Strictly Love (23 page)

‘Oh Rob,’ said Katie, bursting into tears again, ‘why does life have to be so complicated?’

He held her close against him, loving the feel of her in his arms, but knowing she couldn't stay there.

‘I wish I knew,’ he said sadly. ‘I only wish I knew.’

Chapter Twenty-nine

 

Emily sat at her desk staring at Mark's file. The case wouldn't make it to court till after Christmas, but she'd been charged with the task of following up witness statements. The general consensus in the office was that Mark was guilty as hell. Despite being lawyers, who you might have thought would have looked at the thing with more scrutiny, Mark's appearance in the
Sun
had been enough to convince them, too, that he had broken Jasmine's trust. The trouble with this job, Emily reflected, was that everyone you met was on the make, trying to get something for nothing. It made you cynical, so that when you did meet someone like Mark, who really was straight as a die, you tended to distrust them and not believe they were genuine.

Emily was scouring through the papers to try to find something, anything, which would work in Mark's favour. Maybe if she could find something to make the case collapse she could extricate herself from the mess she had found herself in, not lose her job, and regain Mark to boot. The only thing was, she would have to be incredibly subtle and make it look as though she wasn't sabotaging the case deliberately, otherwise Mel might just get rid of her anyway. Jasmine's star was firmly in the ascendant at the moment – if they won her case then others might beat a path to their door. If they lost it could only harm the company

– unless they lost in such a way that Emily could make it look as if they were acting with integrity.

Something was nagging at the back of her mind. Something Ffion had muttered on Saturday about it not really mattering anyway if Mark was guilty, because someone at his surgery was.

Why should it not matter? Maybe Mark was right and he had been set up. Emily decided it might be time she rekindled her friendship with Ffion. Perhaps there were things Ffion knew that the PR company weren't too keen to pass on to their lawyers. Emily knew Ffion of old. She could be incredibly indiscreet. Shove a few vodkas down her neck and it might not be too hard to get her to come up with some hard facts. At least, Emily thought, then she'd feel she was doing something for Mark.

‘Katie, you cannot go on like this.’ Katie's mum had called round for the third day running to find Katie sitting in turmoil, with beds unmade, floors unswept, and Molly crawling happily through the chaos.

Katie tried to rouse herself out of her stupor. She couldn't even manage to drum up any irritation at her mother for being so absolutely appallingly right. Ever since she'd got back from Rob's on Saturday – he had insisted on driving her home in her car and making sure she sat down and told her mother everything that had happened – she had been in the same stunned state. Charlie had been home once, briefly, to pick up some things, but she hadn't seen him since. For all she knew he'd gone back to Amsterdam. The kids were so used to his absences that thankfully they hadn't picked up yet that their dad had gone. How the bloody hell was she going to explain it to them? How could George, in particular, cope with having a dad who was gay? Kids could be so cruel to each other. She could imagine Mandy Allwick's son having a field day when he found out.

‘Sorry,’ she said to her mum with a wan smile. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I'll make it,’ said her mother firmly. ‘And then we're going to tackle this mess. You'll feel better when you're not living in squalor.’

‘Says the woman who never ever cleans,’ protested Katie. She almost smiled for a moment, before the dull toxic ache that had been residing in her stomach for the past few days returned. What was she going to do?

‘Now,’ said her mother, returning with the tea. ‘You need to start thinking about your position. I could put you in touch with the lawyers who dealt with your dad's and my divorce if you like. They were very good.’

‘Yes, weren't they?’ The bitterness of Katie's response was a shock to her. It was a new feeling to actually say what she was thinking.

‘That's better.’ Her mother's placidity was infuriating. ‘I thought you must still be pretty angry with me. You shouldn't bottle your feelings up, you know.’

‘I'll bottle my feelings up if I want to,’ said Katie.

‘Yes, and look where it's got you,’ her mum replied.

‘That's unfair,’ said Katie. ‘I had no idea that Charlie was gay. Up until recently we‘ve never had any problems.’

‘Oh, Katie, is that really true?’ Her mum looked at her with great sadness.

Katie was shocked.

‘How did you know?’ she whispered.

‘I'm your mum,’ was the answer. ‘I've always known. You were such a solemn little child, so brave. Always. You never cried about anything. But it didn't stop me from seeing when you were hurting. I'm sure it's the same for you with the boys.’

It was true. Katie did know when they were upset and not telling her things. It had just never occurred to her that her own mother, who had always seemed so distant, felt the same way about her.

‘I knew Charlie was wrong for you from the start,’ said her mum, ‘but you wouldn't be told.’

It was true, Katie's mum had said the first time she'd met Charlie that she didn't think he was right for Katie. But Katie
had still been grieving about her dad, and angry with her mum, and hadn't listened.

‘I think,’ said Katie slowly, ‘that I may have fallen for Charlie on the rebound. I was so devastated by losing Dad, and he was so kind and thoughtful. I muddled up love with something else. Then, as time went on, the children came along, and, well, by then it was too late. I couldn't get out of it. I knew it was wrong, but I kept kidding myself I could put it right.’

‘I know,’ said her mum. ‘And I do understand. I was the same with your father.’

‘What?’ asked Katie. ‘But
you
were the one who pushed for a divorce.’

‘I did in the end,’ said her mum. ‘But only because he'd pushed me too far. I did what you did. I threw myself into work and pretended it was all fine. But it wasn't. I loved him dearly, you know, but it wasn't in his nature to be faithful.’

Katie sputtered into her tea.

‘Dad was unfaithful – how – why? How come I didn't know?’

‘Yes, constantly,’ said her mum. ‘And you didn't know because I didn't want you to know. You adored your dad and it would have broken your heart. I would have probably told you eventually, but then he died and …’ Her voice tailed off. ‘I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said all that, not with what you've just been through.’

Katie's head was whirling. First Charlie. Now her dad. Had nothing in her whole life been real?

‘No, Mum,’ said Katie, ‘I'm the one who should be sorry. I've been condemning you for all these years, when I had no right to.’

‘If I'd told you the truth you wouldn't have had to,’ her mum said. ‘It's just once a lie is in place it's incredibly hard to unpick it.’

‘Maybe that's how Charlie's feeling,’ said Katie. ‘Perhaps I should give him a chance to explain himself.’

‘Perhaps you should,’ her mum agreed. ‘He is the father of your children, and whatever's between you shouldn't affect them.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Katie. ‘But it's not going to be easy.’

‘No, it's not, but things will get better, you'll see,’ her mum assured her. ‘Come on, let's get cracking on the pigsty.’

Rob was attending another meeting for the team-building course. Mr Muscles had got up and done another run-through about basic health and safety. Compared to the lack of care taken when Rob had gone to Wales it sounded like the chance of something going wrong was about one in a million. While Rob was clear that what had happened in Wales had been a result of incompetence and too little attention to health and safety, he couldn't help feeling that things had swung too far the other way. Today's children seemed to be wrapped up in cotton wool.

In fact, it was, he felt, rather ironic, that while the pupils he taught, and no doubt the ones at Gemma's school too, were ridiculously mollycoddled, and health and safety was constantly being used as an excuse for cancelling sporting events, when they did have a chance to go away with the school, it was highly likely they'd do an activity that was absurdly dangerous, like potholing. Fortunately there was no potholing to be done around here. Rob hated confined spaces, and didn't think he'd be all that good at scrambling into caves anyway. He had been to the local gym and reacquainted himself with the climbing wall, though. It hadn't felt too hard, and if Mr Muscles was right, the children were going to have so much safety equipment on that no one was likely to be in any danger.

He tuned out Mr Muscles’ monotone and started thinking about Katie. She had preoccupied his thoughts constantly since Saturday. Not wanting to crowd her, or to give her the wrong idea, he'd rung just once to see how she was. It was all he could do not to ring her every day, and it had taken all his self-control not to respond to her fumbled kiss. But he had seen the shock
in her eyes. She was in no fit state to enter a new relationship, whatever she said, not while the fallout from her current relationship was still rocking her.

Charlie was gay. Well, that was one he hadn't seen coming. He'd thought, on that brief occasion when they'd met, that Charlie had seemed uninterested in Katie, but Rob had put it down to usual married blues. What with Mark's private life being splashed over the papers, Rob was beginning to feel he'd entered a weird parallel universe inhabited by characters whose rightful pride of place should be the
Jeremy Kyle Show
.

‘Well, that just about wraps it up for the evening.’ Mr Muscles was finishing his talk. Rob had taken scarcely any notes, he'd better crib the rest off Jen, he supposed. ‘Any questions?’

Apart from a very earnest English teacher who seemed to be rather terrified about the prospect of kayaking and so wanted to know more about all the issues Mr Muscles had covered, no one had much to say. So it was with relief that Rob sloped off for a quick pint in the Hookers. On his way, he'd ring Katie to see how she was. Two phone calls in a week. That wasn't overdoing it.

‘This is a good spot,’ said Mark as he started unloading the car. The campsite he'd found was on top of a hill overlooking Poole harbour. The views were pretty stunning, and they'd arrived early enough to get a good pitch. Gemma had bitched all the way about wanting to go to Majorca, like they'd done a couple of years previously, until Mark had bitten her head off and said, ‘That was then, this is now.’ Gemma had then promptly retreated into a sulky silence and spent the entire journey sending text messages to her friends, no doubt along the lines of what a sad loser of a dad she had. Beth, meanwhile, had asked if they were nearly there yet about half an hour after leaving the house, and continued to ask at half-hourly intervals. It was enough to try the patient of a saint.

But at least they were here. Mark loved the outdoor life and was looking forward to a week's camping. Sam hadn't been keen on it at all, and one of the benefits of the split had been taking the girls away at regular intervals. Normally they enjoyed it, but Gemma was determined to spoil today. She moaned about putting the tent up, that her air-bed was too lumpy, and that she hated being outdoors, till in the end Mark lost patience and shouted at her. Beth promptly burst into tears, and so guilt drove Mark to promise McDonald's. They were probably hungry. He'd forgotten to feed them en route, something he was always getting in a tangle with. He'd forget about food, their blood sugar would drop and then tempers would end up flaring. His mother (who generally was noncommittal about advice) was constantly telling him that he should remember they needed feeding at regular intervals.

They couldn't find a McDonald's, so settled for fish and chips by the seafront instead. Even Gemma cheered up when an over-friendly seagull came and stole their chips. Then they had a run on the beach. It was a blustery day and the sky was filling up with ominous rain clouds, but at least it was warm.

Mark had stocked up on food before leaving, so when they eventually got back to the campsite, towards dusk, he started to sort out hotdogs for tea. The girls, meanwhile, wandered off to the play area, where he knew from past experience they would have a riot, whatever Gemma said about being too old for it. As he lit the gas stove, he felt the first drop of rain. Bugger. He persevered boiling up his hotdogs on his poxy little ring – he kept promising himself he'd get a decent gas stove every time he came camping, and kept forgetting when he got home – after all, part of the joys of the great outdoors included the vagaries of the British weather. It was annoying, but they were well-prepared with cagoules and waterproofs. The drop was followed swiftly by a deluge, and the girls, who hadn't been wearing coats, suddenly appeared wet through. He sorted out fresh clothes for
them while they got themselves dry and changed. The weather was now so bad they had to eat their tea inside the tent. It was late by the time they were done, and the rain had clearly settled in for the night. Mark sent the girls to bed, while he tried to read a book under the light of his rather inadequate torch. Eventually he got fed up and decided to call it a day too. He climbed into bed and listened to the steady dripping on his tent. He hoped it was as waterproof as the manufacturers claimed. With any luck the storm would have passed by morning.

Chapter Thirty

 

The storm hadn't passed over in the morning. Mark, Gemma and Beth spent a miserable day wandering around Bournemouth in the rain – once they'd done the pier, the aquarium and the arcade there was precious all else to do. Mark spent a fortune on food and fruit machines, and in the afternoon, with nothing left to do, they ended up at the cinema. The next couple of days were the same. They managed one warmish day on the beach, during which Gemma had to be constantly watched as she had a habit of chatting to any vaguely fanciable boy that strayed into her orbit, and a daytrip to Brownsea Island between squalls, before the rain set in in earnest. By day four all three of them were thoroughly sick of being wet and cold. They'd played endless games of rummy and snap, the girls had got bored stiff of the DVDs Mark had brought to watch on the portable DVD player in the car, and everyone was squabbling.

Waking up in the morning to yet more rain, and hearing still more rain was due on the weather forecast, Mark admitted defeat and headed off home. He'd spent a fortune and probably shouted at his daughters more than he'd ever done in his whole life before. It was hardly what you'd call a success.

‘I never want to go camping again,’ groused Gemma as she and Beth reluctantly helped Mark pack the car.

‘Yes, camping sucks,’ said Beth, as she poured water out of her wellies.

‘We have been pretty unlucky with the weather,’ Mark pointed out. ‘It might be better next time.’

‘Well, I'm not coming again,’ said Gemma, looking mutinous. ‘I want to go somewhere sunny on holiday.’

‘Can't we go to Majorca again?’ wheedled Beth.

‘I'll see,’ promised Mark, packing away the last of the camping gear. Everything was so damp and wet it was going to take days to dry it out. Even he, who loved camping, having fond memories of
Swallows and Amazons
type holidays as a kid, had to admit this had not been fun.

They arrived home bad-tempered and tired after a long drive in the rain on crowded motorways. No wonder people didn't holiday in England, Mark thought. It was such a horrible experience. The girls seemed delighted to be back and promptly sat down in front of the telly while he sorted everything out. There was a message on the answerphone from an old friend, inviting Mark to a fortieth birthday party the following weekend. He rang back to accept straight away. After another few days with grumpy children he was going to be seriously in need of some adult entertainment.

It being the summer holidays, Rob was also home and filled him in on the latest with Katie, who had apparently seen a solicitor about her divorce, and, more importantly as far as Rob was concerned, had been persuaded to come out dancing again.

‘So are you and her … ?’ Mark left the question hanging, but Rob brushed it away.

‘No chance,’ he said. ‘I mean, I fancy her and everything, but she's in a mess at the moment. I think it would be a disaster.’

‘Blimey, I never thought I'd hear you say that,’ said Mark. ‘Rob showing some kind of restraint where women are concerned. Wonders will never cease.’

‘Yeah, well,’ said Rob, 'she's having a rotten time. I think she just needs a friend at the moment.’

Gemma walked into the kitchen. ‘Is there anything to eat?’ she asked. ‘I'm starving.’

‘You are not starving,’ said Mark, ‘children in Africa are starving. Besides, you only just ate.’

‘I'm still hungry,’ said Gemma.

‘You'd better get used to that,’ Rob teased her, ‘because they don't feed you at all on the team-building course, you know.’

Gemma grimaced. ‘I still can't believe you're doing it too,’ she said. ‘I hope I don't have to talk to you. It'll be so embarrassing.’

‘It's all right, Wednesday, I'll make sure I embarrass you as much as possible,’ said Rob, and then ducked as she threw a tea-towel at him.

Emily was meeting Ffion in a bar in Crawley. Now Ffion and Callum were apparently an item, which Emily was still getting her head around, they had taken to spending their weekends in Sussex. Callum's ridiculously wealthy parents had gone away on a lengthy cruise, leaving their overindulged son their house to play with for the summer. More fool them, had been Emily's instant response. She wondered if they had any idea quite how feckless their son was, or quite how many drugs were likely to be consumed in their house.

Emily had been hoping to pump Ffion for some information about Jasmine, but so far, apart from imparting the news that Jasmine and Tony were back together, her lips remained tightly sealed. Emily sat listening to an unedifying and seemingly endless account of the doings of zedlebrities who made Jasmine look classy, wondering how soon she could politely call it a day, when Callum came bounding in. He looked a bit wired and seemed raring to go.

‘Change of plan, ladies, there's a party over at Lakefield,’ he said. ‘Fancy a whirl down there in the old man's motor?’

The bar was fairly empty, and the evening so far had not been desperately exciting. Emily didn't have much else to do. Maybe
if Ffion got a bit drunker, she might be more forthcoming with some more information.

‘you've not been taking anything, have you?’ Emily was suspicious. The last thing she wanted to do was get in Callum's car if he was high as a kite.

‘Of course not,’ said Callum, with that dazzling grin she remembered of old (and which now she was relieved to note had no effect on her whatsoever). ‘How could you think such a thing?’

‘How indeed?’ said Emily drily.

She followed Ffion and Callum to the old man's motor, which turned out to be a Porsche, parked crookedly on the pavement. Unbelievable, that Callum's parents could be so naïve as to let him take their car. Emily wouldn't have trusted him with hers in a million years.

Callum drove fast but, to Emily's relief, reasonably safely towards Lakefield, a small village out near the North Downs. The party itself turned out not to be in Lakefield itself, but in a huge house down a windy drive, halfway up a hill, belonging to the brother of a friend of Callum's. It was a balmy sunny evening, which made a nice change after all the recent rain. The view from the house was across Crawley and beyond, to London twinkling far in the distance. A dramatically large orange sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows and painting the few clouds vivid purples, reds and yellows. The trees surrounding the house were alive with birdsong. The fields of corn swayed softly in the summer breeze. It was beautiful, but Ffion and Callum barely seemed to notice, when all Emily wanted to do was to stop and stare at the view, the others making instead for the back of the house where a large marquee had been erected, and from whence loud music was pumping.

Emily followed them, but they were soon lost in the crowd. She accepted the glass of champagne offered to her as she walked into the marquee, and then stood like a lemon sipping it, wondering why on earth she'd come.

‘Oh my God, it's you.’

Emily turned round and nearly dropped her glass in shock. There, standing before her, was Mark.

‘What are you doing here?’ they said in unison.

Mark was still reeling in shock. He couldn't believe it when he saw Emily standing before him. He'd forgotten how gorgeous she was, and the months of absence had stripped away any anger he'd felt towards her. Looking at it now, he could see that she was in a difficult position. Maybe he had been a bit harsh. He felt awkward, though, knowing he'd been pretty unkind to her the last time they'd met. They'd had a stilted conversation, before he made his excuses and went off to chat with his friends. From that moment on, Mark decided his best move was to keep out of her way. But it was hard, knowing she was there, and knowing he couldn't be with her.

Emily had disappeared with her friends, which was both a relief and a torture to him. Mark was staying the night, so he spent the rest of the evening getting pleasantly drunk in the company of old friends, and trying to avoid Emily.

Around midnight, Mark was exiting the marquee when he saw Emily having an angry altercation with her friends.

‘Oh bugger off then,’ he heard her say. ‘Go and kill yourselves. See if I care.’

They walked away, presumably going back to their car, while she stormed off looking furious. She came cannoning into Mark, who was standing looking at the view as the bright moon lit the whole valley.

‘Oh, hello again,’ she said.

‘Hello again,’ Mark replied. ‘Is everything all right? Only I couldn't help noticing …’

‘Just my divvy ex-boyfriend being a prat as usual,’ said Emily. ‘He drove us here, and then got tanked up on beer, which on top of all the coke he's probably done means he's ever so slightly
over the limit. He wants to go home, but I refused to get in the car with him. Ffion, who I thought had marginally more sense, doesn't seem to care at all. I've a good mind to call the police. That would serve him right.’

‘I'd offer you a lift,’ said Mark, ‘but I'm a bit worse for wear myself.’

‘I guess I'll have to get a taxi,’ said Emily.

‘Oh.’ Mark felt a stab of disappointment. Of course she had to get a taxi, it was the obvious thing to do. But he would have liked her to stay. They repaired to the kitchen, where they found the numbers of several local taxi firms stuck to a noticeboard. Emily rang all of them, but to no avail.

‘It's hopeless,’ she said. ‘At this rate I'll have to walk home.’

‘Or you could stay,’ said Mark. ‘If I ask Matthew I'm sure he could squeeze you in somewhere. This place is massive.’

‘Do you think it would be all right?’ asked Emily, hesitant. ‘I wouldn't like to impose.’

‘You won't be,’ said Mark. ‘Matt won't mind putting up a friend of mine. Go on, stay.’

‘I suppose I could,’ said Emily, still looking doubtful.

‘Go on, live a little,’ said Mark, nudging her. He looked out to the lawn where the marquee was still full of milling people partying like there was no tomorrow.

Mark fetched them both drinks, and they wandered back out onto the patio, listening to the strains of the music, and they talked and talked and then talked some more.

‘Do you fancy a dance?’ Mark asked.

Emily shook her head. ‘Not tonight,’ she said. ‘I'm not quite drunk enough to make a fool of myself yet.’

They sat for a little while contemplating the moon, which hung large and red in the sky.

‘Isn't it beautiful?’ said Emily dreamily.

‘You'd get a better view from the back of Matt's field,’ Mark told her. ‘I can show you if you like.’

Emily hesitated.

‘Or is that outside the terms of what we're supposed to be doing? I don't want you to get into trouble at work.’

‘Well, by rights I shouldn't be anywhere near you at all,’ said Emily. ‘But these are exceptional circumstances, so I suppose …’

‘I've got a picnic blanket and a bottle of champers in the car,’ said Mark teasingly.

‘Oh go on, then,’ said Emily. ‘So long as we don't talk about the case, I'm sure half an hour won't hurt.’

As Emily followed Mark down the moonlit path that wound its way to the cornfield backing onto the house, she wondered briefly about the wisdom of what she was doing, then thought, sod it. Life was too short. It might be months before she saw Mark again, and if anything came up about their meeting at work, she could genuinely say they had met by accident.

She felt nervous, though. In the weeks since they'd parted, she had imagined being with him again. Imagined how it would feel to have him close to her, holding her tight, kissing her lips …

‘Did you say something?’ Mark asked, as he found a suitable spot to sit down.

‘No,’ said Emily hastily, pleased that he hadn't overheard her private thoughts for once. She changed the subject. ‘This is a lovely spot.’

‘Matt's a lucky bastard,’ said Mark. ‘But then he always was. Rich parents, clever investment, it all adds up to having a house like this. I should hate him but he's actually very down to earth, plus he's extraordinarily generous. It's quite hard to hate someone like that. Champagne?’

Emily nodded, feeling incredibly awkward as she perched on the end of the picnic blanket. The ease with which she'd been talking to Mark earlier suddenly deserted her. What could she say to him, this man she loved despite everything? Her
heart ached with longing. Here they were on a moonlit night, in a field of swaying corn, gazing across a beautiful valley, listening to the distant music from the party. It was a moment ripe for romance, but she couldn't – they couldn't go there. Emily felt absurdly like she was in the middle of a scene from Shakespeare. Any minute now Puck was going to appear with a love potion.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony

 

She murmured the words as they popped into her head.

‘That's beautiful,’ said Mark. ‘Did you make that up?’

‘Don't be daft,’ said Emily. ‘It's Shakespeare. Are you really such a philistine you can't tell?’

‘We dentists don't have much truck with Shakespeare,’ protested Mark. ‘Though I do remember enjoying
Macbeth
at school. I got to play one of the witches.’

‘I can just picture you in drag,’ said Emily drily.

The ice was broken and she leaned back, looking at him. Mark lay on his back, gazing at the stars. It turned out he was keen on astronomy and could name most of the constellations.

‘There's so little artificial light out here, you can almost see all of Orion,’ he said, pointing out the shape of the hunter. ‘At home I can only usually see the belt.’

‘That's really neat,’ said Emily. ‘He really does look like he's holding a bow. I've never seen that before.’

The pain of wanting Mark was almost physical. She lay there, wishing she could reach out and touch him, but not daring to.

‘If only we could stay like this forever,’ she said.

‘If only we could,’ said Mark. He moved towards her and gently touched her face. It felt like the wind caressing her cheek.