Me and Mr Jones (36 page)

Sally had been taking a mouthful of wine, but swung her head round at the critical moment and nearly spat it out. ‘Whoa. Rewind. Are you saying you’d have a baby with
him
? With
Nicholas
?’

It sounded so unspeakably dreadful coming from Sally’s mouth that Emma cringed. ‘I
was
thinking that,’ she replied in a low voice, feeling ashamed. ‘I was convinced it was the right answer. I know, I know, you don’t need to tell me how insane that is. I wised up anyway, just talking to you earlier. I’m not going to see him again – game over. But now I’m back to square one.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Sally looked stunned. ‘God, Emma. I’m even more glad I saw you, then. I can’t believe you’ve been going through this on your own.’

The kindness of her words punctured the tough shell that Emma had been wearing for months and months. Tears gathered in her eyes. ‘I’m glad I saw you too,’ she replied, a lump in her throat.

‘Oh, Em. Don’t cry, babe. I’m sorry I haven’t been around for you lately, I know I’ve been a crap friend. But all that’s going to change, okay? And I’m here now. So tell me all about it, yeah? Then we’ll make a plan together.’

It really was the best kind of therapy, spilling out her secrets to Sally, being listened to and taken seriously. She’d missed having a confidante, with David being away. Missed being able to go home from work and unload her mind, talk through worries and problems, make sense of the day. Without that outlet for her thoughts, her brain had become clogged, too full to think straight. Talking to Sally felt as if she was taking steps back towards a normal life again.

‘First things first,’ Sally said, holding an authoritative finger in the air. ‘Stop being so proud, and phone David. Yes, I know that technically he should be the one ringing you, but we’re not fifteen any more. Do the mature thing and just talk to him.’

Emma nodded. ‘Yep,’ she said.

‘Two. You need to get some basics sorted out between you – this has gone on long enough, you being in your mad limbo. Like where exactly does he want to live, for one. And what are his plans, job-wise. He’s got to start thinking about these things; they’re both too big and important to keep burying his head in the sand.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Three. You need to think about what
you
want too. Do you want to stay with him – and if so, at what cost? Be prepared for what he might say. If he’s desperate to move to the sticks, then would you give it a go and join him there, or would that be a deal-breaker? Think about your options.’

‘Yep,’ Emma said again. God, it was so much easier, having someone else tell you what to do.

‘Most important thing: do not contact Nicholas. He’s not worth it, however badly you want to get up the duff.’

‘I know.’

‘Really. Look me in the eye and promise me you won’t touch him with a bargepole, unless it’s to brain him with it.’

‘I promise.’

‘Now, give me a hug and let’s have some more wine.’

‘Done.’

Emma felt happier than she had for weeks as they put their arms around each other. Oh, why had she cut off her nose to spite her face, isolating herself from her friend? If only they could have had this talk a month ago, she never would have pursued Nicholas and she almost certainly wouldn’t have snogged Greg. ‘You should be a marriage counsellor,’ she laughed as they pulled apart. Then she froze. ‘Oh my God,’ she hissed. ‘Do you hear that?’

There was the definite sound of footsteps climbing the stairs to the flat. ‘Is it David?’ Sally whispered, her eyes wide.

‘Must be,’ said Emma. Oh, help. She wished she hadn’t drunk so much so quickly now. They both stiffened as a key was put in the lock and turned.

Then the door opened and David walked in. ‘Hiya,’ he said. ‘Oh, Sal – hello. How are you?’

‘Great, thanks,’ Sally replied, leaping to her feet. ‘Just about to leave actually.’

Emma got up too, dazed by the unexpected appearance of her husband. ‘Hi,’ she said. Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden and her heart thudded.

‘No need to leave on my account, Sal,’ David began, but she brushed his comment aside.

‘Ah, cheers, but I promised Paul I wouldn’t be late.’ She held up her hands as if to say,
What can you do?
‘I’ll just dial a cab, then I’ll leave you to it.’

Emma felt as if they were actors in a play as she went to embrace David. ‘You okay?’ she asked quietly.

‘Yeah,’ he said into her hair. ‘It’s good to be back.’ He held her tight for a long moment and she felt herself moulding to his shape. God, she had missed him. Just being held by him felt like such a treat.

‘Lovely to see you both,’ Sally said in the background. ‘I’m going to wait outside for the taxi, so . . .’

Emma disentangled herself from David and flung her arms around her friend. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For everything. Let’s do this again soon. I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too,’ Sally said. ‘I’ll ring you. Bye, David.’

Emma shut the front door and they heard her clattering down the steps. Then came the bang of the outer door as she left the building. ‘So,’ Emma began, her breath catching at the enormity of the unsaid. ‘I guess we should talk.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Izzy was starting to wonder if she’d done the right thing, phoning Hugh to have a little word – especially as she hadn’t heard a thing from Alicia since then, despite the birthday cake and card, despite the Happy Birthday text. But really, what kind of friend would she have been if she’d turned a blind eye to Hugh’s dodgy secrets? A rubbish one, that’s what. ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ she had vowed to Alicia, back in the hospital, and she’d been looking for ways to repay her ever since. When she’d heard Hugh and David talking about this other woman Hugh had met up with, the opportunity to help her friend seemed to have presented itself to Izzy on a silver platter.

All the same, she dreaded to think what a hornets’ nest she might have stirred up.

She’d laid it on the line to him when she’d called – once she’d finally got Hugh on the phone, that was. It had been a nightmare, hunching over the Mulberry House reception phone when nobody was around, in order to call Alicia’s landline. And of course Alicia had picked up the call – twice – and Izzy had panicked and hung up, not wanting to be detected. If only she’d had Hugh’s mobile number, she could have avoided all the subterfuge, but she didn’t want to prompt questions from Charlie by asking for it.

Third time lucky anyway. He’d answered and she’d put it to him straight: tell Alicia what’s going on, or I will. Simple as that.

He hadn’t liked that very much, of course. His voice had changed from assured to shaky in a single heartbeat. ‘Is this a threat?’ he asked. ‘What . . . what do you know?’

What did she know? Not a lot. Enough, though. ‘I’m saying this as Alicia’s friend,’ she replied. ‘I’m not interested in the gory details, I just don’t want her to be hurt.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said sadly. She could practically hear him wringing his hands.
Shouldn’t have cheated on her then, should you?
she thought, hardening herself to his anguish. Alicia deserved better. ‘Well, that’s that then,’ he ended. ‘Goodbye.’

Since then Izzy had kept an ear out for news down the family grapevine, but nothing had been reported. Not a word. She really hoped she hadn’t completely ballsed this up. It had seemed the right thing to do, forcing Hugh to come clean – a show of solidarity with Alicia – but she couldn’t help wondering if she might actually have made things worse, not better. Should she have kept her mouth shut after all?

‘Were they there?’ she asked Charlie, when he came back from delivering the cake. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘They must be out somewhere,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got a spare key, so I left the cake on the kitchen table. Had to put it back together again after I dropped it on the front path, but . . .’

She laughed despite her anxiety. ‘You’re such a bad liar.’

He grinned. ‘Do you think I’d have dared show my face if I really had dropped it?’ he asked. ‘No, it’s fine. Survived the journey. Tasted lovely, too . . . You did say I could help myself to a slice, didn’t you?’

She threw a carrot at him. They were in Lilian’s kitchen, and Izzy had offered to make everyone lunch. ‘If I find out one crumb was missing . . .’

‘I love it when you’re angry,’ he teased, taking a bite out of the carrot. ‘Go on, start telling me off. Give me a proper bollocking.’

She laughed again. ‘Don’t tempt me, Charlie Jones. There are more carrots where that one came from, and I can think of plenty of uses for them, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Kinky talk – even better,’ he said, dodging as she tried to cuff him. ‘This is like one of those hotlines, isn’t it, where I pay a premium-call rate and you start promising me carrots up the arse. Dirty girl. I love it.’

‘Ah, there you are, David,’ Eddie said, coming into the room just then.

Charlie turned round. ‘It’s me, Dad. David’s gone back to Bristol, remember?’

Eddie scratched his head. ‘Of course he has,’ he said after a moment. ‘I knew that. Have you seen my glasses anywhere?’

‘No, Dad,’ Charlie said.

‘I haven’t, either,’ Izzy said. ‘Can I make you a brew while you’re here, Eddie?’

He beamed at her. ‘Now you’re talking,’ he said. ‘You’re my kind of girl, you know. She’s my kind of girl, you know, Charlie.’

‘Oh, she’s mine too,’ Charlie said, grinning. ‘Make us one too while you’re at it, babe.’

Izzy rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a flush of pleasure. My kind of girl, eh? Did he really mean that, or was he just messing about? She still couldn’t tell if he felt anything more for her than ‘just good friends’. ‘You take over with these carrots then,’ she told him. ‘Are you okay there, Eddie?’ she added, getting down some mugs. ‘Do you want to have a seat? This won’t take a minute.’

She’d been in the house less than a week and already adored big, gentle Eddie, as did the girls. He was so sweet and kind, softly spoken and mild-mannered, yet she’d seen the devoted way he looked at Lilian and his sons, and got a sense of the deep protective love he felt for them, like a daddy bear. Sure, he was in his sixties, with a paunch and greying hair, but she could just imagine him in his prime, squaring up to anyone who dared hurt a member of his family. She’d always wanted a dad.

There was this unspoken subject everyone was skirting round, though. Eddie was a frail old man, she thought, watching him lower himself carefully into a chair at the table, and age was creeping up on him, tapping on his rounded shoulder. He had started forgetting things – names, words, where he was going, what he was doing – and seemed to be in a fog for much of the time. So why was nobody acknowledging that there was a problem?

The kettle began hissing and Eddie turned his benevolent, guileless eyes around the room. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen my glasses anywhere, have you?’ he asked.

Izzy was getting more agile on her crutches every day, and, as the girls were happy to play in the garden for hours on end, she took it upon herself to start helping out around the main house. At first Lilian had shooed her away, refusing her offers of assistance. ‘You’re meant to be resting,’ she said in that brisk, clipped way of hers, but Izzy had insisted.

‘It’s the least I can do,’ she argued. ‘Besides, I’m not very good at resting.’

This seemed to strike a chord. A lifelong grafter herself, Lilian could relate to such an admission. ‘Nor me,’ she admitted after a moment, then gave a nod of approval. ‘Well . . . if you’re sure, then I suppose I could use a hand here and there. Thank you.’

And so Izzy got stuck in. Although stairs were still difficult, she was able to hoover (slowly) the downstairs rooms, help out in the kitchen (such a lovely big kitchen!) and take bookings for new guests online or over the phone. She rather enjoyed being involved with the personal side of the business too, greeting the guests and answering their queries if Lilian was too busy. (Lilian was
always
too busy, poor woman, what with it being Easter and Eddie not being himself. She also had to do all the driving now, as the family had banned Eddie from the car, following an incident in the lane with a Renault Mégane.)

It wasn’t just the domestics that Izzy lent a hand with. Having seen Lilian struggle back with two enormous loads of groceries within the week, Izzy showed her how to order food online and have it delivered instead. It was clear that Lilian was extremely excited by this idea. ‘So I won’t have to go out and pick up the shopping myself?’ she asked several times before the first delivery. ‘Somebody will drive it all here for me?’

‘Yes, and they’ll bring the bags through to the kitchen if you want them to, as well,’ Izzy assured her. ‘All you have to do is put everything away. Simple as that.’

It was quite something, seeing Lilian’s expression when the delivery van arrived that first time, and the strapping young driver carried through all her bags of groceries. The novelty of such a thing made her face light up, like the sun coming out. ‘Thank you. This is wonderful!’ she said, rummaging through her purse for a tip.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ the driver laughed as she tried to press a pound coin into his hand. ‘Really, Mrs Jones – it’s just my job.’