After the Honeymoon (13 page)

‘No.’ Rosemary heard her voice sneer with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘I’m not living here a minute more than I have to.’

Within a few minutes, she was downstairs again with a suitcase and her savings book, which contained just about enough to buy a ticket on the overnight boat to France. Europe, Charlie had said. With any luck, she’d find him.

In the meantime, she’d write to him, asking him to reply to Gemma’s address. She’d call, she assured her friend, to see what he said.

‘Penny for them?’ said Greco, looking down on her in bed.

Rosie shook herself. ‘I was just thinking, that was all.’

‘Too much is bad for you.’ He smiled. A warm, jaunty smile. ‘Let’s hit the city, shall we? It’s our last night in Athens, after all. Tomorrow we go back to the island.’

His words filled her with foreboding.

‘I’m hoping it won’t change things, my beautiful Rosie. We are special together. Do not you think?’

‘We bumped into my old boss at the airport on our way to our honeymoon. I decided not to tell my new husband that we used to date.’

Sylvia, about to celebrate her silver wedding anniversary

EMMA

So! That glamorous couple on the plane had actually had their children flown over. Or rather,
her
children, judging from the overheard conversation on the beach.

Even if she hadn’t eavesdropped on their argument, Emma would have guessed that the cheeky-faced boy and the rather precocious girl (strutting along in high-heeled sandals and face plastered with make-up) belonged to the woman, just from the body language.

Emma prided herself on understanding ‘movement psychology’, as Gemma Balls called it, especially during staff meetings. It was something you learned to recognise in the school canteen when one of the kids was sitting away from the others or was muttering, eyes fixed on the ground, that they’d ‘forgotten’ to bring their packed lunch in. Much more likely that they didn’t want it or that a parent hadn’t bothered to make it.

The handsome bald man’s body language (arms folded and tight lips) suggested that he wasn’t very happy about having his wife’s kids around.

‘I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before,’ Emma said to Tom when she returned to the cottage with a bowl of salad. ‘I just can’t think where, that’s all.
She’s
vaguely familiar too.’

Tom gave a little moan. ‘Are you still feeling awful?’ sympathised Emma, immediately feeling guilty that she’d been thinking of something as trivial as the other couple.

There was an affirmatory groan. ‘It might be the sun.’ He put his hand across his eyes and turned over, burying his face under the pillow.

It was true that Tom, with his pasty complexion, wasn’t a great sun-lover. When they occasionally got a scorcher at home, he was the one who stayed inside while she liked nothing more than to lie outside on their little patio (until one of the kids needed her, of course).

But that’s what Greece was, wasn’t it? Sunny.

‘It makes me sick,’ he added, still under the pillow.

‘I thought it was the travelling,’ said Emma edgily. ‘Or the vol-au-vents.’

He groaned again. Louder this time.

‘Then why come away at all, if you don’t like the journey or the weather?’ she found herself demanding rather tersely.

‘Because it was a present.’ Tom sounded almost irritable, which wasn’t like him at all. ‘And you love the heat. So I just went along with it.’

Emma’s heart melted. He’d done all this for her without saying a word. Yet in a way, she wished he hadn’t. What good was a honeymoon if your husband was flat out in bed, unable to get up and share things with you – like the lovely white sand outside and the swimming pool where she’d just seen the new kids messing about?

They’d have been better off walking the hills at home or maybe taking the children down to Tom’s sister near St Mawes.

The children … The mere thought of them punched a hole in her stomach. When Emma had seen the glamorous woman’s kids by the pool, her insides had curled up with jealousy. How she would have loved to have her lot here too: cuddling up to them and knowing exactly where they were.

On the other hand, there was so much here that wouldn’t have been safe. The shiny terracotta floor tiles in the villa which might have made Gawain slip. The swimming pool which could have been lethal for little Willow. The heat, which might well have brought them out in a rash.

‘Don’t mind me.’ Tom was still buried under the pillow. ‘You go outside and enjoy yourself.’

Emma hesitated. ‘I can’t, without you. Besides, you ought to eat something. Look, I’ve brought you a salad.’ She held it out, knowing as she did so that Tom wouldn’t be very impressed. He was a steak-and-kidney man: lettuce and tomato wasn’t ‘real food’ in his book.

But, hang on, he was actually coming out from under the pillow and casting a suspicious eye at the bowl.

‘What’s that stuff?’ He was pointing at the white cubes of cheese.

‘It’s feta cheese.’

‘Haven’t they heard of Cheddar?’ moaned Tom, his head dropping back on the bed. There was another groan.

‘Have some water,’ she urged. ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t eat anything as long as you get your liquid in.’ That was better. Mind you, they were almost out of the complimentary bottles that had been left in the fridge. How weird not to be able to drink out of taps. As for the toilet (something she needed to clean after Tom’s last bout of sickness), it was downright dirty having to put the paper in the bin at the side.

‘Please go,’ Tom murmured. ‘I need to sleep.’

‘You don’t want me?’ Emma couldn’t help feeling hurt, but at the same time, there was a tinge of relief. ‘I’ll just be outside then,’ she added. No answer. He was already snoring with the funny adenoidal sound that had taken some getting used to when they’d first started living together.

Maybe, thought Emma as she stood outside the cottage, listening to the new children splashing in the pool on the slopes above, she’d go up there herself for a dip. She might also try to ring home again if there was enough reception for the phone up there.

‘Mum? It’s me. Everything all right?’

‘Get off!
’

‘Sorry.’ Emma shielded the phone with her hand to try and block out the noise of the precocious girl and cheeky-faced boy who were trying to push each other into the deep end. ‘I didn’t catch that.’

‘Piss off, or I’ll tell Mum!’

‘Then give me back my phone – you’ll get it wet!’

‘Hang on a minute.’ Those two were making such a racket she couldn’t hear properly. Still, she’d seen it all at school before.

Walking up towards the villa, Emma tried again. ‘Mum. It’s me again. Yes, I know. I couldn’t hear you either but it’s better now. Is everything OK? Can I talk to the children?’

Her heart pounding, Emma sat down on the slope. The grass felt rougher than the type at home. Almost rubbery. ‘Gawain? Is that you?’

There was a silence. Emma could just picture her little boy, his blond fringe, which had been trimmed for the wedding, no longer flopping over his forehead.

‘Say something to Mum,’ she pleaded. Normally, Gawain didn’t need any encouragement to talk on the phone. In fact, he usually grabbed the receiver as soon as it rang and had to be coaxed off it. ‘Are you having a lovely time with Granny?’

No answer.

She tried again. ‘What are you doing?’

Still no response, although she could hear the blare of the television in the background. ‘He’s gone, love.’ It was Mum again. ‘Got a bit tongue-tied.’

With his own mother? Emma felt her stomach dip with rejection. ‘What about Willow?’

‘Just fallen asleep. There’s no need to worry, you know.’ Her mother sounded a bit tense. ‘’Sides, I told you. It disturbs them to hear your voice.’

‘But how are
you
feeling?’

‘A bit queasy. Hang on …’

There was a long pause before she returned. ‘That’s better.’

‘Have you been sick again?’

‘Stop fussing, Em. It’s driving me mad. Now you go and have a good time.’

But how could she, if Mum wasn’t well? She knew what it was like to feel poorly and look after the kids.

‘Tom on the mend, is he?’

‘Not really.’ As she spoke, Emma heard voices. It was the glamorous woman coming back. She had the kind of figure that looked as if it had never given birth. Emma suddenly felt frumpy in her baggy tee-shirt and pink shorts.

‘Just make sure he has enough water and then leave him to sleep it off,’ said Mum dismissively. Emma felt hurt on behalf of her husband. She knew her mother found Tom boring, but that was better than a man who couldn’t be trusted, wasn’t it?

Dad’s wedding card flashed into her head. For a minute, she considered telling her mum about it but then, almost instantly, changed her mind. No point in upsetting her.

‘Make the most of your holidays,’ added her mother tightly. ‘No, Gawain, don’t poke your sister like that. You’ll wake her up. You’ll soon be back to the real world, love. So have a break. You deserve it. Gawain, I said
no
. Hang on. I need the bathroom again.’

‘I’ll ring tomorrow,’ promised Emma desperately, but the line had already gone dead. As she slipped the phone back into her shorts pocket, Emma caught the eye of the glamorous mother. There was a warm smile, the sort that said
I know what it’s like.

‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ asked the woman, dipping her head to one side.

‘I’ve been thinking the same,’ admitted Emma, blushing, admiring the other woman’s gold sandals which made her own flip-flops look really boring.

‘Where do you live, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘A small town called Corrywood.’ Even as she said it, Emma felt a longing to be there right now, safely with the children and with a doctor round the corner to take a look at Tom. ‘It’s near …’

‘I
know
it!’ There was an apprehensive edge to the other woman’s voice. ‘We live there too. Are your children at the school?’

Emma nodded, glancing at the boy and girl who were still shoving each other around on the side. ‘My daughter’s too young – she’s only two – but my son will be starting in reception after the summer.’ She blushed again. ‘I work there as well.’

For some reason, the woman seemed really twitchy now. ‘You’re a teacher?’

If only! ‘Just a dinner lady.’

Don’t say that, Tom was always telling her. ‘Just’ was one of those words that did you no favours in life. Besides, dinner ladies did some great work.

‘Then maybe you’ve come across my lot.’ The woman gave a little sigh.

‘I don’t think so. I’m in charge of the infants, although I did help out with the after school club last term when one of the others was ill.’ She’d quite liked that, she almost added. It was a bit of extra money and Mum hadn’t minded babysitting. But then the woman she’d covered for had come back, and although Emma had made it known she’d like to be considered again, nothing had happened.

‘Maybe that’s where we’ve seen each other,’ said the woman thoughtfully.

Come to think of it, Emma
could
remember a brother and sister – the same sort of age as those two – squabbling over the computer. Their argument had got quite heated until one of the other after-school club helpers had divided them.

Emma’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud splash followed by a screech. ‘He pushed me in! Tell him off, Mum. And he’s taken my phone!’

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘My daughter is addicted to the wretched thing – not to mention her laptop. I’ve tried putting her on a digital detox but she just went mental.’ She gave a little confiding look. ‘I know this is going to sound a bit strange, but I didn’t really want anyone to know we were here. My husband is quite famous. You might recognise him …’

She stopped, hand clasped to mouth as though she’d said too much. ‘What I’m trying to say is that we want some privacy. So do you mind not telling anyone from home that we’re here – not until we get back, that is?’

How odd, thought Emma. It wasn’t even as if she knew their names, so how could she tell anyone? Quite famous, she’d said. So that was why his face had looked familiar. Why oh why couldn’t she recall who he was? That was motherhood for you. It shrivelled up your brain.

Meanwhile, her new friend was looking so worried, twisting her shiny gold wedding ring round and round, that she didn’t feel it was her business to ask any more questions. ‘Sure. That’s fine.’ She tried to make a joke out of it. ‘Mum’s the word.’

There was a little sigh of relief. ‘Thanks. I really appreciate it. We’ve had enough problems already. It’s meant to be our honeymoon, you see, but my first husband couldn’t have the children. To make it worse, there’s been a mix-up over the rooms.’

Emma didn’t want to say she’d gathered that from the fuss when they’d arrived. It might have sounded as though she was eavesdropping. Mind you, she hadn’t realised they were on honeymoon too. Was that why they wanted privacy? A secret wedding?

‘I’ve left my two kids behind,’ she said, feeling a lump rise in her throat as she spoke. ‘It’s the very first time I’ve been away from them.’

There was a rather sweet smile of sympathy. ‘I remember that stage so well. It’s like missing a limb, isn’t it?’

Emma’s head bobbed up and down. ‘Exactly! My mum’s looking after them but …’

‘But you never feel that anyone else can look after them quite like you!’

Got it in one. So she
wasn’t
being fussy, like Mum and Tom said. That made her feel a whole lot better.

‘You know,’ the woman was now whispering, ‘I’m secretly quite glad the children are here with me now, because I don’t really trust my ex to keep an eye on them. Still, on the plus side, at least you’ll be able to relax a bit without yours, won’t you?’

‘My husband’s feeling sick,’ Emma heard herself saying. ‘So we’re not exactly having the most amazing time at the moment.’

Oh dear. She hadn’t meant to moan but, despite being so glamorous, this other mother was surprisingly easy to talk to. Really sympathetic, even though she did sound posh. ‘Poor him!’ She touched Emma’s arm lightly. ‘I’ve brought some stuff with me that might help.’