Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels (23 page)

Alex was stressed out about all the packing she still had to do.  Mark didn’t really understand why she was getting so worked up, but then she was the one who had to do all the planning; there were sun creams, hats, swimming gear, guide books, tickets for the tunnel, Euros, health insurance, driving licences, the list was endless.  Locating these things around the house was the first battle, packing them was the easy part.  The only things Mark had to do were make sure he came back from work in time to actually go on holiday, shove his own stuff in a bag, and then get up the next morning.  She supposed she would excuse him his lack of participation as he was working right up until the very last minute.  He’d been really busy too, as was always the case before a period of leave, trying to wrap up something with a client which really could have done with an additional week.  But the holiday was immovable; they had to go that week.

She thought she would pack the children’s things first; they were likely to make the most fuss if something important was missing when they arrived.  This was despite the fact that none of them, even the older two, was of any use if asked to do it by themselves.  She’d seen Archie, at the ripe old age of fourteen, go off to a friend’s house for the weekend with a full complement of gaming consoles, chargers and the works, but not a single pair of clean pants or a toothbrush.  Millie was probably the most likely to pack her pants and toothbrush, but would probably forget her clothes and throw in enough books to cause them to be charged for excess baggage. Rosie would pack her full set of nail polishes, a Barbie doll and nothing else, and Bertie, who was too young even to be given such responsibility, would choose something obscure like a bug jar and of course one of his beloved Famous Five books.  So the task always fell to Alex, which was fine, only she felt she’d left it a little late to get started, as they were off tomorrow morning, and it was already late afternoon. 

How had the summer holidays managed to pass them by so quickly, she wondered.  She had been really organised early on, making arrangements for Mabel and their cat, Taffy, who had been despatched that morning, amid a tsunami of tears from her two youngest children, to kennels and cattery respectively.  And a few weeks ago there had been a mad panic when it turned out that Rosie’s passport, the one she’d had since toddler-hood, had expired a year earlier.  Curses on those passport office people for making child passports only valid for five years.  But that had all been rushed through and sorted out in plenty of time in the end, so now it was simply a case of deciding what to take.  And then actually putting it all into some suitcases, which for a family of six would equate to a very full car-load and roof rack of stuff.  If they were lucky there would be some room in the car for humans, too, without having to stuff bags into foot-wells or balance them on laps.

It was no wonder they didn’t go away very often; sometimes it was just easier to stay at home and enjoy what they had here.  Despite that, Alex
was
actually looking forward to the break; they hadn’t been abroad since their honeymoon.  It would be good to have a change of scene – and some guaranteed sunshine, as the weather this year hadn’t quite lived up to the early predictions of a ‘Barbecue Summer’.  And after all the hassle with Mark’s parents earlier on in the school holidays, their summer had been considerably more stressful than normal.  The children would be back at school in less than a fortnight; she felt they needed to make the most of what was left of the long break.

They were leaving early the next morning and catching the Eurotunnel at some godforsaken hour, which meant early to bed for everyone that evening, so at least there was a deadline involved.  Seeing the rabbit-in-the-headlights expression on his wife’s face, Mark reminded Alex that they were going to a civilised country, in Europe, not the Third World, so anything they forgot could most likely be bought over there.  He was right; she should stop stressing, it was only a week away from home, after all.

Since Margaret had left them to return to London and her repentant husband, Mark and Alex had heard only positive things from her. 

‘Guess what, we’re going on safari!’ Margaret had announced on the phone a couple of weeks later.  ‘Three weeks in South Africa, a game reserve, wine tasting, Table Mountain.  We’re going on a second honeymoon, Alex!  What do you think of that?’

Alex was pleased for them.  It sounded as though they were doing everything now that they should have done when they first retired.  Maybe Bruce’s affair had been the wake-up call they had needed, had made them both focus on what their priorities were for the future.  So many older couples seemed to split up when the scaffolding of work and raising children was no longer there to shore up the marriage.  It was awfully sad, particularly when they had a lifetime of shared experiences, and no new partner would ever be able to get to know them as well as the original one, no matter how many years of retirement they still had ahead of them.  It did look, now, as though the future was rosy for her in-laws, and maybe even rosier than it had ever been.  Remembering that he was actually meant to be retired, too, had made Bruce rethink the number of hours he worked at the University.  The ‘other woman’ had since left, to devote herself to patching up her own marriage, and Bruce had decided, quite rightly so, that Margaret deserved more of his time than the job did.

Any surprise Mark felt at just how quickly Margaret and Bruce seemed to have patched up their differences – and the utter shock that they had sought therapy to do so – was overshadowed by the enormous relief that they had.  Another good thing to come out of bad, was that his relationship with both of them had improved massively.  After his mother’s emotional apology for all she had missed in his and David’s childhoods, there seemed to be a new openness between them.  They spoke more frequently, and not just about superficial things such as what the kids were up to, or work, but deeper things, feelings and emotions.  There had been a sea change in his mother, as well as his father, there was no doubt about it.  Both had softened, both were kinder, nicer people, with not only a lot more time for each other, but for their children and grandchildren too. 

‘Right, I think I’m done, Mumma’s packing no more,’ Alex announced a couple of hours later.  ‘Anything we’ve forgotten, we will have to buy,’ she declared.  She was so fed up with packing, and checking and re-checking lists, she’d decided to adopt Mark’s laid back approach to the holiday.

Mark had just returned from the Indian restaurant in Purbrook, with enough takeaway to feed a small army, and the kids were ripping open plastic boxes and bags and chaotically setting them on the table.

‘Jimmy sends his love. 
And tell the Missus, relax on the holiday, enjoy the sunshine,’
he said, mimicking Jimmy’s strong Indian inflections. 

‘Awww, he’s a sweetie.  And actually, love, I
am
going to enjoy this holiday.  And it’ll be great to see everyone, won’t it?’

Capri in the autumn sunshine was an absolute marvel.  Alex didn’t think she’d ever been anywhere as beautiful as this, and she had travelled a lot in her youth.  Every view from every point on the island, it seemed, was a spectacular one.  How could the place not look amazing with a backdrop like that, the sky and the sea forever blue?  This island was a truly magical place to spend your honeymoon, possibly the most romantic location you could hope to find.  It was like nothing on earth.

For a small place, there was loads to see and do, and the pair of lovebirds had already enjoyed hacking across the top of the island to explore Tiberius’ Villa Jovis, taking an open-backed taxi down to the Marina Grande, and sipping coffee in a street café on the Piazzetta, possibly the most fashionable square in Europe, with its designer stores and upmarket boutiques and the distinct possibility that you might spot someone you recognised from the world of film and TV.

Alex and Mark liked to spend the long, balmy evenings dining al fresco.  If it was too much effort to go out, after a lazy day by the pool or exploring the sights, then they would stay and eat in the hotel, but they had discovered a restaurant, Il Geranio, a little place perched on the clifftop with amazing views across to the Faraglioni, which had quickly become a firm favourite.  They had spent a couple of heavenly evenings there, dining by candlelight, the sea breezes softened by the canopy of pine trees. 

Tonight was their third visit, and the restaurant owner was starting to treat them like regulars.  As always the food was perfect, but now they were ready to leave, both eager to continue their romance within the privacy of their honeymoon suite.  Privacy was a scarce resource at home; with four children, there always seemed to be someone who needed them, and when the two of them did eventually find themselves alone of an evening, by then they were generally exhausted.  Such was the lot of any parent, Alex supposed.  Here there were no distractions from simply enjoying one another’s company.  It was blissful.

‘I’ll go and pay, shall I?’ Alex offered.  ‘That’s if I can stand, of course,’ she giggled, pushing back her chair and almost knocking it over.  ‘Whoops.  One too many Limoncellos, me thinks.  Need the loo first.’  The pair of them had developed a taste for the local lemon liqueur, and couldn’t resist a glass or two (or even three, this evening) of the sticky digestif after a meal.  But sometimes it did make standing up a little tricky…

Alex was relaxed and happy, and enjoying the time away from the children much more than she thought she would, which Mark was relieved about.  She’d had some reservations about leaving them; she couldn’t remember the last time she had left Archie and Millie behind, and knew for a fact she had never been away without Rosie, and as for little Bertie, at almost two years old, he had been the one that Mark had worried about her being parted from the most.  She had a little wobble as they were driven away from the wedding reception, and even Mark shed a silent tear for the baby son he would miss so desperately
–
without his wife seeing, of course.

Mark took advantage of his wife’s absence from the table to check his phone for messages.  Alex’s parents had been brilliant at texting them each day with an update on how the kids were and what they had been up to, and Mark had the utmost faith in their abilities as grandparents.  All were faring well, so it seemed, and Bertie was keeping them on their toes with his toddler antics.  Poor Mary and Brian would need a holiday themselves, when he and Alex returned, he chuckled to himself. He opened the latest photo Mary had sent, of the four children in the tree house, Bertie hugged tightly to Archie’s chest.  Archie was so good with his little brother, Mark thought, and incredibly protective of him.  There was definitely male solidarity between the two siblings, despite the big age gap.

What a lucky man he was, he thought to himself, smiling at Alex as she returned to the table.  A beautiful wife and four gorgeous children.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that Archie, Millie and Rosie weren’t actually his; being a father to them just came so naturally.

Alex stooped to pick something up as she approached their table, and fumbling to put it back in her purse, dropped it again, but this time onto the table.  It was a photo of Peter, looking tanned and gorgeous
–
and very young.  Mark’s heart twisted with sudden unexpected envy inside his ribcage.  He wondered how he could ever compete with the memory of the man who had been Alex’s first
–
and perhaps only real
–
soul mate.  Suddenly he felt sick to the core, and as the pair of them stood to leave, he caught sight of the wistful expression on Alex’s face.

‘Do you wish it was him you were here with, instead of me?’ he began, unable to help himself.  He reeled with the shock of what he had just said, and how bitter it sounded.  It must be the effects of the alcohol
–
a fight was the last thing he wanted.

‘Mark, that’s totally unreasonable,’ she replied, surprised at his sudden unkindness.  They’d talked about Peter time and time again, and Mark was normally very accepting of the place her first husband would always hold in her heart.  So why this, now?

‘What’s unreasonable about expecting to have you all to myself on OUR honeymoon, and in any case, why are you still carrying a photo of him around in your purse?  Don’t you think it’s a bit weird, after all this time?  Haven’t you moved on?  With me?’  So many questions, all of which Mark knew the answer to, but now suddenly didn’t feel so confident about.

‘He was the father of my children, Mark.  Always will be their father.  I’m not exactly going to forget him, am I?  We’ve been over all this before, why are you bringing it all up again now?  And just so you know, there’s a photo of you in my purse, too.  Do you need me to show you?’  She threw her bag onto her shoulder and started walking, eager to get out of the restaurant, as people were starting to stare.

Alex walked on ahead, Mark trailing behind her and feeling desolate.  Why had he said those things, what was wrong with him?  He was fully reconciled to being Alex’s second husband and all that it entailed, and wouldn’t change it for the world.  But now he’d gone and upset her, and that was the last thing he wanted.  He ran on to catch up with her.

‘Alex, wait, I’m sorry, that was mean of me.  I don’t know where it came from.’  He grabbed her arm to try and make her stop, but she shrugged him off and carried on.

They’d talked into the night many a time about Peter, and normally Mark felt totally unthreatened by his continued presence in their household.  It was something that couldn’t be avoided, after all. Alex only had to look at her children to be reminded of him every day, particularly Archie, who looked so much like the younger version of Peter that Mark had just glimpsed in that photo.  The resemblance was uncanny.  But, on very rare occasions, his presence still overwhelmed Mark.  Of course he didn’t want Alex and her children to forget Peter, that would be wrong.  He was a huge part of them, and a huge reason Alex was the amazing woman he knew and loved today.  Everyone had history, and it was very tragic that Alex and the children’s past had involved loss at such an extreme level.  Anyone who had ever suffered such pain wouldn’t be able to put that behind them completely.  That would be asking the impossible of them all. 

He understood that the pain of his split from Grace was very different; there was no tragedy involved, it was a mutual parting of ways, of sorts.  That made it very easy for Mark to move on from her, but with Alex, if Peter were still alive, there was no doubt that the two of them would still be together.  Grace was alive and kicking, and he had absolutely no regrets about their relationship having come to an end.  He couldn’t be expected to understand how Alex must feel; his own experience of loss was nothing in comparison.

‘Alex, I’m sorry, that was unforgiveable of me,’ Mark said, as Alex continued to storm on ahead of him.  But he could see her slowing down, her shoulders beginning to droop as she came to a halt.  He turned her around to find her sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘I can’t forget him, Mark, don’t ask me to.  But I love you, you’re my husband, and you’re mad for taking us all on, I know.’  Here she managed a little giggle between the sobs.

‘I love you, Alex, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.  Can we forget that just happened and get back to our lovely honeymoon?’

‘I hope so,’ she replied, taking his hand and looking up into his eyes, her own still brimming with tears.  ‘I really hope so.’

‘Oh God, Mark, they’re behind us!’ Alex shrieked.  They had just driven past a pair of Gendarmes on motorbikes, at speed.  The bikes were nicely tucked away in a side turning, completely invisible until they were right in front of them.  But by then they were still going faster than they should be, with no time at all to slow down.  They had this off to a tee, the French motorway police; both bikes were revved up and ready for action, poised to chase after any poor, unsuspecting Brit – especially one in a top-end four-by-four – who dared to flout the laws of the road.  A friend of Mark’s had warned him that the French motorway police were tougher than ever now, especially with the English, but speed came so easily in a country like this, where the motorways were eerily quiet and you could actually put your foot down and go.  Mile upon mile stretched ahead, with so little traffic, surely it wasn’t exactly dangerous to be driving slightly over the speed limit, was it?   It was hardly the M25 during the rush-hour.  But you try telling that to those fearsome looking Gendarme behind us, Alex thought to herself.   They were unlikely to take any nonsense from anyone.

‘Oh shit, they’re chasing us.  Pull over, Mark!’

The trouble was, it was impossible to slow down quickly when you were going that fast.  It felt like an age until they finally came to a halt.  Mark turned off the engine and wound down the window, waiting to hear what fate had in store for them.  Alex had a sudden urge to empty her bladder, and wondered quite how she would hang onto it, especially if these guys were as scary close up as they looked from afar.  The children were silent in the two rear rows of the car, and Archie had even taken off his headphones.

‘Mum?’ he asked, sounding anxious. 

‘It’s OK, love, Mark was just going a little too fast.  Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’

‘Mummy, what’s going to happen, are those policemen going to put Daddy in prison?’ Rosie asked. 

‘Nooooo, don’t be silly!’  She tried to sound bright and breezy, but the Gendarmes were still sauntering towards them, taking all the time in the world.  Clearly it was part of the double act, to get you shaking in your shoes before they even spoke to you.  At this rate she would need more than just a wee.  She wished they’d hurry up and get this over with. 

‘Is it going to be like ‘Police, Camera, Action,’ Daddy?’ Bertie blurted out. ‘Where they film you doing really bad stuff and then put it on TV?  Will they blank out your face like they always do with the baddies?  And put beeps in if you say a naughty word?’

‘Quiet, darling, there’s a good boy.  Let Daddy talk to the nice men,’ Alex said, then added:  ‘And Daddy’s not a baddy.’

‘I hope they realise it was you driving, darling,’ she tried to joke with Mark, seeing the Gendarmes begin to approach her side of the car.  ‘I’ve got no steering wheel, how could it be me?’  Nerves mad her giggle inappropriately.

The Gendarmes weren’t stupid though; more like highly trained psychopaths, out to terrorise otherwise law abiding citizens.  Mark smiled up at them optimistically as they finally came alongside his window.  ‘Bonjour Messieurs,’ Mark began, thinking that being pleasant to them might help.

Never had a pair of sterner faces been seen.  No ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ routine here, then, both looked scary, Alex thought, both Bad Cop.  One of them, the younger of the two, was undeniably handsome, and on any other occasion, when you weren’t just about to be nicked for speeding, most definitely quite sexy in that uniform.  But now wasn’t the time or the place to stop and admire a fine example of Gallic manhood.  She smiled too, a nervously wide Cheshire Cat smile, largely to disguise the fact that she was terrified.  And about to wet herself.

The children were sitting in stunned silence, looking on worriedly as Mark was asked to get out of the car.

‘Mummyyyyyy, I don’t want Daddy to go to prison.  I want to go on holiday!’ Rosie shrieked.  ‘If Daddy goes to prison, who’s going to drive us to the holiday?’

‘Daddy’s not going to prison, love.  Don’t worry, the men just need to take some details, then Daddy will probably have to pay some money, and then we will be able to carry on.  Don’t worry, we’re still going on holiday, sweetheart.’  She turned round and tried to give the children a reassuring smile, even if inside, her guts were dissolving into mush.

Mark’s command of the French language was sufficiently good for him to understand that he was to receive an on-the-spot fine. 
Bastards,
he thought to himself. 
Wouldn’t mind betting a lot of this gets pocketed for beer money, before it even makes it back to the station. 
Then he reprimanded himself for daring to think that these fine, upstanding upholders of the law could possibly be corrupt.  He’d been a lawyer for far too long – it made you suspicious of everyone.

As the older Gendarme began to write out the ticket, there was a whoosh and a rush of air which almost knocked the three men off their feet.  Mark caught sight of the rear of the passing car as it sped out of sight, an Audi R8, going like a bat out of hell. 
Now he’s the sort of driver these guys ought to be after,
he thought to himself. 
That’s proper dangerous driving, that is.