The Longest Holiday (30 page)

‘Um, well …’ Matthew and I are getting a divorce? I haven’t actually told him that yet, so I’m hardly going to spill it to this little slapper. Only she doesn’t sound like a slapper. ‘Okay,’ I find myself agreeing.

Matthew comes with me. I’m nervous and twitchy and really quite angry with him. I tried to call Leo earlier but he didn’t answer his phone. I left a rambling voicemail and then changed my mind and deleted it when it gave me the chance.

Tessa lives with her dad in East Finchley in north London, and it feels like a long journey on the Northern Line to get there.

Matthew and I don’t speak much on the walk from the tube station. I guess he doesn’t want to wind me up. I spy a lovely-looking gift shop at the top of the high street, and it occurs to me that I could have brought a gift for the baby. Should I? I feel bad arriving with nothing, but, bloody hell … I can’t believe he’s putting me in this position!

I glare at an unsuspecting Matthew and decide not to buy anything. We take a right onto a street lined with terraced houses. Eventually we come to Tessa’s door, which is painted red. Matthew rings the doorbell. I stand behind him, halfway down the path. I hear footsteps behind the door and seriously consider bolting, but then the door swishes open.

‘Hello!’ the brunette at the door exclaims. She peers past Matthew to me and gives me the brightest smile imaginable. She is pretty, but not annoyingly so. She’s slim with shoulder-length straight hair and blue eyes.

‘Come in, come in,’ she says, ushering us inside. The hall floor is made up of old-fashioned tiles in colours of red, brown, orange and white, and there’s cream-coloured tread-worn carpet on the stairs. ‘Go through to the living room,’ she directs Matthew, who clearly knows what he’s doing. The living room has stripped floorboards and a colourful rug. The sofas look old and comfortable, and there are a couple of yukka plants sitting in the bay window.

‘Is he asleep?’ Matthew asks in a quiet voice.

‘Yeah.’ She smiles at him and I want to hate her, but find I don’t. I notice she’s not wearing any make-up, and her casual T-shirt has a smear on it. I’m surprised. I thought she would have been dolled up to the nines, trying to impress me or make me jealous, or, at the very least, make herself feel more human. But maybe this is how she is. I’m disconcerted to find that she’s not a complete bitch.

‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’ she asks me, and for the first time I realise that she does look nervous.

‘Tea, please.’

She smiles and nods. ‘Tea?’ she asks Matthew.

‘Thanks,’ he says. She walks out of the room and I sit on one of the sofas. Matthew flops down next to me and tries to take my hand. I automatically snatch it away.

‘Don’t,’ I mutter.

He sighs helplessly.

We hear a cry from upstairs and nerves swell through me once more.

‘Lizzy, can you bring him down?’ Tessa calls up the stairs.

‘Okay!’ we hear a woman call back.

I glance at Matthew. This is the Lizzy he knows, I take it. ‘Did you know she was going to be here?’

‘No.’ He shrugs. ‘I knew her dad was out?’

Okay, so maybe Tessa thought it was worth bringing in reinforcements. I don’t suppose I can blame her.

A moment later there’s movement on the stairs and we hear Tessa taking Evan from her sister. She brings him into the room.

‘Here he is,’ she says, and her voice is full of love for this little bundle of, well, perhaps we’ll refrain from using the word ‘joy’ on this occasion.

Matthew sits up straighter, and I notice his face light up. I’m not prepared for how much this will hurt me, but there it is, my hurt. I watch as Tessa hands him over to his father.

‘Evan, meet Laura,’ Matthew says gently, holding him towards me so I can see his face. His little eyes are open and he’s staring up at Matthew, making an ‘ooh’ sign with his lips, although no sound comes out.

My heart softens. It’s impossible not to be touched by how cute he is.

‘This is my sister, Lizzy,’ Tessa interrupts awkwardly.

We exchange hellos. She’s taller than Tessa by a couple of inches, and quite a bit curvier. She’s also a brunette, although her hair is curly. She’s attractive, but she looks exhausted.

‘Do you want to hold him?’ Matthew brings my attention back to the baby, but I notice his quick look at Tessa to check that’s okay, and her immediate nodded response.

‘No, it’s alright,’ I find myself saying. ‘I … I’m not very good with babies.’

I don’t know if this is true or not, but Matthew’s sister Dana’s baby cried when I held her last year and it’s scared me off a bit.

‘He’s a very good baby,’ Tessa encourages me.

Lizzy rubs Tessa’s back with her hand. It’s sort of an approving gesture: ‘You’re doing well, little sister, I’m proud of you …’

We hear more footsteps on the stairs.

‘Here comes Ellie,’ Lizzy says, then to me: ‘My daughter.’

Suddenly a little girl of about two or three runs into the room. Lizzy sweeps her up into her arms.

‘Mummy, Mummy, I want … I want …’ Then she spies Evan and seems to change her mind. ‘Baby!’ she exclaims.

Lizzy laughs, her smile lighting up her face as her toddler scrambles to get down to the floor. She climbs up onto the sofa next to Matthew and strokes Evan’s face with her chubby little hands.

Tessa and Lizzy look on with pride and delight. Even Matthew is grinning.

But my discomfort increases. What on earth am I doing here? Let them have their happy little family. I’m not part of it. I will never be a part of it.

Matthew seems to remember me. ‘You want to hold him?’ he asks again.

I shake my head. ‘It’s okay.’ I look at Evan’s face, still staring up at his daddy, despite his cousin’s best efforts. ‘He seems happy with you.’

Matthew looks disconcerted, sensing this is not going his way. He reluctantly hands Evan back to his mother.

It’s an awkward twenty minutes. That’s the best I can do. Anything longer and I think I’d implode. Matthew gives me a wary look as we walk back down the High Road.

‘It will be better next time,’ he tries to reassure me. ‘You did so well.’

‘Mmm,’ I say wryly.

He knows better than to press me further on this, but something inside me has just snapped.

The next day I meet Marty and Bridget for a Sunday lunch at a pub in Battersea. It’s actually really nice to see Bridget again.

‘Hello!’ I exclaim, throwing my arms around her neck.

‘Oh my God, I’m so jealous of your tan!’ she cries.

I laugh and pull away, turning to Marty. ‘Hey,’ I say. I’m still feeling a bit cross with her after that irate phone conversation in Key West, but she pulls me into a hug, anyway.

‘Come on, come on,’ Bridget urges, pushing me into a comfy bench seat under the window and sitting eagerly opposite me. ‘Tell me everything!’

‘What do you want to know?’ I ask her with a grin, loving her enthusiasm.

‘Tell me about Leo!’ she squeals.

‘Bridget …’ Marty says disapprovingly, but she can’t dampen my mood.

‘What about him?’ I raise an eyebrow at her cheekily.

‘Was he good in bed? Tell me he was good in bed …’ she pleads.

I laugh.

‘Urgh,’ Marty mutters, putting her head in her hands.

Bridget flicks her hand in her direction, brushing her off.

‘I was soooo jealous when Marty told me he was giving you one …’

Hmm. Not sure I like that expression. What Leo and I had … It wasn’t just about the sex.

‘I miss him,’ I confide.

Marty rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve only been gone a few days.’

‘Well, I can’t wait to go back,’ I inform her.

She rolls her eyes again and my annoyance comes flooding back.

‘Say what you like, Marty, there’s more to Leo and me than you – or anyone – thinks.’ I shrug.

‘How was it yesterday?’ Marty swiftly changes the subject.

‘Hard,’ I reply.

‘What happened yesterday?’ Bridget looks confused.

I fill them in on the previous day’s visit. ‘Tessa said when Evan gets a bit older, Matthew and I can take him out for a day.’ I say this sarcastically.

All three of us fall silent.

‘Whoa,’ Bridget mutters.

I start to laugh, a bitter, miserable laugh. ‘I can’t believe this is my life. This is how you,’ I say directly to Marty, ‘and everyone else expect me to live.’

Marty looks down at the table and Bridget shifts uneasily in her seat. ‘I don’t expect you to live like this,’ she says. ‘For the record.’

‘Thanks,’ I say to her and genuinely mean it.

‘I couldn’t,’ she adds. ‘I couldn’t!’ she cries after Marty gives her a look. ‘I’m only being honest. I’d be back on a plane to Key West as soon as I could book my ticket.’

I grin at her. Is Bridget really the only one who understands me? Who would have thought it?

‘I don’t think that’s very helpful,’ Marty chips in. ‘None of us want Laura to go back.’

‘What does Laura want?’ Bridget asks me with a raised eyebrow.

‘I want to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.’

Marty glumly takes a sip of her drink. ‘I wish I’d never invited you to Florida with us,’ she says.

I feel a wave of sympathy for her.

‘You were only trying to do the right thing,’ Bridget says. ‘And it was the right thing, for Laura. Maybe not for everyone else, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.’

‘What would you do if you went back?’ Marty asks me, screwing up her nose. ‘Do you really think there’s a future with Leo?’

I nod. ‘I think so. I really think so, even if he can’t say it.’

I’m nervous that night when I try calling Leo again, and once more it goes straight to voicemail. This time I don’t delete the message I leave, even though it’s almost as rambling as the last one.

‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I got here safely. I tried calling a couple of days ago but you didn’t answer. I went to see the baby yesterday. The whole thing was weird. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I miss you. I’ll try you again soon.’

After I end the call I sit for a while and stare into space. I feel uneasy about being unable to reach him and my imagination goes into overdrive. Am I out of sight, out of mind? Was I, heaven forbid, just a holiday romance? I’m talking about a holiday romance for him, not for me. He was much more to me than that. Is much more to me than that. But I find the fact that we’re unable to communicate unsettling.

Every day for the next week I try to call Leo and it always goes straight through to voicemail. He never calls me back. I’m going through each day feeling sick every time I think about him. What the hell is going on? Has he lost his phone? Or is he ignoring me? Has he moved on? Is he letting me move on? My mind ticks over ten to the dozen and I can barely concentrate. Work takes my mind off things to some extent, and it’s quite nice to be back in the swing of things, doing something useful for the first time in a very long time. At home, Matthew is as decent to me as he can possibly be, and I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been a complete bitch to him in return. I feel so helpless and anxious. I just don’t know what to do.

Matthew, to his credit, has not lost his temper with me once. Even when I’m snapping at him over dinner he’s calm and seems remarkably content. I don’t know how he can be pleased to have me back after everything I’ve done. I’m finding his behaviour increasingly confusing.

The following weekend it’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. I drive up on the Friday without Matthew, although he has asked to be allowed to join us on the Saturday for the party. I don’t feel able to refuse – I know my dad will want him there. But I’m relieved to have one night alone with them first.

‘Aah,’ Dad says warmly, opening up the front door – and then his arms – to me.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, muffled into his big shoulder.

‘How’s my girl?’ he asks, pulling away and studying my face.

I screw up my nose. ‘I’m alright. Where’s Mum?’

‘In the veggie patch.’

I smile at him and breathe in the aroma of my childhood home. I grew up in a big farmhouse set amongst fields of farmland. We’re standing in a large hall with the original tiled floor. I’m momentarily reminded of Tessa’s home.

Dad ushers me into the spacious kitchen, where an old-fashioned Aga keeps everything warm, even in the winter. This is the centre of our house – everything revolves around the kitchen. Mum, for all her glamour, is an excellent cook.

Dad farms mostly wheat, supplying grain to local cereal manufacturers. Even though he has hired hands to do most of the heavy work, he still likes to take me into the grain shed after a harvest, where we scoop up handfuls of kernels and let them fall through our fingers. When Will was a boy, he used to come with us. His parents lived in the country home next door, a cold and unwelcoming house in my opinion. No wonder he used to like hanging out here with us.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Dad asks.

‘Just thinking about Will,’ I tell him as I put the kettle on the stove. Dad’s useless at making cups of tea. He gives me a sympathetic look.

‘How’s everything else?’ he asks cautiously.

I can’t get hold of Leo! He’s not returning my calls! I want to scream this out, but don’t.

‘Oh, you know …’ I say instead, pulling out a wooden chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. ‘Are you all set for the party tomorrow?’

‘I think so. Your mother has organised most of it. We’re going to do up the barn and have everyone in there with a band.’

‘Wow, that sounds fab!’

A moment later the door to the garden opens and Mum bustles in with a wicker basket full of vegetables.

‘You’re here!’ she shouts. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

I stand up and give her a hug, then she holds me at arm’s length and studies my face. ‘You look well,’ she says uncertainly, as though I’m going to refute this fact.

I shrug and she puts her hand to my cheek in a tender gesture. The kettle begins to whistle.

‘I’ll make it,’ she says, busying herself with a teapot while I sit back down.

‘How’s work?’ Dad asks as Mum leaves the tea to brew and exits the room with the veggies. Washing them in the utility room, I expect.