18

The next morning I woke up with quite a hangover but it had been worth it. It had been a lovely evening and the first time I’d really let my hair down since I could remember. I lay alone in the bed wishing Simon could be there with me. I’d insisted that he remained sleeping on the sofa while Mum was around. I knew she had more than a suspicion about our relationship but it seemed too soon to be open about it yet. We had all the time in the world and it was important to me that this time we did things right.

Having Simon around made such a difference to the way I felt. For the first time in ages I felt secure. He constantly reassured me how much he loved me, how he’d never leave or hurt me. I loved him in a way I’d never loved anyone before. It was the real thing – honest, brutal and raw.

I stretched, sat up in bed and looked at my alarm clock. It was eight forty. Reaching for a half-empty glass of water, I took a long sip. It was tepid and not as refreshing as I’d hoped. Then I remembered the plans we had made to go to Simon’s parents’ house.

A buzz of excitement rippled through me as I pulled the covers back, jumped out of bed and wrapped a dressing gown around my pale body. I went into my old bedroom and dragged a suitcase out from under the bed. It had a layer of dust on it that exploded up into the air, making me sneeze as I opened it. Inside were a pair of snorkels. They were left over from the last holiday I had taken with Tom. I picked them up and hurled them into a corner of the room. Nothing was going to spoil my good mood.

Picking up the empty case, I left the room, closing the door behind me. On the landing I found Mum waiting for me. She too looked as if she was suffering from the previous night’s excesses.

‘Morning, darling,’ she yawned.

‘Morning, Mum. Sleep OK?’

‘Like a log.’ She was rubbing her forehead. ‘Mon, something occurred to me when I woke up this morning. I don’t mean to put a dampener on this trip of yours but I was wondering if you had considered the journey there?’

‘What do you mean?’ I was confused.

‘It’s an awful long way and it will mean being in the car for a long time.’ The words hung in the air and I saw my mother holding her breath, waiting for my response.

‘Mum,’ I said, taking hold of her hand, ‘I will be just fine.’

She smiled, nodded and pottered into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

I knew I wouldn’t have to drive and that was comfort enough. I still couldn’t bear the idea of getting behind the wheel of a car, even though Tom had been the one driving when we’d crashed. It still felt unsettling being in any vehicle but I knew I couldn’t let my phobia get the better of me. What happened with Tom had been a tragic fluke. I couldn’t let the accident ruin my life any more than it already had.

Entering my bedroom, I placed the case on the bed, opened it and went over to my wardrobe. Flinging open the doors, I fingered through the rail of clothes looking for things to take. I pulled a number of warm jumpers, jeans and a dress and high heels, in case we ventured out to dinner one night. At the back of my wardrobe, I managed to find my old walking boots. Removing them from the back of the cupboard, once kept so carefully tidy to keep Tom happy but now becoming a muddle, I smiled at the sight. They reminded me of time spent travelling in the Amazon jungle with friends when I was twenty. It had been one of the most spectacular experiences of my life. I felt a surge of the old me return.

‘I am Monica Whitman,’ I said aloud to myself, ‘and I’m not scared of anything.’

Then, without thinking about it, I removed my wedding band and put it in a box on my dressing table.

‘Monica Bowness has gone. I’m sorry, Tom. It’s the only way I can live again.’

At that exact moment, I felt a shiver of cold. I told myself it was coincidence and turned my attention back to packing.

When I got into the kitchen, I found Simon sitting at the table chewing on some toast. He looked handsome in his crumpled blue jumper and jeans. His hair was ruffled and his blue eyes smiled at me. He talked with his mouth full,

‘All ready to go?’

‘Yep. Just let me have some coffee and we’ll be on our way. Shall I make some sandwiches to take with us?’

‘Good idea.’

He got up, dusting crumbs off his lap.

‘How long do you think we’ll stay?’ I asked, buttering some rolls.

‘My parents get back from India on the twelfth. So we can stay until then.’

As I layered ham and lettuce onto the bread, Simon appeared behind me and slipped his arms around my waist.

‘Our first proper holiday together.’ He kissed my neck.

‘I can’t wait.’ I was smiling from ear to ear. ‘It feels like being a teenager again, going to stay at your parents’ place while they’re away.’

‘We can raid their booze cabinet too, if you like.’ His voice was gravelly from the years spent smoking pot. It made him sound sexy as well as a wonderful singer.

Simon let me go just in time before Mum appeared, dressed, carrying her overnight bag and ready to leave. We both kissed her goodbye and waved her on her way.

The sandwiches made and the car packed up, I went back into the house to double-check I’d locked the windows and set the timer on the lights. We had never been burgled but it was London and I knew too many people who had.

Once certain the house was secure, I pulled the front door closed and went out into the street. It was quiet and the sun was shining. I had a suede coat on and felt the warmth on my shoulders. It was only March but spring had definitely woken up. As I got into the passenger seat of Si’s Ford Capri, I made sure to fix my seat belt. Although I had no real qualms about travelling in a car now, I still found it difficult to forget how dangerous it could be. Si could feel my tension and placed his hand on my knee, as he often did.

‘Ready?’ He glanced at me, smiled and turned on the engine.

‘Ready.’ I squeezed his hand as we pulled away.

‘I love you, Mon.’

‘Love you, too.’

It was a Monday morning and not during the school holidays, so the traffic wasn’t too bad. We zipped along the North Circular until we reached the M1 exit. By midday we had passed Northampton, joined the M6 and left Birmingham behind us. Our progress was steady. It felt good being out of London. I’d never imagined I would settle there but it was the only place Tom had wanted to live. I hadn’t argued, despite being a country girl at heart.

When we reached Stoke-on-Trent, we found a spot to stop and eat our sandwiches. Famous for being the home of English pottery, we passed a number of museums related to its ceramic history. It occurred to me how much Mum would enjoy visiting the various museums. Despite its rich history, the town itself was unremarkable. It had become a city of service industries and distribution centres. I’d imagined something more quaint and romantic.

Simon was desperate for a pee so we ducked into an empty tearoom where he could relieve himself and we could have a hot drink before setting off again.

It was the most unwelcoming tearoom I had ever visited. No chintz, no pretty cups and saucers and no cake. In its place, stale cheese and pickle rolls and depressingly bland-looking pork pies were on offer. It was some of the most unappealing food I’d ever laid my eyes on. The only redeeming feature was the friendly woman who served us.

Back on the road, we made good progress. We continued along the M6 passing Liverpool and Manchester. By then, the weather had sucked in and a heavy grey sky loomed above, taut with rain. We stopped at a service station outside Preston and filled up with petrol before setting off again, and the length of the journey began to take its toll.

The raindrops pelted the windscreen, making visibility difficult. I started to feel nervous about being in the car. Simon picked up on it and told me we didn’t have long until we got there. Still, I felt anxious until the rain subsided. My fear was that we’d skid and end up in the abyss.

It took us about an hour from Preston before we reached Troutbeck, a small village on a hill in Cumbria. Simon’s parent’s house was on the north-eastern side of Windermere, with a view of the lake down below.

Si had told me Beatrix Potter once owned a farm there. I could immediately see why she had been inspired to write tales about British wildlife. We wound along the small country lane as the light started to fail, passing a cosy-looking inn boasting a menu of home-cooked meals. The houses were solid, grey stone buildings with dark slate roofs, built to withstanding the elements. On the surface it had changed little over the centuries and I couldn’t get over the vibrant green of the surrounding scenery. It was as if I’d landed in a foreign land.

We drove through the village to descend along a lane passing through wooded areas and hillsides littered with sheep. Finally, at four thirty, we pulled onto a small driveway. The sign read ‘Fawn’s Lodge’, and above was a white cottage. When the car came to a stop I looked out of my window at the view from the driveway. In between the trees I could see the hills descending to where the dusk reflected off the surface of the lake. There was not another house around. We were blissfully alone.

‘Wow!’ I stepped out of the car and stretched my stiff back.

‘I know, right.’ Simon removed our bags from the boot.

‘How long have they had this place?’ I stared at the white cottage with its slate roof.

‘Maybe only six months. It took them a while to find it. You know how particular they are.’

It was a wonderful place. At some point a very clever architect had got their hands on it and turned it into a piece of art. I recognised the talent and felt serious envy. The original pebbledash walls housed a huge glass window that stretched from the ground to the roof. It was magnificent. Simon’s parents had great taste and suddenly I found myself longing to live in and design a place like that. I would give up London in a heartbeat.

‘Are you coming?’ Simon stood in the open doorway, smiling.

‘Of course.’ I had to tear my eyes away from the view.

‘Jesus, this house is cold.’ Si rubbed his hands together and turned on the hallway light. The entrance hall was small and pokey, far less impressive than the exterior of the house.

‘Shall I take my shoes off?’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Old habits, taught by Tom, died hard. Simon hung up his coat. ‘Let’s go and put the kettle on.’

I followed Simon into the lounge. It was a large room with a very high ceiling that went right up to the roof. It included the impressive window I had seen outside, which looked just as wonderful from my new position. The floor had a thick pile dove-grey-coloured carpet. I wanted to take my walk around bare foot and feel the softness between my toes. The furniture was surprisingly contemporary. The sofa and armchairs were white leather, recognisable as Florence Knoll. A large square coffee table sat in the middle of the room, and in the centre of it was a huge green glass bowl filled with fossils, rocks and shells. The walls were painted in a soft shell pink that looked wonderful next to the grey carpet. Various colourful modern paintings adorned the walls.

‘It’s a great room, isn’t it? Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.’ He led the way and I followed like an excited puppy.

Just off the sitting room was a corridor. We passed a small office and a downstairs loo before we reached the kitchen. Simon was right, the house was freezing, and his parents had obviously turned the heating off before going to India. The room was dark and I couldn’t really see anything for a moment, until a light was turned on.

The kitchen was a cook’s dream. It was huge and light. The floor was laid with cream tiles, which looked unnaturally spotless. On the far wall was the biggest oven I’d ever seen. There was a vast gas range and the kitchen had an island in the middle of it which housed a double sink. The cabinet doors were beech with chrome handles, the splash-back tiles various shades of terracotta. On the other side of the room was a modernist glass table. Unusually, an indoor bench was placed near double doors which looked out over the garden.

‘Coffee, my angel?’ Simon asked, switching on the kettle.

‘Yes please.’ I pulled up one of the stools beside the island and perched on it. ‘This place is incredible.’

‘It cost them a small fortune.’ Simon spooned coffee into mugs.

‘I bloody bet it did.’ I was trying to work out what the place must have cost. ‘Worth it though.’ I said, looking around.

‘Sure. They’ve worked hard, they deserve it.’ Simon said, opening the fridge. ‘Oh shit!’

‘What is it?’

‘No milk, of course.’ He closed the fridge door. ‘It should have occurred to me to stock up. They were hardly likely to leave a fridge full of food, particularly milk, when they left. I’ll nip out and get some.’ He put his hand in his pocket and produced the car keys.

‘Don’t go now. Black coffee’s fine.’

‘This isn’t London, Mon. Shops aren’t open twenty-four seven.’

‘Fine, but let’s have this coffee, chill out here for a little and then go to the shop together. I’ll treat us to dinner in the pub. How does that sound?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ He grinned, put the car keys down on the worktop and accepted my invitation to relax.

We made it to the shop just before it closed at five thirty, before driving to a local pub where we had a couple of drinks, a game of pool and an early supper. The food was average but Si liked it because of the pool table and a huge fireplace that was always lit in the winter months. I had fish and chips while he tucked into a steak and ale pie. We played pool after eating and he wiped the table with me.

When we got back to the house, we unpacked the shopping bags, poured ourselves another glass of red and snuggled up on the sofa. Simon was elated by the plans he had for us. He wanted us to go to India together and to travel for a few months. It sounded wonderful and I agreed we should do it.

‘It’s a lovely dream, isn’t’ it?’

‘Sure. But there’s no reason why we can’t make it a reality.’

‘I think you are forgetting one small detail,’ he laughed. ‘Money.’

‘That’s not a problem.’

‘You haven’t been at work for months, Mon. You must be pretty hard up at the moment.’

‘Tom had savings,’ I said, putting my glass down on the coffee table, ‘and there was his life insurance.’

‘Oh.’ I knew Simon wanted to pry further but he held back from doing so.

‘Nine hundred thousand pounds.’ The words rolled off my tongue. It was the first time I’d said it aloud to anyone. Not even Mum knew how much I’d received. For some reason I felt dirty having it, and discussing it felt tacky.

‘Fucking hell!’ Simon raised his eyebrows.

‘I know.’ I started to feel that dirty guilt return. ‘It feels wrong having it.’

‘You were his wife, Mon.’

‘Yes I know that, but I was unfaithful. I shouldn’t be entitled to it but I can’t tell anyone that.’

‘Of course you are entitled to it. Think of it as severance pay.’ Simon was grinning.

‘That’s not funny.’

‘Oh, come on, it was a joke. Whether you like it or not that money is yours. Do something with it that makes you happy and don’t feel guilty. What’s done is done.’

‘Going to India with you would make me happy.’

With a fingertip I touched the small area of his belly revealed by his tucked-up shirt.

‘OK then. We’ll arrange our adventure when we get back to London.’

‘Deal.’

Si was animated as he talked about all the things we could do and the places we’d visit. We should have at least two months there, he said, and his excitement was catching. I told him I’d always wanted to get up close to an elephant and, snapping his fingers like a conjuror, he said it could be arranged. Just like that. Everything sounded so simple.

We decided to start our trip in Kerala in the south and slowly make our way north. We would stay on a houseboat before exploring some of the winding waterways. I could barely contain my anticipation and started to feel like a teenager again.

We talked on for a while then made our way up to bed. We had sex before falling asleep. It was a comfortable end to a lovely day.