Barefoot in the Dark (14 page)

But it
was
sex. He wanted to have sex with Hope again. That was what it was really all about. The pull of his loins. Which didn’t feel particularly laudable, and reminded him of Danny’s words not half an hour earlier. He picked up the cushion on the chair beside him. Why should wanting to have sex with Hope Shepherd make him feel so anxious all of a sudden? He liked her. She liked him (oh, yes – no doubt about that), so what, precisely, was the problem? He grimaced. Probably the one he’d already had pointed out to him. That she was too nice. Certainly too nice to be messed around with. And how could he guarantee that he wouldn’t mess her around? He was a man, for God’s sake. A single man. A newly single man with newly single designs on the opposite sex.
Lots
of them. Unless – he picked up the receiver and cradled it in his hand – unless, hell – why was he presuming so much? Why wouldn’t she be up for it? It wasn’t as if she had told him otherwise, was it? She’d certainly been up for it last night. Where was the harm? He punched out the digits and waited.

Hil’s number rang and rang, but Hil herself clearly wasn’t home. Bollocks. He put the phone down again and flipped the cover shut on his address book. He was kidding himself anyway. It was simply wishful thinking. If he’d worked out one thing about Hope, it was that she was emphatically not the sort of person who’d be interested in recreational sex. She’d be interested in sex as a part of a monogamous relationship. She was fragile. Vulnerable. She’d made a point of saying so. In fact, she was probably waiting for him to phone her right now. Quite possibly she was sulking because he hadn’t done so, which was all the more reason not to, perhaps. He couldn’t in any case, could he?

Women. He pushed the address book back into the drawer. He’d ring her from work in the morning.

Chapter 15

It was about ten minutes before Hope stopped crying, and she felt much better for it.

When she’d got in from her run, the answer-phone light had been flashing, and, deciding to save the message till she was out of her kit, she’d run upstairs for her shower feeling suddenly invigorated and light of heart. It would be him. She just knew it. What did it matter who he’d gone out with before he’d met her? In any case, she wasn’t sure Simon didn’t have his own agenda where Jack was concerned. The way he called him ‘our man’ when he really meant ‘your man’, almost as if by professing joint ownership he was challenging her to tell him he was wrong.

But then she’d come down and pressed the play button, and it had only been Iain, to let her know he’d be half an hour late with the children.

They’d come in then, and she’d spent another half an hour in her fortnightly Purgatory, listening to how lovely their weekend had been. How much fun it had been compared to boring life at home, how they’d been (oh, how wicked!) to TGI Friday’s, how (oh, the sweetheart!) he’d taken them ice skating, how (oh, go on, then) he had let Tom borrow his
Saving Private Ryan
DVD, despite all the gore at the start. And also how they’d gone to have lunch with Daddy’s new girlfriend, who was called Rhiannon, and who (oh, how
lovely!
) had a really lush Mini and bright red,
mega
-lush hair.

It might have been partly listening to that, she reasoned. Not because she cared; she was through all that – he could do what he liked now. But because it was an uncomfortable reminder of how cruelly compartmentalised all their lives had become. There were parts of her children’s lives that weren’t part of hers now. They were peopled by Rhiannons and Emmas and Ffions and whoever else he hung on his treacherous arm.

But maybe not. The phone had started up again while she was tucking Tom in and this time it was Suze, with her interminable wittering – this time about how she’d batch-cooked some chilli which Hope could pop in to collect the next day. Not ‘might like to pop in’. Oh, no. ‘Could pop in’. Which meant
would
pop in. Or expect retribution, you ungrateful cow. Suze hadn’t been any more irritating than usual, but nevertheless, as Hope had put down the receiver, the tears started and they just wouldn’t stop.

Having stopped crying now, Hope could see her tears for exactly what they were. The fall-out from an infatuation. Yes. All that pent-up sexual tension. That and feeling so shameful. Only to be expected, really. There was the sex itself – there must be some hormonal component to that, mustn’t there? But it wasn’t like her heart was broken or anything. Just that it was so painful to recall how stupidly she’d behaved. That and the fact that Jack Valentine had been the first man who had shown the least interest in her since she had left Iain. (If you didn’t count Simon, and she definitely didn’t.) The first person she’d allowed herself to imagine she could have a romantic relationship with. What a fool. What an idiot. She was thirty-nine, for God’s sake. What business did she have becoming infatuated with the first man who paid her the compliment of fancying her? What the hell was she doing crying?

She went into the kitchen on heavy legs and ripped a piece of kitchen roll from the holder on the wall. God, why didn’t she just phone him and be done with it? It had to be better than all this juvenile snivelling. At least it would put an end to all this wretched speculation. But she couldn’t. She mustn’t. She absolutely knew it was the one thing she must not do. She’d had quite enough humiliation for one weekend, and ringing him now would only make things worse. Suppose he wasn’t alone? Suppose he was alone but sounded like he wasn’t pleased to hear from her? And even supposing he did sound pleased to hear from her – it would still feel all wrong. It would
be
all wrong. Would she actually believe it when he hadn’t already phoned
her
? Surely,
surely
, if he liked her, phoning her would have been the very first thing he’d have done this morning. And he hadn’t. So there was no point in phoning at all. The only way forward was to wait. Wait and see. God, but the world was a cruel place to be in. Why did men wield so much power over women?

She blew her nose aggressively on the piece of kitchen roll. No. She wouldn’t phone him. She’d slept with him and she couldn’t undo that. All she could do now was limit the damage. That and learn from her mistake. Good luck to him. Let him go screw every woman in Cardiff if he liked. She’d walked away from the situation. That was what mattered.

Bastard.
Bastard.

‘That’s fabulous, darling. Absolutely perfect. Don’t you think so, gentlemen? What a star our Hope is.’

Oh, God. She wished Maddie would shut up. What was she on?

In honour of the fact that Jack and the sponsors and the President of the North East Cardiff Harriers were going to be present at the meeting today, Madeleine had borrowed the conference room that belonged to the solicitors in the offices downstairs. Thus they had the use of a large oval table, chairs that matched each other, and a tray bearing a cut-glass water jug and tumblers, which Hope had only five minutes ago filled. And he was here. So very much here. She lay the rough of the poster on the table in front of her, heavy of heart, and with hands that just wouldn’t stay still.

They were here to discuss the ongoing publicity and to finalise details and dates. Their two main sponsors were both in place in their chairs, smiling benefactors’ smiles, finishing their coffee and custard creams, and wholly unaware of the one act (oh, God,
post
-act) melodrama that was being played out in their midst. As, indeed, was Madeleine. Hope had seen little of Madeleine on Monday, a state of affairs not without future ramifications. Maddie clearly thought she was sitting in the midst of something altogether different from what she actually was.

‘Absolutely! Hear, hear!’ said Mr Babbage.

‘Hear, hear,’ agreed Jack heartily. ‘Yes, indeed she is.’

He was seated across the table and two seats along from Hope. They hadn’t spoken except to say good morning. But he kept glancing at her and grinning. She wished he wouldn’t. The act of seeing him again had been a dreadful shock. Having spent much of Sunday night and a good deal of Monday reminding herself that she needed a man in her life like she needed a cold sore, she had assumed that when she did see him the event would be manageable. But here he was and her stomach was fluttering ridiculously. Here he was and she couldn’t stop stealing looks at him. Here he was and she was so distracted by him. She had so comprehensively forgotten the unbearable intensity of it all. She hadn’t felt this way in decades. And she wasn’t, she realised with sudden conviction, ready yet to feel this way again.

Madeleine, seated next to Hope, kicked her under the table. ‘So. Mouse mats,’ she was saying. Saying to
her
. Hope riffled through her notes and pulled out the sample, conscious that everyone’s eyes were now on her. Which meant Jack’s were, of course.

‘Er… oh, right. Yes.’ She held up the sample. ‘They’ve agreed to do us five hundred.’

‘And they’re lovely too. Though I’m not sure five hundred will be enough, will it? But you can do the business on him, can’t you? You’re good at that.’ She nudged Hope. ‘She’s good at that,’ she added to the men. Jack specifically. Horror upon horror. How could she? How
could
she?

‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ said Mr Babbage. Jack smiled. Or did he smirk? Madeleine consulted the list in front of her again.

‘Sun block.’

Sun block?
What? Oh God. Yes. For the runners. Get your head together. Sun block.

‘Sun?’ said Mr Babbage, nodding towards the window. ‘Fat chance of that. Rust remover might be a more useful option.’

‘The sun always shines on the righteous,’ said Mr Pinkerton.

‘Not in Wales it doesn’t,’ said Mr Babbage brightly. ‘Either that, or we’ve all been very naughty!’ He guffawed. He really thought he was funny.

Jack was looking at her still. She could feel it, sense it. He could see right through her dress and straight through into her soul. She tightened her grip on her agenda. She decided that if she had to look at him much more, she might just dissolve into tears.

‘Anyway, you’re on to that as well, aren’t you, sweetie? Hope? Hel-lo?’ Maddie kicked her again. ‘Are you still with us, darling, or what?’

Oh, God, she hoped he’d gone. That was all she hoped and she hoped it with more sincerity than she’d ever hoped anything in her life. Except perhaps the time she’d first hoped she’d been wrong about Iain (which had been the mother and father of all hopes).

But he hadn’t. He was talking to Kayleigh and Mr Pinkerton from the Harriers. She hovered by reception while Mr Pinkerton pulled a bungee from his pocket and strode off outside to unlock his bike. Which left Jack, who was showing not the least sign of doing likewise, so there was no choice but to go up and either deck him or speak to him. The phone rang in the office. Kayleigh went off to answer it. Speak to him, then. It was all she could do.

‘So,’ he said, rounding on her as soon as the door had closed behind her. His expression was warm. ‘How are
you
?’

She stood stiffly to attention. What was the ‘
you’
bit all about? It sounded so suggestive. It made her feel like a trollop. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied crisply. ‘You?’

He nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just fine.’ Then he threw his hands out in supplication. ‘I’m sorry I never managed to get hold of you.’

She nodded back. ‘Right.’

‘Only I didn’t have your number at home so I couldn’t ring you Sunday, and what with one thing and another yesterday –’

‘That’s OK,’ she said levelly. ‘I didn’t ring you either, did I?’

He waggled a finger towards her chest and grinned. ‘No, you didn’t. I thought you might have. You should have.’

He looked all eager and anxious to please, like a puppy.

Or a penitent. Didn’t have her number. That was lame. She’d given it to him the first time they’d met. But even if he hadn’t had it, her phone him? As if.

She shrugged. ‘Well, you know… ’ She left the words hanging. Did he? Did he have the first idea what she’d been through since Saturday? Obviously not. She was suddenly pleased beyond measure that she hadn’t succumbed and picked up that phone. She’d been so very close. Thank God – thank every deity in the universe – that she hadn’t actually done it.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve got it now.’ He patted his breast pocket and looked like he’d appreciate a sticky star for his efforts. In that instant, Hope knew that it didn’t matter. They could chew over logistics all they liked, but it wasn’t relevant. This was nothing whatsoever to do with day-to-call ratios, and everything, oh but everything, to do with her. Just her.

She didn’t need this. Didn’t want it. Didn’t have to put herself through it. She nodded at him. ‘Fine.’

She said nothing more, and he looked at her without speaking for a long moment. She looked back. She couldn’t not.

‘So,’ he said eventually, flicking his eyes down and then back again. He cleared his throat and pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Have you got any plans for the weekend? If you’re free I thought we might –’

‘Sorry,’ she said, decided. It was easy. ‘I’m pretty busy. Chloe’s got her interim dance examinations and my mum’s looking after my brother’s kids for a few days, so I’m all out of babysitters, and in any case, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on so I really need to stay in and… er… catch up.’

He had smiled politely throughout this but now he stopped smiling and nodded briskly instead. ‘Right,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘I’ll guess I’ll have to take that as a no, then.’

But he didn’t look cheerful. He looked hurt, and also shocked. Which made her hesitate. Did it really matter so much about him calling? So she’d gone and got herself in a state. Understandable, really. It didn’t mean… God, but it was Tuesday. Two whole days had passed. She thought of a future dominated and punctuated by such anxieties. Of waiting for phone calls. Of fretting all the time. No. She didn’t need this. Not now, she didn’t. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m sorry, Jack, it’s just that… well, when I didn’t hear from you… well, I’ve already made other plans. You know how it is.’

‘No, I don’t,’ he said, looking like he meant it. His mouth twitched at the corners. ‘I wish I did.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just… ’ Someone, surely, would come out into reception soon and rescue her from this torture. He was still so
there
. Filling the small space. His eyes boring into hers. She could almost hear the cogs in his brain whirring. She could almost hear the steady drip of her own resolve melting. ‘ …I’m –’

‘Am I in the doghouse?’ he said. There was still a trace of a smile on his face, but the edge in his voice now belied it.

‘No.’ She tried to make it sound light, but as soon as she uttered it, she knew it had come out all wrong. All spiky and pointed. More like a yes, in fact. He looked even more upset.

‘Are you sure? You’ve gone very frosty on me all of a sudden.’

‘I haven’t gone frosty.’

‘Yes, you have. One minute you’re all over me –’ Hope winced ‘– and the next you’re treating me as if I’ve got a notifiable disease. Why?’ He spread his hands now. ‘Is it really because I didn’t phone on Sunday?’ He slapped them back against his sides again, looking incredulous that this could possibly be true. ‘Or did you just go off me?’

Hope had so not been expecting this. Her mouth dropped open.

‘No! No… well…
No
.’ She should, she realised, just tell him the truth. Or a version of it, at any rate. With the flutterings in her stomach edited out. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m just feeling a little shellshocked, OK? I shouldn’t have let myself get so carried away on Saturday, and I just… ’ She glanced behind her to check that Kayleigh hadn’t returned. ‘Jack, I just feel a bit uncomfortable about it. I don’t want to get too involved, that’s all.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘What’s all this “involved” stuff? Either you want to see me again or you don’t. I’m not asking you to marry me.’

She didn’t know what to say to that. He raised his eyebrows a little. He was smiling at her again. ‘Hmm?’