Always With Love (23 page)

I
might have enjoyed my night free of contact, but my stupidity hits me like a huge whack over the head when I wake up the following morning. At first I think the previous day’s events are fragmented parts of a twisted dream, but then I’m hit by the reality of one guy friend inappropriately kissing me, me acting like an idiot towards my boyfriend and then him insulting me and my family, causing me to hang up on him and kill all contact. Not great. In fact it’s quite a disaster on all fronts.

I reluctantly throw the covers off and get out of bed even though, for the first time in a while, I’d much rather curl up under my duvet and avoid everyone and everything. But there’s just too much on today to allow myself to be so self-indulgent, especially now I’m the boss.

On my way into work I turn my phone back on and head straight to Twitter and Instagram to see if Billy’s posted anything. Thankfully he hasn’t. I say thankfully because I’m glad he’s not been in the mood to share jolly selfies with the world when things are difficult between us, although the absence of an update on what he’s up to or how he’s feeling also makes me feel uncomfortable and sad. I’m regretting that I wasn’t able to just communicate with him and be honest. Maybe not about Peter, but certainly about other things that have been niggling away at me.

I’m about to disparagingly put my phone back in my pocket when it starts buzzing, with dozens of messages from Billy. Rather than read them I put my phone back in my pocket and decide to look at them when I can focus properly at home later. The lightness in my heart tells me that the mere sight of Billy’s name popping up is enough for now …

The morning is busy and chaotic, meaning I don’t have much time to dwell on yesterday. Instead, I let Rachel focus mostly on looking after the shop while I set about my mammoth baking session. Not only is there that rainbow birthday cake to make, but we also have a surprise baby shower booked for the following day for one of Rachel’s mummy friends, so it’s all systems go.

There’s something therapeutic about baking and being able to make something with your hands. All of your concentration is channelled into textures, tastes and decoration and after hours of work it’s lovely to be able to step back and see what you’ve created. It always leaves me feeling fulfilled and satisfied (unless I’ve had a disastrous experimental bake, of course).

I watch shows like
The Great British Bake Off
and I completely understand why it’s taken the nation by storm. It’s so rewarding. Plus, it doesn’t matter how I’m feeling or what’s going on in my life, I know a session in the kitchen will blank it all out and leave me feeling stress free for an hour or two.

Obviously, there’s the added bonus that afterwards you can sit down with your delicious creation and scoff the lot while actually thinking through your problems – if you
feel ready to face them by then, that is. Cake and tea are sure to cure most ills, after all.

I feel a lot calmer after a morning next to the oven, especially as the birthday cake turns out beautifully. I’m rather chuffed with myself when I watch Rachel leave to deliver it later in the afternoon once the sponge has been cooled and we’ve smothered it with buttercream icing and decorated it with heart- and star-shaped hundreds and thousands.

‘What did she think?’ I ask, as soon as Rachel returns with a bag full of shopping from Budgens.

‘Hmm?’ she says with a frown, looking distracted as she looks around the shop, which is empty now as it’s just before the mad after-school dash.

‘The cake? Was everything OK?’ I ask.

‘Oh yes, fine …’ she says, pulling out some Fairy liquid from the bag and placing it next to the sink, before going back to retrieve something else.

‘Are you all right?’ I ask. Rachel is never dismissive or vague and she’s acting entirely differently to how she was half an hour ago.

‘I wasn’t going to say anything because I know what this village is like for gossip,’ she says, blowing air through her lips. ‘But I think you should know what’s being said …’

‘What’s Billy done now?’ I ask, rolling my eyes at her and trying to keep the chat between us light, even though my heart feels like something has tightly clamped on to it.

‘Not Billy,’ she says, looking as though she’s debating whether to say any more or not before she looks up at me. ‘You.’

‘Me?’ I frown, my voice tellingly catching in my throat as I say it and unable to stay neutral. ‘What’s been said?’

‘Oh, I don’t want to repeat it,’ she says, rustling through the bag and trying to avoid the conversation she’s started.

‘You have to now,’ I say, placing my hand on top of the plastic carrier and forcing her to stop.

‘It wasn’t said to me and I’ve probably just overheard wrong,’ she says, looking extremely uncomfortable.

‘You can’t leave it like that,’ I say, feeling sick as I wait for her to tell me the inevitable. ‘You’ve started now so you might as well say it.’

‘It’s so silly. I know there’s absolutely no truth in it,’ she says, shaking her head as though she wishes she’d never brought it up. ‘But someone was saying they saw you kissing a man in the park.’

‘Who?’

‘They weren’t sure, but it obviously wasn’t Billy,’ she says, her eyes narrowing as she says it because I haven’t done the one thing I should have done and denied it straight away.

‘No, I mean, who said they saw it?’ I push.

‘Does it matter?’ she frowns.

‘I guess not,’ I say, knowing that anyone in the village would have felt like they’d hit gold seeing me in what must have looked like a lover’s embrace. Not only that, but anyone being told something like that about little old me (who they all think is so innocent) would be lapping it up and eager to pass it on to the next living thing they came into contact with – human, cat, dog, hamster. They wouldn’t be too fussy. Not with juicy gossip like this.

‘It’s not true, is it?’ Rachel asks slowly, her eyes
widening as she leans her hip on the counter and looks at me suspiciously.

‘No,’ I lie, feeling my ears burn and unable to remove the guilty look from my face. I’ve never been very good at lying.

‘It is, isn’t it,’ she states, looking shocked as her mouth slackens and she gawps at me.

‘Stop it,’ I tell her, not wanting to discuss it. I reach for the bag of shopping to take out a few items but Rachel stops me by snatching the bag away. It seems that if she’s not allowed to use the shopping as a distraction technique then neither am I.

‘I didn’t even want to bring it up, but you told me to,’ she says, defiantly dumping the bag behind her before looking back over at me and placing her hands on her hips.

‘I know, but …’ I start, wondering if I can afford to share what’s happened, or whether it’ll just add fuel to the fire to have the truth of the matter out there to be spread further. The more people who know Peter kissed me the less likely it is that things will simply return to normal. I just want the whole thing to go away.

‘So who was it?’ she asks, not letting go of the subject as she thinks through any possibilities. Let’s be clear, the only unattached male who’s walked into this shop lately is Peter, so her reluctance to jump to the obvious conclusion straight away implies she’s not ruling out the village’s married men, which is slightly horrifying.

‘No one,’ I reply, feeling hurt.

‘When did it happen?’

‘What, did the gossip monger fail to dish out vital pieces of information when they were whispering about me?’ I snipe.

‘Sophie!’ she says, stopping me.

Instead of questioning me further she goes to the front door and locks it, quickly flipping the sign round to closed while she’s there. It’s something I’m grateful for as I really don’t want anyone coming in and catching us having this conversation – although I’m sure the fact we’ve shut the shop will set tongues wagging if anyone notices.

‘Sorry …’ I puff when she’s back in front of me. I know none of this is Rachel’s fault and that she clearly thought she was just going to deliver a bit of idle gossip for us to laugh over. She hadn’t banked on it being true. ‘So is everyone talking about it?’

‘I only heard three people chatting about it, but I expect it’s doing the rounds,’ she says sorrowfully. ‘Although without a man in the frame to flesh the story out a bit and give it some weight I imagine it’s going to quickly die away.’

‘Or they’ll keep digging until they know more?’ I speculate, quashing her optimistic view.

‘I don’t think they’ll do that. They’ll move on to something else before too long,’ she says, her voice full of pity as she takes hold of my hand.

‘It’s horrible knowing people are talking about me,’ I admit.

There have been several times over the past couple of years when the tabloid press have picked up on a nugget of information about me or Billy and turned it into international news, but somehow, knowing that it’s the people I love and care for talking about me is worse. Although maybe that’s because the whole thing isn’t as innocent as I’d like it to be and I hate them thinking badly of me.

‘You don’t think anyone would go to the papers, do you?’ I ask with a sudden panic.

‘And say what?’ Rachel laughs. ‘They’ve got nothing to back anything up with. Besides, I don’t think that’s where anyone’s minds would go here.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ I say, feeling like something minor that should have already been erased from my mind has now turned into a whole crater of potential doom – a grenade waiting to be detonated.

‘It’s not a regular thing, though, is it? You’re not cheating on Billy?’

‘Of course not,’ I say, my voice shrill. ‘I wasn’t. Whoever saw what they saw didn’t see the whole picture.’

‘I don’t think they saw much but your bright red coat and a stranger’s arms wrapped around you.’

‘Well, if they’d spied a bit longer they’d have seen the guy in question getting pushed off and put in his place,’ I declare.

‘Oh …’

‘It was over before it began.’

‘Does Billy know?’ Rachel asks.

‘No … we’ve actually had a row, too,’ I admit, laughing into the palms of my hands as the ridiculousness of the whole situation hits me.

‘What about?’

‘Me not being able to go back over there. It all just escalated from nothing and stupid things were said.’

‘Right …’ she replies, pursing her lips at me. ‘You two are under such a lot of pressure. I can’t imagine what it must be like living so far apart like you are while continuing to be in a relationship. I’m not surprised you row. I’d
be so resentful of the situation all the time, I’d be giving Shane earache every time he bothered calling.’

‘That’s what I feel I’m being like,’ I say, thankful to her for making me feel like my reaction to the whole thing isn’t entirely pathetic.

‘But it’s not you and it’s not him,’ Rachel says calmly.

‘I just feel terrible because I pushed him into doing the film in the first place but now I’m the one with the problem,’ I say, feeling a wave of emotion wash over me as tears spring to my eyes.

‘I’m sure it’s not a walk in the park for him either,’ she says, putting her arm around me.

‘That’s what he says.’

‘Well then …’

‘It’s just not easy.’

‘You know, I don’t think any relationship worth having is ever easy,’ she ponders.

‘I agree. In fact I think I’ve used similar words before. We’re just in a particularly tough situation. I look at everyone else walking around the village in their little couples and I’m overwhelmed with this feeling of sadness.’

‘You forget that each of us only sees what we’re permitted to see – hence the old “what goes on behind closed doors” saying. Take me and Shane,’ she says, putting her hand on her chest. ‘Everyone always assumes we never argue, that we’re always in agreement with each other and that not a stressed word is ever uttered between us. Well, bollocks to that.’

‘You two are wonderful together,’ I laugh, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands.

‘Yes, that’s exactly what we like people to think. And
we’re not lying, we’re not being fake or putting on a show. We have our moments but prefer to keep them to the confines of our home. Just like every other couple out there. Honestly, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat there in a foul mood throwing invisible daggers at the back of his head,’ she says, squinting as she venomously stares at the air in front of her.

‘Why?’

‘Because he’s annoyed me about something, or because I’m simply ridiculously tired from being up with the boys all night but still there in the kitchen cooking his dinner,’ she laughs while pretending to strangle the air in front of her. ‘It can be over the smallest, most insignificant thing, but once I’ve had my moment of silent hatred I get over it and go back to loving him. It’s a part of life. Nothing is good all the time and absolutely nothing is perfect. That’s a fact.’

‘I know that.’

‘My point is we all have our crosses to bear, but sometimes those struggles are worth fighting through. No relationship comes without its hardships or the need to compromise.’

‘Yeah,’ I nod.

‘He’ll be back soon. I’m sure things will make more sense then,’ she says, flashing me an encouraging smile.

‘I hope so,’ I reply.

‘I’m sure it will. You’ve already done better than I could’ve.’

‘So what do I do now about the village whisperings?’ I ask, my thoughts returning to Peter, that non-kiss and the repercussions that might come from it now I know we were spotted. ‘What if it gets back to Mum?’

‘I’d say wait it out a bit,’ Rachel shrugs, screwing up her face as she thinks the matter through. ‘It’s all so fresh and it sounds like you’re the innocent party in the whole thing. To be honest it sucks that you were spotted and not the guy.’

‘Tell me about it … thank you,’ I sigh, turning to her and giving her a hug, possibly by way of thanks to her for being so kind, or possibly because I’m in dire need of the physical comfort. ‘It feels so good to have someone other than Mum to chat to. Especially with the wedding being so close, I haven’t wanted to worry her about anything.’

‘Well, I’m always here,’ she says, gripping hold of my elbows as we part.