After a long week at work, Sarah opened the door to her house and headed in. Leaning on the banister she forced off her pretty sandals. Her feet had swollen in the oppressive heat and were criss-crossed with little red lines from the straps. She wiggled her toes and a horrible smell rose up. Oh God, did they stink? Might Finn have smelt them when he approached her desk? Still resting on the balustrade, she picked up her foot, brought it as near to her face as possible, which wasn’t that easy as she wasn’t very flexible, and tried to smell it, causing a muscle to cramp in her side. ‘Aarrgh.’ She let go of her foot, wobbled, and then fell to the right, stopping herself just before she hit the Jane Austen book cover framed on her wall. Pride and Prejudice, her favourite. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ she said to herself. But at least if she hadn’t smelt anything, that probably meant Finn hadn’t either.
After opening the windows in the living room and kitchen, she filled a glass of water at the sink to quench her thirst. Today had been hotter than Satan’s underpants and she was parched after the drive home.
Friday had taken a long time coming after a tough and eventful week. And she wasn’t sure, but it felt like Finn was talking to her more. It seemed like they’d spoken more in the last three days than they had in the whole of the last year. A couple of times he’d even touched her arm or her shoulder, and once, when they’d been passing in the corridor his hand had brushed hers, sending a tingle through her fingers and up into her heart.
Sarah looked around the kitchen and thought about how much she loved being at home. She loved her house and the little estate it sat on. It wasn’t the most expensive part of town and the houses were quite ugly – aesthetics weren’t a priority in Seventies’ architecture apparently – but it was just the right size and she had lovely, if somewhat mad, neighbours.
On her way home, Sarah had stopped at the corner-shop and bought some ingredients for dinner. After coming across a recipe for moussaka in one of the magazines they kept in the surgery’s reception, she’d had a weird craving that hadn’t shifted all afternoon. She’d found it by accident after one of the horrid old gents had shouted at her because Finn was running late, which was apparently her fault; and then the tiny desk fan she and Mandy shared had broken. Seeing Sarah’s face, Mandy had suggested a few minutes away from her desk might help keep her sane.
In her perfectly tidy kitchen, Sarah turned on the radio and emptied her carrier bag before grabbing a knife and the chopping board to begin slicing the various vegetables and making the béchamel sauce. Her mum had taught her how to cook. From a young age she’d stand on a chair, mixing, stirring, tasting, and of course, licking the bowl. Sarah’s eyes darted up to the photograph she kept on the kitchen windowsill. Photos of her mum were everywhere, except the bedroom. No one wanted their dearly departed mother watching on while they got down and dirty. Not that Sarah had much chance of that lately, but still, on the rare occasions it did happen she didn’t want to have to spend ten minutes hiding photos like a weirdo. It kind of killed the mood.
The radio played one of her favourite songs and Sarah found herself singing along when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, she wiped her hands on a tea towel and went to answer it. Lottie and Sid were having a date night so it couldn’t be them. It could conceivably be Mandy come to cheer her up, but she didn’t tend to be spontaneous because she was always super organised with her kids going here, there and everywhere. A bubble of excitement fizzed in her stomach. Was it Finn? Maybe he’d come to see if she was okay after her week from hell and brought a bottle of wine with him. Maybe he’d brought a DVD. Some silly movie to cheer her up. He seemed like that sort of guy. They could order a takeaway or she could cook as she had all the ingredients. Sarah smoothed down her dress, checked she hadn’t splashed anything on herself and flicked her hair back over her shoulder. A smile was just forming on her face as she turned the handle and pulled the door to, when it fell away to be replaced by an angry frown.
Her heart stopped beating and the fizz of excitement gave way to a heavy dread. A sudden chill washed over her and as she forced the words out, she ensured her tone was flat and bereft of emotion. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Sugarplum, please?’ said Ben. He was wearing the same clothes he had the other day at the surgery. He’d been allowed to take a set or two with him, then she’d given away most of his things, apart from a few bags that were stowed in the loft. The sun reflected off the lenses of his glasses.
‘I’m not your sugarplum anymore.’ Despite her efforts to control it, her voice was rising already and she tried to bring it back down. ‘What do you want?’ It amazed Sarah that she had this angry, hard side to her personality that had only come out with her dad. But then, he shouldn’t have done what he’d done.
‘Sarah, please. I wanted to see you.’ A spike of anger surged through her as he used her name. It was hard to know which was worse, sugarplum or Sarah.
‘Just go away, Dad. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
‘Can we talk, please? I’m so sorry. I just want to explain.’ Behind Ben’s head, a curtain twitched in the house opposite and Sarah knew people were watching. If she closed the door on him, would he go away or stand there knocking? As if in answer Ben said, ‘I won’t give up, Sarah. Not until we’ve talked. I’ve waited years for this moment.’ His voice began to crack. ‘Imagined it hundreds of times. Please, I just want to talk.’
‘Why?’
The question threw him and he didn’t answer straight away. ‘Because it’s too late for me to apologise to your mum, but I can apologise to you.’ If his eyes hadn’t misted with tears, she’d have closed the door in his face, but the pain and anguish were evident in the set of his mouth. The coldness that consumed her whenever she thought of her dad thawed a little.
Hesitantly, Sarah met his gaze and his lips quivered as he bit back his emotions. ‘You’d better come in.’ She left the door open for him and walked into the living room. He followed her in and she perched on the edge of the sofa, rubbing her hands on the soft fabric for comfort. Ben sat down in the seat opposite and her copy of The Tempest that was resting on the arm of the chair fell to the floor. A piece of paper fluttered out and Sarah realised what it was. The save-the-date card for her birthday drinks. Ben picked it up and tucked it back inside. Relieved he hadn’t noticed what it was, Sarah relaxed a little. Her birthday was the last thing she wanted to talk to him about. Ben studied the book, his eyebrows raising almost imperceptibly before he placed it on the coffee table between them. Clasping his hands in his lap he looked like a lost little boy and Sarah found the role reversal unsettling. Her brain began to whirl as they sat in silence. Should she speak first or let him? Ben cleared his throat.
‘I know what I did was wrong, sugar – Sarah,’ he corrected, with a small shake of his head. ‘I got greedy. Stupid. When Arthur turned me down for a pay rise, after all the work I’d done helping him set up the business, I just …’ He lowered his head into his hands and stayed there. ‘I’d been with him since the beginning and never asked for anything. I didn’t know then your mum was sick. You have to believe me. We just thought it was indigestion. I had no idea it was stomach cancer. You have to believe that I’d never have let anything take me away from her like that. I loved her.’
Sarah desperately wanted to believe him but if that was true then why had he … She still couldn’t bring herself to think about the other thing – the worst thing of all. Her mum’s diagnosis had been such a shock and her decline so rapid, when she tried to remember, it was a blur. She’d forgotten Ben had supported Arthur from the beginning and how angry he’d been when he requested a pay rise and was turned down. It was no excuse for what he’d done, but her brain had wiped out that particular memory focusing instead on everything that had happened after. But he hadn’t had to deal with her mum’s broken heart when he got sent to prison. Or how it had made her sicker when she could have been putting her energy into getting better. A flash of white-hot anger stiffened her.
Ben pushed his glasses up and continued, his voice wavering. ‘I’ll never forgive myself for not being there at the end, Sarah. Never. I loved your mum so much. And I love you.’ He broke down and tears flowed, tracing the line of his sallow cheeks. The words echoed around her head like a gale force wind, swirling up her emotions. She was angry but she had missed having a father in her life. Just as quickly, the strength of her resentment pushed down any sympathy and her jaw tightened again. How could he say he’d loved her mum? Sarah had been rubbing the soft fabric with her fingertips so fiercely she could have started a fire. She made an effort to still her fingers.
‘Why did you do it? We had enough.’ She’d wanted to know for a long time but refused to visit or write to him in prison.
‘I wanted us to have more than just enough. I was so angry seeing Arthur drive about in his flash car, and hearing about their expensive holidays when all we could do when you were little was go to Butlins every other year. It just wasn’t fair. I wanted to give you and your mum something special. Just once.’ His cheeks reddened with what Sarah assumed was shame. ‘I knew that if I only took what I’d hoped for as a bonus it would look suspicious, so I took a big round figure. It was easier to hide and I thought we could all have a posh holiday.’
Sarah stared. ‘A holiday? To where?’ The idea was almost laughable. As a little girl, she’d adored their trips to Butlins. For an only child it was a perfect opportunity to have her parents to herself for a whole weekend. And although they hadn’t had any holidays in years, it hadn’t mattered one bit. She’d never asked for posh holidays away and neither had her mum.
Ben nodded without speaking, then said, ‘I know it was stupid.’
‘It was,’ Sarah added, ‘and selfish.’ He nodded again. Seeing her dad’s eyes so filled with sadness was both heartbreaking and infuriating. A whole lifetime of love and memories had been wiped out, not only by that stupid action and its terrifyingly far-reaching consequences but by the news that had followed his departure. News she’d tried hard to forget but she knew now she couldn’t repress any longer. News of an affair with a co-worker. The ultimate betrayal of her mother and it was this more than anything else she couldn’t forgive. After a long, dreadful silence she said, ‘So …’ but the sentence trailed away as she had no idea what else to add. The hurt was overwhelming her brain, stopping all functions.
Ben said, ‘I thought about writing to you to let you know I was being released but I didn’t think you’d answer my letter. All the others had been sent back.’ He was right. She wouldn’t have answered. There was no way she’d even have read them. She had nothing to say to him and was surprised that he had anything to say to her. He’d written every week for the first year of his incarceration, but she’d returned each and every letter unopened without a second thought. Her mum had died within a few weeks of his imprisonment and the letters did nothing but remind her of how selfish he’d been. With a heavy sigh he rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m trying to put my life back together.’
She couldn’t bear to look at him and the preciousness of her mum’s memory forced her to say, ‘No one knows you went to prison. And I want to keep it that way. Arthur agreed to keep things quiet as Mum was sick. It was all dealt with very quietly. I don’t want the town knowing. They think you left to work away.’ He nodded in recognition, keeping his eyes on the carpet, and silence descended. Even when that had come out, they’d still had more than their fair share of sympathetic looks and, worst of all, pity. Remembering it, Sarah had a sudden urge to push him away. ‘I don’t want you in Greenley.’
Ben’s face registered shock, guilt and hurt all in one go. His eyebrows pulled together and his eyes darted to hers then away again.
At the hospice, at the end, before her mum had finally drifted into unconsciousness she’d begged Sarah to forgive her dad for the theft – Sarah had kept the rumours of an affair from her – and Sarah had agreed but only for her mother’s sake, to assuage her suffering and the agony it was causing. But when it had been time to ring the prison and tell Ben her beloved mum had died, trying her hardest to get the words out among the sobbing and howling, all he could do was cry and repeat the word, ‘Sorry,’ over and over again. In her fury, Sarah couldn’t bring herself to say the words her mum had wanted from her. Instead, she’d hung up and that had been the last she’d said to him before this week. However much she’d missed having Ben around, she wasn’t ready to forgive him and didn’t know if she ever would be.
Ben pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. Sarah could hear her own sharp breathing and knew there was nothing more to say. She couldn’t give him what he wanted. She couldn’t forgive. Unsure how to end the meeting she said, ‘Is there anything else?’ and Ben winced. She didn’t sound angry anymore, which would be understandable; no, she sounded cruel and it disgusted her.
‘No. Nothing.’ With his shoulders sagging in defeat he handed her a scrap of paper on which he’d written a mobile phone number in a shaky, sprawling hand. ‘If you do decide you want to see me, here’s my number.’ Sarah took it without meeting his eye and hurried to the front door. As she closed the door behind him, he tried to look at her, but it took all her self-control to keep the tears inside, even though her nose was stinging with the effort.
When Ben had gone, she fastened the chain lock and went back to the kitchen on autopilot. Staring at the mix of half-chopped vegetables Sarah realised she wasn’t in the least bit hungry now. The pulsing in her chest refused to subside and a horrible wail erupted from her mouth. She couldn’t shake the image of her mum in the hospice bed. A pathetic shrunken husk of the strong woman Sarah had always looked up to. Angrily, and with the scrap of paper still in her hand, she swept all the vegetables into the sink and bent double, hanging onto the counter with white knuckles. The emotions she’d kept under control for the last few days burst out but her face remained dry. She was too angry to cry.
‘Damn it,’ Sarah shouted to the worktop, hot with anger. It was ironic that she finally had friends but couldn’t go and see them. Lottie and Sid were out. If she couldn’t see them, she normally went to Gregory and Cecil but they had superstar Nathaniel Hardy with them. The weirdness of that statement made her laugh and it was a strange, almost hysterical screech that escaped. The idea of swinging by and catching a glimpse of him was tempting, but she didn’t want to go through all of this with the UK’s hottest, most gorgeous man watching on.
With no other option she grabbed her bag and car keys from their place on the kitchen counter. Darting into the living room she took her copy of The Tempest from the coffee table and headed to the car. What she needed was her favourite spot on the seafront. The exact spot her mum used to bring her to as a child. Somewhere quiet where she could think of something else, maybe read a little, and the gentle flowing rhythm of the sea might calm the tempest raging inside her.
Shakespeare would’ve been proud. If she could recite it.