Rumours (42 page)

As they walked back from dinner at the Rowlands', Stella thought to herself how lovely it had all been. A warm and welcoming home, meeting people she had much in common with – and the surge of excitement from catching eyes with the man she was falling in love with, matched by the buzz derived from the approving looks from those closest to him. She felt proud of herself, as if newly aware of her merits. It was a heartening boost to a self-esteem that had been depleted over the years. She squeezed Xander's hand as they strolled.

‘What's that for?'

She shrugged. ‘For a lovely evening.'

He squeezed her hand back. They were passing the entrance gates to Longbridge.

‘God, it looks dark up there,' said Stella.

‘Lydia's plain mean when it comes to lights and heating. Lights are only allowed on at dusk – and heating only in October. Late October,' said Xander.

‘But she's always cold,' said Stella. ‘She's always standing with her back to one of those ancient electric bar heaters placed in the fireplaces. And she always has a cardi around her shoulders.'

‘
Cardi
,' Xander laughed softly.

‘What?'

‘Nothing.'

‘She's all on her own up there, Lydia is. I'm not sure I'd like to sleep alone at Longbridge.'

‘It's not haunted,' Xander told her, ‘despite seeing its share of sadness.' He paused. This could get maudlin. There was no point, not any more. ‘But as for my place –' He regarded the fleeting concern on Stella's face before laughing. ‘Come on, let's get home and play ghosts and ghoulies.'

‘Is that a euphemism?' Stella asked.

‘Ghoulies, not—'

‘Yes, yes – I get it.'

Back at the cottage, after a cup of tea, they went to bed. They couldn't wait to go. They cuddled and kissed and smiled and chatted. Sex was not on the agenda – they'd made love energetically before leaving for dinner. It was sleep. It was the notion of sharing their slumber at Xander's place for the first time. It felt such a treat, such liberation for Stella to be away from home. And it felt simultaneously new, exciting, comforting, for Xander.

‘Are you warm enough?' he asked, woozily.

She snuggled closer still. ‘Toasty,' she said.

‘Night.'

‘Night.'

Stella woke in the small hours. Waves of adrenalin washed all vestiges of sleep away. She lay there awhile, telling herself not to be silly, to look where she was (she turned and gazed at Xander, sleeping soundly). She told herself everything was fine – reached for her mobile, checked she had a signal, checked there were no further messages than the one from her mum saying all was fine and not to worry. But it was no good. It was of little comfort. In the hazy shadows of a night-drenched room, it all seemed startlingly clear. It felt fundamentally wrong.

Though she left the bed as soundlessly as she could, in that perpetually cold room the absence of her body heat filtered through Xander's dreams like an ill wind and woke him.

‘Stella?'

‘Oh. It's fine. Ssh,' she said, ‘go back to sleep.'

‘What are you doing?'

There was no reply. The room was curtainless but there was no moon and all he could see was the basic shape of her. ‘What are you doing?' Xander reached for the bedside lamp. Flicked it on, squinted against the sudden harshness and was shocked to see Stella fully clothed. ‘What are you
doing
?'

‘Going,' she said, quietly.

He sat up. ‘
Going
?' He fumbled for the clock. ‘It's three in the morning! What's happened? Is everything OK?'

‘I just need to go.'

‘Go? Why?'

She looked down and then over to him. ‘It doesn't feel right. I should be at home – be there when my little boy wakes up.'

Xander scratched his head. Just then, Stella reminded him of Verity's childhood pony – a pretty little thing that seemed to like affection but if you approached too quickly was prone to bolt away. He waited, looking at her, his head tipped. ‘Will you talk?' he asked. ‘Only – Will seemed cool about his grandma staying. About you staying.'

‘I know, I know!'

‘And your mum seemed happy to, er, facilitate your sleepover?'

‘I
know
!' She was fretting.

‘Stella?'

‘It's just – I've broken a very solemn vow I made to myself.' The silence that ensued told her that Xander expected to be told what that was. And she thought about it. There was every reason for him to feel he deserved an explanation. ‘I just promised myself that I'd always be there for Will.' She paused. ‘That I wouldn't abandon him.'

Hard not to laugh a little. ‘You're not abandoning him – you're just with me, overnight. He's snuggled up in bed, safe and sound. With your ma. You'll see him first thing.'

‘It's difficult,' Stella croaked. ‘To explain.'

‘Do you want to try?'

His voice was so gentle and it just made her feel worse. She shook her head and Xander sighed, exasperated as she made for the door.

‘For God's sake,' she heard him mutter under his breath. Then the click of the light, the irritated scrunching of the duvet. Then nothing. She walked downstairs, cursing the old cottage for the squeaks and groans that accompanied her footfalls. Hovering momentarily by the front door, she then left, closing it as quietly as she could. With tears streaming down her face, she headed for her car. Sitting behind the wheel, she cried her eyes out. What was she doing there, at stupid o'clock? Why wasn't she at home? Why wasn't she back in bed with Xander? Why could she only be a good girlfriend if she was being a bad mum – or a proper mum and a crap girlfriend? Why was it so complicated? And then she yelled out into the private space of her car. ‘Why are you complicating things? I divorced you! I don't even know where you are, you bastard! Why are you
still
complicating things?'

Abruptly, she stopped crying and stared at the shadowy curve of Tramfield Lane snaking its way into the night. Then she laughed, almost maniacally, before settling her breathing and cupping her face in her hands.

‘Why am I letting Charlie complicate things!'

It wasn't a question. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous! She left the car, gave the door a hearty slam and chanted, ridiculous! bastard! fuck off! all the way back to Xander's front door.

He heard the knock. Actually, it was a veritable drum roll of banging. He hadn't been asleep, he'd been lying there, miffed, let down – and, truthfully, upset. It didn't take long for him to slip on a pair of boxers, but still she hammered at the door. OK, OK. He pulled on a T-shirt as he took the stairs. Still she rapped. Her knuckles must be raw, he thought.

There on his doorstep, Stella looked both terrible and triumphant with her bed-mussed hair, tear-streaked face; shivering, smiling, wincing at herself.

‘Sorry,' she mumbled. ‘Sorry.' She shuffled a bit. ‘Can I come in?' She started crying again, looking at her shoes, shoulders heaving. Like she did that night when he rescued her from her drunkenness and the blind date man called Blimey O'Riley. ‘Please?' She looked up at him. He ushered her in, not sure what to say and what he'd be hearing. ‘Can I have a cup of tea, please?'

‘I was going to suggest cocoa – but if you'd like tea?'

‘Cocoa!' It was as if it was the most extravagant offer she'd ever been made.

She hovered nearby while he made it. He could sense it, but kept his back turned to her, unsure of why she was here, what had caused the hysterics, what he was about to hear. Was this to be a face-to-face Dear John moment? Or something else? He had no idea. He brought over the two mugs and sat down in the chair. Stella curled herself into the edge of the sofa closest to him, hands encircling the mug of cocoa as if she'd been out in the cold for ages.

‘You came back,' he said evenly, taking a sip.

‘I did,' she said.

Oh, how to say all of this! How to say it so that it didn't scare Xander off, repel him.

‘I –' she began. ‘It's difficult.' They sipped thoughtfully. He'd made the cocoa just right – not ready-made hot chocolate, but bitter cocoa powder made into a paste with a smidgen of milk, lots of sugar and then stirred to perfection with milk heated to frothing. She looked at him over the edge of the mug. She loved him. That she knew. She'd tell him so. But first she'd tell him what she felt he deserved to know.

‘I married Charlie,' she said. ‘Whom I loved in a passionate us-against-the-world kind of way. Swept off my feet. Charmed by him – all of that.'

‘Been there, done that,' Xander said helpfully. ‘Laura.'

It did help. Stella nodded. ‘In the early days, it was fun, carefree – crazy. We'd gad off here and there, live the high life. He was charismatic, full of life, full of himself. I was sold. And then we married.' She paused. ‘I was pregnant already.' She paused again. ‘I didn't mind that he didn't seem enamoured with that, nor that he just said “
Sure, why not
” when I suggested marriage. I assumed it was a timing, planning thing – as Will was, well, unexpected.' She broke off. ‘I don't know how to tell you this.' She broke off again. ‘It's so awful.' She wondered if she'd be able to see it through. She sipped, sipped again. If she kept sipping at this rate, there'd be nothing left – but mightn't she need to take refuge in her mug later on? What to do. What to do.

‘Go on,' said Xander.

‘Charlie. Had. Addictions.' She paced the three words slowly, quietly, whilst staring fixedly at her lap. Eventually, she looked at Xander who was frowning.

‘What sort of addictions?'

‘In the main – gambling.' She had to look at her lap again. ‘Though I guess you could say he did everything to excess. Drinking. Oh – I can't.'

‘Christ.'

She took a deep breath. ‘And other stuff.'

‘Oh?'

‘Escorts.'

‘
What
?'

‘I haven't told anyone about that. Please don't tell anyone. I just told them about the gambling.'

‘As if that wasn't bad enough.'

‘I – knew something was wrong. I
knew
something was wrong. But he kept saying I was paranoid and to get over myself and not to be so stupid and for fuck's sake to stop spying on him.' She paused. ‘Making out it was me who was in the wrong. I hated that. But what option did I have?'

‘Go on?'

Her grammar was clunkingly awkward – it was redolent of how she was feeling, how deep-seated her angst – but Xander had a handle on all she was saying.

‘The long and the short of it was that he gambled his money away.' She said it very quickly. And then she speeded up again. ‘And mine. And some of my mum's. Not in that order.'

‘Your mum's?'

‘It all sounded so plausible. Some fab new business worth buying into – and could she invest twenty grand as a short-term loan.'

‘Christ. Has he paid it back?'

Stella shook her head.

‘Christ, Stella.'

‘He'd bet on anything. Mostly, he just liked backing horses – which was weird, because he didn't like animals. But casinos too. And online. That was the worst.'

‘How did you find out?'

Stella looked embarrassed. ‘I snooped. He was right about that – I did spy. I was desperate. I couldn't understand it – if he had a good job, why was the joint account always plundered? Why was it me topping it up to pay the mortgage, the bills? Where was the hundred pounds my mum gave me for my birthday? Then the phone calls came – from credit collection agencies, who were polite and evasive and only wanted to talk to him. And then there were calls from debt collectors who were rude and threatening and told me to tell him they'd called, that they'd call back, that they'd be calling around.

‘I'm afraid to admit I resorted to steaming open his bank statements, his credit card statements. I can't describe the shock, the dismay, the disbelief. So much cash going out. Really bizarre activity – you know, between ten and eleven in the morning, let's say, four or five different withdrawals from ATMs of a hundred and fifty quid a time. Day after day. Why wasn't he in the office? What was he doing, that time of day, plundering ATMs within streets of each other? God – this is so long ago. But when I think back, I relive it all.'

‘If you don't want to, it's—'

‘No,' said Stella. ‘No. I want to.' She nodded at Xander. ‘Then Charlie lost his job. He made it sound like he was the victim – and he was so compelling. Why wouldn't I believe him? I was his wife. He had a child with me. Why wouldn't my family believe him? He was so – nice – charming to them. Poor Charlie, we said. Don't worry, we said. It's not your fault, Charlie. It's my bastard boss, he'd say. Or he'd say, it's the sodding bank. At that time, we didn't know he'd actually been sacked. Anyway, he found other work – in which my mum invested twenty grand. But it was some left-field new company. And before long, I was paying all the bills again because he told me they'd all agreed to slash their pay to keep the company afloat. Soon enough, he told me he'd offered to work without pay. It bugged me that I had this gut-curdling, creeping sense of doubt. I hated myself for it. I was a
wife
– I should be supporting and trusting my husband. Wasn't my husband simply being magnanimous? I hated myself for simply not trusting him. I should be proud – not suspicious. But with my heart in my mouth and with my head pounding, I steamed open his bank statements again.'

‘And he
was
being paid.'

‘Yes!' said Stella, amazed that Xander should guess which, in turn, made Xander feel so sad for her.

‘Lie after lie – I'd ask him things to which I knew the answer, just so I could catch him out. But I found it so difficult to confront him. Because when someone behaves like that, and you're the closest person to them, they somehow draw you in, you start to shoulder their secret for them. You put on a brave mask over the worry lines on your face. You feel compelled to tell the outside world that all is well. You keep plugging the holes with your money. Throwing good money after bad.'