him, but actually I’ve decided I rather like him.’ And she giggles, the good old Sophie giggle that Sarah knows and loves.
‘Oh, so you don’t think he’s a psychopath? That’s great.’
‘I never thought that. I just didn’t know what to make of him, that’s all. But now I’ve had a chance to meet him properly I think he’s all right. And you know what else?’
‘Go on,’ Sarah says.
‘He likes you.’
‘Well, I should hope so,’ she says, ‘given that I’m putting a roof over his head.’
‘No, I didn’t mean like that. He really likes you.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘I asked him.’
‘Oh, God! Sophie, you didn’t! Please tell me you didn’t.’ Sarah rests her head in her hands and groans. This is worse than being back at school. ‘That’s so awkward. He’ll think I asked you to say something. After the other night…’
She stops, but Sophie is too quick for her. ‘What happened the other night?’
Sarah takes a deep breath. ‘After we got back from the pub… I invited him in. I was a bit drunk.’
‘You were definitely drunk. So what happened?’
Sarah can’t even bear to say it.
Sophie’s eyes widen. ‘You little saucepot!’
‘Oh, don’t. It was such a mistake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he left before I woke up and I haven’t seen him or heard from him since. I think he’s avoiding me.’
Sophie chews her lip. ‘Maybe he’s just been busy.’
‘Don’t make excuses for him. I told you what he was like when we were at uni. He did the exact same thing: slept with me and then disappeared. But back then it wasn’t an issue, because Jim let me cry on his shoulder, and then I got together with him instead. Only now…’
‘There’s no Jim. And you deserve better.’
Sarah breathes out, pours out the last of her tea. There is a dark film on the surface of it but she needs something to do, something to drink, an opportunity to change the subject.
‘I feel like I’m too old for it. Which reminds me – I saw Will. I meant to say… just before I came in here… and he said you’ve set him up with some house-sitting?’
Sophie doesn’t answer, which makes Sarah look up. Her friend’s cheeks are flushed under her make-up, her eyes bright.
‘What is it?’ Sarah asks immediately.
‘Oh, God. I don’t know where to start. Sarah, please don’t breathe a word of this, will you?’
‘Of course I won’t,’ she says. ‘You know you can trust me. What is it?’
Sophie leans across the table. ‘I snogged him.’
‘What?’
‘At the pub. After you left.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I went to the loo and when I got out he was waiting for me, and he took me by the hand and we went outside, out of the back door…’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘… and round to where the bins were, and I was a bit wobbly and thinking where the fuck are we going, and then he just… well. He kissed me.’
‘But George was there! In the pub!’
‘I know. But it was… sensational. I’ve not been kissed like that in decades.’
Sarah stares at Sophie, who has her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, as if she regrets the words that have spilled out and wishes she could put them safely back again.
‘And you just called
me
a saucepot! Honestly!’
Then Sophie laughs, and Sarah does, too, and suddenly Aiden not being in contact doesn’t seem such a big bloody deal after all. And Sophie, who should know better, has snogged a lad little more than half her age with her husband mere yards away.
‘So what happened? Did you say anything?’
‘The back door opened and Paul and Amy came out. It was dark; I don’t think they saw us. They got in their car and went. But it kind of killed the moment. I wanted to go back inside.’
‘And that was it? Just a kiss?’
For a moment Sophie doesn’t answer. But Sarah knows her best friend. She immediately thinks that something has happened, that actually she has seen Will since then, done
more than kiss him. It crosses her mind that Sophie might even have seen him this morning – that, maybe, Will had just got out of Sophie’s car when she saw him in the square. Then she remembers that Sophie was too busy confronting Aiden this morning to be misbehaving somewhere with Will. She is reading too much into it, she thinks. Besides, this is Sophie: Will isn’t her type at all, is he? She has sophisticated taste. In fact, Aiden is far more likely to appeal to Sophie than Will.
‘Look at us,’ Sophie murmurs. ‘We’re like a pair of bloody teenagers.’
Sarah is about to say something along the lines of how at least
she
is single, bites the words back just in time. But then Sophie says something almost as tactless.
‘I’m glad for you, though. It must have been so difficult, after Jim. Three years without sex? I’d just die.’
Now it’s Sarah’s turn to go quiet. It’s not three years, she wants to say. Not quite. And Sophie doesn’t need to explain how it feels to be kissed by Will, not to Sarah.