Chapter 26

 

 

 

'What the hell is going on?'

'Becca!' Una and Martin sprang apart as Becca burst in. Martin jumped up, guilt mixed with surprise on his face. 'What are you doing back?'

'What's she doing here? What's going on?' Becca was stunned. Martin, kissing Una, in her kitchen. She couldn't breathe.

'I asked Una back for a glass of wine,' Martin said, still looking surprised. 'She needed help with her report.'

'Martin's been very kind, and helpful,' Una said, getting up.

'I bet.' Very kind, and very very helpful, by the looks of things. So this was how it felt. This was how Martin must have felt when Suzy called him. Oh, but she had been so stupid not to realise. Her chest twisted internally into a painful knot. 'How long has this been going on?'

'There's nothing going on,' Martin said.

'Look, I'd better be on my way,' Una said, picking up her fleece. 'Really, Becca, it's not what you think.'

Becca gave her an icy stare. 'And how do you know what I think?'

Una glanced at Martin. 'I don't want to cause any problems.'

'Good. That's good,' said Becca, as her brain seethed with devastating put-downs. 'I'm sure there won't be any problems - I mean, it's usual for a wife to come back unexpectedly and find her husband kissing another woman. And where's Lily?'

'She's having a sleepover at Grace's. Becca, it was a peck on the cheek,' Martin said, coming towards her. 'Don't be silly -' He put out his hand to touch her shoulder, but she pushed him off.

'I don't think I'm being silly here.' Becca put her hands to her head. A peck on the cheek? Was it? Did they think she was stupid - his arm was around Una, he was kissing her. 'I can't believe I've come home to this.'

'I'm on my way,' Una murmured. 'See you, Martin.'

'I'll show you out.' Martin glanced at Becca. She couldn't believe it. Martin. Martin! She'd left Paul, and come back to - her breath was coming in sharp jagged jerks. She could hear Martin's voice in the hall, saying goodbye to Una, telling her not to worry, he'd explain. Explain what? Becca thought.

'Explain what?' Becca said as Martin came back into the kitchen. She could have punched Una for simply existing. 'What the hell is going on?'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You came in at just the wrong moment. There's nothing going on between me and Una, she was feeling a bit depressed about work, that's all. I gave her a hug and a kiss, as a friend. That's all.'

'No.' Becca shook her head. 'No. No, no, no. You don't hug and kiss friends, not when you're married and she's an attractive young woman. Oh God.' She pressed her face in her hands. This wasn't happening. Oh, she knew about that spur of the moment thing, the way a man comforted a crying woman. Paul had comforted her when she'd been upset over Martin. The circles go round, interconnecting. One thing leads to another. And she knew how it could lead elsewhere, to unsought directions. 'You were kissing her. How can it mean nothing?'

Martin took her hands and peered earnestly into her eyes. 'Because you know me. Because you know I wouldn't do anything that might harm our relationship. You have to believe me. Una was feeling really low, and it seemed the right response at the time, a peck on the cheek, and that's all. She's listened to me banging on about my problems, it was fair enough I listened to her.'

'What sort of problems?' Becca said, looking at him with horror and removing her hands from his. 'You haven't talked about us have you?'

Martin couldn't have looked more shifty than if he'd been selling used cars. 'A bit.'

'What have you said? "My wife doesn't understand me"?' She felt sick with jealousy. What if Martin left her? Una was young, attractive, available. Oh God.

'Nothing like that.'

'What then?' Everything seemed wrong. She had come home with such good intentions, such a need to make up, such a need to compensate for her deficiencies. And then this! But who was she to complain about what Martin had been doing, when she had been kissing Paul with passion just a few hours earlier. She poured herself a glass of wine with shaking hands.

'I know how it must seem, and I'm really sorry but there's nothing going on.' Martin sat down next to Becca. 'I'm not stupid. I know you think my running's pointless. I also know that you never seem to have time for me any more, if it's not the acting, it's something else. And when I try to talk, or do something nice like go out for Valentine's Day, you're not interested. I expect I'm a bit boring compared to your theatre group.' He rubbed his eyes, as if they were sore. 'I know I shouldn't have kissed Una but she's an attractive girl, and I like her. You could say I have a bit of a soft spot for her.' He paused, then spoke very deliberately, very seriously, looking straight at Becca. 'But I would not for one second risk our marriage for some fling. It would never be worth it. You have to believe me.'

Becca put her hand to her mouth, fighting back the tears. Martin didn't know what she'd done, what she'd been about to do, that she on the other hand had been ready to risk their marriage for a fling. He thought he had to convince her to believe that there was nothing between him and Una, as she had had to convince him to believe there was nothing between her and Paul after Suzy's phone call. The difference was, she did believe him, and she was the lying one, the weak one who'd put their marriage at risk. 'I believe you, Martin, I really do. And I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you. I didn't mean to.' The tears began to spill over. 'Everything's gone wrong. Ever since Mum said she was leaving Dad, it's all been wrong. Me, you, everything.'

'Ah, honey, I'm so sorry. I will try harder.'

Becca sniffed. 'So will I. And I'm sorry too. I should have...' But there were rather a lot of things she should have, or rather shouldn't have, done. In the end she resorted to just shrugging.

Martin got up, taking the wine bottle to the kitchen worktop where he found a cork. Becca still had some wine in her glass, which she drank down.

'How come you're back today? Was there some problem?' Martin said, pushing the cork deep into the bottle.

Becca spluttered on the wine. Ages spent rehearsing various scenarios on the train became wasted as her brain went blank. 'There was only the dinner and some speeches left this evening, and not much going on tomorrow so I decided to skip it. I'd got a headache,' she said, brushing splatters of wine off her cardigan.

'Are you feeling better now?'

'Not really,' Becca said. A wave of emotional tiredness came over her and she could feel her eyes well up. 'In feet, I think I'll go up now.'

'I'll join you in a sec.' Martin held her shoulders. 'I'm sorry for kissing Una. It really was a spur of the moment thing, and meant nothing. Will you forgive me?'

Becca nodded. 'Of course.' She went to the stairs and paused, foot on the tread. If I go up now, she thought, I miss the opportunity forever. I'll have to spend the rest of my life lying to him about what went on with Paul. I'll have to take care with every word I say. Whenever the phone rings I'll always be worried in case its Paul, whenever we're out with Crystal I'll worry because she might let something slip. I'll never be able to discuss it, and it will filter through and destroy our life together, even if Martin never finds out the truth. I will always know I have lied again and again to him. And if he does find out, I can say goodbye to any chance of happiness together after all the lying and deceitfulness. Is that what I want? She turned and went back to the kitchen.

Martin looked up from loading the dishwasher and smiled at her, a big innocent, warm smile.

Becca pleated her cardigan in the fingers of her right hand. 'I've got something I want to tell you.'

 

- ooo -

 

Becca lay alone in the vast and chilly expanse of her bed contemplating the crack on the ceiling and the motto that honesty was always the best policy. That must have been dreamed up by someone who had never tried being honest. She curled up into a foetal ball, hoping that sleep would come to her despite having eluded her all night. If she hadn't felt ill before, she did now. It was a strange sort of pain, one that consumed her whole body, making every corpuscle ache, every molecule moan. She hadn't felt this bad since she was a teenager. Teenage love, teenage pain. Perhaps it was just the pain of relationships that you forgot once you'd settled into a pattern with one person. No pain, no gain. But she'd got all the pain, and for what?

Martin was in the spare room.

He had been dignified after the initial shock, quietly taking himself up to bed. 'I need to think,' was all he said. So she had to wait. She'd hoped he would come across to her in the night, but he never came and she lay there, getting colder and colder, despite the duvet and an extra blanket. She played out scenarios in her head where she crept over to him, but the fear of rejection was too great.

Instead she lay, unable to sleep despite her eyes feeling swollen. She longed to close them. But they seemed as unable to rest, staring out into the darkness, all the time her mind running over and over that same moment: on the stairs, with her foot on the tread, about to go upstairs and never say anything to Martin ever.

Why did I say anything?

Because it seemed a good idea at the time.

She had to stop acting on impulse. She would be sensible and mature and make considered decisions from now on. Think before you speak, and all that. Why couldn't she have done that before now? She'd been told often enough. There was no reason to suppose that her keeping the secret of Paul would have meant the end of their marriage - plenty of women kept secrets. But not her. No, she was the one who had to blurt out the truth at all costs. The room had gradually lightened and she realised it was dawn and another day was starting.

She heard a noise and sat up in bed. Then a knock at the door. 'Come in,' she said, feeling cold as ice with fear at his formality. Martin pushed the door open. He looked more serious than she could remember seeing him, all humour gone from his face. 'You look like I feel,' she said, desperate to say something to lighten the situation. He stared at her, but Becca felt he wasn't seeing her. 'We need to talk. I'll be downstairs.'

In the kitchen the wine and glasses were still left out, giving the room a sordid, unfinished feel. Becca could feel the chasm between them. She clicked the kettle on, then quickly cleared the glasses into the dishwasher. 'Tea? Coffee?'

'Tea. Thanks.' He stared out at the garden. He was already dressed in his tracksuit and trainers ready to go running. Becca tightened her dressing-gown tie around her middle.

He turned away from the window. 'I'm going to move out today.'

Becca stared at him, open mouthed. 'Why? Isn't that a bit of an over-reaction? And any way, if either of us should go, it should be me.'

He flickered a glance over her, the first sign that there was life behind his zombie demeanour, as if he wanted to say - Too right it should be you. But what he said was, 'Lily would never forgive me. She needs you.'

'You mustn't go. Not like this. Please, Martin. Can't we try?' Becca pressed her lips together. She wanted to go down on her knees and beg him to stay with her, to give it one more go, not to give up on their marriage. But Martin was looking like a man made of stone, another man, not her warm and loving Martin. The thought occurred to her that he would never be her warm and loving Martin again and she thought she would be sick. She clutched her stomach and swallowed the bile down.

'I obviously can't give you what you want. You want another man.'

'No, no, I want you,' she cried.

He shook his head. 'Obviously you don't.'

'I do, I do. You're all I've ever wanted.' Don't cry, she told herself. Stay calm.

'The thought of you and -' He turned back to the window as if the view of the clothes line in the garden outside could solve all their problems.

'I've told you nothing happened.'

He turned round. 'Nothing?'

Becca hung her head. 'Kissing yes, but more than that, no. We never, ever had sex. And I finished it ages ago - it was over before it started, just a moment of madness.'

He dug his hands deep in his pockets. 'The thing is, I thought our marriage was perfect. I thought whatever happened, we'd get through it. It never occurred to me that you didn't feel the same way.'

'I felt you didn't love me any more,' Becca said in a small voice.

'Of course I did.'

'Then why didn't you show it?'

Martin shrugged. 'You can't go round all the time acting like a teenager.'

'There's some middle ground, you know.'

'I can't fake it. It's not worth anything if it isn't real.'

'I'm not asking you to fake it.' Becca tried to think of ways to explain. 'You gave me saucepans for Christmas.'

'You said you liked them.'

'As saucepans, yes, but not for my Christmas present.' Becca felt like crying. 'It's not about the bloody saucepans, it's about what they symbolise. They make me feel like a domestic drudge, not an attractive woman.'

Martin stared at his feet. 'I can't do anything right.'

'You kissed Una, and for the same sort of reasons.'

'Once - you carried on for months.'

'I thought you took me for granted. You obviously felt the same about me, but that doesn't mean we now chuck everything away. I love you. I want you to stay. Please, don't go.' He shook his head. 'Please, please. Give it some time. Don't go in anger. Wait a little. Please, Martin. For Lily's sake at least.'

'For Lily's sake.' He paused, as if considering, then nodded. 'OK, I'll stay for the time being. We'll see how things go. Right now, I'm going for a run.'

'With Una?'

He gave her a sharp look. 'Yes. Any problems with that?'

 

- ooo -

 

'What else did you expect?' Crystal said, hands on the side of the pool, her face pink from the heat of the water. 'Martin's an attractive guy - and even more so now he's lost that bit of surplus. Decent men are hard to find, they get snapped up as soon as there's a whiff they might be coming on to the market. Did you really think he was going to hang around while you snogged some other man?'

'He didn't know I was snogging someone, as you put it.' It had been Crystal's idea that they should go to the spa in half term. Becca felt she needed gallons of boiling water to cleanse her of her sins, but so far all that had happened was the skin on her fingers looked like albino prunes. 'Oh, Crystal, I can't bear to think about Martin going off with her. He's shutting me out. He won't talk to me, he cuts me dead, he won't discuss anything. At least he's stopped saying he's going to move out, but that's about it. And he hasn't stopped going running with her.'

Crystal shook her head, making her curls bob. 'Men need constant attention, if you leave them too long, they wander off.'

'What about him paying me attention? He made me feel less important than his running shoes.' Becca waved her hand in front of her face to try and get some cooler air on it.

'Men don't work like that. Men can't see the point of all the stuff we like.'

'They ought to.' The water in the pool started to bubble.

'Yes, they ought to, but they don't.'

Becca looked sideways at Crystal. 'If you're so switched on, how come you're single?'

'Cos it's easy to see with other people, you can't do it yourself. That and years of self-help books.' Suddenly Crystal looked coy. 'Besides, I am with someone at the moment.'

'Really? Who?' Becca shifted to get the bubbles against the small of her back.

'Just a bloke.' Crystal gave a token shrug of indifference, then leaped in, not even waiting for any encouragement. 'His name's Jim, and he's a chemistry lecturer up at the college, and he's utterly gorgeous.'

'I hope it works out.'

'I think he might be The One.'

'I never thought Martin was The One,' Becca said slowly. 'We just grew together. I always thought I was lucky because I married my best friend.'

'Doesn't everyone think that?' Crystal said. 'Otherwise, why would you want to marry them? Shag them, yes, but marry them, no. Anyway, what went wrong?'

'I don't know. Yes, I do. I felt my life was being measured out in washing cycles. Relentless, non-stop domestic stuff. Stupid things like getting up early on Saturday morning to put the first load of washing on before rushing to the supermarket. Get back home, unload the shopping, then swap the washing loads round. Hang stuff out to dry while the next load washes. And so on through the day until you end up with a massive pile of laundry to iron at midnight.'

'Didn't Martin help?'

'Yes, he helped, but it's not about how much help they give you, it's about the fact that you have to ask every time. It's always your responsibility, you're the one who's saying can you do this, can you do that. And if you don't, nothing happens and you end up living in a slum.'

'That's part of being married.'

'Why? It's not for better, for worse and the ironing stack. Recently I looked into Martin's eyes and thought I didn't know him at all. He was someone quite different.' Crystal snorted as if she thought Becca was being ridiculous.

'Or perhaps it was me who had become someone different,' Becca said. She remembered back to the beginning when she'd first kissed Paul, the heady feeling that she had been born again, the escape from the dreary reality of everyday life, the excitement, the delicious sense of her body waking up like Sleeping Beauty being kissed awake by the handsome prince. The trouble with being best friends with your husband was that best friends didn't usually want to have wild passionate sex.

Crystal pursed her lips. 'Well, Becca Woods, you have to decide if you want that husband of yours or not.'

'But he doesn't want me,' Becca wailed, tears mingling with sweat.

'He's still at home, though, whatever he says.' Crystal ducked her head under the water. 'Don't worry, Martin isn't going to leave. He'd have gone by now if he was really going to go. Why on earth did you tell him about your fling?'

'I was fed up with there being lies between us,' Becca said, hoping Crystal was right. 'I thought, my parents' marriage is breaking up because they haven't been talking to each other and telling the truth about how they feel. So I thought I'd better come clean, otherwise I'd end up like my mum.'

Crystal pushed her wet hair from her eyes. 'If you ask me, truth in a marriage is severely overrated.'

 

- ooo -

 

Becca went over to her parents' house. Frank let her in. 'Becca, you're just the person I wanted to see. Can you give me a few minutes?'

Becca nodded. 'But is it OK if I talk to Mum first?'

'She's upstairs in her studio. I'll make us some coffee,' and he bustled off. Becca went upstairs, wondering if this was the first time she'd heard her father offer to do something domestic. She opened the door to the studio, but to her surprise the canvases had vanished. June was halfway up a ladder by the window.

'Wonderful, your timing's perfect. Give me a hand with these curtains, will you?'

Becca stood below her, and helped support the weight as June hung them. 'They don't seem quite your taste,' she said, running the chintzy material through her fingers.

'Maureen's lent them to me. The estate agent said the house will sell better if each room is clearly defined as to its function. So this is going back to being a bedroom.'

'You've had an estate agent round? You didn't tell me.'

'Didn't I?' June waved an arm as she came down the stepladder. 'We're moving to separate houses, so of course we're going to sell up. You'll never guess how much the agent valued it at. Mind you, house prices have gone up everywhere. Did you know that St Ives is the same sort of price as here?' Becca shook her head. 'I hoped there'd be a bit more of a difference but never mind. I only need a small place, just enough for me and my painting and the occasional guest.' She gave Becca a hug. 'I can't wait to get there.'

'You know what you told me the last time? About the potter,' Becca said. 'I wanted to ask you - did you regret not going with him?'

'Oh darling, it's all water under the bridge. I honesty haven't thought about him for at least twenty years, if not more.' She patted Becca's shoulder. 'There are more important things in life to be getting on with, rather than fretting over some man.'

'But did you regret it?'

'Maybe for a time. I suppose it's the idea of the life you might have lived. But look at me now! I have two lovely daughters, and lovely grandchildren, and I'm off on an adventure. I'm going to live by the sea. I can't think of what might have been, I can only enjoy what is.'

'Coffee,' Frank called from downstairs.

'Would you bring one up for me, there's a love. I want to get the bed made up.' Becca offered to help but June shooed her away. 'I can manage. You go and talk to Frank.'

Frank was looking about ten years younger every time she saw him, Becca thought as he poured the coffee. He'd arranged everything nicely on a tray, including a plate of biscuits. 'Now, Becca, I trust your judgement. Have a look at these.'

He fanned out a batch of estate agents' details. Becca took them from him and flicked through. 'But these are all flats.'

'Bachelor pads.' Frank looked smug. 'There's even a penthouse suite. I quite fancy that.'

Becca found this new playboy version of her father hard to adjust to. 'But what about your garden? You love gardening. What about your roses?'

'It'll be a shame to lose the garden, but it's a bit of a tie, to be honest. All that watering in the summer. And it's only going to get worse with global warming, you know.' He nodded at her as if he was passing on some insider knowledge. 'It's going to be either watering from May to October, or going in for Mediterranean plants, and I don't fancy them much. I never really took to lavenders and santolinas. They're not as satisfying as roses and dahlias. You can't have a relationship with a santolina in the same way you can with a hybrid tea.'

Becca was speechless. All her life Frank had tended his garden with love and care - more care and attention, June had sometimes said, than he paid to her. And now he was giving it all up. It would be a red sports car next. 'What'll you do instead?' she whispered.

'Maureen - Mrs Batey - and I are going on a tour,' Frank said with relish. 'We're aiming to do all the golf courses in Scotland. Maureen reckons we can do at least four a week. She wants to do a bit of other stuff too - shopping and all that. But mostly it'll be golf.' He loosened his tie around his collar with an air of satisfaction. 'She's quite a nifty player, is Maureen.'

 

- ooo -

 

Saturday night, and Becca had prepared a nice meal for them both as Lily was out, staying over with Grace for the night. As she lit the candles she wondered if she was overdoing it, but Martin didn't comment. On the other hand, he might not have commented because he hadn't taken much notice. Becca thought back to when she and Martin had first started seeing each other, how they had told each other everything. Their hopes, their fears, their dreams. They'd talked about their parents, their childhood, the sad times and the bad times. There were things she'd told Martin that no one else in the world knew. She could remember lying in bed staring into Martin's eyes as if there were no barrier between them, the polished shell of adulthood peeled away to reveal the vulnerable naked child underneath. And now there were nothing but barriers.

'I thought we could watch a DVD afterwards.' She'd got the new James Bond out, which she knew Martin had wanted to see.

Martin shrugged. 'Whatever you want.'

He settled down on the sofa next to her, the paper folded over to the Sudoku on his lap, as if to make it quite clear he wasn't watching the DVD with her, just happened to be on the sofa at the right time. The familiar music came up. Martin had wanted to see it in the cinema, but Becca hadn't been as keen, even though she'd heard good things of the new Bond's attractiveness. Lily didn't want to go either. It was the sort of film men went to with their sons, for a bit of male bonding over explosions and fast cars. Martin would have liked a son to do DIY with, and go to James Bond films with, who'd be able to discuss the finer points of a decent pint. Boys together. Becca looked across at Martin, who was clearly now enjoying the film. She stared at the television screen seeing, instead of a card table in the South of France, an image of a little boy, tousle-haired like Martin, running and laughing with delight as he was scooped up into his father's arms. Her eyelids began to droop. Vaguely in the background she heard the Bond music.

Becca was woken by the doorbell ringing. For a minute she couldn't place the sound. Heavens, she must have dropped off. She looked across at Martin who was fast asleep, his mouth open slightly. The doorbell rang again, and Martin blinked awake, his eyes sleepy like a lion's.

Becca checked her watch. 'It's after midnight.'

Martin rubbed his face. 'Probably kids larking around.'

The doorbell rang again, and this time there was no let up. They looked at each other, then went to the door. Martin opened it, and Lily collapsed on the doorstep as if dead.