Love-40 (21 page)

‘Not for me,' Liam said firmly.

But she ordered it anyway, with a, ‘jus' five minutes, go on, y'can spare five minutes … Pleash?'

Liam sighed. ‘Just five minutes,' he agreed.

Lorraine spent the five minutes telling him that her husband worked all the hours God sent, that she suspected his work to be more vital to his existence than she was, that when he wasn't working he liked to go down the pub with his mates, and that he couldn't perform in bed like he used to.

‘Well, never mind,' Liam said, rather ineffectually. ‘Things can only get better.' He couldn't help feeling sorry for her. But it wasn't his problem.

‘You know what I mean,' Lorraine began.

‘Do I?'

‘When I say that a woman like me has needs.'

Liam began to panic again. ‘Yes, I mean, no. I mean –' What did he mean? What did
she
mean?

‘You see, the thing is…' Lorraine said, still slurring.

‘Yes?' Alarm bells began to ring.

She leaned closer. ‘My husband just doesn't understand me.'

*   *   *

Estelle walked out of Secrets In The Attic, automatically checking her green Mini Mayfair as she did so. Since the incident of the ‘For Sale' sign, since the flat tyre, OK, if she were honest, since that last little chat with Terry, she'd been wondering. Was it all coincidence? She didn't think so somehow.

She was just approaching Pride Square and the Bear and Bottle, when Liam came hurtling out as if he were on fire. He was dressed in teaching gear – dark blazer, charcoal trousers, cream shirt and grey tie, though the shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and the tie was loosened and set at a rakish angle. There was no one else in sight, and yet Liam looked hunted. And desperate.

He glanced wildly from left to right, seeing her almost immediately. ‘Estelle!' To her surprise he rushed across the road. ‘Thank God!'

‘What is it?' Her first sensation was one of pleasure – that he should be so obviously glad to see her. And then she remembered Amanda.

‘Nothing, nothing…' He glanced behind him, grabbed hold of her arm.

Estelle flinched. Nothing? She had often imagined them getting together to talk, but never quite like this. He was very close. Too close – she could hear the shallowness of his breathing, smell the Liam-scent that held the faint shimmer of sweat from the energies of Liam's day.

‘Where are you going?' He began moving, very quickly, propelling her at the same time, down South Street.

‘For a walk.'

‘Mind if I tag along?'

‘Do I have any choice?' But Estelle disentangled herself all the same. She was being used – that much was clear. And yet she'd wanted to see him, hadn't she, wanted to have the chance to talk things through? To her intense irritation, just being with him felt good.

Liam shot her a look of such tenderness that Estelle almost stopped walking. He had always been able to make her dysfunctional with just a glance, just a word. A load of old flannel, she supposed it was – though she had never thought that then. It had always seemed so special – the way he spoke to her, the way he was with her. She sighed. But when you realised how many other people were susceptible to his charm, the glow kind of faded. It was very different being one of many.

‘How are you?' he asked, as if he really cared.

‘Fine,' she said automatically. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing about her restlessness, her nights in alone, the sense of isolation she sometimes felt when she awoke in the mornings at 4 am – always half-looking for him as if he were in her very blood. ‘You?'

He looked a little awkward, and she instinctively glanced over her shoulder, back towards the pub, just as Lorraine Johnson walked out. She looked strange and disorientated, her hair askew, her step unsure. Drunk? Estelle walked more quickly, matching Liam's stride, hoping the woman wouldn't call out or follow them. It seemed to her that Stan and Terry, Lorraine and Rita were haunting her, always there, always looking at her with knowing eyes, all seemingly waiting for her to make some stupid mistake, for the business to fold, so they could come in and take over.

‘I'm OK,' Liam was saying, as they turned by the church. ‘Busy, you know.'

Estelle knew. Liam would never change. He would always be busy, always cram too many things into his life, so that nothing got the time or attention it might deserve. That, she reminded herself, was half the problem.

As they walked on, Liam seemed to relax – at least, she thought, as far as Liam ever relaxed. But every couple of minutes he would tear his fingers through his dark curls, Liam's gesture of confusion, or nervousness, frustration or anger. Something, she knew, was bothering him. But he wasn't going to tell her, was he? She was no longer his confidante, the one he turned to. Instead, there was such an awkwardness between them now – even in the very space between their physical bodies that seemed to grow more distant as they walked on down the path. The silence between them was creating a pain in her chest. It was awful. They seemed to have nothing to say to one another.

And he had made no effort to see her since she'd left, Estelle reminded herself. For Liam, it was certainly over.

‘Sorry I didn't get to talk to you at the tournament,' Liam said at last, as they ploughed their way though the undergrowth to the riverside path. They had not crossed the blue bridge and so were walking on the other side of the river to Suzi's cottage. It was a mild evening and every so often a cloud of tiny gnats appeared to murmur in front of their faces. Estelle cleared them with an impatient wave of the hand.

Was that an intentional reference to Amanda? Was he gloating, wanting to remind her that he no longer had any need of her company? He could certainly have walked away from Amanda any time he liked, if he had indeed wanted to talk. ‘No problem,' she said brightly. ‘I was busy anyway.'

‘Oh yeah – you were, weren't you?' He shot a sidelong look in her direction and Estelle knew he was thinking of Nick Rossi. And why not? He had Amanda. Why not let him think that she and Nick were an item, that someone – and someone pretty hunky at that – wanted to be with her.

As they approached the harbour, the path grew less wooded and the earth more soggy as the river widened into two large tributaries leading down towards the sea. Liam helped her over the soggiest bits and the final stile; they crossed the harbour road, and made their way down, over the massive pile of rocks. Above them the seagulls were soaring. Graceful creatures in flight, Estelle thought, watching them. But so darned noisy, especially in this, their nesting season. On the various roofs of harbour buildings, the young gulls could be seen – grey, fluffy and oddly almost the size of adult birds already.

‘These boots…' Liam said, looking down at her feet, ‘weren't your most practical decision.' And every so often he reached out a hand to help her jump, to make sure her footing was secure, his eyes intent as he gazed at her, making her shiver to his touch.

She could see the pulse in his throat throbbing, and she wanted to kiss it, wanted to run her fingers through his mass of dark curls the way he kept doing. She looked away.

‘Sometimes I think I'd love to leave this place,' he said, as they came to a standstill, to the northeast of the harbour.

Oh yeah, Estelle thought, watching the boats. Some were on their last legs, unpainted, rusty with disuse, others were new and bright, resonant of sailing clubs, gin and tonics, regattas. Nearer to them, on the beach, were the fishing boats, drawn up on to the shingle by metal winches, crammed with nets and lobster pots, tarpaulins, oilskins, knives. The smell of the sea was ripe here, with leftover fish – not left for long by the gulls – with the faint oily sweetness of tar contrasting with the salt crusted on pebbles and shells and the grainy acidity of the damp sand. And beyond the fishing boats, the coastline wound its way, sandstone to the east, grey granite to the west, the fringe of Golden Cap clearly visible in the distance, the shore line of Chesil beach reaching out its long, long arms.

‘But you never will,' Estelle said softly. Liam was a part of Pridehaven and only he had made it so. She could see the love in his eyes, even now, as he spoke of leaving and yet looked out to his sea, thick and blue-green tonight, tipped with highlighted spume, to the sun that was slowly setting on the horizon.

He turned towards her and for a moment she imagined he was about to take her in his arms. The rush of the tide seemed to move in rhythm with his words. ‘Would it have made a difference?' he said. ‘To us?'

‘Perhaps.' There would have been fewer things to compete with, Estelle supposed. No Pridehaven, no landscape of memories, no Suzi to take up his time and emotions. But there would have been other things.

She moved away, not wanting to be too close. She couldn't think about being in his arms, when those arms had been holding another. Estelle's kind of love was total – that had always been the trouble. She loved him with a force that was all-consuming. She would have given him anything, everything … But she also wanted to be loved like that in return. It seemed to be the only possible way.

Liam picked up a pebble and chucked it towards the sea with some force. ‘I never thought this would happen to us.' He sounded angry. He tore his hand through his hair, glared at her as though it were her fault.

‘Neither did I,' she heard herself saying.

‘I thought we were safe.'

‘Nothing's safe.' She'd always known that. How could you put your love and trust in a person while that person had legs with which to walk away? She'd learned that from an early age, hadn't she, that night on the blue bridge? Was it any wonder she'd resisted marriage, children, making herself more vulnerable? It was true – nothing was safe.

And in her heart she reminded herself of how quickly he had found a replacement. Of the blonde and dark heads in Amanda's car the night she'd gone to the garret flat. You and me, she wanted to say to him. What's happened to you and me?

‘I loved you,' Liam told her.

Estelle noted the tense. ‘That's all in the past,' she confirmed. Though she wanted, suddenly to cry.

‘Is it?' But Liam looked distracted, as though he were thinking about the school play, tomorrow's classes, or even maybe of Amanda, Estelle thought.

She took her courage in both hands. Now or never – and she couldn't quite get her head round the never. ‘Maybe, some time,' she said cautiously, ‘… we could get together to talk things through.' She heard the cry of a baby gull wanting food. ‘Maybe that might help,' she added. For she sensed that he was troubled – if not as troubled as she.

‘If that's what you want.' He smiled then, a special smile that took her back in time to their first months together.

Unable to resist, she smiled back at him and in that moment she knew there was something they still shared, would always share. The bond had not been broken. She heard the lash and lap of the waves on the rocks. It was almost as if the last weeks hadn't happened at all.

‘Tonight?' she suggested. ‘We could go for a beer.' Or back to her flat, share the meal for one and the Italian white. She could picture him there, sitting on the worn red couch, see them – heaven help her – making love. Oh, God. See them as they used to be.

He hesitated, chucked another pebble towards the sea. ‘I can't tonight, Estelle,' he said, speaking in a rush. The wind took his words and bounced them mockingly around the harbour, for all to hear. ‘I've got these lesson plans and –'

‘It doesn't matter.' She moved away once more. Damn it. Why had she allowed him to get to her again? Done the giving again and had it slammed back in her face.

‘Another time?' he was saying. ‘Can we do it another time? Please?'

‘Maybe.' But she wasn't sure they ever would.

Liam moved closer, put an arm around her and pulled her to him.

Estelle resisted. He smelled of the sea, or maybe it was that the sea was here, all around them, and they had absorbed its fresh, salty perfume.

‘I miss you,' he said.

Estelle's body froze into one huge knot of tension and desire. Would he kiss her? They were close enough. If she turned, just slightly … Would he ask her to come back to him? She waited. His eyes glazed as he looked at her, it seemed to Estelle that he knew her so much better than she could ever know herself. She waited.

Nothing. Even the gulls seemed to have stopped screaming. And after a moment, in a gesture of pure self-preservation she pulled away once more. It was all very well to say she was managing – but it was clear that something had gone from her life. She was busily pretending to herself and everyone else that it wasn't an important something.

But the trouble was, without Liam and his love, she felt so alone.

Chapter 16

Bradley Jacobs had unexpectedly informed Liam at the last rehearsal of
Romeo and Juliet
that he was
pretty ace at tennis, Sir.

Liam didn't believe him, but on the other hand thought, nothing ventured nothing gained, and so invited him along to the next coaching session at CG's.

Liam had not, however, expected him to have Jade Johnson in tow. He was in jeans, she was wearing an Adidas T-shirt and unzipped fleece, an extremely short white tennis skirt and trainers with laces tucked into the sides. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face into a plait, and her smoothly foundationed teenage face wore a coy expression. Bradley just looked smug.

Liam was not glad to see her. He might need more tennis players to help save CG's and bring it into a Socialist new millennium, but not at the price of that mother of hers. Disruption was Lorraine's middle name, and OK, he was terrified of her too. He could see her now, flapping around the courts in her batwing leather coat, screeching that this tennis lark was a bit dodgy,
babes,
and when would Jade be ready to go home? Not to mention, Liam thought darkly, the fact that her husband didn't understand her.