I spent a restless night, alternately dozing off in exhaustion and then waking up again with a start. Deep sleep must have finally overtaken me sometime in the not so early hours of Saturday morning. At least, I felt incredibly groggy when I woke up at 10:23 to a barrage of knocking on the front door.
Too sleep-fuddled to register at first that the aggressive summons wasn’t Sean’s casual knock, Rose’s sharp rap or Hanne’s soft rat-a-tat-tat, I staggered downstairs in my dressing gown to open my door.
And stared at the boyishly handsome if somewhat chubby face in front of me.
“Fordy?” He looked tired but still larger than life, with his beaming smile and mismatched yet expensive clothes that, as usual, strained to contain the breadth of his shoulders. I tried to blink some clarity into my vision and my mind. “What are you doing here?” Oh God, he hadn’t left Linette and the baby, had he? No, that was ridiculous. For one thing, he didn’t appear to have any luggage.
Fordy laughed, his dark hair flopping over his eyes. He tossed it back again in a bizarre imitation of a shampoo commercial. “Well, there’s a charming greeting. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Oh—of course. Sorry. Come in.”
Fordy strode into the Old Hatter’s Cottage, glancing from right to left, visibly sizing the place up. Somehow it seemed much smaller with him inside. “Very quaint around here, isn’t it? What on earth do you find to do with yourself? Still, I suppose London’s close enough. You know, I could murder someone for a coffee.”
I stared at him, then straightened my thoughts out with an effort. “Excellent idea. The coffee, I mean. Not the murder. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“No, no, don’t bother. I’ll pop down the road and get us a couple. The baker’s shop was advertising them. I’d have gone there first, as a matter of fact, but I wanted to be sure you were in.” He laughed again. Good old Fordy, I’d forgotten how easily he laughed. “In bed, by the looks of you. So come on, how many cups do I need to bring back?”
“Just the one. For me, I mean.” My face grew hot, to my intense annoyance. Surely one day I’d be able to allude to matters carnal without turning incandescent.
“Right-oh,” Fordy said, unconcerned by my embarrassment. Still, if anyone ought to be used to it, it was he, after all. “Won’t be a minute.”
Fordy’s departure seemed to suck all the vitality out of the house. I stared at the front door for a moment after he’d left, half thinking I might have dreamed him. Then I pulled myself together and raced up the stairs for some clothes.
When the peremptory knock came again I was at least more properly attired for answering the door. Fordy beamed at me. “That’s more like it. The Emsy I know and love, bow tie and all. Brought you breakfast, seeing as I dragged you kicking and screaming from the duvet.” He handed over a large takeaway cup of coffee and a paper bag which, upon inspection, proved to contain an enormous almond croissant. “Go on, dig in. I ate earlier. Much, much earlier.” Fordy shuddered. “Georgie’s clearly planning to be a farmer when he grows up. Or a postman, or someone else who gets up in the middle of the night to go to work.”
“How is he?” I seized the chance to get a word in as I led him to the living room.
Fordy flung himself down on the sofa. “Oh, he’s fine. Thriving, as they say. You must come down and meet him over Christmas. Get to know your godchild. Did I mention we were going to ask you to be godfather? It’ll be in the spring, haven’t set a date yet. For God’s sake don’t say no, or we’ll be stuck with some awful friend of Linny’s.”
“Um, thank you. I’d be honoured. Unless you think it’d be a bit—” I’d been about to say awkward in view of our mutually exploratory past, but Fordy interrupted me.
“Funny having a literal fairy godfather? I doubt that’ll be a problem. You should see our vicar. Well, you will, anyway. Queer as a three-pound pilchard. Offered to take me up the back stairs to the bell tower. I told him I’m a married man these days.” He sighed rather theatrically and took the lid off his coffee.
“Is everything all right?” I asked cautiously. “With Linette and, well, things?”
“Oh, she’s fine.” He sipped from the cup, closed his eyes briefly and sighed again. “Oh yes. That hits the spot. Linny’s fine, baby’s fine, everything’s sodding fine.”
“But?” I prompted. I took a bite of almond croissant, which, I decided, was the crack cocaine of baked goods. One flaky, almondy hit and I was hooked.
Fordy put his cup down. “Well, you know. It’s as if I’ve ceased to exist. Except when a nappy needs changing, or we’ve run out of baby wipes or that revolting stuff in jars she insists on feeding him. It’s all Georgie, Georgie, Georgie. No, we can’t go skiing this year because airline travel is bad for babies’ ears. No, we can’t have a night out because she’s breastfeeding. And God forbid I ever try and get frisky with her these days. I tell you what, when they cut that umbilical cord, they might as well have cut my bloody prick off at the same time. Linny’s certainly got no more use for it.” Fordy blew out a disgusted breath. “So how’s your sex life going? Found yourself a rustic bit of rough out here in the sticks? Been rolling in the haystacks, making babes in the woods, all that sort of stuff?”
“Um. I am seeing someone. Sort of.” I winced. Sean didn’t deserve a sort of. Even after last night. I hoped.
“Oh? What does he do? I take it it’s a he. If you’ve finally seen the light and come over to the distaff side, I’m telling you straight, it’s not bloody worth it. Breasts are all well and good until she drops a sprog and takes out a bloody restraining order to keep you from coming within three feet of them. So what is he? Another teacher?” He grinned. “Got the Head giving you head?”
I’d been dreading this. “Sean’s a, um, pest-control technician.” I turned my attentions to my croissant, but despite having excellent qualities in other respects, it failed to ward off Fordy’s remarks.
“A what? Christ, Emsy, when you’re after a bit of rough, you don’t piss about, do you? A bloody rat-catcher. What did you do, go cruising in the sewers?” He laughed out loud.
I didn’t. In fact, the paper bag crumpled in my hand as I barely restrained myself from walloping him.
Fordy snapped to attention, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh. Ohhhhhhhh. Stepped on the old toes there, have I? Pierced a nerve and shredded a something-or-other? Well, I’ll reserve judgement, then. Far be it from me to criticise an ancient and no doubt honourable profession. So what’s he got that the PE teacher didn’t have? He was all right, he was. A bit too obsessed with fresh air and exercise, but then you like that sort of thing, don’t you? Can’t think why. Didn’t you get enough of all that when we were at school?”
“I like him,” I ground out, concentrating hard on picking fallen almonds out of the base of the paper bag and not, say, kicking Fordy out of my house. Figuratively speaking, obviously. Attempting to do it physically would have been rather akin to a gnat trying to steamroller an elephant. “He’s got twin nephews in my class, and he looks after them as if they were his own, and he never complains.”
“Where’s their father, then? Over the hills and far away, I suppose?”
I nodded. “And their mother’s got cancer. It’s so unfair; she’s ridiculously young to be thinking about dying. Maybe she’s not the, well, friendliest person in the world, but she doesn’t deserve to die. They don’t deserve to lose her.”
“Well, of course not. Poor little sods. Still, mustn’t give up hope. Miracles of modern medicine and all that rubbish. I mean to say, they’re still managing to patch my old man up just fine every time he has a heart attack, and I’ve lost count of how many hips Mother’s been through. By the way, and while we’re on the subject, your absence was noted from the old folks’ ruby wedding do last month.” He stopped talking and fixed me with a reproachful look.
I cringed a little. “Sorry about that. I mean, I did send your mother my apologies, of course, but…” I simply hadn’t been able to face fifty or so well-meaning acquaintances I’d seen neither hide nor hair of since the Fordhams’ last Boxing Day Brunch, all of them with nothing more to say to me than a polite enquiry as to how the job at Potter’s Field was going. Or, for that matter, my mother’s attempts to persuade me to give Crispin another chance, as if he’d actually wanted one. I wouldn’t have put it past her to have invited him along, come to that, but as her affection for him was completely unrequited, I sincerely doubted he’d have turned up.
“Oh, I know, I know. Linny found the whole thing a terrible bore too, and at least she had Georgie to keep her amused. No, no—no reproach there. But the reason I bring it up is, I got talking to your mother, and she mentioned one of your old students was asking after you. Rang her up right out of the blue. She thought he was selling something to start with and nearly hung up on him, but they managed to get it all straight in the end. One of the young men from Potter’s Field, before you had your brainstorm or mid-youth crisis or whatever it was that made you leave a perfectly good job teaching A Levels to come and wipe bums and noses in Ye Olde Village School. And honestly, Emsy, you can’t still think that’s a good career move, can you? I mean to say, the salary must be abysmal. Thank God your partner of choice isn’t likely to suddenly start breeding. You’d be back sponging off your parents before you could say Knightsbridge. And then—”
“Fordy,” I interrupted with some force. “Who was asking about me?”
“I don’t know, do I? I never met any of your students.”
“What exactly did Mother say?”
He shrugged. With some effort, I forbore to throttle him. “Not a lot. Simply that she’d given out your new address to some young man or other, and wasn’t it marvellous that he’d been so inspired by your teaching as to want to write and thank you personally?”
Oh God. I felt sick. The almond croissant seemed suddenly to have left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
Fordy frowned. “Are you all right? You’re not going to upchuck, are you? I get quite enough of that at home, believe you me. Nine months of Linny throwing a rainbow every time I looked at her, and as soon as she’d stopped, the baby started. Use the paper bag from the bakers, it’ll probably hold. Or if you can hang on long enough, I’ll fetch something from the kitchen. Got any least favourite saucepans?”
“Fordy, please stop talking. It’s really not helping.”
“Huh. Funny, that. Just what Linny says.” He beamed. “And here I was thinking you two had absolutely nothing in common. You know, you really must come and visit. The house is an absolute pigsty, reeks of sour milk and shit, but Georgie’s a fabulous little chap. You’ll love him. Well, you’ll have to, being his godfather, it’s one of the job requirements, but—”
“Fordy,” I said warningly.
He frowned. “What? Oh, right.” He mimed zipping his lips, turning an invisible key and chucking it over his shoulder. And looked at me expectantly.
“Oh God.” I put my head in my hands. Moments later, I heard Fordy moving. My chair shifted, not without protest, as he perched on the arm and began to pat me on the shoulder. It was so Fordy. I had a vivid picture of him offering the same awkward comfort to Linette as she panted in agony during childbirth. I wondered if she’d walloped him, and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a somewhat hysterical giggle.
“Um,” Fordy said. “Can I speak again, yet? Because I may not be the sharpest log in the watershed, but I’ve got the strongest feeling something’s amiss. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, obviously, but, well, if you do…”
I looked up. “I don’t. Really.”
“Oh. Fine, fine. Fine.” His expression was a curious mix of relief and disappointment.
“It’s just… There’s someone from Potter’s Field I’d really rather not see again.”
“Ah.” Fordy scrunched up his eyes. “But won’t that Quentin Crisp fellow already have your address?”
“Crispin. And no. Or yes, possibly. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not him.”
Fordy’s always rather exuberant brows had now entirely met in the middle, like a couple of very small, coy ferrets exchanging a kiss. “No? Who else were you shagging, then?”
“No one!”
“Oh.” Fordy looked honestly baffled. The ferrets parted, as if surprised by the younger ferret’s father coming home unexpectedly early and catching them at it. “Then why don’t you want to see him again?”
“It’s complicated. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Problem shared, problem halved?”
“Not this one. More like problem shared, problem squared. Or problem to the power of n, where n equals infinity.”
“Fair enough, then. I’ll take your word for it. Never was that good at maths. As you know, of course. Don’t know how I’d have got through the GCSE without you helping me. Sure I can’t return the favour here?”
I shook my head.
“Is that a no, I can’t, or no, you’re not sure?”
“I’m sure. You can’t.” I took a deep breath. “I just wish I could forget it ever happened. Not that anything actually happened,” I added hurriedly. “Anyway, how come you’ve been let off nappy duty to come here?”
“Linny’s mother is staying. I’m a total spare part. Worse than. Not even fit for purpose, from the way she looks at me. You know she never wanted Linny to marry me. Wanted her to get back together with the theology student. Think she fancied being mother-in-law to a bishop someday. Being able to mention casually to her friends that she’d be visiting the palace, that sort of thing. And she’s desperately fond of purple. Ghastly colour. Makes her look like an alcoholic, though, between you and me, she’s always been fond of a glass or six. So I skipped out, said I’d come over and ask you to be godfather to the sprog. I did ask you to be godfather, didn’t I?” I nodded. “Good. Expecting a delivery, are you? Only there’s a chappie in a motorcycle helmet coming to the door.”
I twisted around to look out of the window. Oh God. It was Sean. I hadn’t even heard the bike. Should I ask him in to meet Fordy? Well, quite clearly I should. But what if Fordy said something about me leaving Potter’s Field? Or, to be blunt, put his foot in it some other way? Fordy meant well, but he had an unfortunate way of making Prince Philip look positively tactful.
Sean’s knock sounded loud and clear while I was still debating furiously with myself. “I, um. I’d better answer that.”
“Unless it’s likely to be a summons. They have to deliver those into your hands or the whole thing’s invalid. Less use than a bicycle in an arse-kicking contest.” He frowned. “Or do I mean a fish? Anyway, I could tell him you’re out, if you like.”
“No—it’s not a summons. It’s, well. It’s someone I know.” Avoiding Fordy’s eye, I hastened to the front door.
Sean had taken off his helmet by the time I opened it. “Hi,” he said, with a hesitant smile. “You all right?”
“I—fine. I, er, wasn’t expecting you.” I hung on tight to the door handle with one hand and the frame with the other.
“Yeah, well, thought I’d just drop by. See if you were around.” He glanced at his feet. “Wanted to apologise for last night. Think I was a bit, well, you know. Might have overreacted a bit.”
“Oh—no, that’s fine.” I smiled at him, but it felt forced and Sean was giving me an odd look. I abandoned the attempt.
“How’s the head?” he asked.
“The Head?” I queried, confused.
“Yeah. You said you had a headache last night.” Sean was frowning now.
“Oh—yes, of course. Much better, thank you.” Damn it. Why hadn’t I remembered that?
“So are you going to let me come in?”
“I… Well, I was just about to go out, actually,” I improvised hastily, my stomach tying itself in knots. The weather forecast had said it would be mild today, but there was a definite chill in the air on my doorstep. “Maybe we could get together later? Tomorrow, even?”
“Right. Guess we’ll have to. If you’re busy now.”
“Yes. Sorry. Really do have to dash, I’m af—” I stopped abruptly. Sean’s expression had changed. The knots tightened as I realised he was looking over my shoulder.
To my utmost horror, Fordy clapped me on the back. “All right here, Ems? Thought I’d better come and see what was keeping you. This fellow giving you any trouble? Told you, you should let me answer the door.” His voice turned brisk, obviously directed at Sean. “Well, what is it? What seems to be the problem?”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. I suddenly had a horrible insight into how Fordy must come across to people who didn’t know him. With his plummy vowels and self-important manner, he probably sounded like a member of the House of Lords addressing a tradesman. Worse—a member of the House of Lords upbraiding a tradesman for the shoddiness of his service. And most likely calling him a pleb, to boot.
“There’s no problem,” I said quickly, half turning to him. “Fordy, this is Sean Grant. My…friend, here.” I knew Fordy would understand what I meant. “Sean, this is Malcolm Fordham. We were at school together.”
“Right,” Sean said slowly, his expression not softening. “Fordy, right? Yeah, you mentioned him.”
Oh God. I’d told him we’d slept together, hadn’t I?
“Delighted to meet you,” Fordy said, shouldering me out of the way as he thrust a hand towards Sean. “You’re the rat man, yes? Hah, sounds like something from a comic book. Can’t stand the things myself. Rats, not comic books. Not particularly into those either, to be honest, but given the choice, I’d take them over vermin any day.”
Sean had looked at Fordy’s hand, given it a brief shake and dropped it. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. “Fordy just popped round,” I explained. “Didn’t even phone to say he was coming.” Which, of course, Sean hadn’t done either. Would he think I was criticising him?
“Right. So where are you two off to, then?”
“Off to?” Fordy asked in a baffled tone. “Are we going somewhere, Emsy? You didn’t mention you were taking me anywhere. Not that I mind, of course not. You know me. Always happy to be taken up the garden path.”
Oh God. I’d told Sean I was going out, hadn’t I? “Er…”
“Yeah, well, never mind.” Sean cut me off, his voice hard. Brittle. “You can tell me all about it some other time. Or not. Wouldn’t want to keep you, anyhow.” He jammed his helmet back on his head and stalked back to his bike, swung his leg over it and roared off up the High Street at significantly more than twenty miles an hour.