Chapter Seventeen #2
This was different. An entirely terrible situation that for the want of a few weeks would have been nothing but cause for celebration.
It was the cruellest trick of fate, and one into which she had insight.
What if Dominic were single? What if they had met years down the line and his situation was changed, what if he were not Iris’s dad, what if. .. what if...
‘But now we know how fragile the threads were that kept them together, would it have been awful for Aiden to be locked into that relationship for life, Holly too?’ She looked at her husband.
‘Locked in, that sounds like punishment, and I don’t mean it like that.
What do I mean? And come to think of it, he’s still locked in for life, isn’t he, they both are?
No matter who he’s with or whatever happens next, this baby is forever.
’ She paused. ‘A baby, Jonathan. I can’t quite believe it. ’
Pickle came into the lounge and hopped up on to the sofa, where she was absolutely not allowed to sit. Enya ran her palm over the silky back of her beloved cat, who now coiled into a loaf and purred in sleep.
She didn’t feel like watching TV, wondering if the letter to Jenny had been a mistake, feeling as exposed as she did, vulnerable, not that there was a darn thing she could do about that now.
She grabbed the latest Jill Mansell, a fail-safe good read, and settled back on the sofa.
It did the trick, distracting her from the knotty ball of worries that seemed to be growing in her thoughts, until the buzzing of her phone pulled her from the pages.
The name HCK flashed up on her screen and again her heart stuttered. Her fingers hesitated for only the briefest of seconds before she placed Jill face down on the sofa, spine cracked, and reached for her phone.
‘Hello?’ She screwed her face up, she knew it was him calling and he’d probably know that she knew, yet the pantomime felt entirely necessary.
The simple truth was, she had had the very worst day and wanted someone to talk to, someone who was alive, who might talk back.
Someone who might say the things Jenny would have said to make it all feel a bit better, to make her feel less alone.
Or someone like sweet Holly, who, it struck her then, was hiding away, usurped by Iris, hurt and lonely.
And here she was, answering the phone to the man who was married to Trish, who would no doubt, if things were allowed to develop, feel usurped by Enya.
It was sobering and unwelcome and instantly she regretted answering the call.
‘Enya, it’s Dominic.’
‘Hi, Dominic.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and crossed her legs, as if by adopting this more businesslike stance, the encounter might be a bit more... businesslike.
‘Hope it’s not a bad time, would hate to interrupt your bath-time pasta-making?’
‘Very funny. How was your day?’
She hated the casual nature of her enquiry, as if this were normal, as if it were okay, as if Trish were not at home, maybe tidying away the supper things or settling down to watch TV. Trish, who was about to become Aiden’s mother-in-law.
‘Oh, you know, the usual.’ He took a breath as if he too were aware that she didn’t know, because they were strangers. She had no idea if he ran marathons before breakfast or did macramé to fill the hours. ‘It’s been a quiet day really, and this is the best part of it, walking our dog, Fishstick.’
‘Your dog is called Fishstick ?’
‘Yes.’ He spoke without the tiniest whiff of irony. ‘Do you find that amusing in some way?’
‘No, not at all,’ she mused, knowing if circumstances were different she’d have found it very funny. ‘My cat is called Pickle – well, Madam Pickle Paws to give her her full but mostly unused name.’
‘I see, it’s full names you want, is it?
In that case, I am walking Master Fishstick of Fowey, which is where he was born.
Oh, hang on a minute, he’s running towards a group of walkers and is yet to learn that not everyone wants to be bowled over, quite literally, by a hefty retriever who still thinks he’s a puppy! ’
She listened carefully as Dominic called, ‘Sticks! Sticksy! Come on, pal!’ Delighted that the mutt had a nickname.
‘Disaster averted,’ he breathed heavily. ‘We like to wander the Bath Skyline walk, have you done it?’
‘Erm, no, no I haven’t.’
‘I envy anyone that hasn’t, experiencing it for the first time is the best thing!’
‘I feel like that about books, books I love, it’s with the smallest flicker of reticence that I recommend them to people, slightly envious, wishing I was about to dive in afresh.’
‘The things we do...’ He spoke softly, and she held the phone close to her face.
To hear his voice was like lighting a match under the fire of indifference she could construct when preoccupied with the routine of life, those busy times when he lived in memory only.
There was undeniably something about him, his manner, even the idea of him pulled at her, made her forget the thousand reasons why she should do the right thing and end the call.
It was as if her whole body bent towards the sound of his voice, her skin deliciously prickling in reaction to no more than the words in her ear.
And the way he spoke to her, like he had done so a thousand times before.
As if it were the most natural and obvious thing in the world for the two of them to leisurely interact in this way.
A salve to her loneliness that allowed the embers of possibility to glow brightly in a future that looked a little grey without her friend, her husband, her job, her son living close by.
It was hard to define and even harder to rationalise how solid this connection felt after only the briefest of encounters, how strong the physical desire for this man that she knew was at the root of this.
.. this... whatever it was... which she would not allow to develop.
A dalliance that would not, could not take hold.
‘And how was your day?’ he asked casually, and just the thought of the news that was another wrecking ball to a simple, uncomplicated life was enough for her to feel the gathering of tears.
‘The usual,’ she lied, knowing it was not her place to share news that might have the direst of consequences for the people they both loved.
This realisation in turn filled her with fresh guilt, knowing she was talking about Holly Hudson and that there was a little baby at the heart of it.
It was the first time she felt warmth at the thought, as the shock momentarily gave way to the golden idea of grandparenthood.
A baby , a baby to keep her busy, to fill her day, someone else to love, to help fill the gaps.
Although how that would work with Holly and Aiden still miles apart and the widening void between her and Jenny, God only knew.
She prayed her letter might go some way towards starting the healing process, closing her eyes briefly, upset now at the thought that every silver lining seemed to be mentally balled and discarded as quickly as she conjured it.
‘Our call was rather abruptly ended last night.’ He kept his voice soft, adding to the conspiratorial air that required no such emphasis.
‘Yes, there was a crisps location emergency.’ She stopped short, remembering how uncomfortable it was to talk about Aiden, about Iris, a reminder that her attraction to Dominic was a doomed infatuation that could never take hold.
So, end the call then! came the memo from her subconscious, and yet she did nothing of the sort. The warmth in the base of her stomach encouraging just a few more minutes of contact, of company, before the long night ahead.
‘Well, we had tears over whether crab and apple salad or sashimi tuna was the most appropriate starter for a wedding on a warm day.’
‘I think either will be equally disastrous if left in the sun.’
It reminded her of the day Aiden came back from Rome, his words a tsunami of destruction in their little lives.
That day, not so long ago, when she had been overly concerned about the health of her prawns.
Prawns that had ended up in the bin when much, much bigger concerns swept that worry away like twigs in the kerb as a storm hit.
‘My thoughts entirely.’ He spoke slowly. Here they were again, chatting and in accord. ‘I don’t want to be pushy, but I did want to finish what I started to say last night. I’d planned it, practised it in my head, and so to be robbed of the moment felt frustrating.’
It was an admission of his vulnerability, practising his speech. There was nothing cocky or assumptive in his words, but rather it suggested a hesitancy and a desire to get it right. She liked it.
‘As I said, I’ve been... I’ve been treading water, for the longest time.
We, we have been treading water. And we’re not desperately unhappy, there are no explosive rows, no anger.
It might be better if there were.’ He drew breath.
‘It’s more like we’ve run out of steam. Stopped on the tracks and there’s no rescue in sight.
We’re stationary and therefore bored and frustrated.
We snap at each other and it’s ugly, I’m ashamed that you saw that.
It’s like we’re waiting for someone to come along and show us the signpost of where we go next.
Static. We skirt around the topic. Both admitting we’re not happy, but the truth is it’s more than that, we’re done, and yet neither of us has had the courage to say it out loud, to blow the final whistle, not for the longest time, both afraid, I guess, of all that comes after.
The disruption. It’s why I took the flat.
We agreed it’s the physical separation that will ease what comes next. ’
She thought briefly of her mum and dad, bickering the decades away.
‘Yet you have the courage to say it out loud to me.’