Wronged Sons, The (34 page)

Holly was right. To anyone who ever gave you confidence - you owe them a lot.

*

Too excited to give in to jetlag, Edward and I went out for a celebratory meal in a Manhattan Italian restaurant that a friend of his had recommended. As he opened the frosted glass door, I nearly fell backwards when a huge roar rang out. In front of me sat my family and friends with Champagne flutes raised high in the air like Gabriel’s trumpet.

Edward had paid for my children, their partners and my granddaughter to fly to New York earlier that morning. James had flown in from Mexico where he was touring, and Tom and Amanda and Roger and Selena had arrived a day earlier with Edward’s sons. Steven and Annie travelled directly from their villa in the South Of France and even Shirley had overcome her lifelong fear of aeroplanes to take her first flight in eighty-seven years.

“Edward called us all one by one to ask for our blessing,” whispered Emily. “If you’d said no, Shirley was going to say yes!”

I didn’t think it was possible to love another man any more than I did right at that moment. I would have done anything for Edward with one exception – tell him the truth about how you’d left us. Shirley and I had kept that secret to ourselves.

“I take it that’s the end of the surprises for one day?” I asked later, tucking into my Amaretto cheesecake dessert. “Because I don’t know how much more my nerves can take.”

He smiled. “There’s just one more small thing we need to do. But you’ll have to wait till tomorrow for that.”

Central Park, New York

December 20, 7.30pm

As the Five Boroughs Children’s Choir sang Silent Night, I glided up the mauve carpet towards a white iron altar in Central Park.

The heavenly Vera Wang wedding dress Selena had chosen for me fitted perfectly. My bridesmaids, Emily and Olivia, had already reached the minister before I joined them, clinging to my boys’ arms for dear life. The fairy lights wrapped around the plinth bounced off a light dusting of snow on the ground, then I greeted my husband-to-be and his two best men, my new stepsons.

And as I faced the love of my life I’d waited so long to find and sobbed ‘I do’, it was impossible to feel the freezing December temperatures when I glowed so warm inside.

***

Today, 7.05pm

She’d howled in anger; had tried to gain his sympathy and reluctantly appealed to his better nature, but nothing had worked.

He had yet to offer a single explanation behind his sudden departure or his equally unexpected return. But the mood in the room, and specifically him, had shifted. When he spoke of James, he sounded wracked with remorse. And there was more to it than being reminded of the family he left, or a promise to the dead. She needed to change her tack if she was going to get her answers.

“Why now?” she coaxed calmly. “You said time was running out? Is it because we’re getting older?”

His eyes surveyed the room. He looked forwards and sideways but not directly at her. He absentmindedly chewed the inside of his cheek until he penetrated the skin.

She couldn’t decide if he was choosing to ignore the question of if he’d heard something completely different altogether. He’d become unreadable.

“What do you have to put right with me Simon?” she repeated, like she was talking to a frightened child. “What do you need me to know?”

He looked like she’d woken him from a bad dream, and that he’d been further confused by unfamiliar surroundings. His mind was zigzagging, defying logic and order. He was aging before her eyes and it alarmed her.

She broke off from analysing him to ask herself why she was feeling concern for a man who hadn’t given a damn about her. But that was her nature. And he was pained.

Regardless of Caroline’s brutal killing, she no longer feared him. Even the hatred had lessened slightly. Now she felt pity for the obviously troubled soul before her. She’d wondered during their conversation if sometimes he was even listening to what she was saying because his expression would switch from engaged to blank in a heartbeat. His vacancy reminded her of someone else, and her mind raced though a lifetime of mugshots, trying to recall who it was.

He tasted the blood trickling from the bite-mark in his cheek, but little else. He clenched his fists once again. He knew his eyes had glazed over and his brain was sluggish but there was nothing he could do but to wait until it passed, like it always did. He dug his fingernails into his palms, hoping it might give him focus on what he needed to say.

He’d dipped in and out of her marriage recollections, but now he was finding it difficult to respond. His words were caught up in a swirling current and the faster he swam, the more they collided.

‘My brain feels like Swiss cheese,’ he’d told Dr Salvatore. His physician had warned him it was one of the symptoms. A year he had lived like this, blaming grief, stress and remorse on his altered state of mind before the truth was revealed.

God had had one last plan for him. He could run away from everyone else in the world, but not himself.

“You have Alzheimer’s!” she gasped, startling the both of them.

Suddenly it had made sense to her. She’d witnessed the same behaviour when Jim had brought Margaret back to England from Spain and placed her into a nursing home. She’d visited her old Fabien’s mentor many times with Selena and when Margaret was less blurred, she chatted in minute detail of her past. It was as if she needed to get it all off her chest while she was still able to. And he had been doing the same.

The resigned look he offered said more than his muddled sentences could. Soon, their shared memories would only belong to her.

“Why did you leave, Simon?” she asked softly.

He stared at her while he chose the right words and tried to put them in the correct order.

“I saw you with him,” he replied. “I know what you did.”

It was her turn to embrace confusion. “Who?” she replied.

“My best friend. You had an affair with my best friend.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Northampton, Twenty-Seven Years Earlier

September 14, 11.15pm

The stylus lurched backwards and forwards like a ball in a roulette wheel until it settled into a groove it could work with.

Annie and Caroline had twice bumped into the record player as they stood back to back, imitating the girls from ABBA. Knowing Me Knowing You blasted out from speakers mounted on wall brackets and a circle of people formed around them as they re-created the band’s iconic routine.

But I paid them little attention, as I was fixated by you and Dougie dancing together in the corner of the lounge.

By early evening, the party you’d thrown to celebrate my thirty-second birthday was in full swing. Our friends and neighbours had marched up the path like worker ants, carrying cheap French wine and trays of cling-film wrapped sandwiches.

Neither you nor Dougie were aware of anyone else’s presence. You faced each other: his hands on your hips and your arms draped around his neck as you swayed drunkenly to the music.

Dougie had spent more time of late offloading his woes on to you than on to me. And in all honesty, I’d found it arduous listening to the complaints of a man who’d been deserted by his marital punch-bag, so your willing ear came as a relief.

But I hadn’t thought twice about your growing closeness until that night. Despite the many distractions, neither of you lost eye contact – not when the song skipped, when the ABBA tribute act disbanded, nor when an excited Oscar began bursting balloons with his claws.

‘You’re reading too much into it,’ I rationalised, fiddling nervously with the new cufflinks you’d bought me. ‘They’re friends.’ So I dismissed my insecurities and headed into the garden for a cigarette. When I gave it more thought, I knew all I’d witnessed were two pals sharing a boozy dance.

“Happy birthday mate!” shouted an inebriated Steven, throwing his arm around my shoulder.

“Cheers,” I replied, and held my pint out in front of me to toast the occasion.

“Annie would never throw a party like this for me, she’d be terrified of what the house would look like afterwards. You’ve got a good girl there.”

“I know,” I smiled. “I have.”

He was right. I’d been a fool for having doubted either of you even for a minute. I would go back inside to find you, give you a cuddle and thank you for your efforts. And I’d apologise for having put my work before you in recent months. I knew it had created distance between us and I’d been selfish for ignoring it.

I stubbed my cigarette out on the path and went inside but the corner of the room you’d dominated was vacant. My eyes combed the lounge but you were nowhere to be seen. I scanned the dining room and the kitchen before going back through the patio doors, into the garden and towards Roger.

“Is Kitty out here?” I asked.

“No mate,” slurred Roger. “Do you want another beer?”

I shook my head but as I turned to go back into the house, I was drawn to our bedroom window. I looked up to see the shadow of two figures behind the curtain before the lights went out.

I remained there for a moment, temporarily paralysed.

***

September 14, 11.15pm

I’d enjoyed spending time with Dougie. I could see why women fancied him. He was broad shouldered and ruggedly handsome; he knew how to dress well and he was a great listener. If I were single, he’d probably have caught my eye too.

And as you threw all your attention into setting up your business, and Dougie adjusted his single life, we’d both found ourselves in the same lonely boat together.

The children took up most of my time, but Dougie had nothing to take his mind off Beth. I hated to think of him rattling around his house without her. So he came to ours on weeknights for dinner with the kids and I. They adored their Uncle D because he’d chase them around the house pretending to be a monster from the Ghostbusters film and gave them the attention you used to give.

And after I’d packed them off to bed, Dougie and I might sit in the garden or around the kitchen table, unscrew a bottle of wine and wait for you to come home and join us. Invariably, we’d chat for a couple of hours - he’d complain about his directionless life and I’d moan about my lack of a husband. He’d always defend you, reminding me your long hours were a means to an end. I knew he was right, but occasionally I needed someone else to turn on the light at the end of the tunnel.

Despite our many conversations about Beth, Dougie never really explained why she’d walked out on him. Instead, he danced around the subject making it clear he wasn’t ready to confide all in me just yet. I wondered if he’d told you, because you hadn’t said anything either.

“Was there someone else?” I’d asked him a week earlier, opening a second bottle of Lambrusco.

“No, Beth would never do that,” he replied.

“I didn’t mean her.”

“I’d never have an affair,” he said, a little put out I’d suggested such a thing.

“You don’t need to have an affair to want someone else.”

He knew what I was getting at. I don’t know why, but something in me wanted to hear him admit it was you he wanted. But I changed the subject to your impending birthday party.

We’d both begged you to take a Saturday night off for a knees-up - you’d have nothing to do but turn up in your own lounge. And even that you did reluctantly.

Making food for the buffet, blowing up balloons, organising a babysitter and rearranging the furniture by myself meant that by the time the party was in full flow, I was shattered - and drunk as a skunk by nine o’clock. But despite all my efforts to encourage you to let your hair down, your eighty-hour working weeks meant you found it hard to unwind. I playfully pulled at your arm to dance but you yanked it away, and chose another pint of beer instead of me.

‘Sod you,’ I thought and grabbed the next best thing, Dougie, to stamp my dance card.

I wrapped my arms around his neck to stop myself from slumping to the floor, and he propped me up around my waist. As we danced, his thoughts and eyes were fixated straight through me.

“You’re in love with Simon, aren’t you?” I blurted out so suddenly, I even let out a surprise gasp. Then I held my breath as I waited for his denial.

But Dougie’s expression didn’t change. And for the next few moments, we just swayed, holding each other’s gaze. Without needing to put it into words, I told him I didn’t mind, and I think he was grateful I’d accepted it.

“Come with me and we’ll talk properly,” he finally whispered.

***

Today, 7.25pm

She remained silent as she mulled over her reply before she spoke again.

He’d brought up her mistakes and stupid decisions she had long chosen to forget. She had no idea he’d seen her with Dougie in the bedroom. Of all the reasons he could have chosen to walk away from her, she’d never thought that to be the one.

She cleared her throat. “You think I had an affair with Dougie?”

He nodded and tapped his head. “I may have this thing inside me now, but I know what I saw and I know what I heard.”

She looked towards her feet and brushed her hand through her hair. Her face felt flush and her bottom lip quivered. Going up the stairs with Dougie was still the second biggest regret of her life. She was ashamed of what had happened between them and she never thought she’d have to talk about it with anyone, let alone her husband. Then she shot him a look of absolute contempt.

“You stupid man,” she growled. “You stupid fucking man.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Northampton, Twenty-Seven Years Earlier

September 14, 11.25pm

I took two stairs at a time but I still couldn’t climb them fast enough. The higher I reached, the steeper they became and by the time I reached the top, I was nauseous. I had wanted to be wrong and for the people behind the door to be two neighbours getting a thrill from having sex in someone else’s house.