Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
T he children in Laura’s teaching group were always hyperactive on a Monday morning. After two days of not seeing one another, she had to shout to be heard above the clamour of voices and the squeak of chairs on the rubber floor of the classroom. Today was no exception, but she’d made it ten times worse by raising the subject of the Christmas pageant.
Robyn and Rosie, nine-year-old twins with Down’s, shrieked in delight and high-fived each other when Laura confirmed that yes, they could both be angels, and yes , they could wear pink dresses, and have pink wings. She crossed her fingers at this point and hoped the costume team could fulfil this dream.
A bit of a to-do broke out as Thomas, a solemn child, full of detailed knowledge about the weirdest of subjects, stood up and informed the class that angels never wore pink, they only wore white, because angels came from Heaven, where everything was white, or gold. Undeterred, the twins started another round of high-fives which spread around the classroom like fire on a dry heath until Laura threatened that none of them would be in the pageant unless they were quiet and sat still, now .
But inside she was laughing, and loving them all, because they were loveable, every one of them, from the most exuberant, like Robyn and Rosie, and across the scale to a pale little boy called Simon, who frequently vanished into his own secret world from which nobody could prise him until he was ready.
Later in the morning, Laura bundled into her duffle coat and scarf, and went outside to the grassed play area, leaving her teaching assistant, Clare, holding a chaotic music session with the kids. Crossing to the far side of the green, she sat on one of the logs the children liked to sit and climb on. There was no sun, but it wasn’t especially cold. Beneath a blank white sky, the air had the kind of perfect stillness that only came in the depths of winter. Looking up, Laura wondered if it would snow this year. A white Christmas would be marvellous; there hadn’t been one of those for a long time.
It had been snowing when she’d first met Spencer. It was almost two years ago, not at Christmas but at the end of January. She’d been to a jeweller’s in Lewes to buy a silver bracelet for Holly’s birthday, and the jeweller had offered to engrave it the same day if she wanted to come back in an hour. She had passed the time by wandering around the shops, and then, because it had suddenly turned bitingly cold, she’d nipped into the town hall where there was an exhibition of architectural designs for ongoing Sussex projects. Reps from building and architectural companies were roaming the thin crowd, ready to answer questions.
Laura had been gazing at the drawings for the renovation of a Jacobean manor house when she’d felt a presence and, turning, she’d seen Spencer, gazing at her as openly as she’d been gazing at the drawings. It had been love at first sight – well, lust at first sight was probably more accurate. They’d begun chatting, as naturally as if they were old friends, until Laura had looked up at the high window and seen a myriad snowflakes whirling and dancing out of a slate-grey sky.
She’d have been fine going home, of course – the snow had hardly begun to settle – but Spencer had sweetly insisted on accompanying her back to the jeweller’s to pick up the bracelet, and then he’d followed her all the way home, his car trailing hers as if it was glued to her bumper. Just to make sure she got home safely, he’d said, since he lived in the same village. He’d have done the same had he lived miles away in the other direction; she’d known that as well as he had. On their arrival at Spindlewood, she’d parted with her phone number after only a brief hesitation.
She’d dated on and off over the years since James had died, but nobody had made her feel the way Spencer had. She’d been scared to look forward and, suddenly, the future had seemed full of exciting possibilities.
Laura thought about yesterday. Arriving home from Emily’s, she’d found Spencer’s car parked in front of the house, the man himself standing beside it with an anxious look on his face and his dark hair all rumpled. The rush of love she’d experienced at the sight of him had knocked everything else into perspective. Before the feeling had had a chance to dissipate, she’d apologised, firstly for not taking his call this morning, and then for anything she might have done or said to upset him. Spencer had held his hands up in protest. No, he was one who was sorry, and he would make it up to her, if she’d forgive him for being such an idiot.
Remembering Emily’s words, Laura had wavered, but not for long. Nobody was perfect – she certainly wasn’t – and Spencer had cared enough to seek her out. It crossed her mind that guilt might have played a part in this impromptu visit, but she’d decided to ignore that. She’d invited him in, pleased that he hadn’t presumed she would, and the rest of the day had passed in relaxed, Sunday-ish fashion. Then day turned to night, and Laura had wanted Spencer to stay as much as he clearly did.
It had been past midnight when she had slipped out of bed, taking care not to wake Spencer, and sent Emily a brief text – the thumbs-up sign and two red hearts.
Spencer had left after breakfast, with a promise to phone her tonight. After his initial apology, not a word had been said about their argument, nor Clayton or the Christmas trees. By rights, she shouldn’t have felt grateful for that – apologies and a night of passion or not, Spencer still owed her an explanation – but grateful was exactly how she’d felt.
It was peace, of a sort, although already it felt fragile, the slivers of doubt in her mind chipping away at the surface.
The cacophony from her class’s music session had died down and now the long, shrill note of the school bell signalled lunchtime. Laura got up from the log and walked towards her classroom. This afternoon, after the reading lesson, she’d get the class to make snowflakes out of paper doilies to decorate the windows. It would be noisy and messy but a nice Christmassy afternoon was exactly what she needed.
Emily arrived home from work a little after seven on Monday evening, having put in a nine-hour day. She didn’t mind the unsocial hours so much in the summer but at this time of year the lanes around Charnley Acre became twisting black tunnels after dark, and you had to drive extra slowly and watch for the headlights of oncoming traffic. The temperature had dropped suddenly tonight, too, and the twiggy tops of the bare hedgerows already sparkled with a dusting of frost.
She made a fuss of Wilf, who’d risen stiffly from his bed to greet her. Putting a match to the log-burner and switching on the lamps soon made the living room bright and cosy, and Emily brought her supper through to have on a tray by the fire.
As she ate, she thought about Christmas. It would have been nice not to be alone again this year, but there, you couldn’t have everything. Not that she’d be alone in the literal sense – she’d be at her parents’ sprawling Victorian house in Brighton, which would be packed to the cornices with aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, and family friends who had been around so long that they were as good as family anyway. She was lucky, she knew that; there were plenty of people who had nobody at all to spend the festive season with.
That first Christmas after the divorce, Emily had felt nothing but the utmost relief at being single and free. She’d let out a long, metaphorical sigh, and then it was as if she’d become as light as a feather, winging her way through the festivities like a manic Christmas fairy. But that was three years ago, and since then, none of her dates had come up to the mark, which, to be fair, was probably mutual in most cases.
Emily’s eyes alighted on the laptop, sitting across the room on the gateleg table, its lid up in readiness. Did she have the energy, or the will, to give it another go tonight? That was the question. It was only three weeks until Christmas; three weeks until Laura’s party. She wouldn’t be the only guest without a partner, far from it, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she would rather arrive with somebody, and leave with the same person, than act the part of the happy-go-lucky singleton all evening. Then she wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet of the rubbish selection of unattached blokes from the village who seemed to think she was fair game for a chat-up. It wasn’t only the single ones who hit on her either. Last year, a man she knew only by sight had leaned across from his seat after the briefest of small talk and said into her ear, none too quietly, that he’d really like to kiss her, on the lips.
‘That’s not going to happen, is it?’ she’d said frostily, glancing pointedly at the man’s wife who was sitting at the other side of him.
Sometimes she wondered where Laura dredged up some of these party guests. No, that wasn’t fair; Emily retracted the thought. It was due to Laura’s love of Christmas and her generous nature that so many turned up to her party, and the more the merrier, as far as Laura was concerned.
No doubt Spencer would be there, which was lovely for Laura, of course, although now, seeing her friend so confused and angry about what had happened on Saturday night, she wasn’t as sure as she used to be that Spencer was right for her. And then there was the altercation he’d had with Clayton in the Goose. Everyone Emily had spoken to said it was Spencer who’d goaded Clayton and turned the thing into a pitch battle, and she had no reason to disbelieve them. She hadn’t mentioned that part to Laura, of course. It would have seemed too much like telling tales against Laura’s boyfriend. She’d recounted the basic story, and that was all Laura had needed to know.
Emily set down her tray with its empty plate on the footstool. The meal had revived her enough for her to move across to the table and fire up the laptop. While she waited for the site to load, she took her mobile from her pocket and scrolled to the message Laura had sent in the middle of last night. A thumbs up and two hearts could only mean that she and Spencer were all loved up again, and everything was rosy in Paradise. Emily had smiled when she’d seen it; now it seemed almost too good to be true, as if they’d made up too quickly. Then again, if Spencer had now told Laura the full story about this mysterious ‘history’ he had with Clayton, and it sounded reasonable, maybe she was worrying about her friend unnecessarily.
The entwined hearts logo appeared on the computer screen. Emily entered her password. The hearts performed a little jive. No matches or messages. Oh yes, there was one, from yet another bloke who could hardly string two words together, never mind spell them correctly. She was no intellectual snob, but really, she drew the line at men who couldn’t spell. Emily made a face at the screen. She was tempted to add a rider to her profile: Strangers to the written word need not apply .
Okay, so not this one then. She loaded up another site, one she’d only recently joined. The tone of it had seemed a bit stiff and formal before, but now, looking again at the words ‘mature professionals’ it seemed she might have misjudged it. She was a professional, wasn’t she? And as for mature, well, if you took that to mean you wouldn’t see forty again and you had a level-headed grip on life, she might possibly qualify after all. As long as the blokes who’d signed up to this one weren’t positively ancient and their profiles weren’t complete works of fiction, her soulmate could be a few clicks away.
Emily scrolled. Fifteen minutes later, she was still scrolling and speed-reading. A media type caught her eye. His profile said he was fifty-two – eight years older than her – but he looked good on it. More scrolling. A company director smiled out at her quite appealingly. It didn’t say what sort of company but she supposed that wasn’t relevant. Another fifteen minutes, and Emily had registered her interest against three possibles. She laughed. The triumph of hope over experience; that about summed it up.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. A few minutes more, then she’d pack it in and pop Wilf out for his last walk. Scrolling again, a familiar face appeared, causing her to draw in a sharp breath. The man on the screen had dark hair cropped short on top, and wore rimless glasses pushed down slightly over his nose, the way some men wore them when they wanted to look intellectual. Despite the slight differences, the face was unmistakeable, but the name attached to the photo wasn’t Spencer Jennings, it was Marcus Dartnell. Emily examined the photo again, peering closely at the screen. The man she knew didn’t wear glasses, but he could have contact lenses, and hair changed all the time. No, she hadn’t been mistaken, it was definitely Laura’s boyfriend.
Right, time for some logical thinking here. Emily sat back in her chair and narrowed her eyes at the screen. The man in the photo looked slightly younger than the one she knew. According to his profile, he was forty-four and his location was given as Gloucestershire, not Sussex. Had Laura once mentioned that Spencer used to live in Gloucestershire? It seemed to ring a faint bell. So, this was an old listing, that must be it. He’d forgotten he’d signed up, or just never bothered to take his profile down, and wasn’t receiving alerts for any matches he got.
He hadn’t updated his location, which was reassuring. It seemed to indicate that he hadn’t been in the market for a new girlfriend while he was seeing Laura. There was no reason to panic then. And no reason, either, to say a word to Laura about what she’d found, not right now anyway. What purpose would it serve? So, Spencer had signed up to a dating site before he met Laura, using a different name. That wasn’t so unusual. People created false identities online for all kinds of reasons, many of them innocuous.
Unless Marcus Dartnell was his real name, and Spencer Jennings the made-up one? It could be that way around, couldn’t it? Emily really hoped it wasn’t so. The implications were far heavier than him having used a fake name on a dating site, and the potential for her friend to end up getting hurt all the greater for it.
Perhaps she should simply tell Laura what she’d found and let her decide what, if anything, to do about it. That was the sensible thing to do. This was, after all, Laura’s life. It wasn’t up to Emily to make decisions for her, was it?
And yet…
Again, Emily’s thoughts swung back in the other direction. If what she’d seen was just a misguided effort on Spencer’s part to disguise his real identity on a dating site, something he’d played around with ages ago, before he met Laura, there was no need to worry her. Not until Emily was certain what was actually going on here. But to find that out, she’d need proper information, incontrovertible facts to prove, or disprove her theory about Spencer. Quite how she was going to do that eluded her for the moment.
Emily bookmarked the page and closed the laptop. Maybe there was a way.