Chapter Two
After Jen had left, I went to the sink. On autopilot, I washed the dirty cups and plates.
As I stood there, swishing soapsuds about, I gazed blankly through the window at the view beyond. My eyes took in the bleakness of the narrow country lane that ran alongside my cottage.
A thorny hedgerow bordered the road. In summer months, its thorny stems were loaded with blackberries. Now winter was just around the corner and the hedge was an exploding froth of Old Man’s Beard. On the other side of this rustic fence, grazing land stretched almost as far as the eye could see. A large group of shaggy cows were huddled together, as if silently communing.
I’d moved to Little Waterlow not long after the collapse of my marriage. Jen had lived in the village for the last couple of years. She’d urged me to bring Sally and live with her, kindly putting a roof over our heads while I’d sorted out my personal circumstances.
I’d been so grateful for the offer of this lifeline and taken Jen up on it. During this period, I’d overseen all manner of jobs to cover our keep and outgoings.
Despite experiencing the fallout of my disastrous marriage, Sally had somehow managed to pass her exams and secure a place at uni. She now lived away in halls.
And then – just down the road from Jen – a house had come up for rental. I’d leapt at the chance of leasing it. Much as I loved my mate, she needed her own space, as did I.
Catkin Cottage had been offered to the market for a six- month letting. It was the perfect stopgap as I continued to pick up the reins of my new life.
I’d already discovered that tittle-tattle was a national pastime in villages like this one. Rumour had it that Sophie Fairfax, the owner of Catkin Cottage, had fallen in love with another man while on her honeymoon. There was also some gossip about the man Sophie had been briefly married to. According to someone called Mabel Plaistow – an ancient pensioner who made other villager’s lives her subject of special interest – Sophie’s husband had been cheating all along with the wife of an old schoolfriend. Mabel had also shared chit-chat about the bridegroom having a false leg that had fallen off at a most inopportune moment.
I’d dismissed the stories. They were of no interest to me. I had enough of my own stuff to contend with. Nor did I want Mabel Plaistow getting wind of my personal life and spreading tall tales. After all, everyone has secrets. Some bigger than others. And my secret was a whopper.
I picked up the scourer and removed some lipstick from one of the cup’s rims. A secret was only a secret if you kept it to yourself. And up until now, I had. However, just like a nasty boil that needs lancing, this secret had started to reach epic proportions. If it ever erupted, there would be a ghastly mess. One that would be entirely of my own making.
If Jen found out, she’d probably whip off one of her size sevens and whack me over the head. If Sally ever got wind… well, it didn’t bear thinking about. And what of Ryan? That would be an altogether different scenario. Bye-bye Ryan. The end of a relationship before it had even properly begun.
My hands continued to whisk through the soapy water as memory after memory started to unfurl. The latter ones were far from happy. Thank goodness for Jen. She’d been such a rock. A shoulder to cry on. Due to her own failed marriage, she’d been sympathetic about mine. She’d understood my anguish.
Jen’s marriage had unravelled in the unhappiest of circumstances. A woman had unexpectedly turned up on Jen’s doorstep. The woman hadn’t been alone either. In her arms she’d cradled a bonny baby boy. A smiley-faced gurgling bundle. The stranger had coolly announced that Simon – Jen’s hubby – had been living a double life. The baby was his. Jen had been beside herself.
‘The BASTARD,’ she’d later shrieked. Her cheeks had been raw from crying so many salty tears. ‘It was awful discovering there was another woman, but discovering she’d had Simon’s child was the absolute pits.’
Despite numerous attempts to get pregnant throughout her marriage, Jen’s ovaries had refused to co-operate. There had been many fertility investigations. The results had concluded that nothing was wrong. There had then been several attempts at IVF. These had been both costly and unsuccessful.
For Jen, trying to get pregnant had been all-consuming. Eventually, it had taken its toll on her. For a little while, she’d understandably lost her marbles. It was during this period that Simon – nursing his own sorrows – had taken solace in another woman’s arms. This woman was younger than Jen, and seemingly more fertile than the local farmer’s fields.
Being careless with condoms had resulted in pregnancy. Simon, morally weak, but also terrified of Jen finding out, had instead tried to juggle things. This had led to him living a double life. For a while he’d succeeded – until the other woman had discreetly followed Simon home. Armed with her lover’s address, she’d later returned to spill the infidelity beans.
Just like Jen, my marriage had ended on my doorstep – except my visitor had been very different.