Authors: Elizabeth Haynes
‘Well, we’ve established that you should have told me,’ she says. ‘Now the question is, what do we do next?’
‘If you want me to leave…’ he says.
‘No, of course I don’t.’ Sarah is surprised by how certain of this she is. She doesn’t want him to go. What she wants is for him to not be what she knows he is.
And then something occurs to her that makes her laugh out loud.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
‘It explains why you’re such a good fuck,’ she says.
‘I’ve had a bit of practice. With the foreplay part, anyway.’
‘Clearly.’
‘It’s different, though,’ he says, looking up. ‘And not just because I don’t actually fuck my clients. Even the rest is different. I know you might not believe me.’
‘How is it different?’
‘Well, as I said yesterday, it means something. And at first, yes, I know what to do, I’m trying to see what feels good for you, just like with them; but then there’s a point at which it all dissolves and it’s just me and you, like it was before, and it’s…’
‘What?’
‘I was going to say “perfect”.’
‘You smooth-talking bastard,’ she says, and laughs.
‘I know I got things wrong,’ he says. ‘But I can’t help hoping that we might be able to get past it.’
Sarah breathes, thinking. She is too tired to make decisions.
‘I’m not ready,’ she says.
He sits still for a moment, watching her, as if trying to think of something else to say. Then he finishes his coffee, gets to his feet. ‘You should call Sophie,’ he says. ‘You know what she did was with the best of intentions. She’s a good friend.’
He kisses her on the top of her head, says goodbye, and leaves.
The house is quiet.
She sits in the kitchen for a while, listening to the clock ticking, the wind and the rain outside. It has changed direction; it’s coming from the north.
Sarah spends the rest of the day trying to pluck up the courage to ring Sophie, to let her know that she knows about Aiden, and that, actually, it’s not as big a deal as she thought it was; but in the end, next morning, it’s Sophie who calls first.
‘I’m sorry,’ is the first thing she says.
‘It’s okay,’ Sarah answers. ‘I wish you’d told me, though.’
‘I know, me too. Look, can we meet for a drink? Talk about things properly?’
Sophie is waiting for Sarah in the bar at the Black Swan. It’s past seven when Sarah finds her, in one of the snug alcoves tucked away in the guest lounge.
‘I’ve been round here twice already,’ Sarah says. ‘Who are you hiding from?’
‘Marjorie Baker,’ Sophie says, kissing her cheek. ‘I saw her going into the Ladies’. She’s going to ask me to do something for the Summer Fair.’
There are two apple martinis on the table in front of Sophie.
‘Soph, I’m driving,’ Sarah says.
‘Go on, you can manage one. We’re going to be here a while.’
‘Are we? Why? What’s happened?’
Sophie mouths the word:
Will
.
‘He came round on Friday,’ Sarah says. ‘He had dinner with us, came out to the Royal Oak for a drink. He said he wanted to see Kitty.’
‘Oh, did he really?’
Sophie says it with a smile on her face but there is something under the surface, like a punch to the skin before it has time to bruise.
‘Tell me,’ Sarah says.
She had been grateful to hear from Sophie earlier: she needed to talk to someone, needed to see a friendly face. But, now she’s here, it seems that Sophie needs support even more than she does.
‘You know he was house-sitting?’
Sarah nods.
‘I sorted that out. Fool that I am. I’ve been giving him money to stay at a holiday let in Thirsk, but I heard that
Shona and Richard were going to Paris for the weekend and I told them I’d got someone who was reliable and good with animals. They were a bit reluctant, but I told them I’d keep an eye on things too.’
She reaches across for her cocktail. It’s already half-gone.
‘Anyway, I thought it would be… fun. I could stay over. I’ve been, you know, seeing him.’
‘In the holiday let?’
‘When I could get away. That was all right, although it’s bloody expensive even off-season. A B&B would be cheaper but you know what those places are like; they’re hardly what you’d call discreet.’
‘I guess not.’
‘On Friday he sent me a text saying he was in the Royal Oak. I was going to meet him at Shona and Richard’s, but he insisted he wanted me to meet him in town. I got there and saw your car in the car park. I sent him a text to say I was outside.’
‘He was with us,’ Sarah says.
‘I know. I told him to stop playing games. He wasn’t happy. I don’t know what he’s playing at; it’s like he wanted some kind of confrontation, some kind of embarrassing scene.’
‘Why would he want that?’ Sarah asks.
‘I don’t know. I think he likes to stir things up. To make trouble. He gets off on it.’
Yes, Sarah thinks. That’s exactly it – all the times he has turned up, with nowhere to go. He could go anywhere, couldn’t he? Why come to Four Winds Farm? It’s as if he’s enjoying seeing her reaction when she finds him there.
‘But you like him?’ Sarah asks.
For a moment Sophie doesn’t reply. There is something she is hiding, something she doesn’t want to say.
‘Soph?’
Sophie leans forward in her seat.
‘It was okay when it was just about sex. But now – it’s more than that. He wants it to be something more serious. And he’s so persuasive, so passionate about everything. Sometimes it’s a bit scary, that’s all. I don’t think he likes to hear the word “no”. Anyway. How was Kitty?’
The abrupt change of subject says more about Sophie’s need to distract herself than about her concern for Kitty; but Sarah doesn’t mind. She needs distraction herself, after all.
‘She’s fine. And Oscar seems all right. Quiet. Kitty seems very keen on him.’
‘Did you get much of a chance to talk to Kitty on her own?’
‘No, not really.’
In that moment Sarah realises that, even if Kitty and Oscar don’t last, from now on it’s likely that there will always be someone else in Kitty’s life. Their relationship has undergone a major shift. Things will never be as they once were. Kitty is not hers any more.
‘Will said Louis was thinking of going over on Sunday,’ Sophie ventures.
‘Oh, Will! Bloody Will. I wish he’d keep his nose out.’
Sarah sees Sophie’s face and wishes she could take it back. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that it feels as though he’s interfering. I’m sure he’s just trying to help, but he’s making things worse.’
‘Things with Louis?’
‘He said Will had told him that I’m having financial trouble and I’m thinking of selling the house. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Will also told Louis about Aiden’s job, so he took great delight in passing that on to me. So that’s how I found out.’
‘Shit,’ Sophie says. ‘God, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s bad enough that you didn’t tell me, Soph, but to tell Will…’
‘I know, God, I wish I hadn’t. I was drunk, he was asking about you and Aiden… it just slipped out. I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter now. It’s all out there; we can’t take any of it back.’
‘Still. Shit. And is that true? About you being in financial trouble? Selling the house?’
‘Not exactly. I mean, maybe – but it’s something I’ve been thinking about, not something that’s definitely going to happen. And Louis was so
angry
. He was so… cruel. I’ve never seen him like that before. He said some horrible things, Soph. I can’t even tell you.’
She pulls herself together quickly because the waiter has appeared, taking away the two empty martini glasses – did she really drink the whole thing? – and asking what they want next. Sarah hasn’t even looked at the cocktail menu.
‘Two passion fruit bellinis,’ Sophie says.
By the time the waiter has gone again, Sarah is feeling better.
Deep breaths
.
‘George wants me to do a fucking dinner party,’ Sophie says. ‘On Saturday. Please say you’ll come.’
‘Another one? What’s this one for?’
‘He’s going to try to tap Ian for some party funding. He thinks Ian controls the purse strings at the City office.’
‘Does he?’
One arched eyebrow. ‘It’s Ian. Do you think he looks like someone they’d trust with the money?’
‘And you want me there? What if I say the wrong thing, like last time?’
‘Darling,’ Sophie says, ‘that’s what I’m hoping for. Your political rants are endlessly entertaining.’
‘Well, all right, then. I’ll do my best.’
‘Bring Aiden,’ Sophie adds. ‘He can soften Ian up by talking about cricket. If it’s not golf, George hasn’t a clue.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Sarah says.
‘Sarah, he’s not going to start offering his services to Diana and Becca.’
The thought of Aiden peddling his business amongst the good ladies of the village Women’s Institute is amusing for a moment, but then Sophie asks, ‘Is he okay?’
‘I think so,’ Sarah says, and then adds, because Sophie and Aiden have clearly been happily chatting without her knowing, ‘Haven’t you spoken to him?’
‘I had a bit of a go at him last time we spoke. I just felt so bad that you’d been left in the dark about everything.’
‘I think he’s fine.’
‘Thing is…’ Sophie says, ‘thing is, I could see that you were falling for him. Even that first phone call, when he’d first arrived, I could hear it in your voice. You’ve been so down, especially since Kitty left, and after Christmas… and suddenly you were full of life again. I couldn’t do it to you. I didn’t want to be the one to take your sparkle away.’
Sarah walks back up the hill an hour or so later, thinking about Sophie and Will, and Aiden. Sophie offered to drive her home, but Sarah told her she would get a taxi. This was a fib – she’d rather save the money – and, besides, the walk gives her time to think.
It has been a good night. She went feeling miserable and now she feels buoyant, full of love for her best friend and her exceptional positivity, the way she turns the most grim situation around and makes it hilarious.
But there is something about it that’s troubling her, a phrase she said or Sophie said that reminded her of something she’d forgotten, or blanked out.
Aiden.
He thinks he understands,
Sarah thinks
. He thinks he knows how people’s minds work, he thinks he is empathetic, but really he isn’t. He doesn’t get it at all.
It’s like a heightened level of arrogance.
In that moment, walking up the hill in the cold, dark, the road sparkling with frost illuminated by the wide moon overhead, she thinks that he has always had it, even at university: this sense of being untouchable, being entitled, better than everyone else; the cool observer, the connoisseur, the expert.
And now, now that she has seen it with this sudden cold clarity, it feels dangerous.
It’s what draws you to him, and at the same time it’s what repels you.
You are in the passenger seat of Sarah’s car, being driven slowly down the hill towards the village. It’s Saturday evening, and you have been invited to dinner by Sophie and George, or rather, you’ve been invited by Sarah.
‘Is it someone’s birthday?’ you asked.
‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘Just a dinner party. Sophie wants you to talk to Ian about cricket.’
Of course you said yes. You want to spend time with Sarah, and, if this is what you have to do to get that opportunity, so be it. In truth the idea of spending the evening talking about cricket is less than appealing; but food is involved, and Sarah’s adamant that it’s her turn to drive, so you can have a glass of wine or maybe two.
The house is impressive; a number of cars are already lined up in the driveway, a brand-new Lexus SUV at the top of it. They are not short of money, this lot.
Sarah rings the doorbell and, as the chimes echo through the space inside, you can hear Sophie shouting something as she crosses the hallway to the door. The door opens mid-sentence. ‘… not with salmon, darling, for fuck’s sake… hello, you two, come in.’
Sophie kisses you on both cheeks. Her soft hair brushes your face, smells citrus-clean.
‘Fabulous, thanks,’ Sophie says, taking the bottle of Sancerre you have brought with you. ‘Come through; we can sit in the kitchen while George finishes off.’
Sarah had said that they might have got caterers in; if it’s a business thing George apparently often does, but it seems today he has taken it upon himself to cook.
‘Sarah, what can I get you?’ George asks. He is pink-cheeked in the steam rising from a stainless steel pan on the stove. ‘Gin? Wine? Beer?’
‘Whatever’s open, thank you,’ Sarah says. ‘How are you both?’
Sophie is already pouring wine from the bottle open on the granite breakfast bar.
‘Everything is wonderful,’ she says. ‘Peachy.’
You realise she has probably already had several glasses.
George says nothing. He’s surrounded by bubbling pots and the sink is full of chopping boards and knives. He and Sophie are staring at each other and you wonder what you have just interrupted.
‘Let’s go into the living room, shall we?’ Sophie says, picking up both glasses.
You offer George a sympathetic smile as Sarah slips off the bar stool, but he’s already turned away.
Their living room is huge, high-ceilinged, beautifully decorated – easily three times the size of Sarah’s living room. The whole of your cottage could probably fit inside it. A fire has been lit, and there are scented candles on the glass coffee table.
The doorbell chimes and Sophie jumps up to get it.
‘What do you think?’ Sarah asks, smiling. ‘Isn’t it a fabulous house?’
‘It’s enormous. Is it just the two of them in here?’
‘George has two grown-up daughters, from his first marriage. Sometimes they visit, bring the grandkids.’
‘How does she cope with that?’ you ask, quietly, although you can hear Sophie cheerily welcoming someone in the hall. ‘Sticky fingers and crayons everywhere.’
‘You’d be surprised. She adores the little ones; it’s their mums she struggles with. She calls them the Weird Sisters.’
You drink your wine, listening to Sophie’s raucous laugh. You half-turn in your seat, ready to smile and say hello to whoever it is, but the voices trail off. They’ve gone into the kitchen, to get drinks.
After a minute or two, the doorbell chimes again. You can both hear Sophie in the kitchen, laughing and talking, so Sarah gets up and opens the door herself.
You follow her. It’s Becca and Daniel, Sophie’s friends from the village.
‘Oh,’ says Becca, smiling, ‘have we come to the wrong house?’
‘Come in,’ Sarah says, ‘Sophie’s in the kitchen.’
‘Hello, Becca,’ you say, kissing her on the cheek even though you only met her the once and even then are not even sure if you spoke to her at all. You shake hands with Daniel.
They both take off their jackets and, for want of something to do, Sarah takes them and hangs them up in the cloakroom. Everyone is in the kitchen. She retrieves her wine glass from the hall table and goes in to join them, leaning against the doorframe. As well as Becca and Daniel, already furnished with wine, Sophie is holding court to Diana and Ian. When Sophie sees you, she gives you a nod towards Ian, who has launched into what sounds like a political discussion with George, who’s busy plating up what look like tiny quiches on to a lamb’s lettuce garnish.
‘Want me to take those through?’ Sarah offers. ‘You’re running out of room.’
‘Oh, fabulous, thank you,’ George says, without looking up. ‘Of course they don’t want the hassle,’ he adds to Ian. ‘The party’s not going to want to stir things up too much before the next election…’
The dining table is laid for eight.
Sophie smiles at you.
‘Let’s eat, shall we?’
George has been having jovial, red-faced conversations with Ian, who is seated next to him; and Sarah, who is sitting on the other side, is chatting with Diana. That leaves you with Daniel, whom you didn’t get to talk to at all in the pub, but who turns out to be all right. He’s a doctor, currently working obscene hours at the hospital in Middlesbrough. You have an interesting talk about the plight of junior doctors and how the NHS is being covertly dismantled under everyone’s noses.
This makes you both glance across at George, defender of the NHS; an unlikely warrior in a pink tailored shirt.
George has been plying Ian with some seriously expensive wine; if that wasn’t a mistake, Ian is clearly playing him. It’s obvious to you that he has no financial influence in his firm at all, or, if he has, he has no intention of arranging any donation to the Labour Party. But it’s not up to you to stop George from making a tit of himself, is it? Besides, you’re too far away. Maybe after the meal is finished you can intervene.
Sophie could do it – subtly – and you look down to the other end of the table where Sophie is pretending to listen to Becca talking about the local am-dram’s latest production, but actually is watching you. Or perhaps she’s watching George and has merely glanced across to you in that moment, because she looks away again without acknowledging you. She is nodding, and keeping a weather eye on George. Sarah catches her eye, raises an eyebrow. Sophie rolls her eyes and gives a tiny shake of her head. She knows.
George is rat-arsed.
Sophie is pretty drunk, too; in fact almost everyone is apart from Sarah. She stopped after one half-glass of white and refilled it from the tap.
‘I’m glad we got to have this chat,’ Daniel says. ‘I didn’t get the chance when we saw you in the Royal Oak the other week.’
‘No,’ you say, ‘it was a busy night. Will was there, wasn’t he? Wonder where he is tonight.’
‘Will? You mean Bill’s lad?’
‘I guess so.’
Daniel smirks, swirling his wine glass. ‘This isn’t really his type of gig. I was surprised to see him in the Royal Oak, to be honest.’
‘How come?’
‘He disappeared a couple of years ago, finally. We all thought we’d seen the last of him. Thought he’d gone to live with his mum in Morecambe, but apparently she’d moved house and hadn’t told him her new address.’
‘Really? That sounds a bit rough.’
‘Oh, he was a proper handful when he was a teenager.’
Even so, you think. Your mum not telling you where she lives? That’s what you might call an overreaction. Unless he was more than a handful, and even then – your own son?
‘What on earth did he do?’ you ask.
‘Nothing anyone could prove. It was all low-level nuisance stuff: stealing things, pranks, criminal damage. Everyone knew it was him. It’s a village; stuff like that doesn’t stay a secret.’
‘But then he disappeared?’
‘He said he was going travelling. I don’t think he did. Crossed my mind he’d been inside for a stretch, but after a while everyone forgot all about it. Anyway, he’s back now, so maybe he’s grown up a bit since then. Let’s hope so.’
‘Sophie was talking to him quite a lot,’ you say, ‘so I’m guessing he’s capable of holding an adult conversation.’
Daniel laughs at this. ‘Maybe. But Sophie’s one of those magical people who can hold a conversation with anyone
and make them feel special. Why do you think George is so desperate to keep her happy?’
Is he?
You want to ask it, but you hold your tongue and look across to Sophie, who just for a moment looks lost. She has pushed her food around on her plate but eaten very little, and she has stopped drinking, too. When she meets your eyes across the table, you smile at her.
Later, when the plates have been cleared, the guests disperse to the living room. You head to the kitchen to help tidy up, expecting to find Sarah in there, but there is only Sophie, rinsing crystal glasses.
‘Let me do that,’ you say.
‘Really? Thanks,’ she answers, handing you the cloth and drying her hands on a tea towel. She carries on scraping plates into the bin and stacking them into the dishwasher. ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘Well, it looked as if George was managing. You didn’t need my cricket expertise after all. Probably just as well, since I know about as much about cricket as I know about politics.’
She laughs, looks across the vast kitchen to the door leading to the living room. You both hear George’s meaty guffaw. ‘Everything okay?’ you ask.
She doesn’t answer for a moment, and you are about to repeat the question when she straightens and looks you in the eye and says, ‘Not really, if I’m honest.’
‘What is it?’
You like Sophie. Various phone conversations have followed that morning when she turned up at the cottage and demanded to know what you were doing with Jim in London when Sarah believed you hadn’t set foot in the UK for years. You assumed, quickly, that the best way to deal with Sophie was by being unflinchingly honest, and it has proved the best course of action at every turn.
Now, she seems unable to speak, and above the pink cheeks tears are welling in her eyes.
‘Sophie,’ you say, ‘tell me.’
She blinks the tears away and gives a tiny, tight smile. ‘It’s fine. There’s nothing you can do. Honestly, I’ll be all right in a minute.’
You take a step forward, put a hand on her upper arm, and she moves towards you, rests her head into your neck, your arms around her. She is shaking.
‘I’m afraid of him,’ she whispers. ‘I’ve never really been scared before. I don’t like it.’