After the Honeymoon (6 page)

‘What a lovely idea, but the moon is really made of rocks.’

He was frowning now. ‘But what
is
a honeymoon?’

Emma tried to sound bright, brushing away her own misgivings. ‘It’s a holiday when two people who have just got married go away for a few days on their own.’

There was a sniff from a passing great-aunt. ‘Usually people do it
before
they’ve had kids. Still, better late than never.’

Ignoring the barb, Emma gathered her son to her, breathing him in. God, she felt awful – and not just because she’d finally done it. Given Tom the wide gold ring that they had chosen together. Received one in turn – just as Gawain, all done up in his pageboy costume and flashing-light trainers, had called out, ‘Mummy! I need a wee-wee!’

Everyone in the church had roared with laughter, including Tom, but Emma could have wept. Didn’t that prove that her children needed her? How could she possibly leave them for a whole week?

Ever since Bernie and the girls had sprung the surprise wedding present on her, Emma had felt horribly uncertain and wobbly. She and Tom had never once left the children overnight: even when Willow had been born, she’d made sure she was out of hospital and back home before Gawain’s bedtime so they could all be together.

Now, just because others had decided that a honeymoon was the thing to do, she was being torn away from the two people who meant most to her. Even more, she had to admit, than her own husband. Of course she loved Tom. But it was a different kind of love from that all-consuming, unconditional passion that meant she wouldn’t think twice about running in front of a car to push her children to safety.

Would she do the same for Tom?

Of course.

Maybe.

‘Can we come too, Mummy?’ Gawain’s voice came out muffled against her too-stiff skirt, making her heart twist in pain. How handsome her little man looked, with that jaunty red bow tie, even though he’d insisted on wearing his Spider-Man costume underneath. How vulnerable. So, too, did Willow, fast asleep in Tom’s arms now, thumb in mouth, orange juice spilled down her bridesmaid’s dress. They needed her. She needed
them.

‘I’m sorry, poppet.’ She scattered light kisses over her son’s downy head as she spoke. ‘Hornymoons – I mean honeymoons – are just for mummies and daddies. You and Willow are going to have a lovely time with Granny instead.’

Gawain broke away from her arms and glared. ‘But I want to go with
you.
’

See, Emma said silently, shooting an
I told you
look at Tom. She knew this would happen. The children didn’t want them to go away any more than she wanted to leave them. How dare Bernie interfere? Tom was no better.

‘You should have discussed it with me first,’ Emma had snapped on the day that Bernie and the girls had given her the honeymoon envelope.

Tom had looked uncertain, giving her one of his owlish looks behind his thick-rimmed glasses. ‘We thought it would be a nice surprise.’ He shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other. ‘The lads and I were talking in the pub and I just happened to mention to Phil that we couldn’t afford a honeymoon. He said something to Bernie and that started the ball rolling.’

‘It wasn’t just that we couldn’t afford one,’ Emma had sniffed. ‘It was because I didn’t want to be away from the kids.’

Tom had put his arm around her then. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘But don’t you think we need some time on our own? It’s only for a week, and your mother is used to looking after Willow when you’re at work.’

‘That’s for two hours a day, Tom. We’re talking about a whole week.’ Emma’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘What if they want me at night? What if my mother doesn’t watch them properly and they have an accident? I’d never forgive myself.’

Or you, she had silently added.

‘That could happen any time.’ Tom, normally so compliant, had a firm edge to his voice. ‘We deserve some couple time, Em. Besides, it’s all arranged and paid for. You’d upset Bernie and the girls who saved up for this out of their earnings.’ He bent down to kiss her. ‘You’d upset me too.’

He was right. She had no choice but to go along with the girls’ generous gesture. It would, she knew, have made a big dent in their pay packets.

To make herself feel better, she’d made a list of all the things that her mother might need reminding of, for a long-term stay. Gawain hated any food that was orange or green (which ruled out quite a lot of vegetables). His spare Spider-Man tee-shirt was in the storage bag under his bed. Willow’s fluffy blue comfort blanket was kept in the second drawer down. The brake on the pushchair was a bit stiff. And so on and so on. The list was endless.

‘I know most of this,’ her mother had said, glancing at it dismissively. ‘Besides, I did bring
you
up, you know. Stop fussing.’

But she couldn’t help it, especially as it was time to go now. Inside Corrywood Hall, the guests were still bopping along to the loud disco which they’d got for a discount rate because one of Tom’s friends knew the DJ, and picking away at the cold buffet which she hadn’t been able to touch, thanks to nerves. All that money they’d been saving up for years had been blown. And to show for it, she had a shiny gold wedding ring on her left hand, and a piece of paper which tied her to her husband for life.

Divorce, in Emma’s book, wasn’t on. Not when you’d suffered like she had, from her parents’ bitter break-up.

‘Better get going or we’ll miss the flight,’ said one of Tom’s friends chirpily. ‘I’ve got the car ready outside.’ He winked at her. ‘The boys and I did it up. Tin cans, foam and everything. Wait till you see it!’

Gawain caught hold of her skirt and, as if on cue, Willow began to whimper as Tom prised her off his neck and handed her over to Emma’s mother.

‘I can’t do it,’ whispered Emma. ‘I can’t leave them.’

‘Nonsense.’ Her mother’s voice was sharp, hissing in her ear. ‘You’re a wife now. Not just a mum. Don’t make the mistake I did. Tom’s a bit dull but he’s a good man. Just make sure you hang on to him.’

Emma stared at her mother, shocked. It wasn’t the ‘dull’ bit, which Mum had come out with before. No. It was the ‘Don’t make the mistake I did.’

The divorce had been Dad’s fault for going off with that tart in the office. Was it possible that Mum blamed herself for not giving him more attention? If so, that was ridiculously old-fashioned.

Frankly, she’d expected more from her mother. At fifty-two, she was still a very good-looking woman. Even her name, Shirley, suggested a certain
joie de vivre
which, despite her single status, Mum possessed all right. Sometimes she was mistaken in the street for a taller Barbara Windsor. She had the same blonde looks and warm, welcoming face, with a throaty laugh that made you feel good about yourself. Certainly, if it wasn’t for Mum looking after Willow, Emma couldn’t do her dinner lady job.

Maybe Tom was right. She ought to trust her enough to go away. After all, you only had one honeymoon.

‘Mummy and Daddy won’t be long,’ she said, giving both children one more kiss and hug. ‘Be good, won’t you?’

Oh no. Willow was beginning to wail even louder and Gawain, with a grip that was incredibly strong for a four-year-old, adamantly refused to let go. ‘They’re just tired,’ her mother said crisply with an authoritative air. ‘I’ll take them home now.’

Somehow, Emma managed to extricate herself from her son’s grasp, feeling like a traitor. ‘Mummy,’ he called out desperately as Tom took her hand and led her to the car outside. A group of friends were already gathered there, confetti in hands; broad grins on their faces. ‘I can’t do this,’ she cried, the tears rolling down her face as she threw her bouquet into the little gathering. ‘I really can’t.’

‘They’ll be fine.’ But her new husband’s voice was tight and she could tell from his tone that he had doubts too.

‘What if the plane crashes?’ she whispered as Tom’s friend’s car, with its silver and purple ‘Just Married’ pennant fluttering from the aerial, slid through the night on the way to Heathrow. ‘We wouldn’t be around to bring up the kids. What if …’

Tom’s hand reached out for hers and held it firmly. ‘You can’t go down that road, love.’

Oh, but she could. ‘We should have changed before we left,’ added Tom, adjusting his suit trousers uncomfortably. ‘There’ll just be time at the airport if we don’t get held up.’ His arm wrapped itself around her. ‘How does it feel to be Mrs Walker?’

Wonderful, she wanted to say. Perfect. But she couldn’t. All Emma could think of, as Phil’s old Vauxhall Cavalier approached the bright lights of the airport, was that she’d left her children behind and that if she had a choice, she would gladly have swapped them for Tom here on the back seat.

‘The temperature in Siphalonia is approximately twenty-six degrees and counting.’

The pilot’s enthusiastic voice sent a ripple of appreciative murmurs through the plane. Emma woke up from an uneasy sleep, hazily recalling the events of the last few hours, and felt her stomach lurch with fear all over again as she thought of the children. She glanced at Tom, whose face was lit up with excitement. I hate you for not understanding, she thought. I hate you.

But it was too late to turn back. They were here. And if anything did happen to the children, they could just fly back like Tom said, providing there was a flight available.

‘I also have another notice,’ said the pilot’s voice, crackling slightly on the loudspeaker. ‘We have a newly married couple on board. Mrs and Mrs Walker! Let’s give them a round of applause, shall we?’

And to Emma’s embarrassment, Tom stood up and made a mock bow, pointing to her. Everyone began to turn round in their seats: for a minute she wished they hadn’t changed out of their wedding finery and into jeans and sloppy sweatshirts. Then there was a wave of clapping and someone thrust a glass of something bubbly into her hand. Even though she didn’t particularly like the taste, she knocked it back for Dutch courage, as Mum would say.

‘Here’s to married life,’ declared Tom excitedly, clinking his plastic beaker with hers. ‘Feeling better now?’

She nodded, tucking her arm into his. Of course she didn’t hate him, she told herself guiltily. That had just been because she was tired and upset.

‘Look,’ Tom said, pointing out of the window just as he’d done when they’d taken off at Heathrow. But this time, instead of lights in the darkness down below, she could see a vast expanse of blue sea and then the outline of an island in the early-morning light. It was like the toy car mat that Gawain had at home, with a network of tiny roads and a garage and shops and houses.

‘Which one of those is the Villa Rosa, do you think?’ she asked, caught up in the euphoria of seeing the tiny white houses with little patches of brown and green around them.

‘Maybe that one.’ Tom sounded like a child. ‘The L-shaped one with the pool.’ He gripped her hand tighter. ‘Hang on. We’re going to land.’

It was much smoother than she’d expected, even though there was a terrible noise and a feeling of real speed, like being in a sports car, perhaps – though she’d never been in one. Then they stopped. At last! Emma jumped up before the seat belt sign had been switched off. ‘You’ve got to wait,’ said Tom, as if he was an experienced flyer. There was a ping. ‘Right. We can go now.’

Almost unable to believe she had got through her first flight, Emma watched her husband(!) heave her hand luggage out of the overhead locker and gesture that she should go ahead.

Nervously, she made her way past the stewardess and then clung to the top of the steps as the dry heat hit her.

She was actually in Greece! Gawain and Willow felt so far away now that they might almost be in another world. Part of her wanted to dive back into the plane and beg for a flight home. But another part of herself, a part she didn’t recognise, was excited. Curious.

‘We’re here,’ said Tom unnecessarily as he shepherded her onto the airport bus behind a very pretty, tall, dark-haired woman holding hands with an even taller, well-built, bald West Indian with large sunglasses who kept looking nervously around. Now where had she seen him before? The woman looked a bit familiar too.

‘We’re here,’ repeated Tom, as though he could hardly believe it either. ‘We’re on our honeymoon, Em! Isn’t that amazing!’

‘We drove to Wales but it rained so much that we went home.’

Jo, still happily married after twenty years

WINSTON

Had they been spotted? Winston looked swiftly around the airport bus, taking in the passengers, using his training to home in on anyone who looked suspicious.

There were no obvious candidates. Even so, he ran through the options around him. There was that other honeymoon couple who’d had that tacky announcement on the plane which had made him cringe.
She
looked quite sweet despite her rather simple moon face and a body that needed to shed at least a stone. But her husband wore clear-rimmed glasses and a thick grey sweatshirt, despite the heat, with ‘I’M ON MY HONEYMOON’ written on the front in big bold red letters. How naff was that? He shuddered at the thought of ever wearing something like that.

There were a couple of Greeks staring out of the window with no particular interest in anyone else. And there was a family of five who were making a right old racket because one of the kids had lost a toy on the plane and wanted to go back for it, even though the bus had already set off for the terminal.

The high-pitched whining reminded him of Melissa’s girl, who was always moaning about something. Neither she nor the boy had bothered to hide their resentment at his intrusion into their mum’s life. In fact, there had been a number of times in the last few weeks when Winston had been worried Melissa was going to call off their wedding altogether just because the
children
, as she insisted on calling them (even though the older one was a teenager), were still feeling ‘unsettled’.

But somehow, Winston had won her round. With carefully thought-out arguments and – dare he say it? – a smattering of charm, he had persuaded Melissa that Alice and Freddie would benefit from a permanent male presence in the house, instead of a father who was always away, doing some big deal in Singapore or Hong Kong or banging yet another secretary (he hadn’t voiced that last bit, obviously). And indeed, he really did believe it himself. All the children needed was a firm but kind hand. Starting with a break from their mother.