I left my hand resting in Mark’s and lifted my glass with the other, taking a few mouthfuls as if I was priming myself for my big exposé.
‘I married a little over a year ago.’ I shook my head, my mouth turned down in patent regret. ‘Ivan is a lovely man; I should never have agreed to marry him.’ Another mouthful of my drink. ‘We’re divorcing. That’s why I’m home.’
She felt Mark’s hand tense over hers and saw lines of disappointment creasing his forehead. ‘I’m not a divorce lawyer, but I can recommend someone for you.’
‘You think that’s why I’m here?’ Putting her glass down, she covered his hand with hers. ‘The divorce isn’t going to be a problem. Ivan is devastated. I hurt him so badly but he accepts that it’s over.’
‘You left the family home?’
I was pleased to see concern in his eyes. ‘The house has been in his family for generations. Don’t worry, though; there’s a watertight prenup and I’ll get enough to buy something small somewhere.’ To be a successful liar, you need to have three skills – keeping the lie simple, remembering which ones you’ve told, and to whom. Consistency was the key. Mark was looking puzzled. I guessed what the next question would be and had my answer waiting.
He sat back using the movement to withdraw his hand from where it still sat nestled between mine. I felt suddenly bereft and wanted to stretch across the table, grab it back, hang on to it tightly, the way I should have hung on to him all those years before.
He lifted his glass and tilted it to his mouth to drain the last drop before putting it down with a determined smack on the wood of the table. Maybe I was wrong; the thought made me shiver. Maybe he was going to stand up, say goodbye and leave me, the way I’d left him. Payback. But instead of getting to his feet, he sat back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘So, if you don’t need legal advice…?’
‘I’ve always felt guilty about the way I treated you. And being back in Bristol…’ I shrugged, reached for my glass, frowning as much as I could when I saw it was empty. As a hint, it wasn’t particularly subtle but it was my experience that subtlety was wasted on men. I saw Mark look towards the bar, then back to my glass. ‘Another?’
‘It might help tell the rest of my story.’ I huffed a loud sigh. ‘I’ll have a Prosecco this time, please.’ I was half afraid he’d switch to something soft and was relieved to see him return with another pint for himself and my requested drink.
‘I need to go home after this,’ he said.
‘Home to the wife and kids?’
‘Just the wife. Our son, Drew, has gone off to university. In Glasgow.’
I’d known he had a son. It made it easier that he was out of the picture. Glasgow? The boy had gone a long way, I wondered if there was a reason. Family friction, perhaps. Interesting. ‘He didn’t want to go to uni here in Bristol?’
The answer was such a bald, abrupt no that I knew things weren’t all sunny in the Shepherd world and mentally rubbed my sticky little hands in glee.
Mark took a long drink and flicked his wrist to see the time on his watch. I picked up my glass and raised it towards him. ‘Let’s drink to old memories.’
With obvious reluctance, he touched his glass to mine.
‘I never meant to hurt you,’ I said, bringing the Prosecco to my lips. I took too big a mouthful, the bubbles hitting the back of my throat and making me cough. I put the glass down and held a hand over my mouth. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m so very, very sorry. I should have explained back then but I wasn’t sure you’d understand so I took the easy way out and made you hate me.’ I moved my hand up to cover my eyes, waiting for them to fill before taking it away.
Mark was staring into his beer. ‘I never hated you.’
‘You had reason to; I treated you badly.’ I took a tissue from my bag and blew my nose softly. ‘I never used to be such a cry-baby.’ Not until I learned the skill and how effective it could be. ‘It’s the alcohol on an empty stomach. I haven’t eaten much today.’ I looked to where people at the table beside us were tucking into chicken wings and chips. ‘I will explain…’ I hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy having something to eat, would you?’ Then I quickly shook my head, put on my sad girl face. ‘No, I’m sorry, of course you don’t.’
He checked his watch again. ‘Maybe something quick.’
I jumped up before he’d time to reconsider. ‘I’ll go; I’ve already had a look at the menu while I was waiting so I know exactly what to get.’ Of course, I did. Enough food to nibble on, more drinks to wash it down as I finally told him my sad tale.
I brought the drinks back with me. Another pint for him, another Prosecco for me. He raised an eyebrow when I put his drink down but didn’t remonstrate. Instead, he picked up his almost finished pint, drank the remainder, then almost immediately picked up the fresh drink. ‘It’s good beer this,’ he said, as if that was the reason we were sitting there. To drink pint after pint of craft beer. Or perhaps he was nervous about what he was going to hear. My explanation for having dumped him so abruptly. Maybe it had been haunting him for the last twenty years.
The food arrived. I’d gone overboard. Chicken wings, a double portion of fries, fried chicken and a peanut dip. If Mark was surprised at the amount I’d ordered, he didn’t say.
‘Always a danger when you order when hungry,’ I said by way of explanation. ‘We don’t need to eat it all; I know you’re pushed for time.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He reached for a chicken wing and proceeded to gnaw away at it, giving it his full concentration.
I ate a few fries, then wiped my fingers on a serviette. ‘I often wondered… if I’d explained back then… if I’d been brave enough… would we have stayed together, maybe even still be together.’
The older Mark was more considered in his manner than his younger self had been. He’d learned to listen, to say nothing until needed. It probably served him well in his job, but it was extremely irritating in a social setting. Or perhaps I was dragging it out a bit.
‘I’m sorry. I should just come out with it, but even after all these years, it’s difficult to put into words.’ I reached for a chicken wing, pulled it apart with my teeth, conscious of his eyes on me, watching every move. I sucked the small bones clean, giving it all my attention. I didn’t have to look at him to know he was remembering how it was back then, how good I was with my mouth. I tossed the bones onto my plate and reached for a serviette to wipe the grease from my fingers.
‘You’ve been very patient,’ I said. ‘I remember that about you. Always patient, always kind.’ I was screwing the paper serviette between my fingers. With a grunt, I threw it aside. ‘Sometimes, it’s easier just to say it. No trimmings, no qualifications.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I adored my father. I was the original daddy’s girl, I suppose. We did everything together. Then when I was ten, I got up one morning and he was gone.’
Mark froze, a chicken wing poised mid-flight to his partially open mouth. He dropped it before shutting his mouth, as if my story had rendered him incapable of doing two actions at the same time. ‘Gone? He left?’
‘It might have been easier if he’d died.’
‘No!’ Mark looked horrified.
‘Yes, because death often isn’t a choice. I could have grieved for him if he’d died, wouldn’t have spent the following years devastated because he’d abandoned me.’
He reached for me with his chicken-greasy fingers, gripping my hand so tightly it hurt. ‘How terribly sad.’
‘He didn’t say goodbye to me or leave a note. It was my mother who had to break the news to me. It seemed he was bored with his life and wanted a new start elsewhere. He went to Thailand and, as far as I’m aware, he’s still there.’
‘You never tried to find him?’
I shook my head. ‘I thought about it once. But I was still so angry with him, that I think if I’d found him, I’d have killed him.’ I smiled to show I hadn’t really meant it. I had, of course; I remember wondering if I could get away with it. ‘My mother isn’t a very loving woman, never was even when I was younger, so when he left, I sought other ways of getting affection.’ All those boys I’d been with, trading sex for an embrace.
‘I don’t tend to tell people about my father; it makes me too emotional, even after years.’ I reached for my drink and took a mouthful. ‘Even now, I can’t speak about him without getting teary.’
Mark was frowning. I wondered what he was thinking.
‘I don’t think I ever really got over that feeling of abandonment. Even though I was angry with him for leaving, I missed him so terribly. I think that’s why I was so attracted to older men. To replace him and the security he gave me.’ I swirled my glass. ‘Sometimes, their attention cost.’ I met Mark’s eyes. ‘I slept with them.’
‘You…’ He picked up his pint, drained it in a few gulps, then tipped it towards the bar. ‘Another?’
This was going better than I’d hoped. ‘Please.’
With fresh drinks in front of us, Mark once again reached for my hand and held it, gently this time. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? More importantly, why didn’t you get help? You obviously had never dealt with the loss of your father. Latching onto these older men was your way of dealing with it.’
Everyone was a wannabe psychology student. ‘Yes, I guess you’re right.’
‘A father complex, isn’t that what it’s called?’ He nodded as if agreeing with his diagnosis. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could tell me. I’d have understood; maybe I might have been able to help.’ His thumb swept over the back of my hand.
‘You have no idea how many times I’ve said the same to myself.’ Even in the noisy pub, my sigh was loud. It was filled with genuine regret. If I had chosen a different path back then, would he have made of me a saint, or I of him a sinner?
I shook off the stupid nostalgia for a time long past to face the future I wanted. It needed careful baby steps.
‘We can’t go back, but we have now,’ I said. I twisted the hand he held and curled my fingers around his. ‘I’ve felt more alive in the last couple of hours than I have in such a long time. I don’t want it to end.’
He had the grace to be discreet this time as he checked his watch. Perhaps he was frequently late home. Business meetings, corporate clients, etc. Other women? Perhaps. I wouldn’t have thought him the cheating type, but what did I know really? The man in front of me may have different morals to the boy I’d known. It was in my interest that he did.
‘I can stay a little longer,’ he said.
Little did he know it, but he was already on that slippery step and I was going to help him fall off.