Sophie got home from work that evening and thanked her lucky stars that her mother had put their weekly Skype call on hold. The shock of Alex’s revelation was only just starting to sink in. He wasn’t the person he’d said he was; he’d been lying to her from day one. And yet, when she’d seen the pain and anguish in his dark brown eyes as he’d finally told her the truth, there was a part of her that couldn’t deny his sincerity.
But that didn’t alter the fact that he’d lied to her. She’d made it clear to him from the start that she’d been hurt so badly by Mark’s dishonesty that she needed better; that she needed him to be better. And he wasn’t who he’d said he was, so she felt as though everything they’d experienced together had been irrevocably cheapened by that revelation.
Heading to the kitchen, she opened the fridge, and was pleased to see that the bottle of cava she’d put in there in anticipation of sharing it with Alex was nicely chilled. She figured she might as well drink it now. And, feeling mutinous and a bit ‘fuck it’, she decided to order the hottest curry she could eat from the local takeaway as well. As a taster who had to preserve her palate, she shouldn’t have even contemplated it, but after the day she’d had, she was past caring. While she was scanning the menu and deciding what to choose, she heard her phone pinging with an email. Swiping the screen, she blinked; Martingtons Cider was increasing the terms of their job offer. The salary was nearly double what she was currently earning at Carter’s. Given her current frame of mind, there didn’t seem to be much of a decision to make. Perhaps it really was time to get out of Somerset; to move on.
But what the hell was she going to do about Alex in the meantime? How could she face him after their last conversation? Then, she kicked herself; she wasn’t some heartbroken teenager. She was nearly thirty, for heaven’s sake! If she couldn’t maintain an air of dignity after a break-up then she was nothing better than the silly girl she’d accused Alex of thinking her when they’d had their final, catastrophic row. So what if he’d lied to her? People lied all the time. At least, now Jonathan had fired him, she wouldn’t have to share a workplace with him any more. If she happened to see Alex around the village, or bump into him at her grandmother’s house, she’d maintain a decent, polite distance. That was the plan and she’d stick to it. Right after she’d spent tonight drinking cava, eating curry and watching as many Keanu Reeves films as she could squeeze in before she passed out.
A little time later, halfway through John Wick: Chapter 2 and three quarters of the way down her bottle of cava, Sophie was dimly aware of the doorbell ringing. Putting down her glass, she thought about opening it, but, realising she was more than a little the worse for wear, decided to ignore it for now.
The ringing continued. ‘Oh, go away,’ she muttered, topping up her glass.
The doorbell rang again, and this time someone called through the letter box. ‘Sophie. Let me in.’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Sophie said as Mark’s familiar tone echoed through the hallway.
Mark obviously thought otherwise, leaning on the bell. Sophie was forced to get up to make him stop before the neighbours complained.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, opening the door a fraction.
‘I saw your face after that twat Alex spoke to you earlier and I was worried.’
‘You were worried about me? That’s rich, after what you’ve put me through.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Not nearly enough to have this conversation,’ Sophie snapped. ‘Now bugger off and leave me alone.’
Mark, however, had other ideas. ‘Let me in, Soph. Please.’ Suddenly, despite everything, the gentleness in his voice began to disarm Sophie. Her eyes filled with tears and she opened the door a little wider.
Mark wandered through to the hallway and, taking Sophie’s half-empty glass from her hand, put it down on the hall table. ‘I think you’ve had enough of that.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Sophie said, feeling more than a little patronised. She went to pick up the glass again, but Mark’s hand on her arm stopped her.
‘Come and sit down.’ Sliding his hand into hers, he led her back to the living room and sat on the sofa with her. He regarded her carefully. ‘He’s messed you up, hasn’t he?’
Sophie swallowed hard. ‘No worse than you did.’
Mark shook his head. ‘If there was any way I could take back what happened with you and me, the way it ended, I would. You didn’t deserve it. You deserve someone who’ll take care of you.’
Sophie felt the tears sliding down her cheeks, unbidden. Mark’s tone was so gentle and reminded her so much of how things had been between them before they fell apart. But there had been so much water under the bridge since then, and there was no going back. Suddenly, though, she felt an overwhelming need to talk, to make sense of it all.
‘He lied to me,’ she said numbly. ‘And you, of all people, worked it out, didn’t you?’ She shook her head. ‘How did I not see it?’
‘We see what we want to see,’ Mark replied. He squeezed her hand. ‘And I might have been a twat to you, but at least I was honest until the end.’ His tone was caressing.
Sophie’s heart lurched. ‘The end was pretty brutal, though.’
‘I can’t excuse that,’ Mark replied. ‘But seeing the way you reacted to him this morning, the way he’d hurt you… I just had to come and make sure you weren’t spending the evening brooding.’
‘Oh, believe me, I’ve been through worse.’ Sophie laughed hollowly. She fought the urge to tell Mark about losing their baby, but, even though she’d had a few glasses of wine, she knew that wouldn’t solve anything. What was done was done. It wouldn’t get them back together, and that wasn’t what she wanted, anyway.
‘I know.’ Mark hesitated, then slid his arm around Sophie. Much against her better judgement, she snuggled into his embrace. It felt so comforting just to be held, even after everything.
‘I should hate you for what you’ve done,’ Sophie muttered. ‘If you’d kept your mouth shut, I’d be sitting here with Alex completely unaware.’
‘Is that what you’d have wanted?’ Mark said. ‘Given that honesty is something you’re constantly banging on about.’
‘Fair enough,’ Sophie conceded. ‘But I think I just want an early night.’ She stood up and, to her surprise, didn’t wobble. The wine was obviously wearing off.
Mark stood, too. Pulling her close in a brief hug, he wandered out to the hallway. ‘Take care of yourself, Soph.’
‘I will,’ she replied as he opened the front door. Closing the door behind him a moment later, Sophie didn’t see Alex, who, rather the worse for wear after an afternoon that had extended into an evening dissecting the family history with Jonathan and Matthew, was passing her gate and who had paused, full of new uncertainty, in the shadows. On seeing Mark leaving the house, he turned away, his face stricken in the rapidly brightening moonlight.