Authors: Shelley Ellerbeck
“Allie. Can I come round?” His voice was low. “I need to talk to you.” His gaze grew darker. “Now. Please.”
She glanced over at the twins, running
around laughing by the door near Miss Simpson, who was sorting through her remaining sheets of paper.
“You didn’t phone.” She hated the cold sound of her voice.
“I did. You weren’t there.”
“Why didn’t you leave a message?”
“I needed to talk to you. Tell you something.” He put his hand on her arm, gently, but firmly. “I didn’t want to talk to an answer phone.”
The intimacy of his touch instantly transported her back to Saturday night. She could almost taste their kiss. She looked away quickly.
“Come over in about an hour,” she said quietly. “Let me get the boys to bed.”
He lifted his hand from her arm slowly and moved away.
“OK,” he murmured. “I’ll see you in an hour, Allie.”
“Mrs.
Johnson?” A shrill voice bounced off the sides of the hall, making Allie jump and look up guiltily. Paul was smiling at her, bemused, and behind him stood Miss Simpson, brandishing a piece of paper. “Do you need a checklist?”
“Yes please. Thank you, Miss Simpson. Goodbye.” Allie walked past them and took a letter. “Goodbye, Mr. Richmond.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Johnson.”
She heard him beginning to talk to Miss Simpson again as she walked down the corridor, followed by the twins, who were still chattering, running to keep up with their mum.
Within an hour, Allie was sitting on the sofa in the front room, having packed the boys off to bed in record time. She was desperately trying not to look out of the window. She had opened a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. The television was on low, mainly to give her something to focus on. After all, she didn’t want to appear too eager. As she began to sip the smooth, red Burgundy, she caught a glimpse of Paul striding up the path. When the doorbell rang, she counted to five before getting up to answer it.
She put her hand on the lock and hesitated for a moment. She could still hear movement upstairs.
“George? Harry? Get back into bed. I’ve said you can read for a while. You shouldn’t be walking around!”
The movement stopped.
“But we
are
in bed, mum!” Their voices rang out as one.
“Who’s that?” Harry added.
She smiled as she opened the door.
Why not be honest?
“Your teacher,” she called out. “Come to discuss your homework and how much sleep you get!”
Well, one white lie never hurt anyone.
“Good evening, Mrs.
Johnson,” Paul said as he entered. There was a sparkle in his eyes, and Allie felt herself beginning to melt.
“Go through, Mr. Richmond,” she said, loudly. “The homework’s on the table. They did it yesterday.”
“I’ll have a look, then.” He brushed past her casually as he went into the front room. “Night, boys!” he called, winking at her.
“Goodnight, Sir,” they chorused.
Allie followed him into the room and closed the door gently.
“You’ve opened some wine,” he began, turning to face her. “It’s not good to drink alone.”
“I know,” she said. “I was waiting for you.”
She gazed at him for a moment before picking up the bottle. Once again acutely aware of how good-looking he was, she tried not to stare. But there were so many attractive things t
o stare at: his athletic build and his smooth, muscular chest, for starters. Granted, she couldn’t actually see the latter, but she could imagine it under his shirt, just from the inch or so of tanned flesh on display by his throat. It dawned on her that she had been watching him for too long, and she quickly turned her attention back to the wine.
“Would you like a glass, Paul?”
“Yes, please.” He caught her eye again and smiled reassuringly. “But I’ve got something I need to tell you. Maybe I should get it out of the way first.”
She handed him his glass.
“If you like,” she said, sitting down on the sofa. “Fire away.”
He sat down next to her, but stayed perched on the edge of the seat. She could feel a sense of tension coming out of him. He didn’t drink his wine, but swirled it round in the glass, watching the colour change as the light played on it. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at her.
“It’s about Melanie, Billy and me,” he began. “I…. We….. I mean: we’re…”
Suddenly, she heard the door open behind her and saw shock and anger register simultaneously in Paul’s eyes. She spun round, ready to tell the twins off.
“God! James! What the…?” she gasped, unable to finish her sentence.
James was standing in the doorway, wearing his pyjamas. He looked as shocked as Paul, and seemed at a total loss for words. Recovering himself quickly, he began to mumble an explanation:
“Sorry Allie. I fell asleep upstairs. I just wanted to let you know I was here.” He glanced at Paul in alarm as he stood up abruptly and put down his glass. “I’ll go back up,” he continued, moving back into the hall. “You don’t need to leave, Pete.”
Paul strode past James and headed purposefully for the door. His voice rang out, filling the hall:
“I’ll phone you, Allie. And the name’s Paul, Mr. McCoy.”
Then the door slammed, and the house fell silent again. The silence lasted for a moment. James appeared in the doorway again. Allie glared at him, then stood up, just in time to see Paul disappear down the street. She wanted to run after him, haul him back and push James out.
What a mess.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
“Bloody Hell, Allie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I really didn’t.”
She sat down again gingerly and picked up her wine. After a large, comforting gulp, she looked up at James.
“Shit, James. He’s gone.” He sat down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Shit,” she added, for good measure.
“I’m sorry, Allie. I really am.”
She managed a weak smile.
“It’s not your fault. After all, I did say you could come round anytime.”
He nodded.
“I can understand his reaction,” he began, sliding his arm gently round her shoulders, until he was very close. She could feel his breath on the top of her head as he spoke. “You’re a desirable woman. He thought he was going to have you all to himself…” Allie jabbed him in the ribs. “Ow!”
“Knock it off, James,” she said. “I’m not in the mood. My evening’s been ruined.”
He squeezed her shoulders playfully.
“Com
e on, Allie. He said he’d call. You could always phone him later and explain. Surely?”
Allie thought for a moment.
“Yes. Maybe I could.”
“If he’s as nice as you seem to think he is, he’ll phone. Don’t worry. He just needs to calm down a bit.” He picked up the wine bottle. “Believe me, I know. I’m a man.” He grinned suddenly. “More wine?”
Allie nodded and pushed her glass towards James. He was right. If Paul was the man she thought he was, he’d phone.
Paul cursed under his breath as he ran up the stairs to his flat.
Why, oh why had he
not
seen that one coming?
Heart still pounding, he unlocked the door and let himself in. Switching on a side lamp, he glanced at his space, his haven. Suddenly, it seemed empty. Desolate. As if someone was missing.
He threw his keys down on the coffee table and walked over to the window. The old school was lit up, casting a benevolent glow over the surrounding houses.
What did
you expect,
it seemed to be saying.
She’s a beautiful woman. Her husband was bound to come back onto the scene. You idiot. Did you really believe she was waiting for you?
He turned back towards his desk, running his fingers through his hair. Opening a side drawer, he carefully took out a photo of himself with a raven-haired woman.
Caroline.
It had been taken on their honeymoon. He let out a heavy sigh as he took in her delicate features and the huge, dark eyes that dominated her soft face. That was before the cancer took hold. Once it did, her eyes were all he could see when he looked at her, gaunt and skeletal, in the last weeks of her life. At the time the picture was taken, the only hint of all not being well had been a small lump in her neck. ‘Just a swollen gland,’ she had reassured him. ‘All the excitement’s brought it up.” She had had no idea.
They had been happy in their short time together. They really had. And when she had been so cruelly taken from him, he had felt he would never love again. Never find anyone he would feel as one with. Anyone who could complete the missing part of his soul. Who could make him whole. Until he had met Allie, of course. Right from the moment he had first seen her, outside the school gates, he had known that something would happen between them, that they would connect. She had struck him as beautiful, kind and sexy. Despite himself, he had fallen for her. Hook, line and sinker. Hell, he had been harpooned.
He had realised one important thing. Since he had met Allie, the pain of losing Caroline had begun, very gently, to heal. He knew it would never fully go away. He didn’t expect it to. But now the hurt had released him, so to speak. Allowed him to feel for another woman, and feel that it was OK. It was time. And she was the right woman. Allie had filled the hole in his heart.
But now he had to make a decision. If her ex was back on the scene, would he be able to stay around and fight for her? Win her back? He placed the photo back into the drawer tenderly.
Did he want Allie enough to fight for her?
He sat down and rubbed his forehead, trying to massage away the confusion, the knots. He put Caroline, Melanie and Billy out of his mind for a moment and focused on Allie.
Was he ready to win her back?
He stopped rubbing his head and smiled. The answer was simple.
He would go to the ends of the earth for her.
Winning her back from an ex-husband, whilst justifying the remainder of his rather complicated private life seemed a tall order. But it would be a cinch. He would give her a bit of space, then phone her.
Allie turned over and thumped the alarm clock hard. So hard, she hit her hand and let out a muffled howl.
“Ow! The last thing I need is a bandaged finger for the trip to France.” She rubbed her hand and muttered. “That wouldn’t be very
chique
…”
The throbbing in her hand
subsided a little and she focused again on the luminous red numbers beside her bed. Seven o’clock already. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, as if trying to chase away images of last night. Mainly one of her, cuddling up to James on the sofa.
A tap on the bedroom door broke into her thoughts.
“There’s coffee and toast downstairs, if you want it!” James sounded alert. Chipper, even. Or just plain annoying to a woman with a hangover. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
The door opened and his face appeared. He was smiling broadly at her. “How much wine did I drink last night, James?” she asked hesitantly, dreading the answer.
“Too much,” he said, leaning casually on the doorframe and gazing down at her. “I had to put you to bed, remember?”
“Oh no.” She glanced down at the oversized tee shirt she was wearing. There was a picture of a cat on the front, bearing the words ‘Posh Puss’. She scowled. “Couldn’t you have chosen something more…?”
“Sexy?” He shook his head, slowly. “That wouldn’t have been a good idea, given your state.”
She looked up at him, worried.
“What do you mean, ‘given my state’? What was I doing? I thought I just talked a lot, then dozed off. I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
He sat down next to her.
“Do you remember your main topic of conversation last night?”
She shook her head, breathing in James’ fresh, clean smell. Somehow, it reassured her. Whatever she had done, it couldn’t be that bad.
“I dread to think,” she said.
“Love. That’s what.” His grin grew wider. “How it happens, why it happens, who it happens with. The usual stuff.”
She shifted her position slightly.
“I just want to say that anything I may have said to you might not be the truth.” She coughed. “In fact, it definitely wasn’t.”
His smile was suddenly replaced by a more serious look.
“That’s a shame, Allie.”
“Why?” She could hear suspicion in her tone.
“Because it was interesting, that’s why.” There was a moment of silence as he seemed to take her in, as though he were seeing her for the first time. She met his gaze steadily. “You told me you had loved me, but you didn’t anymore,” he began.
“James, I….”
“You said that we had had our day, and that it was all over. Definitely all over.” She didn’t speak. “But I already knew that. Our relationship is over. And I’m sorry, because it was my fault. I ended it, so to speak.”
“Yes,” she said, quietly. “You did.”
He switched his gaze from her to the wall and scratched his head before continuing.
“You said it was interesting. Love, that is. That we had no influence over it.” He sighed. “You told me you now felt ready to love again.” He looked back at her. It was an unblinking, direct gaze. “You told me you loved Paul. And there was nothing you could do about it. If he didn’t want you, you would die.” He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek tenderly. “That’s what you told me, before you fell asleep.”
She felt her eyes beginning to water.
“I’m sorry, James.”
“Don’t be. I’m the one who should be sorry. You’re a good woman, Allie. I love you. I always will. But you’re well shot of a bastard like me. And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I know it sounds pathetic, but I couldn’t help it. I had no control over what I did. Given another chance, I would only do it again.” He tried to smile. The smile was thin this time. “You deserve better,” he went on. “And it looks like you’ve found it.” He kissed her on the forehead quickly. It was a tender kiss, devoid of passion. Then he took a deep breath. “Allie. Did you ever feel that strongly about me?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“I don’t think I did.”
“Paul’s a lucky man.”
“James. What’s happening to you?”
His tone was serious:
“I think I’m growing up.”
Lunch had been
prepared by James. It was a leisurely affair of salad, cheese and wine in the garden. Half way through the meal, Allie realised she had forgotten something vital. If she was going to France the next day, she would need more than a bar of soap and a flannel: she would need Euros. She had rushed out, leaving her unfinished meal on the table.
“I’ll be gone by the time you get back,” he had called after her. “I’ll go and stay with Mike.” Mike was an old school friend who lived locally.
As she ran
down the hallway, Allie double checked what she had just heard: “So, when I get back, you’ll be at Mike’s?”
“When you get back from
France,
I meant. Not from the shops.” He laughed. “I’ll look after the house while you’re away.”
“
You got my hopes up then!” And with that, she slammed the door.
When she got back, James had opened a can of beer and was sprawled out on the settee, watching the football. There was something reassuring about his presence. With a man in
the house, Allie felt protected and safe. However, at the same time, she couldn’t help wishing that the man in her house could be Paul, and not James.
“Did anyone call when I was out?” she asked, sitting down next to him and putting her carrier bag onto the coffee table.
“I thought you just went out for Euros,” he muttered, not diverting his eyes from the match.
“James! Did anyone call?”
“Sorry, Allie.” He was still transfixed by the game. “Yes, someone did. They…. Go on my son! Yes!!” He leapt up and punched the air. “Yes! Well scored! England, you beauties!”
Allie had to smile. Such enthusiasm for a ‘friendly’. He hadn’t changed. His inability to concentrate on more than one thing at a time was a little like tunnel vision.
“Should I wait until half time for the rest of that sentence?” she said as she got up. “I’ll make myself a cup of tea. Then maybe you can tell me who called.”
“They hung up when I answered,” he said, looking at her now. Behind him, a sea of red and white fans
exploded onto the pitch. “But when I dialled 1471, the number had been withheld.”
“Oh.” She froze, her hand on the doorknob. “Maybe it was Paul.”
“Maybe,” he said, quietly. “But whoever it was rang back.”
“How do you know if it was the same person, if they didn’t speak?”
“They withheld the number again.”
“It could just be a coincidence. One could have been Paul, and one could have been my stalker.”
He smiled fleetingly. His blue eyes seemed icy in the warm afternoon light.
“Or,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “they could be one and the same person.”
“No way,” she retorted, more abruptly than she would have liked. “There is no way Paul is my stalker.” She turned away quickly and opened the door. “Don’t be daft,” she added, aware of him following her into the kitchen.
“T
hink about it, Allie. How well do you know him?”
As she put the kettle on, James took another beer from the fridge and sat down at the table. He opened it and took a swig before carrying on. “You’ve only just met him really, haven’t you? He could be a weirdo…”
She turned to face him, leaning back on the edge of the sink. The cool enamel felt good against her hot back.
“Now hold on a minute, James.” He gave her an expectant look. Her voice took on the irritated-yet-trying-to-be-patient tone it used to have just before they began to row. “I trust him. I feel I know him enough to say he’s not that kind of man.”
“But you thought your stalker might have been me,” he said. “Didn’t you, Allie?”
“I was joking.” She laughed suddenly. “I mean: if you want to go that far, then the only person who can’t possibly be my stalker is Jeremiah.”
“Why is that, then?” James looked thoughtful all of a sudden.
“Because he was here the other night when I had a phone call.”
James looked down, and Allie could see a faint flush on his cheeks and neck. When he looked up again, his eyes were cloudy.
“So how many of these calls have you had? And what was Jeremiah doing here?”
“How much beer have you had, James?”
“Enough.” His flushed complexion grew redder. When he next spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’m your husband. I care what happens to you.” He took a deep breath. “I need to know.”
“Oh James.” Allie knew him well enough not to be too alarmed. Sometimes his bark was worse than his bite. “Jeremiah was seeing me back home.” She moved over to the kettle, which was filling the kitchen with steam. “And I’ve had a couple of calls. Two, to be precise. Nothing to worry about.”
James finished his drink.
“Promise me something, Allie.”
“What?”
“Be careful with this Paul bloke.” He put down the can and gave her a level stare. “And if this ‘stalker’ calls again, phone the police.”
“OK. OK.” She stirred her tea as she returned his gaze. “Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself. And I’m a good judge of character.”
He shook his head, smiling slightly now.
“Oh no, you’re not. You’re shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“You married me, didn’t you?”