Chapter 28
Bristol
The next morning Disa was thinking about the funeral while unloading the dishwasher when the doorbell went. Since it was ten thirty and she was expecting a parcel, she made her way to the front door.
Except it wasn’t Jonathan, her regular chatty postman. It was a woman she’d never met before in person.
But recognised at once.
‘I know I told Molly I’d be here to pick her up at midday,’ said Yvette. ‘But I’m early.’
Disa’s mouth was dry. She tried to swallow without it being obvious. ‘Molly isn’t here. She’s gone over to Fen’s.’
‘I know. I called her. I’ve been sitting in my car for the last twenty minutes plucking up the courage to come and see you.
’ Yvette paused, took a breath. ‘And if you want to shut the door in my face, you can. But I wanted to apologise for doing what I did, and also to thank you for everything you’ve done for Molly. ’
Disa took in every detail of in-person Yvette, from her short light brown hair and topaz eyes to her slender frame and tanned limbs.
She was wearing a simple pale green sundress, creased from where she’d been sitting in the car on the drive down from Birmingham.
One blue bra strap was visible. On her feet were cream leather ballet slippers, and her perfume was light and citrusy.
This was the woman Declan had loved and lied about for years.
She and Disa were pretty much the same age.
There was a chunky necklace of tawny wooden beads around her neck, the kind that Disa would never choose to wear, but other than that, their overall sense of style wasn’t dissimilar.
Disa moved to the left and gestured for her erstwhile rival to follow her inside. ‘I was going to invite you in anyway when you arrived to collect Molly.’
‘You were?’ Yvette’s relief was palpable.
‘It doesn’t do to hate people when it’s too late to change what happened. And I’m too old now to hold on to grudges.’
In the kitchen, Disa made coffee from the fancy machine she didn’t always bother with, then led the way out to the back garden. They sat across from each other at the glass-topped table on cushioned wicker chairs.
‘Thank you,’ said Yvette. ‘For everything. Molly told me you were wonderful.’ She paused. ‘Declan told me that, too.’
‘I suppose it’s better than being called an old harridan.’
‘He never had a bad word to say about you.’ She took another audible breath. ‘He loved you so much. You were his number one, his first choice. I was always the runner-up.’
‘He loved you too,’ said Disa.
‘But just that bit less.’
‘Well, I’m glad you had real feelings for each other. Better than if he’d slept with other women for fun.’
‘You must have been devastated when he died.’
An emerald dragonfly from next door’s pond landed on the table between them, its transparent wings shimmering in the sunlight. For a crazy moment Disa wondered if it was Declan, reincarnated and here to beadily observe the meeting between the two women from his past life.
‘I was devastated then, and when I first found out about you.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Yvette. ‘If it helps at all, I hated being the other woman.’
Should she say it? Or keep it to herself? The dragonfly shifted position but didn’t fly away. Its body suddenly reminded Disa of the time in Thailand that she’d bought Declan a shirt in that exact shade of iridescent blue-green.
Is it you?
The wings quivered for a moment, as if giving a silent signal. Did that mean yes? Good enough.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I got my own back.’
Yvette looked bemused. ‘Meaning?’
‘I had a fling of my own.’
Are you listening, Declan? Do dragonflies even have ears? I really hope so.
‘You did?’ Yvette’s topaz eyes widened.
‘Oh yes. And I did it on purpose, to make myself feel better.’
‘Did it work?’
‘Absolutely. I felt . . . powerful. He was a very attractive man.’
‘You’re an attractive woman.’
‘Thank you. But your confidence does take a dip when you know the man you love has been involved with someone else. Anyway,’ Disa continued, ‘I met him through work. He came into the office, wanting us to value his house and put it on the market. I volunteered to carry out the valuation. By the end of that visit, we knew we liked each other, and he invited me out to dinner. It was a few months after I’d found out what Declan had been getting up to behind my back.
When I’d had invitations from men before, I’d always turned them down.
This time I realised I didn’t want to say no.
But professionally it would have been wrong, so I had to explain that I couldn’t see him if our company was selling his house. ’
‘What happened?’ Yvette was leaning forward now, fully invested.
‘He told me he’d use a different estate agency. And then he kissed me. Right there in his sitting room.’ Disa smiled at the memory. ‘Basically, I lost out on the sale, but I won the man.’
Yvette clapped her hands. ‘My God, this is amazing! And how long did it last?’
‘Ten weeks.’ Ten magical weeks.
‘Is that all? Why?’
‘It was only ever going to be that long. The reason he was selling his house in Bristol was because he was moving to Spain. Knowing we had that time limit made it all the more magical. And when he left, it meant I could give myself fully to Declan again, but this time feeling more equal to him, not to mention better about myself. And he never knew.’
‘So you didn’t ever meet up with the other guy again?’
‘Never.’
‘You didn’t try and find him online after Declan died?’
Disa shook her head. ‘After Declan died, the only man I wanted was Declan.’ As she said it, the dragonfly took flight and zipped off in a blur of wings like a tiny flying saucer, swooping over the hedge and into her neighbours’ garden.
At the same moment, they heard the sound of the front door opening, signalling Molly and Fen’s arrival.
‘I’d prefer it if the girls didn’t know about this. ’
‘I won’t breathe a word.’
‘And just so you know, there was no sleeping together. Plenty of kissing and very much wanting to.’ Disa’s tone was rueful. ‘But at the time, I couldn’t quite bring myself to take that last step.’
‘Bet you regretted it after he’d gone.’ Yvette’s eyes were bright with sympathy.
This was the woman who’d caused her so much unhappiness in the past. But now Disa could see how irresistible she’d been to Declan. Yvette was warm-hearted and principled in her own way. And Disa liked her too.
She looked at her and said, ‘Damn right I did.’
Later that evening, alone in the house and with the TV failing to hold her attention, Disa found her thoughts sliding back to that time all those years ago.
Had what she’d done really been so terrible?
Back then, it had cheered her up no end.
The memory of that first meeting with Marcus Rochester was as crystal clear in her mind as if it had happened yesterday.
She’d been arranging the property brochures in the estate agent’s window when she’d looked up and seen him smiling at her through the glass.
And she’d smiled back, because it was a big part of her job to be nice to potential clients.
The next moment, when he’d pushed open the door to the office and said hello, her heart had begun to beat faster, almost as if it knew before she did that this was no run-of-the-mill client.
He was tall, he wore a well-cut navy suit and he gazed at her as if she were the woman he’d dreamt of meeting his whole life.
Disa could still remember the scent of his aftershave and the exact way he’d looked at her as she had taken down his details.
The attraction had been both instantaneous and mutual, but she had a husband, albeit an unfaithful one, so her reaction had remained entirely professional.
Well, at least for the next thirty hours.
Oh, but the ten weeks that followed had been like living in a dream.
It had actually made her understand why Declan had been unable to resist the chemistry that had drawn him to Yvette.
But she had resisted the temptation to sleep with Marcus, and to his credit he had accepted that decision, hadn’t tried to persuade her to change her mind.
Although sometimes, in retrospect, she kind of wished he had.
Like now. Disa looked at her phone on the coffee table and briefly considered googling his name again. But no, she’d seen everything she’d needed to see the last time she’d given in to that particular temptation.
The last thing she needed was to have her secret hopes dashed all over again.
Fen had once read an observation made about grief: that when you were at home, all you wanted was to be out somewhere. And when you were out, you wished you could be back at home.
Well, it was true. The last few weeks since the funeral had proved it.
Wherever she was, she wished she could be somewhere else, feeling less uncomfortable and perpetually out of place.
People had sent sympathy cards and emails, and they’d been lovely to read but couldn’t reduce the loss.
She’d received a thoughtful letter from Hattie, who’d also been on the ship back in May and had witnessed her and Leon falling in love.
Her friend Kayla, who’d had a fling with a gondolier at the time, was – to everyone’s amazement – still seeing him, although apparently no one expected it to last. Hattie explained that she hadn’t known Fen’s address, but had sent Jamie a message on Instagram in the hope that he’d see it, and he’d given it to her; she hoped this was all right.
Which it was, of course, although Fen was no longer replying to the messages Jamie sent her.
It was easier; they led entirely different lives and had no reason to pretend to remain friends.
The other week she’d accidentally come across a clip online of Sadie looking impossibly glamorous in slinky racing-green silk, being interviewed on the red carpet at some film premiere or other.
‘Jamie couldn’t make it this evening,’ she told the female interviewer, ‘otherwise he’d be with me. I’m here all on my own tonight!’
Hmm, I know the feeling.
‘But everything’s still going well with you two, is it?’ The interviewer giggled. ‘Because if it isn’t, you can always send him my way!’
‘Not a chance!’ Sadie laughed. ‘You know, it feels as though it’s all thanks to his friend Leon that we’re a couple now.’ She pressed her hand to her chest and looked suitably serious. ‘As if he deliberately brought us together.’
The clip was so annoying that Fen had watched it over and over, hating it more each time.
But this evening she was steering clear of social media and scrolling through online holiday brochures instead. Looking at the bright, inviting photos, she attempted to visualise herself in any of the settings: Paris . . . Copenhagen . . . Vienna . . . Sicily . . . Malta . . .
Her phone rang. She hesitated, then saw it was her best friend, in Amsterdam, and picked up without even bothering to push her fingers through her uncombed bedhead.
Tonia said, ‘Wow, you’re looking amazing. Off out somewhere special?’
‘It’s your own fault for making me take a video call.’ Smiling, Fen brushed the biscuit crumbs off her pyjama top and realised for the first time that it was buttoned up wrongly. ‘Anyway, enough about you. Show me the baby.’
Tonia swung the camera down to focus on her daughter Sonja, six weeks old, fast asleep in her Moses basket and looking more angelic than ever.
Her heart melting, Fen said, ‘I’ve never met her, but I already love her.’
‘You need to meet her,’ said Tonia, as she did during each of their calls. ‘Come on over, Fen. Stay with us. Keep me company while I change hundreds of nappies and lactate like a Friesian cow.’
Fen was tempted, as she was every time, but still reluctant to inflict herself and her current sadness on a happy family whose mood she could only bring down.
Her friends might be pretending to want to see her, but what if she ended up losing them because she was such dull company?
It was the reason she was rejecting every well-meaning invitation and keeping herself to herself.
‘Please,’ Tonia added. ‘This is me asking nicely.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You could if you wanted to.’
‘You wouldn’t want me to.’ Fen sighed. ‘Maybe later in the year.’
‘OK, time for me to be stern and bossy now.’ Tonia gave her a stern and bossy look.
‘My daughter is never going to be six weeks old again. The longer you put it off, the more you’re going to miss.
We don’t care if you’re sad. It’s allowed.
You can have the top-floor bedroom, and if you find you can’t stand the sight of us, you’re free to spend as much time as you want up there, or out on your own.
But please, please, please come and see Sonja, even if it’s only for a couple of days.
Because if you don’t, it means we’re all going to have to fly over and land ourselves on you.
And I’m sure you’d hate that even more.’
Fen looked at the TV, paused halfway through an episode of Friends she knew practically off by heart, then at the half-full packet of custard creams on the coffee table.
Why had she bought them when she didn’t even much like custard creams?
Then she glanced up at the swaying cobweb on the ceiling that had been there for over a month because she couldn’t be bothered to stand on a chair and get it down.
‘One more thing,’ said Tonia. ‘I know I didn’t get the chance to meet Leon in person, only on FaceTime, but from what you’ve told me about him, I bet he’d want you to buy a ticket and get on the plane.’
‘That’s a low blow.’
‘Sorry. That’s how desperate I am.’
Fen hesitated. Was she going to do it?
‘What’s that?’ Cupping a hand behind her ear, Tonia bent over the Moses basket. ‘You think Auntie Fenna doesn’t love you after all? In fact you’re starting to think she hates you? Sweetheart, don’t cry.’
‘This is an even lower blow.’ Fen shook her head. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘And you should know by now, I have no shame.’ Tonia flashed her an innocent smile. ‘Let me know when you’re due to land and we’ll meet you at the airport.’
‘Thanks.’ She’d known it would have to happen eventually.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Tonia’s voice softened. ‘And Fen? He’d be proud of you.’