Chapter Fourteen #2
He gave her a sheepish twinkle. ‘Busted. The first one will take us another hour. The second twenty minutes.’
After the last few weeks, she had built up her stamina, so an hour’s walk didn’t faze her. If she had to, she could.
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘As it’s a nice day and I had a skinful of the city yesterday,’ his mouth tightened, ‘I’d like to head over to the Northern End reservoir. Have you been there?’
She shook her head. ‘Left it is, then.’ She followed him over the stile, and on the other side, he waited and took her hand to help her climb down.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘Very gentlemanly.’
‘Or sensible – those wooden planks can get a little slippery. Gentlemen around here know it’s a smart move if they don’t want to have to carry maidens in distress all the way home.’
‘Oh.’ She’d been impressed by his thoughtfulness.
‘And it’s good manners,’ he teased.
‘In that case, thank you again.’
‘Are you one of those types who doesn’t like doors opened for them?’
‘No,’ she said with a twist of her mouth.
‘Although I do have a couple of friends who don’t approve.
’ She’d heard the arguments plenty of times.
‘Apparently it’s benevolent sexism. The type of paternal and protective behaviour that perpetuates the view of women being incompetent beings who need to be cherished and protected. ’
‘Bollocks,’ said Devon. ‘I think my ex would have disagreed with that. At the risk of sounding bitter, Marina loves nothing more than being cherished and protected, but I’d like to see the person that calls her an incompetent being.
Ha!’ He let out a mirthless shout of laughter.
‘She’d chew them up and spit them out into very small pieces before stomping on them with her very sharp pointy stiletto heels.
’ He sobered for a minute, before shaking his head. ‘Yeah, you don’t mess with Marina.’
He looked rueful.
‘Bets said you’d split up recently.’ Ella chose her words carefully. The tone in his voice suggested a certain amount of admiration for his ex. ‘That must be . . . ’
‘Difficult, very difficult. Trying to detangle two lives.’ He sounded resigned and weary.
‘I had to go and see her this week. She’s decid— she wants us to put our house on the market.
Except it’s not going to be that straightforward.
’ He scowled. ‘Not straightforward by any stretch of the imagination.’
Ella screwed up her face. ‘Don’t tell me that.’ She sighed. She’d been desperately trying to avoid thinking about the practicalities.
‘Bets mentioned that you . . . well, she mentioned that you were having problems.’
She liked Devon’s diplomacy, appreciated that he didn’t want to pry out her secrets.
‘We’re taking some time apart . . . but if we go our separate ways, there are all those decisions involved in detangling, as you put it.
’ They’d have to sell their flat. But neither of them could afford to buy one another out individually.
Where would she go? If she made the decision to split from him, she was making a far bigger decision which would impact on what she did in the future.
‘You have to do what’s right for you, detangling complications or not. Ours is complicated by the fact that our property is in negative equity. So we can’t sell.’
‘Ouch. That’s one thing we don’t need to worry about.
We bought our flat ages ago. We split the mortgage and the gallery that Patrick runs is doing really well.
’ Amazing really, considering other friends in the art business weren’t doing so well.
Patrick had the golden touch when it came to sniffing out new artists.
Shame his scouting ability had failed him so badly with her.
‘What if one of you wants to sell? To get out for good? What do you do?’ asked Ella, wondering what she’d do if she found herself in the same situation.
‘Find the money to pay back the negative equity or stick together.’
Whether it was because she turned to try and gauge his expression or the slipperiness of the muddy bank, but when Tess came bounding up, barging past with Dexter following at full pelt and hitting Ella’s legs, she lost her footing.
In a heart-stopping moment, her feet scrabbled precariously for purchase, to no avail.
Like some cartoon character with windmill arms, she flailed about, grasping at nothing but air.
Then just like in all the cartoons, with an inexorable trajectory she started to pitch head first into the canal and there was nothing she could do to stop herself except wait for the inevitable splash and hit of cold enveloping her body.
‘Aaargh!’ Screaming was a big mistake. Her mouth filled with pond soup, her head went under and water rushed up her nose. ‘Nggghnnn.’ She started to splash about, the weight of her clothes heavier than she could have imagined. Furiously swimming, she got her bearings.
Tess and Dexter were perched on the bank, barking furiously, and behind them stood Devon, his mouth twisting suspiciously.
Grimly she splashed towards the canal edge, tears of mortification stinging her eyes. How the hell was she going to haul herself up out of the water? Devon’s lips were now pressed together and he’d assumed a bland expression which didn’t fool her in the least. Bastard was laughing at her.
She reached out to grasp the side and her knee bumped something.
Shit. Both knees bumped. The bottom. She closed her eyes.
This wasn’t happening to her. Slowly she rose to her feet, water pouring out of her coat sleeves, her hair plastered to her face and her feet squelching with each step.
She looked down, staring the final indignity in the face.
The water level came to just above mid-thigh.
Devon had turned away but she could see his shoulders shuddering.
Wiping at her slimy face, she waded the final metre, her jeans clinging heavy and wet around her crotch. Her nose felt full of bits and bringing her hand to her mouth, she spat out a mouthful of stuff, feeling sick as something slippery dislodged itself from her teeth.
The treacherous toad on the towpath had composed himself enough to turn around and offer his hand to help her step up and out. She took it and didn’t say a word.
‘Are you . . . ’ Apparently there was some problem with his breathing or he appeared to have a terrible stomach complaint, from the way he kept almost doubling over. ‘Are y-you . . . ’
‘No, I’m not.’ She refused to cry in front of him. Instead she brushed past him, heading along the towpath.
‘Erm, Ella,’ he called.
She stopped, took in a deep breath. ‘What?’
‘Er . . . it’s this way.’
Ignoring the rushing in her ears, she wheeled around and stomped past him, water oozing in her trainers with every step, her jeans chafing and the heavy coat releasing yet more bloody reservoirs of water at regular intervals.
She hated this horrible muddy path. Hated the pissing canal.
The stupid hedges. The fact that they were still miles from the village.
No bus. Taxi. Gritting her teeth to keep in a howl of frustration, she marched on.
Her fingers were freezing and she couldn’t even put them in her pockets.
Probably find a couple of frogs in there or something.
Devon did try to talk to her but she quelled every attempt with icy hauteur.
The walk back to the village seemed interminable and at least by the time they hit the green, she was too chilled to give a toss what anyone might think.
With her head held high, she stalked past several dog walkers, all of whom were stunned into silence by her silent deadly glare which dared them to say one word, just one word.
When they reached the cottage, she was surprised to find that Devon had followed her up the path.
Did he have some kind of death wish? She was about to reach boiling point and if she didn’t get inside, away from everyone, she might just explode right in his face.
And she never exploded. Never lost her cool.
Her fingers were so cold and pinched she couldn’t get the key in the door. When Devon took them from her and opened it, she couldn’t look at him.
‘Why don’t you strip off here and go up and have a hot shower? I’ll sort Tess out and make you a hot drink.’ The calm, reasonable tone almost ripped the lid off her control.
Fuck it. She mustered a baleful glare and slipped off the coat, letting it fall at her feet.
He gave her an approving nod.
Approving nod. She’d give him flipping approving. Stamping her foot down, she toed off one soggy trainer and kicked it across the room narrowly missing him. He jumped and she gave him a grim smile, setting to work on the second. This time her aim was better, although not perfect.
‘Oi, careful.’ From his sudden wariness, she could tell he wasn’t so sure of things now. He glanced down at the damp footprint on his thigh and then up at her.
Fuck reasonable. Fuck everything. She peeled off her T-shirt and jumper in one go and flung them on the floor and furiously yanked down her jeans, quite a feat as the beggars had glued themselves to her legs, and hurled them on the floor at Devon’s feet.
His eyes widened and he had that oh-shit-what-have-I-got-myself-into-here-look, which gave her a smart slap of satisfaction. See how you like being discombobulated, Mr I-have-all-the-answers.
In bra and knickers, both decorated with pondweed, her skin red and chafed, she stormed across the hallway, her dramatic hauteur somewhat spoilt by the squelching of her soggy socks which left puddles in her wake.
Stomping up the stairs, she wheeled into her bedroom, slamming the door for good measure.
That was it. She’d made up her mind. She was going back to London as soon as she could pack her bags.