Chapter Thirty-Three
Martyn half-regretted agreeing that Ru could upload files for him. It wasn’t that he minded Ru lounging on the sofa and gazing beadily at the laptop screen as blue lines grew and shrank to reflect progress. It was just that, however tedious he generally found it, tonight he actually could have used something to focus on.
He would have bought the iPad he’d fancied if he’d thought about Ru hogging his laptop and his password book, preventing him from working on anything else or even checking his bank account or posting on Twitter or Facebook.
He tried to read, but all he could see in front of his eyes was Honor’s face, in Saltdean Park, when he’d explained to her what kind of a (sanctimonious? up himself?) guy he was. And how, having enjoyed (some of the hottest ever) sex with her, he was leaving her to scrub away her troubles until she was shiny clean enough for him.
He’d been crap at volleyball, staring blankly as the ball boinged past him. Jamie had asked him if he was hungover or getting the flu. But he was feeling worse than that. All the hurt and anger that had sustained him during the past few days had flickered and died as, from his customary post at the back of the court, he’d watched Honor climb to her feet and trail away across the grass.
He’d hadn’t quite anticipated the huge sense of loss.
That slow sinking feeling that told him he’d just fucked up had stayed with him for the rest of the day. An hour ago, he’d sent her a text. Can we talk? x
And she hadn’t replied, which probably was what he deserved. Turning to the television, he flicked through the satellite channels, from the nature channels to Fashion TV to movies, with zero interest. Noticing that Ru’s gaze had flown to the screen like a starving child outside a sweet shop, he tossed over the remote. ‘You choose.’ Leaving Ru flicking blissfully to South Park, he prowled into the kitchen, switching on the coffee machine, gazing into the fridge without interest.
A knock on his front door. He let the fridge swing shut. He supposed it would be Clarissa; she didn’t take any classes on Sundays and was prone to turning up. He truly hadn’t expected it to be Honor waiting at the top of the metal stairs, a bright red suitcase in one hand, her hair falling half-free of the band that was meant to secure it behind her head. He stared blankly, baked to the spot by a hot rush of pleasure and want.
‘Hi,’ she quavered. ‘Can I just—?’ Her lower lip — her beautiful lower lip — trembled and she bit down, ducking her head. ‘I—’ she tried again, but the rest of the words were strangled into a kind of unintelligible song.
‘Sorry, I’ll—!’ With a hiccup, she spun on her heel, she and the suitcase teetering dangerously.
His hand snaked out and fastened on her elbow. ‘Come here !’ And in a moment the door was shut and Honor was this side of it, shaking with sobs, clinging, trembling, her suitcase on its side on the floor. Holding her tightly, he murmured, ‘It’s OK. It’ll be OK,’ kissing the top of her head and quashing his instinct to batter her with, ‘What’s wrong? Who did it?’ questions.
‘I’m sorry,’ she gulped. ‘I shouldn’t have come. You’ve got a strong view on my situation and I respect that. I just — When I got your text—’ Her fingers gripped his shirt, her words squirting out between gulps and sniffs and gasps. ‘Stef broke into the bung-bungalow and he’s moved his stuff in . . . and won’t leeeee-eave . He was hate-hateful.’
Breathing in the fresh air that she’d brought in with her, he let her cry. Holding her was delicious, even with her heart pattering against him like a trapped bird and her tears soaking slowly into his shirt.
Finally, her head rolled and her shoulders bunched and fell on a huge sigh. ‘I should-shouldn’t have come to you, putting you in a situation where you’ll go all English and sacrifice your principles by not sending me to find a room somewhere. I’d better go.’ Her arms slackened, as if she truly did think that she was going to disengage herself and leave.
Yeah, right. His own arms tightened like wire. ‘Listen,’ he murmured. ‘Can you hear that?’
She tried to swallow her tears to listen, tilting her head. ‘What?’
He laid his cheek against her hair. ‘It’s the sound of my “principles” getting counselling. They’ve just reached the bit where they’re having to face the fact that they’re not principles, but jealousy.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I truly respect the kind of guy you are—’
‘I’m the kind that needs to review his loyalties. I’ve been sitting here feeling like the King of all the Dumbasses for my possessive reaction when Stef turned up. I hung my anger on the truth about Robina because it was easier than admitting that I want to rewrite your history and erase Stef from it. I’m sorry. I’ve got over myself, now, and I know we have to cope with reality, not wishes.’
She gave a watery gasp. Her cheek was turned against his chest, her head tucked comfortably beneath his chin. ‘But I do have way too much reality. It’s pretty challenging.’ She sniffed. ‘I don’t know what to do about Stef squatting in the bungalow for free when I’m paying good rent. I don’t even know how he got in. I came home and found him sitting there with a big grin, and when I told him to leave he said, “No way, babe! I’m here so we can work things out.” And all the time I was packing he kept saying it didn’t matter how many times I left him, I should face the fact that he wasn’t just going to go away.
‘I had no clue about British law, whether I should call the cops or get a lawyer. I just knew I didn’t want to spend the night with him.’
He sighed inside, seeing the inevitability of it leading to Clarissa’s involvement and her very probably blaming him. ‘I suppose Clarissa needs to know, first.’
‘I didn’t even think of that.’ She sounded mortified. ‘I panicked, I guess. Yes, I’ll call Clarissa.’ She fished in her pocket, as well as she could whilst still hugged close against his body, as if to make the call right there and then.
Finally, he told his arms that they could safely slacken; that Honor was OK and he had her safe. Kissing her head, he tugged the band gently from the half of her ponytail it was still clinging to, combing out her hair with his fingers and smoothing it behind her ears, down on to her shoulders, letting it run like threads of silk against his skin. ‘Take it easy on yourself, you don’t have to do it right now. I’ll speak to her for you, tomorrow. Have you eaten?’
‘Not since lunch.’
‘You need something, then. Ru’s here.’
‘Ru?’ She scrubbed at her face with her cuff. ‘Oh hi, Ru,’ she called, sheepishly, peeping around Martyn to where Ru was still slouched on the sofa at the far end of the apartment.
‘Do you want me to go?’ Ru sounded stiff and excluded.
‘No, stay and eat,’ Martyn said, easily. ‘Cheer Honor up while I organise food.’ Occupying himself with plates, bread and a big tub of his favourite Marks & Spencer pasta salad, he watched Honor trudge across the carpet and drop like a stone on to the sofa beside Ru, giving him a spontaneous hug. ‘I left my husband. Turns out he didn’t want to be left. He showed up.’
Ru’s eyes grew round. ‘You’ve got a husband? An American guy came in the Teapot and I wondered if he was anything to do with you. He was talking with Mum for ages.’
‘Ohhhhhh shit. That sounds bad.’ Honor dropped her head against the sofa back and gave a sigh from right inside her soul. ‘Ru. There’s something I’ve got to tell you because I want you to hear it from me. It will probably be a shock.’