‘You can’t let him drag you down, Gemma, you’ve got to be your own woman. Surely now you don’t need to stay stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Why don’t you come and live up here in town? We’d have a great time; you could really go for it now. You’re an independent woman, after all.’
Rebecca had been one of the few school friends Gemma had kept in touch with even though they had seen little of one another since doing their A-levels at Farnham Girls Grammar School back in 1975. At that time, Rebecca and Gemma, along with a few carefully chosen others, had considered themselves as the ‘in-crowd’ at school – pretty well off, good looking and knowing it. They were the ones who had older boyfriends with access to cars. It was little surprise that since then she had developed a persona that was a kind of cross between a second wave feminist and an upper class debutante. They were sitting outside the Crown in Princedale Road, Holland Park, along with Victoria, who had been the Head Girl at Farnham in their final year. Although she had never been particularly close to Victoria, Rebecca had met up with her by chance when she’d been browsing the various boutiques and vintage clothing shops in Ladbroke Grove earlier in the summer. They’d gone for a coffee and cake at one of the trendy little cafés there and found out that, without having realised it before, they both worked for the BBC at Shepherd’s Bush, just the next tube stop down the Central Line from Holland Park. After catching up on the last few years, they had agreed to meet up during their lunch breaks whenever they could. It hadn’t been long before Victoria suggested Rebecca move into the apartment on Norland Square which her father had bought a few years previously as an investment. Rebecca had leapt at the opportunity.
In their mid-twenties, living in the increasingly fashionable Notting Hill Gate to Holland Park area and with fancy-sounding titles for what was effectively secretarial work at the BBC, it had worked out nicely for both of them. They were keen to impress on Gemma the advantages of what they clearly felt was their current and cool lifestyle; and to be fair, it had certainly struck a chord with Gemma. Over the last few months, really since packing in her job with the probation service the previous December, Gemma had been getting more and more bored with life in Petworth. As she had planned, Gemma had given in her notice and left the office in Littlehampton not long before her mother, Anne, had been sorted. It was strange that neither she nor Mark ever really referred to themselves as murderers or killers and just seemed to see themselves as arrangers, expediters even, although passing it off as some form of involuntary euthanasia might be stretching a point.
Initially she had been kept busy, dealing with the will, the valuation of the house in Farnham, encouraging Mark to sell off whatever he could from the family’s belongings and all the attendant paperwork. There had been a period of almost basking in the after-glow of success and revenge and she and Mark had even had some quite pleasant times together. However, she hadn’t changed her resolve that she and Mark were never going to be forever. Since early summer, really, the lack of change and direction had been preying on her mind and she’d been getting increasingly tetchy. It struck her as ironic that as she tried to make it clear to Mark that she wanted to do more with her life he seemed to be ever more content with their lifestyle and to have become more clingy than usual – it was as if her trying to distance herself had the opposite effect on him.
The thing was that without work, and without any really close friends, she was finding him more and more irritating. Fair enough, he’d been great, he’d done what she, and they, had wanted but that was it for her. Some nice times together and reasonable sex weren’t enough for her, but whenever she mentioned wanting to do more by herself she could sense Mark’s panic and desperation almost, and she hadn’t bothered to pursue things. And then, to cap it all, last week he had even asked her if she wanted to marry him when she’d told him she was planning to go away for this weekend. The thing was that she wasn’t sure if Mark’s behaviour might not be a kind of camouflage, anyway; a part of her didn’t or couldn’t believe that he was quite as contented with life as he made out. He had taken to going to the local pub by himself and kept harping on about her lack of affection – by which he meant sexual interest, of course. Perhaps the message was getting across to him; but either way she knew she had to do something different with her life. It was in desperation almost that she had looked up and contacted her old friend Rebecca, a few weeks back now. Rebecca had told her that she and Victoria had met up and were living together and that they’d love to see Gemma. They had arranged for her to come up to stay for the weekend; and she was enjoying herself in a way she hadn’t for some while.
Although the Crown was still very much a local pub it was beginning to move slightly upmarket along with that part of West London in general. They were enjoying a pretty decent bottle of Mateus Rosé and the brief splash of an Indian summer, which certainly complemented one another. It was warm enough for them to be wearing crop tops over the designer jeans they’d picked up yesterday afternoon on a shopping trip down the King’s Road in Chelsea.
Gemma had come up to London on the Friday afternoon and the three of them had gone to see the widely acclaimed revival of Guys and Dolls at the National Theatre that night. After their Saturday afternoon shopping expedition, last night they had gone to town in more ways than one. Victoria, whose family seemed to be pretty well connected, was a member of the swanky Annabel’s nightclub in Berkeley Square and had booked the three of them in. She had helped persuade Gemma to buy a loose, flowy, knee-length dress in cream for the occasion from Peter Jones up by Sloane Square, along with some fancy, high-heeled, red sandal shoes. Gemma had never spent so much on her clothes but, as she told herself, she’d never been such a rich woman as now and she might as well get used to it.
The evening had been a great success: Annabel’s had been packed with what was obviously a very wealthy crowd but even so the three of them had attracted more than their fair share of attention. They’d hardly had to buy a drink all night and then had been driven back to the flat by someone who appeared to be a cross between chauffeur and dogsbody of the City banker who’d spent a couple of hours trying to get Gemma to go back to his own apartment with him, before doing the decent thing and seeing them all home for the price of her phone number and a kiss on the cheek.
Like Rebecca, Victoria was delighted to catch up with another old school friend and also with the prospect of having some different people to hang around with. She was full of herself; clearly in her element at being the one who’d brought the three of them all together and organised their weekend activities.
‘We were bloody amazing last night; and you, Gemma, that Simon, he couldn’t take his eyes off you and had made sure he’d got your number. And those other two guys who sent the bottle of champagne over, did you see the looks we were getting. My God, Rebecca’s right, you’ve just got to come and live up here. Why not buy somewhere yourself? Like you said the other day, you’ve got your own money. I mean, I know I’ve got Daddy’s but that’s not same as your own.’
It certainly sounded pretty tempting but then there was Mark. Gemma’s plan had been to extricate herself from Mark soon after her mother’s death but dealing with her family’s estate and selling the house in Farnham had taken longer than she had envisioned and they were still together, and, unless she had misread him, as far as Mark seemed to imagine, were pretty much a permanent fixture.
Even though she never intended for her and Mark to be forever, and even though she had basically used him to get things sorted out, Gemma did feel a twinge of guilt as well. She and Mark had been together for getting on for two years now and to be fair they had had their moments. It was always an option that they could do what Mark plainly wanted and settle down with enough money to live more than comfortably for as long as they wished. The thing was that she wanted something more, or at least different. It wasn’t just the weekend in London; she couldn’t help feeling that he held her back, that what he wanted was fine for him but not for her. To put a more positive spin on it, she didn’t think it was the best thing for Mark anyway; he might go on about how pleased he was with things, but he wasn’t the type to sit back and just take it easy. He might be a good deal older than her but he was still only in his mid-thirties.
Enjoying the wine and sun, Gemma was flattered and excited that Victoria and Rebecca were so keen on her moving up to London.
‘Yes I suppose I could, the thing is Mark. He assumes we’re going to stay together and I didn’t tell you this, he even asked me to marry him the other day when I told him I was coming up here. Typically desperate, really. I’m not sure he really meant it but the thing is I do feel bad about it.’
Rebecca and Victoria couldn’t contain themselves. Rebecca started.
‘Oh Gemma, like I just said, he’ll drag you down, you know that, you’ve said so yourself. You must put yourself first.’
Victoria chipped in.
‘Yes, and you’ve told us you don’t really love him anyway. Look, he might be a nice guy, I’m sure he is, but you can’t spend your life with him just because of that. You know you’ll have more fun up here with us around.’
She paused to let Gemma think before pushing on.
‘Look ,why don’t you stay tonight as well? There’s no rush for you to get back to Sussex, is there? We could go and eat at the Belvedere – it’s brilliant, it’s some sort of seventeenth-century mansion apparently, on Abbotsbury Road. Daddy knows the manager or something and the food’s meant to be amazing. We can talk it through, it always helps to get things out into the open and to have someone who’ll listen. You can stay with Rebecca and me whenever you want while you’re getting everything fixed.’
Gemma realised they were just being honest and she knew they were trying to help and were right too; of course, what they didn’t know was that she and Mark had planned and carried through the murder of her mother and that she had to be pretty careful with how she handled him. She had been assiduous in making sure that there was no direct evidence linking her to her mother’s death: she’d bought none of the poisons, except the mushrooms, of course, but there were no receipts involved there, and she knew she could manage Roger easily enough if she had to. As well as that, given Mark’s previous record, she had more than enough on him to ensure it would be straightforward enough to put all the blame and guilt on him should it come to it. She was well aware that, logically, if it came down to his word against hers there would only be one winner, but nonetheless she was also well aware that he could at the very least make life more than a little awkward for her. As well as that, though, she did acknowledge that Mark had helped her avenge her father’s death and life and she never intended to be unfair to him, or to hurt him unnecessarily. She would try her best to let him down as gently as possible. Anyway, that was all a little beside the point for now: why not stay another night? She was beginning to like London and could see herself having a future here.
‘Yes that would be nice, if the two of you are sure you don’t mind me staying another night. And I know you’re right, I fancy doing something different and I know I can’t stay with him as well. Basically I like him but that’s all. It’d be good to have a chat tonight and I’ll do my best to clear things up with Mark when I’m back in Petworth.’
***
Looking back, it had been a long nine months. Finalising the details of her legacy had taken most of the year so far and had been a long-winded and tedious process. Gemma’s solicitors, a well-established local Farnham practice, had assured her that there were no obvious issues and that it would be basically straightforward; on that basis she had let them take over managing the probate. Things hadn’t moved that quickly, however; it had taken a couple of months before she had even got the grant of representation, as it was called. After that there’d been a lot of organising, advertising and selling to do. It was amazing quite how much her parents had stocked up in, after all, only around twenty-five years. The house itself had attracted a fair bit of interest when they’d put it on the market in late March and there had been a sort of bidding war before it was sold by the end of May for slightly above the initial asking price of £120,000. The real bonus, though, had been the paintings and furniture. Mark had been careful to get everything properly valued and they had resisted selling the whole lot as one deal, in spite of the various offers to ‘take the lot’ from antique dealers in Guildford as well as Farnham. She had to admit that he had done a really good job and had been right to insist on selling everything individually, either through the ‘buy and sell’ adverts in local papers or at auction. The Parrish paintings had been the high spot and they’d got almost £30,000 for the two of them, along with another £3000 for the unattributed oil painting plus good prices for the various watercolours. Then the Victorian furniture and numerous other decorations and vases had got decent prices too. On top of that there were the shares and savings that her mother had been left after her own father and uncle had died. That had been the real surprise, the icing on the cake as far as Gemma was concerned. Both her grandfather and great uncle had bought substantial shares in the Cunard company between the 1930s and ’50s, which had passed to Anne and now on to Gemma herself. This gave her a few thousand shares, making her one of the larger private shareholders in the company.
Even though she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure about their motives, Gemma had taken the solicitors’ advice and decided to leave the shares untouched for the moment. As it was, after their fees and a few other expenses, she was left with well over £160,000 plus a guaranteed basic, index-linked income of twelve thousand a year from the family’s investments, without even touching the share capital.
The crunching of car wheels on the gravel path at the side of the house followed by the opening and slamming of doors jolted Gemma back to life. She’d had the afternoon to herself and after a desultory bit of tidying up had spent the last hour or so with a glass of wine, which had only been refilled once so far, idly flicking through the latest edition of Cosmopolitan while waiting for Mark to get back from his latest trawl around the antique dealers in town. Maybe the wine was to give a little Dutch courage, but that, along with the tediously liberal and open-minded responses to readers’ issues and problems – Gemma was sure they must be made up by the supposed agony aunts – had helped her drift into a pleasant, late afternoon reverie.
To be fair, Mark had worked hard and been pretty successful in getting rid of virtually all her mother’s bits and pieces and for very good prices too. He had really thrown himself into planning for their future and she did feel guilty; however, today had really brought it home to her, she’d spent too long just treading water and pottering around. It was over nine months since she had given up her probation work and getting on for a couple of months since the family’s money had finally been sorted. Apart from what she had set aside for getting herself somewhere to live when she left Mark, it was all settled in the joint account they had opened after buying their own house and for the time being had decided to use for Gemma’s legacy.
She knew she had to tell Mark she’d had enough and wanted to move on; even though she hated that hackneyed expression it best described just what she wanted to do. The fact that she hadn’t actually cheated on him made Gemma feel better about it all. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had the opportunity. Apart from the occasion in London when she’d stayed with Victoria and Rebecca, she had seen Roger, her mushroom man, again, even though she was not involved in any official, probation-related, way with him anymore. She’d told Mark she was tying up a few loose ends in Littlehampton and had let him take her on a couple more foraging missions in the New Forest, this time to relieve her boredom and purely for pleasure. They’d had a really nice time; autumn in the New Forest was a special time and for a few hours the stresses of the last few months had faded. It had been about a year since their first foraging trip and it felt strangely comforting to be back. Roger had smelt good too, a nice earthy aroma; and the fact that she knew for sure there was no way he would play any part in her future gave her a sort of exoneration. She’d let him kiss her and explore her a little too; when two of his fingers slipped easily inside her she almost gave in but something had stopped her going any further. Maybe a kind of loyalty to Mark; even though she knew they had no future she didn’t feel right doing anything until she’d actually told him that. It hadn’t helped that Mark seemed absolutely incapable of taking any kind of hint.
Since getting back from London a week ago, Gemma had been putting off confronting Mark with her need to move away and on. Somewhat forlornly she had hoped he might arrive at the same decision but she needed to stop kidding herself and get on with things. It hadn’t helped that the last few months had not been too bad, and it wasn’t as if they’d had a particularly bad or awkward week either. In fact the last weekend had been quite pleasant, they’d been to the cinema in Chichester to catch Richard Gere and Debra Winger in An Officer and a Gentleman on the Friday and had a nice meal out and a good few drinks on Saturday. Mark had been more than attentive and as usual there had been plenty of sex, but she knew she was stringing Mark along and even though she didn’t think his proposal of marriage was really serious, she knew he was waiting for an answer; something which she’d promised him would be soon.
Staying with Rebecca and Victoria had really just confirmed what Gemma had been thinking about her life and future. She wanted to live a bit, to meet different people and London seemed as good a place as any to do it; even from that brief experience she felt she’d fit in and be part of something. It wasn’t that she had any definite plan, just a feeling, a certainty really, that she deserved a good time and that she had the resources to do so, alongside a nagging and growing belief that Mark was holding her back. It wasn’t necessarily or even the case that she felt she could do better, but just that Mark was never intended to have been long-term. That provided some sort of rationale if not justification; and even without the London trip she knew for sure that she wouldn’t be short of offers either. After all, even though she wasn’t particularly interested in him, Simon, who had homed in on her at Annabel’s on her first visit, had followed up his interest and already phoned her a couple of times, luckily when Mark was out and about. Initially he’d invited her to see Genesis at the Hammersmith Odeon on this coming Thursday; apparently he had some of the best tickets in the place. When she had said she couldn’t make that he’d asked if she would ever consider letting him take her out and her ‘maybe’ had led to a second call, the next day, this time asking if she’d like to see AC/DC with him on the last of three concerts they were doing in mid-October, and again at the Hammersmith Odeon. He’d told her that he also had backstage passes for that gig and Gemma didn’t see why she should say no. Sure, he might be rather full of himself, and even a bit smarmy, but he ticked a few boxes: he was nice enough, very well off and must have some pretty decent contacts. From what she could gather he was one of a new breed of City traders, who were becoming known as ‘yuppies’, young upwardly mobile professionals or something like that, apparently after they’d been dubbed with that title by some American journalist. Anyway, why not let him be the start of her new life? And by then she intended to have tidied things up with Mark as well. Although she had resisted going any further with Roger and could hardly fault Mark as a lover, Gemma was definitely starting to fancy the idea of having sex with someone different.
Once she had made the decision to take up Simon’s offer Gemma had rung Rebecca to ask if she could stay over that weekend, for the gig on Saturday the 16 October, and was met with screams of delight. Victoria had phoned her the next day and said she’d keep an eye out for flats in their area for her to look at. Even if they were a bit full on, it felt nice to be wanted.
As Mark came in, Gemma got up and put the kettle on. She let him tell her about the day he’d had and the price he’d got for the last couple of side chairs they had to sell, then launched into it.
‘Why don’t you sit down Mark? I’ve got something to say. I know you’ve been waiting patiently and I’m really grateful for all you’ve done but I’m not ready to marry you or to stay here with you either. There’s things I want to do and I want to, I need to, do them by myself.’
Maybe it hadn’t come out exactly as planned but it had come out. It had probably taken less than ten seconds to blurt it out but by the end Mark’s whole demeanour was transformed; he had slumped back in his chair and seemed shell-shocked. She felt she owed him a proper explanation and was conscious it was in danger of coming out all wrong.
‘It was lovely of you to want to marry me and I’ve never been asked before and I have thought hard about it, I promise. And it’s been great being with you since you got out from Ford but I’ve just had enough living here. I gave up the probation job ages ago and I want to do something different now. I’ve being getting more and more bored and it’s not fair on you either. Look, I know it sounds glib but I want to move on, to do something different with my life.’
Mark went to the fridge and opened a beer. He appeared calm enough but she could sense his tenseness and knew there’d be a blow up soon. He came back into the front room but didn’t sit down again; he grabbed the top of the chair with some force, as if to keep himself in one place.
‘What is it you want to do, then, and why can’t we do it together?’
His voice sounded unnaturally strained and perhaps an octave higher than usual.
‘Well, firstly I’m going to move to London, I’ve got friends there and there’s just so much more to get involved with as well. I need a change, Mark.’
She could see Mark’s mood turning from shock to anger as he processed it all.
‘It’s those bloody upper class snobs you stayed with the other weekend isn’t it? They reckon you could do better than being with me.’
While that might not be too far off the mark, Gemma was well aware that it wouldn’t help to bring anyone else in to the explanation.
‘That’s not it Mark, I’ve been thinking about this for months now.’
She knew it sounded trite but couldn’t help herself.
‘It’s not about you, you’ve been great, it’s nothing to do with anyone, it’s about me.’
Gemma didn’t know how she had actually imagined this would play out but it seemed as if it was all going on outside of herself. It was like watching a scene from a play or even a soap opera. It was all so stereotypical, just as one would script it. She wondered if Mark was actually going to hit her. She could see his anger fighting against his panic.
Mark was trying to keep a lid on things, he knew that losing his cool wouldn’t help especially if there was any chance of rescuing things – the thing was he was bloody angry.
‘You’ve just used me, you’ve got what you wanted and that’s it. You’ve been planning this all along and now you think you can just say thanks and goodbye, well no bloody chance, that’s not going to happen.’
Gemma realised that she needed to try to calm him down.
‘That’s not the case, Mark, it’s just I don’t want the same as you, not now anyway. And I know you’ve helped me so much and I’m not going to leave you with nothing and walk away, I never would.’
Gemma wondered if it was time to offer him some sort of deal. The thing was that the way he was responding, she doubted it would make things any easier. She could almost hear his brain cranking into the next gear.
‘I can see it now, you’ve played me along. For all I know you’ve got your eye on someone else and always have had. I bloody trusted you and I love you.’
Why did it always come down to that, why did he have to believe there had to be another man involved? Okay, Simon was on the horizon, but Gemma knew that he was merely a side-effect and certainly was not the cause. She tried to explain but knew that at this stage it wouldn’t help that much.
‘Look there’s no one else, there never has been, I just want something else, something different. I’m not going to rip you off either, I wouldn’t do that after you helped avenge my father for me. For a start, I’m going to pay off the mortgage on this place and then sign it over to you one hundred per cent, and I’ll give you half the money from the furniture you’ve sold, that’ll be a good few thousand too.’
It was obvious Mark was hardly listening anymore; and certainly wasn’t interested in working out a deal or pay off. Perhaps not unexpectedly, he went on the offensive.
‘So you think you can just buy me off then? I’m not some kind of hired killer, you know; and anyway I’ve got enough on you to ruin you. It was you who wanted to get rid of your mother, after all; it was all your idea anyway.’
Gemma knew she’d have to ride things out for the time being but she was pretty certain that once he thought about the money and house he might calm down a little. After all, they weren’t married anyway and had been together for less than two years. In fact she was being more than generous when she thought about it. She decided it best not to point out that she was in a much better position to ruin him than the other way around; or that she had made absolutely sure that all the hard evidence, not to mention his impressive criminal record, would make it easy enough for her to have him put away for life again, and with little chance of an early release this time around.
She tried to pacify him.
‘Mark, we could both do that to each other, but when you’ve thought about it you’ll realise we can both do well enough from all of this. We can be sensible about things. I just don’t feel the same way about you as you do about me, but that’s life.’
At least she avoided saying that they could still be friends.
Mark grabbed another beer and went out to the garden. She heard him start his car up and reverse aggressively out on to the lane. He somehow managed to make his Escort sound in pain. That had been another source of his frustration too; an ageing Ford economy car hardly suited his self-image and didn’t match up to her sports car. Anyway, him letting off steam was probably for the best, she thought; he could think it all through by himself. Mark wasn’t the type to do anything stupid, she knew him well enough. He’d like her to think he was going to make some massive gesture but would probably just go and have a few drinks at their local and feel sorry for himself. She poured herself a glass of wine and felt an odd sense of relief, almost a glow. That was the worst of it over. No doubt he’d sulk around for ages and even come back and plead with her for them to stay together; but once that had failed she reckoned that he’d probably try and get as much as he could from her, and that might make it all the easier to handle. For a moment Gemma wondered if she really did know him quite as well as she thought; and if there was perhaps something she might not have taken account of. She couldn’t be bothered to dwell on that at the moment, though.
Gemma knew there was no going back – it had been what people called an epiphanous moment. The sense of unburdening felt quite overwhelming and a part of her wanted to tell someone, Rebecca perhaps, but she resisted calling her, out of an odd sense of loyalty almost, as if the moment was hers and shouldn’t be shared just yet at least. There’d be plenty of time to let her friends know and to get on with the practicalities of moving away.
The last few weeks had been awkward. Mark had been in a deep sulk and Gemma had tried to be matter of fact about it. He’d had a real go the other evening, accusing her of abandoning him and, with over three million unemployed, plus his criminal record, bemoaning the fact that he would hardly be able to present himself as a top prospect to future employers. She’d done her best to convince him that he’d be fine by himself, he’d soon find someone else and that he could sell what would soon be his house in Petworth and then have enough to start off anywhere he fancied.
Of course, she did feel a little guilty; after all, she had used him to help sort things out and to pay her mother back and help draw a line under her father’s death, but then she had made sure he had done well enough from it all too. Bloody hell, she had even let him have sex with her a couple of times over the last few days. He’d always been a bit shallow in that respect and anyway that wasn’t the reason she didn’t want to stay with him. Now she just wanted to make sure that the move to London and the start of her new life went as smoothly as possible. Things had moved pretty quickly in that respect and, with a bit of luck, she’d have the flat she was in the process of buying finalised within a few weeks and certainly by the end of November at the latest. To keep him reasonably happy and acknowledging his hubristic tendencies, she’d promised Mark they’d keep in touch, but hoped he wouldn’t be bothered to keep her to it. Much to her relief he’d not mentioned her mother again; Gemma reckoned he’d have worked out that any threats he might make to her wouldn’t match what she had on him, and she was thankful she hadn’t actually had to spell it out. Thinking about it, she was still rather surprised he’d kept quiet about the poisoning and particularly about her role in it all. She hadn’t let herself dwell on the momentary flicker of doubt, the brief thought that he might have something up his sleeve; nonetheless it was a little odd he hadn’t gone on and on about how hard done to he felt.
Finding an apartment had turned out to have been easier than she thought. Rebecca and Victoria had been a great help and eventually she’d gone for a smart two-bedroom apartment in Holland Park Gardens, just across Holland Park Avenue from their place; and with the owner wanting a quick sale and her being a cash buyer there’d been no problems. In the end Gemma had got it for just over £75,000, a good few thousand less than she was budgeting for; the exchange of contracts was due soon and it seemed she could be in well in time for Christmas. Last weekend had convinced Gemma that she was doing the right thing. She had gone up on the Friday and stayed at Victoria and Rebecca’s. It had been nice that they were so keen on having her around and on the Saturday afternoon Rebecca had helped her pick up some odds and ends for her new place from the more upmarket shops around Ladbroke Grove. After that, they’d taken a cab up to Oxford Street and she’d ordered some new furniture from the House of Fraser store; even though most of the stuff in Petworth was originally hers she didn’t think it a good idea to wind Mark up too much by leaving him with nothing to sit or sleep on. Anyway she fancied a complete change and in the end had chosen a couple of brown leather, Chesterfield-style two-seater sofas and a currently fashionable platform bed which gave her more space in what was quite a small main bedroom.
The weekend hadn’t just been about sorting out the internal décor of her new place. Saturday night had been her first proper date since homing in on Mark shortly after his release from HMP Ford, getting on for two years ago. Simon had picked her up and driven them up to the Hammersmith Odeon; AC/DC had been doing their For Those About to Rock tour for almost a year and this was the last of their four nights there. Gemma was hardly a fan of heavy metal but a free gig and backstage passes sounded good. Last time she’d seen Simon, at Annabel’s, he’d looked the stereotypical young City trader, or yuppie to give them their recently acquired acronym, a slick, narrow-lapelled Armani suit and matching tie. It was strange to see his alter ego, but also oddly comforting. His black T-shirt adorned with some weird kind of mythical creature, tight blue jeans and black baseball boots hardly matched the Porsche Carrera but the incongruity worked for her. The main thing was that she’d had a great night. The band put on an undeniably brilliant show – they might have been Australian and very loud but they were bloody good. After that they’d had a few drinks, either with members of the band or part of the massive road team that accompanied them – Gemma had never been good with faces – and she and Simon had got on brilliantly too.
They’d held on to each other for most of the night and she’d enjoyed kissing him for the first time. Of course, he’d wanted to take her back to his flat in Camden and no doubt try to impress her enough to sleep with him, but she’d decided to leave that till she’d moved up to London herself. It wasn’t that she was prudish, and she knew she’d enjoy it with him, but there was still a kind of loyalty to Mark and she knew it would somehow feel better once they’d actually moved apart. It was also, though, the sense the she was in control that felt good. Anyway, she had made sure Simon knew she fancied him and that he wouldn’t have to wait too long. It was nice that he’d been quite gentlemanly about it all. In the end she’d let him drive her back to the flat in Holland Park; he hadn’t had as much to drink as her and they’d taken enough coke to keep awake so she didn’t feel overly guilty. Rebecca and Victoria were asleep, so she made him a coffee and gave him a ‘next time I promise’ kiss. She liked the fact that he had tried to persuade her to let him stay. To be fair by then she had been pretty tempted herself; in fact she would have been rather pissed off if he hadn’t at least tried, but was pleased she’d stuck to her plan. She had always been good at that. Thinking back, Gemma felt a definite glow of satisfaction. It seemed a future was unfolding itself almost unilaterally; and it felt quite good.
***
Gemma knew that she had to try and keep her excitement at moving away from looking too obvious. She had spent the afternoon in the cottage sorting out what she was going to take to London and what was going to be left there. Mark had gone off on some kind of mission and she’d promised to make them something to eat later. Now that things were falling into place for her Gemma just wanted it to be as painless as possible with Mark.
She’d started frying the onions and mince and decided on spaghetti Bolognese; shepherd’s pie had crossed her mind but the inevitable association with poisoning and murders probably meant they would never be able to face that dish again.
It was a little before six when Mark’s Escort pulled up at the side of the house, accompanied by the usual scrunching of tyres and yanking of the hand brake. She saw him grab some sort of folder from the back seat; he had an oddly determined, slightly manic, look about him. He came in, opened a can of lager from the fridge and called Gemma over in an oddly presumptive manner.
‘Look Gemma, I know you’re going to move out and I know I’ve got to move on; and I do know you’ve been fair enough with the house and things but I don’t want it to just end with you moving out, I’d like us to do something together first. And that’s what I’ve been trying to sort out today.’
Gemma checked the meat, added a sprinkle of mixed herbs, put a pan of water on the hob for the pasta and came over.
‘Well, what do you mean?’
‘I’d like to go away for a few days before you leave, just us two, as a proper goodbye. Anyway, I’ve been into a couple of travel agents, in Farnham actually, and there’s a cruise around the East Mediterranean leaving Southampton next week. It’s only for a week and the late deal is really good. It calls in at Malta or Naples I think and then Dubrovnik in Yugoslavia. What do you reckon?’
It hadn’t been what she expected and Gemma was thrown a little off guard.
‘I don’t know, I’ve got lots to do here and don’t you think it might just make things more difficult between us?’
Apparently not; Mark was clearly full of it.
‘Well, I’ve read up on it and it’ll be great and we can easily afford it. Look, why not at least celebrate what we’ve done before we finally split up? It will be fun, I promise, and I’ve not gone anywhere since I’ve been out of prison.’
Even though Gemma wasn’t convinced that he had really come to terms with things she had to admit it made a change to see him being reasonably positive.
‘It’s a bit of a surprise you know, Mark, but look, give me a little time to have a think.’
She was playing for time really, but then there was also a sort of odd attraction to the idea. Mark and her had got on, they’d done what she wanted, maybe a final goodbye trip wouldn‘t be such a bad idea. It could be a toast to what they’d done; and it might make Mark easier to manage once she’d left. She was well aware that he probably thought it would be a way for him to persuade her to change her mind but she knew that would never happen; even though they’d had some pretty decent times together it had always had the veneer of pragmatism for her. He probably thought a week’s cruise with him would get her to realise, or from his point of view to remind her, how wonderful he was. It was quite comforting to see that he hadn’t lost his almost unshakeable arrogance. She left it for now but had already decided ‘Why not?’
‘Look, let’s have the spaghetti and I’ll think about it. But bloody hell, Mark, if we do this, it’s not about us staying together, it’s a goodbye trip – you’ve got to understand that.’
It seemed that that was enough for Mark, for now at least.
‘Yes absolutely. It’s just I really think we deserve it, after all we’ve done.’