After the Honeymoon (41 page)

‘Emma!’ he repeated, tears shining in his eyes. ‘Is it really you?’

‘Don’t think I forgive you,’ she repeated. They’d been sitting in what he called ‘the sitting room’, rather than the lounge. (So he’d got posh, had he?) Him in a modern grey leather chair and her on the matching sofa. There was a glass-topped coffee table in front of them spread with women’s magazines. Trisha read the same ones as her mum, Emma noticed with a pang.

On the mantelpiece was a collection of photographs. She’d taken a peek when he’d gone out to put the kettle on. Some of them made her cross, like the ones of Dad and Trisha on a cruise. He’d never taken her mum on one. The others, of her as a child building sandcastles on the beach, made her want to cry.

There was even a framed cutting of her wedding report, which had come out in the local paper during their honeymoon.

‘Don’t think I forgive you,’ she said, once again. ‘I just want to know how you could have done it. Left us.’

She glanced down at her bump. ‘I could never leave my kids, and I know Tom couldn’t either.’

Dad’s eyes never left hers. ‘I didn’t want to go, love. Your mum made me.’

That old excuse again! ‘She made you because you had an affair with Trisha in the office!’ Emma exploded.

Dad smiled sadly. Then he stood up and went over to one of the pictures of her as a child. She must have been about six or seven then, thought Emma, glancing at it. She could remember that red scooter all right. It had broken after a few weeks but Dad had fixed it. He’d been able to fix anything, until he’d gone.

‘Did Mum ever mention Keith?’

Keith?

Slowly, the memory came back. ‘Wasn’t he our next-door neighbour? He was married to Auntie Jean.’

She wasn’t a real auntie, of course, but she’d acted like one. When Emma was little, she’d been in and out of their house all the time, making toffee and Halloween decorations. Keith and Jean hadn’t had children of their own, so they’d liked it when she’d come round. Then Jean had died, and later, poor Keith had moved away.

‘He went because I found out about them,’ said Dad gruffly, putting the picture back on the mantelpiece.

‘Found out about them?’ she repeated slowly.

Dad nodded. ‘Your mum confessed it had been going on for years, even when poor Jean was alive. They saw each other when you and I went swimming on Sundays. Said it was because I didn’t show her enough affection.’ His mouth twisted with pain. ‘Said I wasn’t as good in … in the bedroom as Keith.’

No! Emma jumped to her feet. This couldn’t be true! ‘You’re just saying this,’ she stammered.

Dad shook his head. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask her.’

It didn’t make sense. ‘But Trisha …’

‘Trisha was a shoulder to cry on.’ Dad sat down again and tried to take her hands, but she was having none of it. ‘Please try to understand, Emma. I know you’re happily married to Tom, but imagine if you weren’t. Think what it might be like to be with someone who doesn’t show you any affection and who has been unfaithful. I’m not saying that what I did was right, but I want you to know the reasoning behind it.’

Emma felt numb. If it wasn’t true, why would he invite her to ask Mum? Unless it was a double bluff. That was it. He was banking on her not telling.

‘I don’t believe you!’ she spat. ‘You’re just telling more lies like you did before. No, don’t say anything more. You’ll just make it worse.’

She felt sick, hardly able to look at this man who had ruined all their lives. ‘Do you realise the consequences of your actions?’ she said sadly. ‘We could have been a proper family if you hadn’t left us.’

‘Don’t you think I haven’t told myself that every day?’ Then he looked down at her bump. ‘I would have loved to have been a grandad. A proper hands-on one. Don’t think I’m prying, but are you expecting again?’

She nodded, unable to say anything.

‘That’s wonderful. You must both be thrilled.’ Then he leaned forward hungrily. ‘Have you got pictures of Gawain and Willow? See, I know their names through Bernie’s dad, but I’d give anything to meet them …’

Wait. This was too much. Too fast. ‘I don’t know.’ Stumbling to her feet, she pushed past his embrace towards the door. ‘I need to think about this, OK?’

Then, unable to look back, she rushed down the path and towards the safety of her car.

‘Mrs Walker, Mrs Walker! I don’t like peas. Can I have one without?’

‘Mrs Walker, he’s got more on his plate than me!’

‘Mrs Walker! My mum forgot to give me my packed lunch.’

‘Mrs Walker, why is water wet?’

It was the week after she’d seen Dad but Emma still couldn’t get it out of her head. Nor had she found the courage to tell her mum what Dad had said about her and Keith. Besides, it was a lie, wasn’t it? Mum wouldn’t have done anything like that. It was Dad, trying to make excuses for his own bad behaviour.

Instead, Emma had desperately tried to block it all out by concentrating on the kids and Tom and work – which was particularly busy this week, as the kitchen for the secondary school was out of action and they had to feed extra mouths. Thankfully her morning sickness was dying down a bit, although they’d had to find her a bigger kitchen pinny to take in her expanding waistline. Everyone knew now. One of the teachers even asked if she was having twins.

And
still
she hadn’t summoned up the courage to tell Tom the truth. She’d thought about it after the first scan but when she’d seen the look on her husband’s face as he held the black-and-white picture, she couldn’t find the words.

Coward, she told herself. Just like Dad. Except that her sin was different, wasn’t it? She’d done something silly, just the once, because she’d had too much to drink. Dad’s was deliberate, long-term deceit.

Was there a measurement for calculating degrees of infidelity? Or was she just kidding herself?

‘Excuse me, but is it possible to have a vegetarian dish?’

Emma did a double take. This lad was a dead ringer for Rosie Harrison’s handsome boy in Greece.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She took in his coffee-coloured complexion, which she’d put down to a tan at the time but could now see was possibly mixed race. ‘What’s your name, love?’

‘Jack.’ He gave her a handsome smile. ‘I remember you from the island.’

So it
was
him! Emma recalled her conversation with Rosie on the phone. ‘Thought you were going to Devon with your mum.’

The boy turned to look at a girl sitting beside him. Alice, Emma realised. ‘She’s there but I’m staying here for a bit so I can see my dad.’

Of course.

Emma felt a catch in her throat. What if Yannis had boasted about his ‘conquest’? Siphalonia was a small island. People were bound to talk. Jack might have heard something. He might tell Alice, who might tell her mum, who might tell someone else …

Racing back to the kitchen, Emma grabbed Bernie, who was helping herself to a spare veggie burger. ‘That kid, whose mum owned the honeymoon villa, he’s here! What if he says something about you-know-who?’

Bernie picked up her spatula as though it was a weapon to ward off any evil. ‘Then you deny it, don’t you? More peas, love?’ The last comment was addressed to the bright kid in glasses. ‘Sorry. All gone. How about chips instead?’

By the end of October, Emma had decided that maybe Bernie was right. Much as she disliked lying to Tom, perhaps it
was
better to keep quiet about Yannis.

How could she risk him leaving her? Did she really want Gawain and Willow to grow up in a single-parent family as she had, as a teenager? Seeing Dad had really brought that home.

Fear of losing Tom suddenly made her appreciate him all the more. What had seemed irritating, like his heavy snoring or fastidiousness about drying the cutlery even though the dishwasher had done it, now appeared comforting.

What was it the song said? Something about ‘You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.’

It was true. She loved Tom. He was the only one she wanted. It had been a terrible, terrible mistake …

Nor would she tell Mum that she’d seen Dad. What was the point? There was too much water under the bridge now. Perhaps she should count her blessings.

‘Mind if I go out with the lads tonight?’ Tom asked one evening. It was nearly Halloween and she was helping Gawain to carve out a pumpkin.

‘’Course not.’

‘Don’t do the nose, Mummy. Gawain wants to do that.’ Her son was getting increasingly bossy as her waistline expanded. Perhaps he could sense the new rival growing inside her. She patted it gently. Poor little thing. It wasn’t its fault that she didn’t know who its dad was.

Willow meanwhile was into everything.

‘Not the knife!’ She grabbed it just in time. Parenthood was like negotiating your way through a maze of potential dangers. Frankly, it was a wonder that there weren’t more accidents.

‘Sure you can manage?’ asked Tom, standing there, clearly desperate to go.

She tried to make a joke out of it, patting her stomach again. ‘If I can’t manage with two, there’s no hope!’

After he’d gone, Gawain started to fall asleep over the pumpkin and Willow, bless her, did the same. Bliss! She could get both children to bed and sit in front of the television, feet up on the sofa, watching some soppy drama.

It was, as chance would have it, about a father and daughter reunion. Emma’s attention began to wander to the letter that Dad had sent, just after her visit, asking if she would consider bringing the children over.

Give me some time, Dad
, she’d written back.
I’ll think about it.

At the moment, it was too much. If she did take the kids, Gawain would be bound to blab it out to Mum and then there’d be all hell to pay. She hadn’t even told Tom about the visit in case he opened his mouth.

Another deception. Where did it end?

Emma must have fallen asleep, because the first thing she heard when she woke was the door slamming. Briefly, she thought she was still dreaming.

‘
What the hell were you thinking of?
’

Sleepily, she sat up, feeling the baby kick as she did so. Rubbing her eyes, she saw her husband standing before her. His eyes were wild and red.

‘What do you mean, Tom?’

He sat down opposite her, his face drawn with anguish. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

A cold fear shot through her. Never before had she seen Tom like this. At the same time, she could hear Willow crying, closely followed by Gawain.

‘You’ve woken the kids,’ she said nervously.

‘Whose
kids, Emma?’ he roared. ‘Are they really mine, or might they be someone else’s, like that one in your stomach?’

He jabbed a finger towards her. Emma’s body froze and the baby went still as though it knew something momentous was happening.

‘Who told you—’ she began.

‘So it’s true!’ Tom flung back his head as a wail came out of his mouth. ‘Phil was right.’

Phil, Bernie’s husband? She’d told him?

‘It’s not the way you think,’ she began.

‘I don’t want to know any more.’ Tom was pulling her to her feet. ‘Get out. All of you. The kids too. I don’t want to see any of you again.’

A couple on honeymoon who burgled a pensioner’s house, were jailed for four years.

Recent newspaper headline

ROSIE

It was November already. Bonfire night! Rosie hadn’t expected to stay this long in England. A fortnight was surely enough time to pay her dues to her old father.

But then circumstances had forced her to change her plans.

Rosie still felt furious when she recalled that horrible scene where her father had called her son a … No. She wouldn’t even say those words out loud.

Afterwards, when she had marched back to tell him what had happened as a result, her dad had expressed a mild regret. ‘Stormed off, you say? Well, I can’t help that. You used to do the same when you were his age, I remember. But you always came back again.’

Then, with a flicker of concern in his eyes, he had added, ‘Got to his father’s place safely, has he?’

‘Yes,’ she’d replied tersely, thinking of all the panic calls she’d made to Jack’s mobile that had gone straight through to answerphone. She had thought the worst, worked herself up into a real state before Jack had finally called.

He’d refused to pick up her calls after that, though, until the following day. ‘Are you all right?’ she’d demanded, anger fuelled by relief.

‘Stop fussing, Mum. Of course I am. Dad says I can stay up here for a bit.’

For a boy who’d only just met his father, he seemed to have slipped into the ‘Dad’ bit rather easily. What did that mean? That he’d craved a father figure all along?

Certainly he sounded quite happy – not at all like the upset boy who had rushed off from his grandfather’s cruel greeting. ‘At least here I’m with people who want me,’ he added in a more biting tone.

Rosie had gripped the mobile. ‘You’re wanted down here too. I miss you. And Gemma’s children love being with you.’

‘Yeah, but Grandad doesn’t, does he?’

She’d winced at the raw hurt in his voice. ‘You will come back in time for our flight, won’t you?’

‘Whatever,’ he muttered.

So she’d spent the rest of half-term making the most of Gemma’s company and spending a couple of hours every day with her father, because Sally had been right. Dad wasn’t very well.

‘Heart trouble on top of the cancer. Not much they can do about it. One of those things. Waterworks problem too.’ He patted the bag at his side. ‘Charlie the catheter, I call it. Bit of a nuisance, but they say that at my age, you’re more likely to die
with
prostate cancer than from it. Got a few problems with my liver, too.’

More than that he wouldn’t say, but there was no doubt that he was quite frail. It took him an age to get up and put the kettle on. ‘I can do it myself, thanks very much. I’m not dead yet.’

Gradually, over the next two weeks, she’d learned to ignore his harshness. Age had changed
her
too. Instead of being cowed by him, as she had been as a teenager, she realised that bullies like Dad soon gave in, if challenged.