‘They’re all too busy themselves,’ he says with a grunt and carries on regardless. ‘I love you, Grace. Why don’t you show me that you still love me?’
‘Not like this, Harry. Let’s put the light on and sit and talk.’
His hand is between my legs and I’m dry, unwilling, but he’s rubbing, rubbing, rubbing anyway.
‘Harry, you’re drunk. Stop it.’
But he doesn’t stop. He pulls up my top, sinks his head on to my breasts and nuzzles. His stubble is rough, scratching my skin.
‘Harry, no.’ I push him away and he falls back on the bed. Then I realise that nothing is going to happen because Harry is incapable of making it happen. He sits there looking dejected, broken.
All the fight goes out of me and out of him too.
He flops next to me on the pillow and wrenches his hands through his hair in frustration. ‘I want to love you again, Grace.’ He’s almost crying now.
‘Hush,’ I say. ‘It’s all right.’
‘It’s not all right,’ he counters and his voice is bitter, crushed. ‘Nothing is.’
I curl into him and stroke the tears from his cheeks. ‘Maybe not now. But it can be again. We just need to try.’
He wipes his eyes with the back of his arm. ‘I’m such a fuck-up.’
‘You’re not,’ I whisper. ‘We just seem to have lost touch with the people that we once were.’
From the back of my mind the thought pushes through that I’m only just beginning to think about the person that I want to be and I can’t go back to being Grace the good girl, Grace the accountant, Grace the dutiful wife.
‘I’m an idiot if I lose you,’ he says.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I promise. ‘But things have to change, Harry. We can’t go on like this.’
Perhaps the best thing for us to do is pack our bags and go home. I love this place, love being here. I know that Ella would be so disappointed, but we should leave. I have to put some distance between Noah and myself so that I can concentrate on my husband.
‘I’ll do anything,’ he says. ‘Anything.’
This would be the time to raise the issue of his drinking and make him realise the detrimental effect it’s having on us both, but I don’t. Instead, I squash it down as I always do as I just don’t have the energy to face it now.
‘We have a lot to talk about. Let’s not do it when we’re tired and emotional. Things always look better when you’ve slept on them.’ I rest my head on his shoulder and his arms twine round me as he pulls me close.
‘We’ll be OK, Grace,’ he assures me. ‘I just have to get my head round some stuff.’
Me too.
He kisses me again and this time it’s tender and I don’t protest when his hands move over me. The kiss deepens and I close my eyes as he moves above me. This time we make love almost like we used to do, but as Harry comes I feel as if he’s trying to lose himself in me. I know it because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Another sleepless night. I lie awake until dawn, going over what has just happened between Harry and me, wondering whether I actually still love my husband at all. At the moment, I sometimes struggle to like him. But last night I believe there was a glimmer of hope that we could rescue our marriage. I may be clutching at straws, but I feel that I need to.
When I hear the clink of cups and the running of the tap in the kitchen, I pull a sweatshirt over my pyjamas and go downstairs.
As I thought, it’s Ella in the kitchen, brewing up as usual. I pause at the foot of the staircase, forming sentences in my head. I should tell her that Harry and I need to go home and sort out the mess of our marriage in private – away from here, away from Noah, away from everyone. I know how disappointed Ella will be and I’d love to stay here more than anything but I think it’s wise if we leave. But, before I can speak, she leans over the sink, holding her stomach and retching drily.
‘Morning,’ I say. ‘Not well again?’
‘Still a bit pukey,’ Ella admits. ‘Flick’s already up. She’s out on the beach. I’m just making tea for us.’ She straightens up and wipes her mouth on some kitchen roll.
‘Better now?’
A nod. ‘Come out with us, we can have a good gossip before the boys get up. Will you be warm enough?’ She indicates the jumbled rack of coats by the door. ‘Put my fleece on if you’re not.’
I stroke her hair from her face. ‘Is this sickness happening every morning by the way, Ms Hawley?’
Ella looks up at me. ‘Pretty much.’
‘You know, you’ll make a lovely mum,’ I say.
Ella folds her arms protectively across her tummy. ‘I knew you’d guessed.’
I nod. ‘Only last night.’
‘I don’t know for sure myself yet.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, Grace,’ she says, a sob in her voice. ‘I haven’t even dared to take a test. What if I am pregnant? How the hell am I going to tell Art?’
‘This wasn’t planned then?’
‘Not by a long way.’ She massages the little mound pressing against her jeans and then regards it with despair. ‘It might just be bloating.’
‘Bloating?’ We both laugh at the ridiculousness of her statement. ‘I’ve heard it called some things before.’
‘What am I to do?’
‘First thing is to make absolutely sure,’ I offer. ‘You say you haven’t done a pregnancy test yet?’
She shakes her head.
‘We should get you to the nearest chemist straight away and buy one.’
Ella grimaces. ‘That would make it all too real. I’m happily in denial at the moment.’
‘Not knowing for certain isn’t going to hold it back. Forewarned is forearmed.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. Desperately. I couldn’t wait to be pregnant.’
‘But?’
She looks stricken. ‘I know that Art won’t feel the same.’
‘You might be surprised.’
‘Yes,’ she says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.
‘You’re not going to be able to keep this from him for ever,’ I point out, unnecessarily.
‘I know. I just need to find the right time.’
I think that the right time is now, but there’s no point in pressing home the point. ‘Are you going to tell Flick?’
Ella shrugs. ‘I should do. I hate it when we have secrets from each other.’
I don’t know if that remark is aimed at me in any way, but it makes me blush nevertheless.
‘Why don’t you break the news to her and then we’ll all take a trip to the nearest chemist’s now?’ Besides, it might look odd if just the two of us scuttle off together on a mission.
‘You’re right.’ She sighs resignedly. ‘I need to get it over and done with.’
‘It’ll be a weight off your shoulders when it’s out in the open. Then we can all celebrate together.’
Ella brightens. ‘We could run into St Davids, perhaps grab a coffee while we’re there for cover. What’ll we tell the boys?’
‘I’ll think of something. We’ll leave a note. If we get a move on, we can be there and back before they’re up and notice that we’ve even gone.’
‘I don’t really feel well enough to drive,’ she admits. ‘I’m still a bit wobbly.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll take the Bentley,’ I say. I hate it with a passion, but I’ll drive the bloody great lumbering thing if it helps my friend out. ‘Harry’s left the keys on the hook over there.’ I nod towards them.
Ella smiles weakly. ‘Thanks, Grace.’ She eyes me properly. ‘You look as bad as I feel. I’m betting that you didn’t sleep a wink again.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Did Flick and Noah’s nocturnal activities keep you awake?’
‘No.’
I can’t even begin to tell her what it was that left me feeling bleak and staring at the ceiling until first light broke. How can I burd
en Ella with that when she has so much else to contend with? Harry and I might be struggling, but there’s no way that we can leave now. I need to be here for Ella. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in my life, I’m going to be at her side until she gets through this.
I manage a smile. ‘Just thinking.’
While Ella pours out tea for Flick, I take my own. The heat has gone out of it and I knock it back quickly so that we can get going.
‘Put your shoes on, Ella. I’ll get Flick. We can tell her that we need to go into town to get something for your “bloating”.’
She laughs at that and some colour comes back to her wan face.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘We’ll make sure that it’s all right. You know we will.’
‘What would I do without you both?’ she says.
I slip my arm round her tiny shoulders and hug her to me tightly. ‘You’ll never have to worry about that.’
‘Thanks, Grace.’ Ella wipes a tear from her eye and I do the same.
‘We can’t stand here blubbing. We’d better get a move on.’ Finding a Post-it note, I scribble on it, ‘Popped into St Davids for urgent supplies. Back as soon as we can! E, G & F XXX.’ That should be suitably cryptic.
Outside, Flick isn’t on the terrace, but has wandered down to the beach where she’s sitting cross-legged on the sand. Without her make-up and her skyscraper heels, she looks ten years younger than her thirty-two years. My heart squeezes with love and affection for her. We’ve been through a lot together in all the years that we’ve known each other – since we were wide-eyed and reckless teenagers, filled with anticipation for life and all that it promised. How can I think of betraying her trust and friendship, even if only in my heart?
‘Hey,’ I say.
She starts when I speak.
‘I’d gone into a trance,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to have some time to stop and take stock. I never have time to do that.’
Like the rest of us. But now I don’t have time to find out what’s on Flick’s mind or what’s making her frown with worry. I hand her the tea. ‘Ella needs to run into St Davids. Coming with us?’
Flick shrugs. ‘Sure. Right now?’
‘Drink your tea as quickly as you can.’
‘What’s the rush?’ She glugs it despite the question.
‘Ella can tell you herself while we drive. Are you ready?’
She looks down at herself. ‘Will I do like this?’
Flick is wearing cut-off denim shorts that show off her toned, tanned legs – a result of the obligatory Pilates classes in LA – and a crisp white shirt.
‘You look beautiful,’ I tell her truthfully. ‘As always.’
‘You’ve always been the diplomatic one, Grace,’ she says as she stands and brushes the sand from her skin.
‘I’m not being diplomatic, I’m being honest.’
She puts her arm round my shoulders and together we walk back up the beach to the cottage.
‘I don’t see enough of you,’ she says. ‘When did we last get together?’
‘Ages ago,’ I concede. ‘You know how it is. You’re busy. I’m busy.’ The last few times we’ve all tried to hook up it just hasn’t worked out. This isn’t the time to say to Flick that I thought she was trying to avoid me. ‘It’s not for lack of trying.’
Flick stops suddenly and turns to me. ‘I love you,’ she says, and there’s a terrible underlying sadness in her voice. ‘I love you and Ella more than you’ll ever know.’
‘I know. And we love you.’
Then we walk back to the cottage, me feeling wretched and guilty for the dark thoughts in my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I swing the Bentley out of the drive and into the lane. The gravel crunches loudly as we turn. At Flick’s behest, we’ve got the roof down and our hair is blowing wildly in the breeze.
‘Woo-hoo,’ she shouts as we hit the main road. ‘This is the way to travel. Woo-hoo!’
The Bentley purrs along, eating up the miles. Two Lycra-clad cyclists puffing up the hill stop to stare at us, slack-jawed. I hate this bloody car.
‘Christ, this is like a road trip,’ Flick expounds. She’s in the back seat, arms reaching up to the sky. ‘We’re like Thelma and Louise and… someone else!’
‘I don’t like to remind you that Thelma and Louise’s road trip ended very badly,’ I say.
‘Oh, shit,’ Flick says. ‘You’re right.’
And she’s the one who’s the film agent.
‘I’m hoping this excursion will end with nothing more than good news and a celebratory cup of tea.’ I look over at Ella, offering up her cue.
Ella turns in her seat. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, Flick.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I think I’m having a baby.’
Flick’s head snaps up. ‘You’re kidding me?’
I laugh. ‘I think that’s the same as congratulations, Ella!’
‘Omigod,’ Flick continues. ‘I’m just so shocked.’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Ella continues, ‘so that’s what we’re going to St Davids for. Grace has press-ganged me into getting a pregnancy test.’
‘I had no idea you and Art were even trying for a kid. Why do I not know this?’
‘That’s the one snag,’ Ella admits. ‘We weren’t “trying”. Far from it. This little one sneaked in when we weren’t watching.’ Her fingers rest on her barely-there bump with affection.
‘Fuck,’ Flick says, pointlessly trying to smooth her hair against the best efforts of the wind. ‘How long has Grace known?’
‘I guessed last night,’ I offer. Flick’s clearly annoyed, thinking she’s been left out of the loop. ‘I asked Ella only an hour ago. Just before I came to get you from the beach.’
‘Oh.’ She’s slightly placated now, I think.
‘I haven’t even told Art yet,’ Ella explains. ‘You can’t breathe a word yet, Flick. This definitely wasn’t in his life plan.’
‘He’ll be cool,’ Flick assures her. ‘Art can cope with anything. You know he can.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Ella’s fingers fiddle with the seat belt. ‘I’m terrified to tell him.’
‘Have a few stiff drinks and spill the beans. It’s the only way. He’ll come good.’
‘I’m quite probably pregnant,’ she reminds Flick. ‘No more “stiff drinks” for me for a while.’
‘That’s all a load of bollocks,’ Flick says. ‘My mother says she smoked like a trooper and drank gin all the time she was up the duff with me. What harm did that do?’
Ella and I laugh. It’s not hard to see that Flick is the product of a chain-smoking, hard-drinking parent.
‘What?’ she says, feigning hurt.
We all giggle and, suddenly, it’s like going back ten years when we were girls together, before life had started to weigh us down. I’m glad that Flick is here with us. She always adds some much needed levity to a situation. We sweep into the car park in St Davids, still laughing.
‘God, I hate parking this thing,’ I say. ‘It’s such a monster.’
I find the biggest space that I can – frankly, they all seem small when you’re in a car this size – line myself up and put the car into reverse. The girls become quiet while I start my manoeuvre.
‘Want me to get out and guide you in?’ Ella offers.
‘I’m fine,’ I assure her. The parking sensor beeps calmly.
As I’m carefully reversing back, tongue out in concentration, totally focussed on getting this bastard parked up, Flick says, ‘I’ve got some news of my own.’ She takes a deep and shuddering breath. ‘I’m going to ask Noah to marry me.’
At that point, I let out an involuntary gasp, my foot – also involuntarily – hits the accelerator instead of the brake and I shoot backwards at high speed. The beeping of the parking sensor goes into total overdrive. Then there’s an almighty bang and a disturbing, crumpling sound. The Bentley comes to an abrupt halt.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
We’re all
out of the car in seconds. ‘Oh,’ I say. It’s not good. It’s not good at all. ‘I didn’t see that post.’
There’s a bollard at the back of the parking space. It’s two feet high and painted in such an eye-watering shade of bright yellow that you can probably see it from the moon. It’s now firmly embedded in the bumper and boot of the Bentley. The metal of the car is crumpled like a tissue around it. Harry’s personal number plate is bent beyond recognition.