Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
Sophie woke up with the full hangover horrors. The raging thirst, the banging headache, the hungry nausea – or was it nauseous hunger? – and the shame memories of her own behaviour. She had flirted with Charlie, shamelessly. In front of them all. She put her hands over her face, wanting it to go away.
And she knew the truth. If the opportunity had arisen, she would have kissed him. She’d thought he was an attractive man from the first time she’d met him, then that mad eyeliner had just flicked some kind of crazy throwback switch in her. He and Cicely were staying at Agata’s and there had been a moment when she’d seriously considered asking him to sneak away and stay with her.
She hadn’t, but after even thinking it, how was she going to act normally when she next saw him? It was so embarrassing.
She sat up – aaaarggggh, too quick – and reached for her phone. There was only one thing to do. She had to see him again, as soon as possible. They were adults, they needed to meet with other people around, behave normally, possibly acknowledge the flirtation as a great joke and move on.
She texted Cicely: Morning! Come for breakfast. I’ve got a full English ready to go in the fridge. Please invite Agata too .
Cicely texted back almost immediately saying they’d love to.
Fifteen minutes later, Sophie, Tamar and Yewande were hard at it in the kitchen. Tamar was frying eggs in one pan, bacon in another and black pudding in a third while keeping an eye on the mushrooms, which were under the grill. Sophie was cutting bread, getting plates, cutlery and sauces out, and giving the sausages in the oven an occasional shake. Yewande was self-appointed barista and tea maker.
‘Do you think we should fry the bread?’ said Sophie.
‘Definitely,’ said Tamar. ‘I want fried bread, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Sophie, necking the espresso Yewande had just put in front of her. ‘My fried brain needs fried bread.’ She gave the sausages another shake and, still steadying herself after standing up too quickly from looking in the oven, jumped when she heard a knock on the door.
‘I’ll get it,’ she said, abandoning the metal spatula she was holding into the sink with a clatter. She needed to see Charlie for the first time after last night’s shenanigans on her terms and in an active role. Not standing passively in the kitchen like a dope when he walked in.
‘Hi,’ she said, way too brightly, opening the door to see only Cicely standing there. Going on with her overly jolly tone, she gave her a hug, saying, ‘Come in, come in, we’re in the kitchen. How do you feel? I feel terrible. Haven’t had a hangover like this for years. Did I smoke? That’s how bad it feels.’
Cicely laughed. ‘I don’t remember you smoking, but from a certain point last night, everything is a blur.’
That’s good , thought Sophie, leading Cicely into the kitchen and hoping that point had occurred sometime before the goulash course.
‘Agata thanks you for the invitation, but says she doesn’t eat in the morning. And Charlie will be here in a minute. He was having a bit of trouble knowing how to walk, put trousers on, that kind of thing.’
‘That bad, huh?’ said Sophie, laughing and trying to determine if Cicely was looking at her a bit beadily. It was hard to tell, the hangover seemed to be affecting every aspect of her mental capacities.
Yewande was asking Cicely what she wanted to drink, when there was another knock on the door. Sophie ran out of the kitchen to answer it again. Too fast, way too fast.
Charlie was standing there, which she knew he would be, but somehow the sight of him still took her by surprise. He was wearing the blue velvet trousers but with a moth-eaten sweater. Most of the eyeliner was still round his eyes.
Sophie felt her face break into a grin. The combination was adorable.
‘Morning, Sophie,’ he said, smiling and squinting at the same time.
She felt a bit weak and wasn’t sure if it was all the hangover.
‘Morning, Adam Ant, the older,’ she said and went to give him the same welcome-friend hug she’d given Cicely, but it didn’t go quite like that.
Charlie put his arms round her – and they were big, strong, male arms. The sort of arms that drive tractors, chop firewood and save lambs from burning buildings. He wrapped them round her and held her, close.
And then instead of the breezy social peck she was expecting, he planted his lips firmly on her right cheek and left them there for a lingering moment, before pulling slowly away.
Sophie swallowed. ‘Come in,’ she said, croakily. ‘We’re eating in the kitchen.’
‘I forgot to pack any other trousers,’ Charlie said, as they walked through the hall. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Don’t apologise. I love your pulling pants –’ it just seemed right to get it all out in the open now, as he kind of had with that embrace ‘– and I’m glad you’re still working the eye makeup look too.’
‘Can’t get the bastard stuff off,’ he said, smiling. ‘And I don’t really want to. Morning, Tamar, Yewande,’ he called out, as they walked into the kitchen. ‘Are you two as hungover as this very old person?’
‘I’ve felt better,’ said Tamar, sliding eight fried eggs onto a warmed plate and putting it on the countertop.
‘Oh, sweet holy heaven,’ said Charlie, gazing down at it all. ‘Fried bread. Black pudding. Mushrooms. Am I dreaming?’
‘Hold on,’ said Tamar, ‘we haven’t done any tomatoes. I’ll just pop some on. I like a fried tomato with my full English.’
‘Help yourself,’ said Sophie, passing plates to Cicely and Charlie.
‘What hot beverages would you like?’ asked Yewande.
They chatted easily as they ate, remembering funny moments from the night before and recalling great hangovers of their lives. Charlie had just gone back to what he was calling ‘the break-fast-boo-fay’ for a third go when Beau came into the dining room.
‘Hi, everyone. Morning, Mumsk,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Now this is what I call breakfast.’
Charlie agreed and there was easy chat while he and Cicely finished their second coffees and the meal drew to a natural close.
Sophie saw them off at the door and turned back into the hall, feeling relieved by how easy it had all been in the end. The flirting had just been some jokey banter after a lot of strong booze in silly clothes and she didn’t need to fret about it. Their friendship would be stronger for it, not spoiled.
Then there was a gentle knock at the door. She opened it to see Charlie standing there again. He reached for her hand to indicate she should come outside, then pulled the door to, behind her.
‘I don’t want that lot earwigging the old people,’ he said, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen.
Sophie looked at him. The eyeliner. It still got her.
‘Will you have lunch with me?’ he asked, quietly. ‘Just us. It’s great when we all get together like this, but I’d love to see you alone.’
Sophie nodded. ‘I’d love that,’ she said. And she meant it.
‘Just one thing,’ he said, looking at the ground. ‘I hope I didn’t come on too strong last night. The pulling suit and the eye makeup... I got a bit carried away.’
‘Not at all,’ said Sophie. ‘I liked it. It was all part of the fun.’
‘I look forward to lunch then,’ said Charlie, and as he kissed her on the cheek, he squeezed her upper arm.
Sophie stood at the door watching him go, and he turned back to wave at her. Winking.
The kids said they’d clear up the kitchen, so Sophie made herself a pot of tea and took it back to bed. Autumn sun was streaming in through the window and she just wanted some quiet time, happy knowing the young ones were in the house.
She’d brought the Sunday papers up with her and was flicking through them rather carelessly. Her thoughts kept returning to Charlie in his eyeliner and the way he had squeezed her arm. That sexy wink.
She realised she was feeling stirrings that she hadn’t had for a long time. Not since Matt died – and when she thought about it, for quite a while even before. Their sex life, once so great, had really tailed off in the years before his accident. She’d just assumed it was their age and the stage of their relationship – thirty years was a long time – but now she forced herself to accept why that had happened. Matt had been servicing his needs elsewhere.
Thinking about that broke her contented mood and she decided it was time to get up and get on with things. She’d throw herself into some boring admin she’d been neglecting while she and Tamar had worked on the book.
As she got up off the bed, the papers slid onto the floor and one of the colour supplements fell out. Sophie froze.
There on the cover was that face again – Gillette. Looking out with a mysterious half smile, a hand bearing a huge ring in the shape of an eye resting on one shoulder, the coverline bold across the bottom: Jeweller to the stars, Juliet Mylan, on why she chooses to be a single mother.
Sophie stared at it. She had kids?
Sitting down heavily on the bed, Sophie flicked through the pages. When she found the article, her hand went up to her mouth as she let out a kind of strangled cry.
Juliet was standing in a glamorous kitchen with a little girl on her hip. The child had a mess of black curly hair and she was laughing, her whole face creased up with joyful mirth.
She was the image of Matt.
For a few heartbeats, Sophie just stared at the picture, not believing her eyes, then she forced herself to read the beginning of the article.
The little girl’s name was Cassady. One of Matt’s precious Beat heroes was Neal Cassady. He’d considered the name for Jack but had then gone for Jack Kerouac Crommelin. Sophie had insisted on Beau for their first born. One time she’d got her way.
She didn’t read any further. With the way the child looked and that name, she didn’t need any more proof. Before they’d even run away and set up home together, her husband had had a child with this woman – and it was a girl.
What a commotion that would cause in the Crommelin clan! Finally a girl, but how they would ever know? Sophie certainly wasn’t going to tell them.
Then her hands flew up to her face again as the full impact of the situation hit her. Her sons had a half-sister. Did she have some kind of ghastly moral imperative to tell them? She was pretty certain she did.
This little girl was the boys’ next closest relative after her and each other – and when she grew up, she would most likely come looking for them. It was so easy now with those DNA tests.
Sophie closed her eyes. Just when she was starting to feel like she was making a new life for herself – this. It was too much.
She forced herself to pick up the magazine again. She had to read that bloody article, to find out what other horrors might be lurking in it. Right away, there it was: ‘at the time of writing’, Gillette had been nine months pregnant with her second baby.
Sophie didn’t even need to do the maths to work out the timing, she knew exactly how long it was since Matt had died. It couldn’t have happened long before the accident, but it was definitely possible.
She was still letting that knowledge sink in when she reached the part about using a sperm donor – the same one for both babies.
Sophie looked at the page in disbelief. Was that all Matt had been to this ghastly woman? A turkey baster? Sophie felt pure outrage, for Matt as much as herself, but then it occurred to her that it might have been his idea. An art project. She wouldn’t have put it past him.
But that couldn’t be right, because he’d told her he was going to leave her to start a new life with someone called Juliet. And this was definitely the woman from the funeral who had said she was called Juliet – and here she was holding a little girl who was the image of Matt. She’d said it was the same ‘sperm donor’. They were both his children.
Then Sophie remembered that thing Juliet had said to Rey at the wake. That she wanted Sophie to know ‘it’s not what it seems’. What wasn’t?
Sophie felt as though her head was going to explode, because she knew there was no getting out of it. One day she was going to have to face up to this, to find out the truth, so she could tell the boys.
Now she knew this awful truth, for the sake of her boys she was going to have to go and see this woman in her stupid shop. Just... not yet. It would happen, but she needed to feel much stronger first.
She picked up the magazine again, stared at Juliet’s face before tearing off the cover, pulling out all the pages of the article and ripping them into tiny shreds.