Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (19 page)

And with that she is gone. Some sort of animal instinct tells me I can only make bad matters even worse if I chase after her.

Chapter

Forty-One

Jessica Roberts has visited Paris almost a dozen times over the years and has lost all interest in the usual tourist traps of the city. Today she wants to walk until her legs seize up, and a plan evolves in her head whereby she will walk along the Seine until she has left the hustle and bustle of the capital behind her.

She is outraged with herself as much as Danny. How had she allowed herself to get so emotionally involved with someone with such a shallow outlook on life? The more she thinks about him and his awful choice of words, the greater the anger that boils up inside her. But worse than that is the humiliation; Danny made her feel worthless. Within a few sentences, she was eight years old again and being chastised for events she had no control over. There is absolutely no doubt she will have to break off this relationship. She has no space in her life for someone who is not capable of being a friend at a time when she needs one so badly.

On checking her watch, she is surprised to find that three hours has flown by. Maybe it would be better not to return to the cafe. She could send him a text and not get involved in another meaningless conversation. She needs something stiff to drink and so heads for a pavement bar.

As she is ordering, she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see a young girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen, holding out her hand. It seems a long way from the usual tourist traps, where begging would get better results than here, and for a moment Jess loses all the French vocabulary she had held in her head. She flings the girl a vague hand gesture and says, “In a minute—when I have change.” She pays the barman, then grabs her drink and sits down at one of the four empty tables furthest from the bar. This place is no goldmine, so the begging makes even less sense. She looks through her loose change and hands over three euros to the waiting girl.

“Thank you.”

“You’re English?”

“Yeah—why not?”

“Where from? Essex, Kent?”

“Colchester.” The girl starts to turn away.

“Hey, hang on.” The girl looks expectantly at Jess, who takes the opportunity to look the girl up and down. She is not badly clothed and there is nothing too shabby about her appearance. There is a lack of make-up, which would have covered up some acne, but her hair is clean and brushed.

“What the hell are you doing in the back streets of Paris begging?”

“It’s not the back streets.”

“You know what I mean. What’s your name?”

“Deborah.”

“So sit down and tell me.”

Deborah’s story is predictable, but it still breaks Jess’s heart. The girl had used all her savings to take her and her boyfriend on a weekend break to the “city of lovers.” She lost her virginity on the Saturday night, followed by constant rounds of sex for two days, and on the Monday she had woken up to find him, any money she had left, and her mobile phone all gone. She has a carrier bag containing her dirty clothes and not a clue how to get home, or how she is going to face her parents when she returns.

“You’ve still got your passport, I take it?”

The girl, exhausted, nods weakly.

“Okay. Don’t worry about this any longer. I’ll get you home—today. Now it’s time for you to listen to my story. Maybe, who knows,
you
can help
me
.”

***

Danny had thought that by going up to the top of the Eiffel Tower and looking down on the world, he would find answers, but in the end all he finds are more questions. Why had he not kept his thoughts to himself, or even delayed them for a while? Because now, only two hours later, he could not understand his behaviour. Jessica was more than thirty years old. Of course she had a history; he hadn’t fancied her when they first met because she looked good in a nun’s habit. She hadn’t filled out a form stating the nature of all past relationships, and the fact that this Clement chap had beguiled her—was that the word? Did that not make her more vulnerable and consequently more loveable? She had not withheld information from him; they had not known each other anywhere near long enough to know everything about each other. The initial anger that had got the better of him has now turned to shame…and fear. Fear that he might have lost the best chance in life he had ever been given. His mobile phone rings. Jessica. He checks his watch; still an hour until they are meant to meet. She is going to end it this way rather than doing it face to face.

“Hi.”

“Danny, I don’t want you to think too long before you answer this.”

“Okay.”

“I need your plane ticket back to UK for someone else. Can I have it?”

Need…
need?

“Yes, of course.”

“Can you leave your plane ticket in the room and take your stuff and check in somewhere else for the night? I have someone else who needs to share the room.”

Needs—again!

“If that’s what you want.”

“Good—I will see you in a couple of days’ time back at home.”

The phone went dead. Anger and shame has turned into confusion.

Within an hour Danny has returned to the hotel, packed his case, left a note and is in a taxi heading for the train station. The Channel Tunnel will do; he is in no hurry to get home.

***

“Wow. This is, well…posh!”

“Sorry, did you say something?” Jess is distracted by reading Danny’s note.

“I said I’ve never been anywhere like this in my life. You must be rolling in it.”

“Money isn’t everything, Deborah.”

“That’s really funny, ‘cos it’s only rich people you hear saying that. Is that a letter from the boyfriend?”

“Mm—yes.”

“Can I read it?”

Jess shrugs and hands it to her. “Why not? You know everything anyway.”

Deborah is obviously one of those people who can only read out loud, but it helps Jess to hear Danny’s written words spoken.

Jessica, here is the ticket. I am so sorry about my reaction. It is unforgivable. I’m not going to even attempt to make excuses. There must be something involving jealousy in my actions and words, because I do not understand them in retrospect. Take care. Love, Danny.

“What do you think?” Jessica genuinely wants the young waif’s opinion.

“Well, all men are worthless shits, aren’t they?”

Jessica shrugs her shoulders.

“But he seems like a nice worthless shit, if you ask me,” the girl adds.

Jess smiles and says, “I’m going to take a sleeping pill and catch up on my sleep. Watch the TV if you want, but don’t dare to even think about leaving the room. I want to hand you back to your mum and dad safe and sound.” She is fast asleep within ten minutes.

Chapter

Forty-Two

“Jess rang me this morning; we’re meeting in Bristol this afternoon,” I say to Rob on the phone.

“How did she sound?” There is no doubting the concern in his voice.

“Different. Not offish, not friendly. Not cold…I don’t know how she sounded.” I don’t know what I expect him to say.

“If you want this to work, Danny, you’re going to have to change. You need a fresh starting place for your thought processing. If your relationship with her, or anyone, is going to work, you’re going to have to forget your rubbish marriage and get back to being the person you were before your ex-wife screwed your head up. You trusted someone one hundred percent before; you need to decide that you can do it again. If I’m anything of a judge, then Jessica is the one—trust her, without question and without parameters.”

“You’re a good friend, Rob.”

“I’ll be thinking of you.”

Sound advice. Am I bright enough to take it on board?

***

We meet in the lobby of a waterside hotel. It’s awkward. I’m not even sure if I’m meant to kiss her on the cheek or keep my distance. I keep my distance. I have decided that I will start this conversation. I have to defend myself, so I need to break the ice. We find some seats in the corner and do not even order drinks.

“I have no defence that’s worth offering,” I begin at once. “I do not understand my reaction. When I replay the other night though my head, it’s like I’m watching someone else, someone I don’t recognise. I’ve been talking to Rob about it and he reckons my marriage breakup hurt me a lot more than I realised. He says I need to get back some part of me that got cut out with that business.”

Jess tilts her head as she listens, and for the first time I get the feeling that she has arrived with an open mind.

“I don’t want to come out with glib comments and promises, because who knows what any of us can promise of the future?”

We sit there quietly, other voices in the background as people go about their lives.

“All I can promise is that I will fight for you as long as I live, fight to be with you, fight to support you, fight for you to achieve your dreams. I don’t want anything in life other than to be with you.” I’m exhausted physically and mentally—I have nothing left to give.

Jess takes her time before she responds. “When this all happened, I don’t think I have ever felt so bad in my life. I felt as if you had betrayed me, that once again I was alone in the world. I was so angry with you. So, so angry, but the worst feeling was one of humiliation. I had trusted you and you had degraded me by your reaction. When I left you at that café, all I wanted in the world was to hurt you as much as you hurt me.”

I cannot look at her.

“I don’t think that attitude would ever have changed if it was not for a strange moment when I bumped into this young English girl. I spent a few hours with her, with someone whose life experience was so out of kilter with mine, and it made me rethink…everything. You, me, life, my father, my job, my ambitions. She wasn’t the brightest thing, but I realised she could live until she was a hundred and had no chance whatsoever of having what I have, and she would never find anyone as decent and good as you.” And there it is, that merest glint of light at the end of a very long tunnel.

“I don’t want or expect you to be perfect, but I do expect you be there for me regardless. Regardless of absolutely anything that life throws at us. I thought that I had a clear view of life, but I now accept that I have become cynical. I’m now wondering whether that comes from the world I live in, the commercial environment where you do and say anything to come out on top. I’ve been going through it in my mind: what if it had been Gemma, not me, and I had been you? Would I have come down on her like a ton of bricks, or would I have held her hand and supported her as best I could?” She draws a breath before she continues. “You flew all that way at an instant and you have every right to form an opinion on the limited information you had been given. It would be wrong, although it would be easy, to say ‘let’s go our separate ways,’ but I truly believe we are better than that.”

“I know we are better than that.”

“So let’s spend the day together, let’s truly talk. About the small stuff and the big stuff. Let’s get to know each other on a deeper level and”—she is forming the words in her head—“tonight I have a pre-paid bedroom, two floors above us, which I would like you to share with me.”

“Normally I’d put up a fight, but I’ll give that a go if I must.”

So we walk and we talk, and I find out so much about her and her beliefs and her history, and now I am not only in love with her, but I genuinely like her as well. She is a nice person to know.

Chapter

Forty-Three

I have never been the sort of person who likes to talk about my sex life, such as it is, not even with my mates down the pub, but last night was…and I am struggling for the right words here…surreal. I have got used to thinking of sex as a function: good enough but not particularly memorable, here and gone, soon forgotten. What planet have I been living on? There was this old film called
Barefoot in the Park,
where this honeymoon couple lock themselves in a hotel suite for two weeks, and their idyll is only broken by the hotel’s room service leaving food outside their door. How ridiculous! Actually, no—it is not. I, for one, could quite happily make do with a fortnight spent like that.

We get up late and have a shower (together) and get changed. I have swilled my pants, socks and shirt under the shower before going to bed, so they are clean if not in pristine condition.

“Coffee time?” I ask Jess.

“Gosh, you sound just like Gemma.”

“I think you should speak to her this morning. She’s bound to be worried about you.”

“I know. I will, as soon as we’ve had coffee.”

“I wouldn’t mind finding a street market or somewhere cheap so I can get a change of clothes. Anything I can wear once and throw away.”

“Let’s go before you finish that sentence by adding on something inappropriate.”

Mm, she is probably right, but I have a little giggle in my head anyway. We fill in the time somehow before Jess picks up her old, patched-up phone and dials Gemma’s number.

***

Gemma has her phone set to silent, but it vibrates on her desk, so she is forced to pick it up.

“Gemma Barrow.”

“Hi, Gem, it’s me,” Jess says.

“Oh hi, Mrs. Munro, you’ve caught me at an awkward time. Can I call you later, or would it be better if I spoke to Mr. Pearson first?”

“You can’t talk?”

“Yes, that’s right. I will get it sorted and come back to you as soon as I can.”

“Okay, ring Danny’s phone. Love you.”

“And you, Mrs. Munro.”

The sour-faced woman sitting opposite Gemma throws a questioning look her way.

“My next-door neighbour. One of the other tenants has got a cat which keeps pooing on the lawn. She wants me to tackle the landlord.”

“Mr. Pearson?”

“That’s him. Mind you, he’s a miserable git, so I’m probably wasting my time.”

“As may be. Now, the updates on the Swindon recoveries—can we go through them once more? I am not sure I quite grasped the figures the first time.”

Lady,
Gemma thinks,
you’ve got big boots to fill. Jess would have all those figures buttoned up within minutes.

***

“That was a strange conversation.”

“She obviously had someone sitting with her. She called me Mrs. Munro, who was this old woman that used to work in the canteen, a real gossip. She knew, or pretended she knew everybody’s business. Whoever was there cannot have been in the area office for long, not to know her name. I guess they’ve moved someone sideways to cover for me.”

“Is it that bad? I knew you had resigned, but would they react that quickly?”

“Hang on.” Jess lifts her laptop onto the table. “You may as well read the email I sent to the chairman. There is nothing you don’t know, but it might read differently than hearing it.”

I sip at my coffee and read the email through a couple of times.

“There’s no way back for you after that—even if they sacked or disciplined him, you’ve burnt your bridges there for certain.”

“Absolutely. And I do not care one jot. I know I will have no trouble getting another job. It might be a lower salary, but I hardly make a dent into my wages anyway.”

I can do no more than lean back and smile.

“All this,” she continues, her arms making a sweeping gesture, “you, Cotswold Lodge, Bill and Mary, mid-morning breakfasts. I need to make changes to my life. I want to put something in; there is no imperative for me to take out. I want every day to feel like today. Today I feel good about me.”

I feel so good about making her feel good. I’m in this for the long-term. I stand up to walk around the table before kissing her long and lovingly. “Fair enough—you can buy me a decent tee shirt then!”

***

Gemma takes an early lunch break and walks to the park. She rings Danny’s number.

“Hi, Gemma. I’ll pass you over.”

“Hi, Gem. How are you?” asks Jess.

“Feeling very strange. It feels like I’m living in some parallel universe.”

“Lots happening?”

“Yesterday I was called up to the third floor and told in no uncertain terms that I should under no circumstances communicate with you. Head Office had launched an enquiry into certain happenings in Paris, and to be fair to all parties, blah, blah, blah.”

“And what are the rumours?”

“Some people were whispering that you tried to seduce Paul in order to get a position on the board and he rejected you, so you attacked him. But all that came from France. No one here believes that. I haven’t spoken to one person who doesn’t think it is utter garbage. No one here has a good word to say about Paul. You’re not really going to resign, are you?”

“I already have, Gem, and there is nothing in the world that could change my mind. In fact, I feel as if a weight has been taken off my shoulders.”

“What about me?”

“Gem, we’re friends for life. Let’s see how things play out. I have no plans whatsoever; I’ve just got this newfound faith that something good is going to happen. I’m back tomorrow night; we’ll meet up on Friday and talk it through. Be strong, bite your tongue, and see the week out. And if Paul Clement is still in the company at the end of the week, don’t worry about it. I’m not.”

“Two and a half days. I suppose I can do that. By the way, did Danny really fly over to Paris on Tuesday morning?”

“He did, and of course you can tough it out for two and a half days. Lots of love, Gemma. See you soon.”

Gemma strolls back to her office in an unusually positive frame of mind, a strange and unrealistic feeling that life is good. The street beggar she had ignored only fifteen minutes earlier has a pound coin cheerfully dropped on his rug.

“Thank you, miss. Have a good day.”

She turns back to face him.

“Thank you for that. I think I might well have. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Before she leaves the park, she stops and dials a newly listed number on her phone.

“Hello, Edwin. I’ve just spoken to Jess; she seems as right as rain.”

“That’s good. Can’t speak right now; I’m at the solicitor’s with my father.”

“Fair enough. Maybe speak to you later?”

“I’ll ring you within the hour. Bye.”

***

“Who was that, son?” his father asks Edwin as they stand outside the solicitor’s office.

“Oh, a friend. More of a friend of a friend.”

“Mm.”

“What do mean, ‘mm,’ Dad?”

“Only your voice, Edwin. It sounded like you were talking to someone who might have been a bit more than a friend.”

“No, a friend of a friend, that’s all.”

“And what is your non-friend’s name?”

“Enough already, Dad. Let’s get this over with.”

They go in.

After the meeting, as they are walking out, Edwin says, “I’m going to miss him like crazy. Goodness knows how you’re going to cope.”

“In my own way, I suppose. There might be a few tears, but there are too many good memories to comfort me.” Edwin Pedlar studies his son. “You’re more like him than I ever was.”

“I’ve always thought that. He loved you so much, Dad. I don’t think I ever spent time with him when he didn’t say how much he owed to you.”

“He repaid me a hundred times over, Edwin.”

“He kept himself to himself at times. Were you surprised at how much he left?”

“No, not that much. He had an eye for the property market, he bought and sold at the right times, thought carefully how he invested his money. I often used to wonder why. I suppose today he left me the answer.”

“I want to make him proud, Dad. It’s all too much to grasp for the moment, but I’ve got a month or so to get my head around things.”

“You’ll do it, my boy. I’ve no doubts about that, but make sure you don’t take your eye off the business. It’s easy to do and hard to repair.”

“Uncle John always said my major strength was time management. I used to think that was something of an insult.”

“I’m certain he did not say it as anything other than a compliment.”

“In three months’ time, I’ll know if he was right or wrong.”

“How often was your Uncle John ever wrong?”

“Mm.”

“Talking of ‘mm,’ what did you say that friend of a friend’s name was?”