Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
I couldn’t get out of work quick enough, it was becoming a bad habit on a Friday afternoon, but I was beyond excited to have John on my turf.
The day had dragged. I checked the clock fifteen thousand times, much to the annoyance of poor Helen, my nurse for the day.
She had to put up with my impatient huffing and puffing.
Eventually I finished, fled and parked up my little BMW on one of Winchester’s backstreets, where I could abandon it for the entire weekend, if necessary.
I left my little red case in the boot for now, having booked us into the hotel round the corner for two nights for a bit of privacy away from my usual lodgings at Ruth’s house.
Straightening my black dress, I flung a cream-coloured scarf loosely round my neck, grabbed my handbag, and crossed the street into one our local haunts, a pub called The Bishop on The Bridge.
The name spoke for itself; a beautiful spot with a beer garden overlooking the river.
Inside, it was spacious and bright; one of the nicer pubs we frequented.
I pushed the door open, spotting John right away.
He sat in the corner, with a bottle of Heineken, flicking through the local newspaper.
I took a minute to admire him, drinking in that red hair, pale skin, and beautiful blue eyes.
He dressed casually in a navy pullover, jeans and Timberland boots.
The all too familiar butterflies partied in my stomach, and my heart raced in his presence.
He glanced up, sensing he was being watched and I couldn’t prevent the grin that ambushed my face. It was surreal to see him here, in one of my favourite haunts. I’d wanted to show him off for so long.
‘How are you, gorgeous?’ He stood to greet me and I literally flung myself at him without any shame.
‘It’s great to have you this side of the water.’ I kissed him fully on the mouth with zero concern for my recently applied Mac.
‘Easy, girl.’ He winked at me and squeezed my butt. ‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘Sit down, I’ll get you one.’ It was the least I could do when he’d come all this way.
‘Don’t be daft.’ He ushered me into the seat next to his. ‘Prosecco?’
‘Thank you.’
He returned swiftly from the bar, with another drink for himself as well.
‘What kind of pub is this you sent me to? No Guinness or Heineken on draft. Your man behind the bar tried to flog me some home brewed local shite, but I can’t say it sounded particularly appealing.’
‘How was your journey?’ I snuggled in, enjoying the warmth of him, and the smell of him, fully able to appreciate his accent again this side of the water.
‘Don’t get me started on that.’ A crease formed on his forehead as he remembered. ‘I honestly don’t know how you do it every week. It was an eyeopener.’
‘That bad?’ It had become so routine for me. I’d learnt to get on with it. Organisation was key, and I was grateful to be able to do it.
‘Three feckin’ changes on the train. And each one more wedged than the previous.
Sardines in a tin, literally. A total invasion of privacy.
There were mums trying to shove buggies in crevices that they really shouldn’t have.
People pushed against my front, back and side.
It was wall to wall; the smell was rancid and the humidity from all of those jostling bodies was disgusting. I thought I might vomit at one point.’
I tried to stifle a giggle.
‘How do people live like that?’ he asked disdainfully.
‘They know no other way,’ I said simply. ‘If your commute is like that every day, you get used to it; grateful if the train arrives on time, grateful for that tiny space because all you want to do is get where you have to be.’
It was good for him to experience the flipside of the coin. He was spoilt where he lived in a lot of ways.
‘Anyway, who are we meeting?’ He changed the subject.
The pub was filling up. It was almost six o’clock, and the offices were emptying for the weekend. Young professionals loitered at the bar, ready to let their hair down after a busy week at work.
‘Clara, who you met at the hen, of course. Ruth who I live with, and Katie, one of my best friends from college.’
‘Great.’ A sarcasm echoed in his tone. ‘I’m sure they’re going to make mincemeat out of me after your resignation last week.’
‘They just want to see what all the fuss is about. They couldn’t let me swan off with a stranger without giving you a bit of grilling.
’ I was excited at the prospect of my friends getting to know the man that had completely and utterly stolen my heart, in a manner that none of us ever dreamt possible, least of all me.
‘It’ll be fun.’ I took a mouthful of prosecco before adding, ‘wait until my mother gets hold of you tomorrow.’
I thought I saw him swallow hard, but I was distracted by the noisy arrival of the girls.
‘Hello,’ Clara said, hugging John with a giggle, ‘I can honestly say I didn’t expect to see you again, but stranger things have happened.’
‘Not to me they haven’t.’ He took the piss out of himself in his usual manner. ‘I dread the day she gets those eyes tested.’ There was a couple of seconds’ delay as the girls processed his accent and translated into something comprehendible, before they dissolved into pealing laughter.
‘I’m Katie,’ she said, kissing my boyfriend on the cheek.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said warmly.
‘Watch this one,’ I warned him, mocking my college friend. ‘Morals of an ally-cat.’ I winked at her and we cracked up at our own ‘in’ joke.
‘Those days are long gone,’ she assured us, ‘I’ll have you know I’m the sensible one out of these mad bitches these days. Worse luck.’ John laughed along with us. He was swiftly receiving an accurate picture.
‘I’m Ruth,’ she extended her hand in a formal, accountant-like manner.
She was the last one to join our friendship group and subsequently a little bit more reserved.
John shook her hand politely, then generously went to the bar to buy the girls a drink, and give us a thirty second window to talk about him.
‘Swit swoo,’ Katie said, approvingly.
‘Best-looking ginger I’ve ever seen,’ said Ruth.
‘That accent, love. It’s enough on its own,’ Clara said.
‘Shh girls he’s coming back. Behave please. I’m begging you!’ I urged.
‘Where is Rachel? Is she not coming down for the weekend?’ Ruth asked, scanning the pub in dismay.
‘Sadly not,’ I told her, ‘she’s recovering from her surgery.’
‘Oh my goodness, is she okay?’ Ruth hadn’t been at Rhinefield House.
‘Oh, she’s perfectly fine. Delighted with herself, actually. She feels like a new woman. Literally,’ I said, pretending to honk Ruth’s bust as her eyebrows shot up in realisation. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the shock.
‘She did not?’ Ruth was flabbergasted.
‘She certainly did. We have the pictures to prove it.’ Katie pulled out her iPhone and began to scroll past three hundred pictures of her kids to find a photo of Rachel’s new boobs.
John put his hands to his head. ‘Oh Lord,’ he said, rolling his eyes to the sky.
‘I clearly didn’t think his weekend through.
’ He was only feigning embarrassment, being in his element surrounded entirely by women.
He grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed it tightly as he listened to the girls debating the logistics of Rachel’s boob job.
Katie was concerned if she would be able to breast feed one day, Clara wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep lying down again.
I listened quietly for once, enjoying the banter, delighted to have John here with me.
Three glasses of prosecco later, we decided it would be a great idea to bring John to the tapas restaurant. Thankfully, he had drank as much as us, if not more, and he’d need it to put up with the lot of us.
Katie had given him a detailed account of how she had only marginally avoided a caesarean section, but with hindsight she would have taken it had she realised what the episiotomy involved.
She didn’t hold back on the details, explaining to him how she shuddered every time she heard the word ‘vacuum’ ever since, even if it was in a completely different context from the cleaners in her work.
Ruth grilled him about his work and business. She could be a little blunt sometimes, unintentionally of course, but everything in her mathematically logistic mind was either black or white. In her mind, everything was a formula.
She liked to calculate how everything added up in the end.
Clara was quieter than usual. It was still sinking in that I was leaving. She referred to me as her work wife, and as we saw each other most days, she would be more affected day to day, by my absence.
As we piled into the tapas restaurant, even louder than usual thanks to the alcohol on empty tummies, she sat next to me at the table and took my hand loosely.
‘I can’t actually believe you’re really going to go.’ A sadness shone in her darkening eyes.
‘Neither can I. A couple of months ago I would have never dreamt it a possibility. But it feels right though, you know? For once in my life, I’m just going to go with it.’
She nodded, but I could see she wasn’t a hundred per cent with me.
‘We’ll do the Wednesday Wine Club on FaceTime,’ I promised.
‘It won’t be the same,’ she said, glumly. The gin and tonic had made her sombre.
‘You’re right, love. It won’t be the same. But it’s all we’ve got, so we will do it. And you can come to Ireland, you’ll absolutely love it, I promise. And I’ll come home all the time.’
Instead of reassuring her as I had intended, Clara looked more worried, almost borderline panicked. Her eyes flitted from Katie, to Ruth, to mine at a rapid rate. Something was wrong clearly, but my senses were dull from the Prosecco.
I noticed the problem, just as the problem noticed us.
Rob had arrived at the restaurant with a new woman in tow.
I hadn’t seen him or even spoken to him in weeks. He looked well, wearing jeans and a white shirt that someone had clearly ironed for him.
His date was pretty. I tried not to look, not because I cared.
I honestly felt nothing, not a single thing; I was completely indifferent to the situation, more concerned about Rob seeing me with John.
Although there were five of us at our table, he knew Clara’s fiancé, Ruth’s fiancé and Katie’s husband so that just left one anomaly.
Silence descended upon the girls, a silence John couldn’t miss.
I raised my glass of wine to Rob and his new woman. ‘Cheers,’ I mouthed across four tables.
In fairness, he looked as horrified and awkward as I felt. He nodded abruptly, lifted the menu up to half cover his face and began to talk animatedly to his date. He seemed to be holding a conversation with her – more than he’d ever done with me.
‘Awkward,’ Clara said. I winced, not wishing to draw further attention to the situation in front of John. The last thing I wanted was for him to think was that I cared.
‘Seriously girls, I don’t care. It’s actually a relief. I’m happy for them. It’s just a shame they’re in our restaurant.’ I grabbed John’s leg under the table, and he put his hand over mine, taking everything in, but not uttering a word.
I had lived with that man for seven years.
I knew how he liked his tea: black with half a sugar.
I’d been to America with him seven times, met every single member of his family on numerous occasions.
But looking at him across the restaurant, I felt absolutely and utterly zero emotion.
Did that make me a coldhearted bitch, or did it simply confirm the decision to part had been the right one? I didn’t know.
Rob left with the brunette immediately after eating, clearly as uncomfortable as me. He didn’t look our way again and left without acknowledgement. I breathed a sigh of relief, as John whispered in my ear, ‘Are you okay, girl?’
‘One hundred per cent okay, thanks,’ I reassured him. So much for the anonymity of the city. Skeletons lurked in every walk of life, apparently.
‘Phew,’ Katie said. ‘That was awkward.’
‘It is what it is.’ I was keen to sweep it under the carpet as soon as possible.
‘Who do you think the new squeeze is?’ Clara said, topping up my glass to the brim.
‘Who cares?’ I reminded them, and they took the hint. All attention returned to John, much to his despair. After the skinful of drinks, the girls weren’t even trying to be subtle in their interrogation anymore.
I cringed as Ruth asked John what his intentions for me were. He brushed her off skilfully, with his usual deflective humour making her laugh, distracting everyone as he had intended.
As we left the restaurant and bid the girls goodnight with multiple hugs, kisses and promises of texts when everyone got home, John took my hand and we walked slowly back to the hotel, via my car in order to collect our weekend bags.
The night was crisp, clear and cold. It was fabulous to be able to appreciate the glittering stars above us. My breath fogged in front of my face as I asked John what he thought of my friends.
‘By the way, just in case you wondered, that last question about my intentions…’ he began.
‘Sorry about that, Ruth’s just trying to look out for me.’
He cut me off before I could continue with a raise of his hand.
‘They are honourable, just so you know. Whenever you’re ready, that is…
’ He couldn’t quite meet my eye, but I fully understood what he was trying to say.
I was nowhere near ready to hear it yet, but giddy at the prospect sometime in the future.
As silly as it sounded, I actually liked the concept of being married in a lot of ways.
I loved the security of it, the tradition, the thought of our own family unit.
I was never one for blowing in the wind, one-night stands or messing around.
I could only imagine what heaven it would be, to be married to the right man.