After the Honeymoon (31 page)

Instead, as she slipped into bed next to Tom, whose snores were becoming progressively louder, Emma knew she had crossed a line which could never be rubbed out.

Opening her phone to check there hadn’t been any urgent messages from Mum or Bernie, she pressed her lips to the picture of Willow and Gawain on her screen saver.

If she told Tom what she had done, he would leave her. They’d have to share the children (what an impossible thought) and then, if Tom married again, another woman would have them for half the week.

Emma felt sick. That sort of thing happened to other people. Not to her and Tom.

But if she
didn’t
tell him, she would have to live a lie for the rest of her life. Every time they celebrated their wedding anniversary, she would think back to that time on the island she’d slept with another man: a man for whom she had felt an irrational drunken attraction.

Suddenly, Tom turned over and took her in his arms sleepily, holding her so tight that she could hardly breathe. He might not stir her body in the way that a virtual stranger had, but he loved her. They shared two children, a bond which was, she could see now, far more precious than cold-blooded sex. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered silently. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

Emma’s uneasy sleep was punctuated by a dream in which she was swimming along the sea bed, looking desperately for her children. She was calling out for them, even though she was under the water while Tom swam along beside her, refusing to talk or to acknowledge that she was there.

Then he suddenly shot up out of the sea and when she followed him, all she could spot was a small fishing boat on the horizon with three small figures on board. Tom. Gawain. And Willow.

Tom was ignoring her again but the children were waving frantically and screaming. ‘Mummy.
Mummy!
’

Someone was shaking her. Who was it? Yannis!
‘Go away!’
she screamed.
‘Go away!’

‘Emma?’

Dimly, she was aware of Tom’s voice. How was that possible? He was on the boat, taking the children from her. Leaving her far behind. She should never have told him the truth …

‘Emma, wake up! We’ll miss the plane if you don’t get a move on!’

Slowly, the room swam back into focus. Relief flooded her body as she realised that she wasn’t in the sea at all and, more importantly, Tom hadn’t stolen away on a boat with the children. Instead, he was stuffing clothes into his suitcase, including her own, without even folding them.

‘We’ve overslept!’ He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Come on, love. Rosie has already been down once to chivvy us along. They’re all waiting for us.’

There was no time for another shower, even though her body was still crying out to be washed.

‘Did Rosie tell you what happened?’ Emma asked as she slipped into her travelling jeans and smudged her mascara in her haste.

‘Happened?’ Tom repeated, picking up the cases. ‘What do you mean?’

Emma hesitated, wondering how much to say, mindful of the dream which might have been a warning to keep mum. ‘The engine broke down and we were late,’ she said carefully.

‘Were you?’ Tom was casting an eye over the room in case they’d left something behind. ‘I didn’t notice. Flat out, I was.’ He gave her another kiss on the cheek. ‘Still, the good thing is that I feel a whole load better now.’

If only he’d felt a bit better before, none of this might have happened. But that was no excuse.

‘Next time we go away, we’ll stick to Britain and take the kids with us,’ said Tom as they walked up towards the villa where their car was waiting. ‘I’m sorry I was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud during the holiday. Weren’t too bored, were you?’

Emma felt herself colour up furiously. Swiftly, she turned away to try and hide it. ‘Not really. I had Melissa to talk to.’

Tom gave her a big grin. ‘Making friends with the celebrity wives, are we?’

Again, Emma flushed. ‘It’s not like that. Melissa’s really nice.’ Then she thought of the argument last night between her new chum and Mrs Harrison. ‘I don’t think it’s very easy for her.’

Tom looked bewildered. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, you know,’ said Emma vaguely. ‘Marrying someone famous means you lose your privacy, doesn’t it? Some photographer has already turned up to interview Winston, and there’s a big piece about him in the
Globe
, apparently, dishing the dirt.’

Tom shrugged. ‘They get paid enough. They have to put up with the shit too.’ Then he nudged her. ‘From the way you’re talking about them, you’ll be asking them round to dinner next!’

BEEP, BEEP.

Tom broke into a run as the driver hooted impatiently. ‘Come on,’ he called out. ‘The sooner we get there, the sooner we see the kids!’

Emma felt her skin crawling with guilt. What if Gawain and Willow ever found out that their mother had cheated? They’d never forgive her. Just as she had been unable to forgive her father.

At the tiny airport, it was noticeable that Melissa and her children were sitting at a table while Winston was at the bar. ‘Perhaps I’ll go and chat to him,’ suggested Tom brightly. ‘It’s not every day you have a chance to talk to a bloke on the telly.’

But he was back within a few minutes. ‘Moody so-and-so,’ he sniffed. ‘Didn’t want to talk at all. Just sat there, nursing his beer.’

On the plane, Melissa sat with her children while her husband was three rows behind. The plane wasn’t full – surely they could have been nearer each other if they’d wanted?

‘Looks like they’ve had an argument already,’ remarked Tom, slipping his hand into Emma’s. ‘I thought, from what you said, that she was all over him for rescuing her son. Do you think something happened afterwards?’

Emma froze, recalling the conversation she’d overheard on the beach. ‘I don’t know,’ she managed to say weakly.

Tom squeezed her hand so tightly that it hurt. ‘I’m glad we’re not like them,’ he said, lightly brushing her cheek with his lips. ‘I wouldn’t want to be famous if that’s what it does to you. Nice and normal. That’s what I want.’

It’s what I want too, Emma thought miserably. But all she could think about was Yannis holding out that golden liquid, urging her to knock it back. Thank God he hadn’t been around when they’d left the villa that morning. She never, ever wanted to see him again.

‘Right!’ Tom was decidedly chirpy as he heaved the cases off the luggage belt. ‘Let’s go.’

Melissa and her kids were in front as they went through Customs. This time, Winston was walking next to his wife, although they weren’t holding hands. They were talking in low, urgent voices. Emma heard the phrase ‘united front’ but nothing else. Poor Melissa. She looked really miserable.

‘Look!’ Tom was leaping up and down, pointing. Instantly, Emma forgot all about her new friend’s troubles. Willow and Gawain! They were here with Mum and Bernie, waiting in Arrivals with a huge home-made banner with childish writing in red and blue felt-tip.

‘HOPE YOU HAD A GREAT HONEYMOON!’

Emma broke into a run, ducking under the barrier and scooping up Gawain, holding him in her arms and smothering him with kisses. ‘No.’ He was pushing her away. ‘Want Gran.’

Her mother gave her a slightly smug look. ‘Don’t worry, love. You know what kids are like. He’ll be all right in a minute.’

Something was different about him. ‘He’s lost a tooth! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Goodness me,’ clucked her mother, ‘there was enough going on without me having to remember every tiny detail.’

‘Did the tooth fairy come?’ Emma whispered to her son, ignoring her mother.

Gawain shook his head sorrowfully.

‘Maybe he’ll come tonight,’ she suggested, ‘if you give me another cuddle.’

Her son shot her a distrustful look. ‘In a minute. I’m busy.’

Busy? No guesses where he’d picked that one up from. Mum used to say that when she had been a child too.

Hurt, Emma knelt down beside Willow, who was in her pushchair. ‘Did
you
miss Mummy?’ she asked softly. But her daughter just sucked on her dummy and stared at her as though Emma was a stranger.

‘Little so-and-sos,’ chirped Bernie brightly, offering her a piece of gum. ‘They’re just giving you the cold shoulder cos you left them. Mine did the same when Phil and I went away last summer. Don’t take any notice of them.’

She nudged Emma chummily. ‘Didn’t mind me coming along too, did you? Only your mum was a bit worried about driving on her own.’ Then she stopped, her eyes bulging, staring across the Arrivals hall. ‘Bloody hell, isn’t that Winston King over there?’

‘Certainly is,’ declared Tom importantly. ‘He was staying at our place, can you believe, with his new bride.
And
her kids. Our Em here got quite chummy with them.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ demanded Mum and Bernie at the same time.

‘They asked me not to.’ Emma felt herself going red. ‘It was a secret.’

‘Doesn’t look like it any more,’ snorted Bernie.

Heavens! Just look at the gaggle of photographers congregating around Winston! Poor Melissa looked terrified and even her kids, usually so confident, were hanging on to each other for comfort.

‘I’ve got to help them,’ said Emma immediately. ‘Wait there, can you?’

Elbowing her way through the crowd of photographers and journalists, she tugged at Melissa’s sleeve. ‘Can I do anything? Take the children for you?’

Melissa’s face was stony. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough, thank you.’

A horrible cold feeling crept through Emma. ‘What do you mean?’

Melissa waved a newspaper in front of her. ‘Look at this.’

Honeymoon exclusive. Winston’s stepdaughter in love with Greek waiter.

Emma gasped. ‘How did they know that?’

‘Through
you
, perhaps?’

‘You think I spoke to that journalist on the island? Of course I didn’t!’

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe you. From the minute you met us, you latched on like a limpet. I felt sorry for you then, but now I can see that you’re one of those people who just want to be near someone famous. Tell me, how much did they pay you?’

‘Nothing,’ spluttered Emma. ‘You’ve got it all wrong!’

At that moment, a tall, skinny man with slit eyes and a camera slung round his neck slid in front of them.

‘Mrs King. Do you have any comments about your husband’s love child?’

‘No,’ snapped Melissa. ‘I don’t.’

The skinny man was writing furiously on his pad. ‘Then what about Nick Thomas? Do you have any comments?’

‘Nick Thomas?’ repeated Melissa, clearly confused. ‘Who’s he?’

At that moment, Emma felt herself being pushed to one side. It was Winston. His face was livid. Seizing Melissa’s arm, he marched her off. ‘Get away!’ he shouted over his shoulder at the man with the camera. ‘Scum like you shouldn’t be allowed! Kids, follow us.’

Emma was left, confused, watching the four of them run through the doors and into a waiting black car. It wasn’t fair. How could they think she’d betrayed them? Yet at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling terribly sorry for Melissa. What an awful thing to happen just after your honeymoon.

‘Does Nick Thomas have anything to do with Winston’s love child?’ she couldn’t help asking the skinny man with the camera.

He gave a nasty smile, reminding her of a crocodile in one of Gawain’s picture books. ‘You’ll have to read tomorrow’s newspapers to find that one out. Don’t miss it, love! It’s a great story.’

AFTER
THE HONEYMOON

‘After we got back, we found our new flat had been burgled. Everything had gone apart from a hideous brown tea set which my new husband’s aunt had given us. I’ve tried hard to break it ever since but have never succeeded.’

Sally, now coming up to her tenth wedding anniversary

WINSTON

‘We need to talk.’ Winston reached out for Melissa’s hand in the back of the taxi from Heathrow but she snatched it back smartly. It was an action which did not go unnoticed by her sharp-eyed daughter (how much make-up was she wearing, for heaven’s sake?), who shot him a smug
see, she doesn’t like you any more
look.

Freddie was in the front. Ever since he’d plucked him out of the water, Winston no longer saw him as ‘the boy’. It had brought them together. When he’d been the only one to talk to him on the journey back home, Winston had been pathetically grateful.

‘Let me at least explain,’ he tried again with Melissa.

His wife had her face set away from him. She really did have the most beautiful profile, he observed. Very classical, with a nose that was aristocratic rather than pretty and cheekbones that could have been sculptured. Right now, her gaze was fixed on the passing suburban shops; so different, he reflected, from the sun-soaked white villas and aquamarine sea from the past week. If only they were back in Greece before the journalist had shown up. If only he could turn the clock back.

But that was impossible. Hadn’t he tried to do the same after Nick?

‘Please, Mellie,’ he persisted.

This time, her face turned to him. Those black eyes made him feel like a stranger who had bothered her with an inappropriate request. ‘Not now,’ she said icily. ‘Not in front of the children. Anyway, it’s Melissa. Not Mellie.’

Alice – little so-and-so! – gave him another smug smile. He was cornered. Talk about friendly fire! In a way, Winston thought, he’d rather be out in the field than face these two females, regarding him with undisguised contempt.

Giving up, he closed his eyes, and the events of last night flooded back.

They’d got back to the Villa Rosa after the showdown with the journalist. He’d had a shower and changed, wondering where Melissa was. Probably settling the children. Hopefully Freddie would have learned his lesson. You didn’t just jump into water like that. Just as you didn’t climb trees that were too high. Or send people into dangerous situations before checking it was safe.

At last. He could hear his wife’s steps on the stairs now. Fast. Urgent. He wanted her; could feel himself hardening. The fact that his body was behaving as it should made him almost giddy with relief. However, this wasn’t the time, dammit. Not after what had just happened.