Out on a Limb (31 page)

Perhaps he’s dropped her off somewhere else. I try to gather myself. ‘Only to take Spike for a walk down to the shops. I have to get digestive biscuits. I’m making a blood and guts cheesecake. I’m off to a Halloween soirée tonight. Have to make an effort. You know how it is.’ I don’t know why I’m telling him all this rubbish. No that’s not true. I know exactly why I’m telling him all this rubbish. It’s because I cannot right now think of a single thing to say. So rubbish it is, then. ‘And, er…well, goodness!’ I say, opening the door wider to wave him inside and behaving for all the world like a functioning mortal. ‘When you said you’d get back to me I thought you were going to phone. I didn’t think you were actually going to
come
back.’

‘Well, to be scrupulously honest, neither did I. My initial plan of action
was
to ring you.’ He carefully wipes his feet on the doormat and steps into the hall. He doesn’t smell of coconut today. He smells of leather and crisp autumn air. ‘So I came off at the next junction and pulled over in a lay-by, and then I thought, what the hell. This is absolute madness. So I thought I might just as well get straight back on the motorway again and drive here instead. So that’s what I did.’

I wonder what kind of a dictionary it is that he uses to define the word ‘madness’. I don’t think Dr Johnson had anything to do with it, for sure. But then I’m all out of trying to fathom Gabriel Ash any more. Plus I mustn’t. I must remember that it’s bad for my health. I pull off my gloves. ‘Well, you’re in the nick of time,’ I say, still trying to gather up the facts and assemble them into something I can usefully work with. Except I can’t. I’m at a loss. And my heart’s in my mouth again. ‘Five more minutes and you’d have missed me a second time!’

He seems to find this intelligence difficult to digest. Either that or he’s got a heart in his mouth too. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he says, frowning again. ‘I wasn’t thinking. Do you want to get off?’

‘No, no. It’s fine.’ I shrug my coat from my shoulders and slip it over the newel post. ‘Hardly life and death, is it? A packet of biscuits. Come on. Come in. D’you want a coffee or something?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. No, not really.’

And he says it in such a way that I’m immediately transported straight back to the last time we stood there. For someone so reticent when it comes to making words, he’s incredibly verbose on the body language front. He’s looking awkward. Uncomfortable. Even a bit shifty. He’s come all the way back here on God knows what whim, and now he’s here he plainly wants to be gone again. I feel silly that I’ve taken my coat off. ‘Well, then,’ I say, crisply. ‘In that case, hang on there. I’ll go upstairs and get the watch for you. I won’t be a tick.’

I turn to mount the stairs, but am only two steps up them when his voice makes me stop. ‘Watch?’ he asks. ‘What watch?’

I turn around again. He looks confused now. He’s spreading his palms. ‘
The
watch,’ I tell him. ‘Isn’t that what you’re here for? I assumed you’d called because you’d got my mother’s message.’

He shakes his head at me. ‘Message? What message?’

‘The one she left you last week.’

He shakes his head again. ‘I didn’t get any message. Mind you, I haven’t been there for a few days, so perhaps that’s why. What watch?’

‘Your grandfather’s watch. My mum had it. She found it when she moved.’

‘She’s gone?’

‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘Yes, she’s living with her friend now. And she found it in her jewellery box. She thought you ought to have it. Hang on there and I’ll bring it straight down for you now. It’s very nice,’ I add. ‘And it has your name on it, too.’

With which I turn around once more and head off up to my bedroom, where the watch, in its pouch still, sits on my dressing table. Which means I catch my reflection as I go in to get it. Which means I see my face, which is very lightly flushed. And also my expression, which is trying to tell me something. It’s all of a fluster. It’s looking at me strangely. It’s saying, ‘Wake up, you silly woman. Get with the programme! Gabriel Ash
has not come here for the watch
.’

And if not for the watch, then why
is
he here? I’d quite like to ask Spike but he’s still downstairs. As is Gabriel Ash. In my hallway, and waiting. But not waiting for the watch.
Not waiting for the watch
.

I pick it up anyway and head back out on to the landing, every single bit of me that isn’t nailed to another bit, trying to make a bid for kinetic supremacy and in so doing causing the sort of physiological chaos that renders me a wibble of jelly. Thus it’s with no small difficulty that I make my way back, step by shaky step, down the stairs.

He’s looking at me strangely. I lick my lips. ‘Did you escape, then?’

‘From what?’

‘The paparazzi. Your note. You said you were going to somewhere –’

‘To Exeter.’

‘That’s it. To escape the paparazzi.’ I’m back at the bottom of the stairs now. ‘What’s at Exeter?’

‘The Met Office.’

‘Oh, yes. Of course.’

Of course nothing. ‘I’m going away for a fortnight. Some research I’m involved in there.’

‘Oh, I see. Anyway,
did
they catch you?’

He shakes his head. ‘No. I told you. I gave them the slip. I doubled back at Tiverton and came here.’

I, I, I. Not we.
I
. My temples are thrumming. ‘Tiverton? But that’s
miles
away. You drove all the way back here from
Tiverton
?’

He looks like I’ve accused him of the worst kind of felony. ‘Er…yes.’

He manages the smallest, most fleeting of smiles.

‘But that’s such a…’

Suddenly I stall. I’m about to say that it’s such a long way. Except I don’t manage to get any further because something else bursts into my poor beleaguered brain. A fortnight? Did he just say a fortnight? In
Exeter
? ‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘Aren’t you…well, I thought. I mean…I mean, aren’t you and Lucy supposed to be getting
married
next week?’ What smile that remained now disappears from his features. ‘I read it in
Depth,
’ I finish lamely.

I think he’s probably about to chide me, as he’s already done before. About not believing what I read in the papers. Except he doesn’t. He nods. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘We were.’

‘But now you’re not?’

‘But now we’re not.’

‘Oh. I see…’

‘She’s already flown out to Antigua. Went on Wednesday.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I say again. But in truth I see nothing. Suddenly I’m a vole scrabbling round in a storm drain. ‘So,’ I say. ‘You decided to postpone after all, then?’ The watch, in its pouch, is growing warm in my hand. ‘I must admit, it did seem as if it would be a terrible rush. What with all those politics to sort.’ I pull a sympathetic face. ‘And so on.’ He doesn’t join in. And I can’t bear the silence. So on I go. ‘I guess it makes much more sense to postpone it till after. Though whether fur will still be
de rigueur
next year, I don’t know.’

He doesn’t laugh. In fact, he looks as if this is actually no laughing matter. ‘No,’ he says. ‘No, Abbie. We haven’t postponed it. We’re not
getting
married. Not now. Not at all.’

Chapter 29

M
Y HAND FLIES TO
my mouth at this point, because that’s the kind of thing hands do in situations like this. All by itself. Whump. And there it stays. Stays long enough for me to allow all this to sink in. And, boy, it sinks quick. Like a stone. Then bobs back to the surface and brings a friend with it. Why didn’t it occur to me before? No wonder he’s looking so stressed. So
unhappy
. No wonder. It’s
happened
. Candice was
right
.

And here’s me twittering on at him like a mad woman and cracking jokes. What an idiot I am. ‘Oh, my God, Gabriel,’ I say. ‘I am so, so sorry.’ And then I’m all out of ideas of what to say next. Because what
do
you say when someone says something like that to you? You think you can, but when it happens, you actually
can’t
. You can hardly quip ‘plenty more fish in the sea’. Or ‘all for the best’, or ‘everything happens for a reason’. Platitudes, all of them. Useless bloody platitudes. The very last things he’s going to want to hear right now. And I can’t even offer him a bracing cup of tea, because I’ve already offered him a coffee. All I can do is stand here and say sorry.

So I say it again. At which he points to the watch. Clearly he doesn’t wish to dwell. Shut
up
, Abbie.

‘Can I see that?’

I’m all flustered. ‘Um…yes. Yes, of course.’ I pass it to him and he slides it into his palm. Then he opens it, reads the inscription inside, and another small smile comes to visit his features. Then he snaps it back shut and slips it back into the pouch. What on earth’s going on inside that beautiful head? All I know is that he’s here. And that I don’t know what to say.

But I have to say something. So I haul out my standard physiotherapy default. I touch his arm. ‘D’you want to talk about it?’ I say.

He considers for a moment then he shakes his head slightly. ‘Not right now,’ he says. ‘Later. Yes, later. Not now.’

Later? What later?
When
later, exactly? I take a good gulp of air. Fair enough. O
kay
. But if not that, what
now
? What
does
he want from me? Sympathy? Marriage guidance? A hug? He’s come here for
something
. And it’s not for the watch. I gesture to it. In for a penny and all that. ‘Gabriel,’ I ask him. My head is now reeling. ‘If you didn’t come to get this, then why
did
you come here?’

His frown burrows deeper. Making waves on his forehead. He seems to be finding this question somewhat of a poser all of a sudden. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and then chews on his lip for a bit. As so often before, I’m immediately struck by the sense that he’s fishing around in that muddled male brain of his, and failing to find anything useful.

And then he does something completely unexpected. He plunges a hand into a pocket in his coat and pulls out a small rubber bone. It’s not quite like the one that was purloined by the Airedale. But similar. He stoops down to give it to Spike. Then he speaks to him too. I am now quite at a loss.

‘There you are, mate,’ he says softly. And he ruffles Spike’s fur.

‘Thank you,’ I say, stunned. ‘That was…um…really thoughtful. But you really didn’t need to go to all that trouble, you know.’

Not when you’ve got so much else on your mind. Not when… Oh, God, Abs. Just
not.

He rises. A touch stiffly. ‘No trouble,’ he says. ‘I was in a pet shop with my niece and I saw it. So I bought it.’

And looks almost embarrassed to be admitting that he’s done so. Or maybe just embarrassed full stop. I fold my arms tightly across my chest and observe him. I can barely breathe anyway, so it won’t make much difference. ‘Gabriel,’ I say. ‘Are you honestly trying to tell me you drove all the way back here from Tiverton just –’ I gesture, ‘– to give that toy to my
dog
?’

Now he shakes his head slowly. ‘No, Abbie,’ he says. As if only just having made his mind up. ‘I’m not.’

I unfold my arms again. ‘Then why
are
you here?’

‘You really need to ask that?’

‘Yes, I really need to ask that.’

‘To tell you I love you,’ he says.

* * *

There’s probably a protocol. There must be. It’s like Dear Sir and Yours Faithfully. Rhubarb and custard. Thank you and you’re welcome. There
must
be.

I must have seen countless films, read countless books, heard countless stories, any and all of which could readily supply me with an appropriate response to what he’s just said, but for the life of me, I can’t think of one that feels right.

There’s the obvious one, of course. And, to be fair, it’s the one that came right into my mind. As it would. Didn’t have to travel far, after all. Except my heart’s in my mouth and it’s getting in the way. I am dumbstruck. Astounded. Can this
be
?

Gabriel is still standing in the middle of my hall, still frowning, still filling the whole space with his increasingly agitated presence. And looking like he’s just had a communication down his earpiece that a low pressure system is due in any time.

Which might squash him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. He looks, if anything, even more uncomfortable than at any time I’ve seen him before. And quite possibly as pole-axed as I am. Bar Charlie, who doesn’t count because he says it to everyone, I haven’t had a grown man declare that he loves me for something approaching twelve years. He clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, searching my dumbstruck expression. ‘I shouldn’t have sprung that on you, should I?’

Questions, questions. I don’t know. Should he? Is there ever a wrong time to tell a woman that you love her?

‘No! I mean…well,
yes
, but,
God
, Gabriel. You can’t
mean
that!’

He looks astonished himself now. ‘Of course I mean it. I
love
you.’

Again. A second time. I
love
you. He
loves
me. ‘But –’

He grips both my hands now. ‘But nothing. I
do
.’

‘But
Lucy
–’

His face clouds again. And then he exhales. And it’s a veritable Mount St Helens of a blow. Then he lets go my hands, and brings one of his own up to my face.

‘Abbie,’ he says, and his voice is very soft now. ‘This has been the most appalling and wretched week of my entire life, and I’d have given anything for it not to have happened. Not to have hurt her. Not to have done such a terrible thing. But it
had
to happen. Because much as I care for her, she isn’t
you
.’ He moves his thumb across the contour of my cheek. ‘Why else do you think I cancelled my wedding?’

‘I didn’t realise,’ I say, feeling the warmth of his palm suffuse my skin. ‘I thought
she
had. I thought…oh, God, Gabriel, I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know what
to
think. This is all just…well. It’s just such a lot to take
in
.’

He lowers his hand now, for which I’m really most grateful. It’s affecting my balance. It’s affecting my brain.

And his too, it seems. He’s looking angsty again. Frowning. The hands go back into the pockets and then he’s off down the hall. Four strides to the dining room door and then back, Spike looking on, lead in mouth, from halfway up the stairs.

‘Oh, God,’ he says, as if he’d just whipped Him out for the purpose. ‘I’ve got this all wrong, haven’t I?’

I grab the newel post, for support. ‘Got what wrong?’

He exhales heavily again. ‘About you. About
us
. I thought you knew. I thought you felt the same…I thought…’ He’s close in front of me again. ‘Abbie, are you really trying to tell me that you had no
idea
?’

I shake my head. ‘
No
. I thought you loved Lucy! Why would I think otherwise?’

‘Because…because, God, Abbie, isn’t it
obvious
?’

‘Yes,
now
.’ Gawd, and then some. It’s dizzyingly obvious. ‘But before – I mean the last time I saw you and everything –’

He grabs my hand again. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I honestly can’t believe you didn’t know.’

‘Gabriel, I
didn’t
. I thought she…I mean, you looked so
unhappy
. I –’

His face is pale. He grips my hands tighter. ‘That’s because I
have
been. It’s been hell. To have to
do
that to someone…’

‘I know, Gabriel. I
know
.’ Which is not strictly true. I can’t even begin to imagine. Such a terrible decision to have to make. Such a big, big decision. To have to break someone’s heart.

And for
me
. Even now, I can barely take it in. He did it because of me. Because he loves me. And no matter how much I would wish things to be otherwise for her sake, for myself, for
my
happiness… ‘Oh, Gabriel, this is so
difficult
.’ I grab some air. It feels thin. As if I’m beached up at the summit of some mountain as well. Or up in the stratosphere. Up in the clouds. Above the clouds, even. He’d know. Yes, there.

‘All right,’ I say, because there seems little point now in doing otherwise, really. I’ve already bared more than my soul to this man. ‘Okay, yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, I thought, Gabriel. I thought lots. I thought all sorts of things I had no business to be thinking. I thought things I didn’t even
dare
to be thinking. Because however incredulous you are at the thought, I never thought for so much as a microsecond of an instant that someone like you would fall in love with someone like me. And you were
with
someone, weren’t you? You were engaged to Lucy. And so I unthought them quick. Because thinking them
hurt
me. So yes, you’re quite right. I had no idea.
Really
. I mean I did but I didn’t and I couldn’t have wished it because that wouldn’t have been right, and I so, so don’t want to be someone like my mother, lurching from one pointless infatuation to the next one, but now it
is
right, because you’re here and you did that for me and now I’m all in a state and I think I may need to sit down fairly soon. There. Will that do you?’

I thought he’d be relieved. But he’s not. Now he’s frowning. He lets go one hand and inspects me through narrowed eyes. ‘Can you quantify an instant?’

I blink at him.
What
? Can I? yes, I can. ‘It’s the same as a moment.’

He lifts an index finger. ‘Ah, but can you quantify a moment? You know, in temporal terms?’

I am utterly at sea. ‘I don’t
know
. You tell me. You’re the scientist round here, after all.’

He waggles his finger. ‘No, you can’t. It’s too imprecise a term.’ He brings his arm down. ‘But it’ll still do very well for my purpose.’

‘
What
purpose?’ I ask him. ‘You’d better hurry up and tell me, Gabriel, because I think I’m about to keel over at any moment.’

He looks around him. Considers. Then he takes my left hand, and he leads the way through to the living room. And then sits me on my sofa and then sits down beside me. And then gathers up all my wispy overgrown bits of fringe and coils them gently, oh-so-gently, behind my ears.

‘The purpose,’ he says finally, ‘of explaining,
precisely
, just how very little time it took for someone like
me
to fall in love with someone like
you
.’

Time stops for, oh, about twenty-seven years. And when it starts up again, he’s still there, just the same. But now he’s moving towards me and caressing my face with his fingertips, and his image is blurring because of the tears in my eyes. I brush them away because I want so much to keep it. Crystal-clear in my mind, with the words he’s just spoken. Because I really can’t believe that something so wonderful will ever be said to me again.

‘Or, more precisely,’ he murmurs, as he folds his arms around me, ‘not someone
like
you. Just you, Abbie.
You
.’

I never thought it was possible to think such utter twaddle, but right now, as our lips meet, it doesn’t feel silly. I really
could
drown in his eyes. Swim around a bit first. Feel their charcoal caress. And then just drift into the depths and die happy.

But I’m a level-headed girl and besides, Spike is watching. With his lead still in his mouth and a face on.

Gabriel sees too. ‘I think he’s feeling left out. Do you think we should take him for his walk?’

We
. For his walk. Should
we
take him for his walk. Yes, we must, and we will. And we’ll do lots of talking. About us. About him. About the watch. About my mother, and his father. About the terrible thing he’s had no choice but to do, and about how I shall make him feel better. About all the things – so
many
things – that I don’t yet know about him. But we won’t buy any biscuits, and Dee really won’t mind.

I stand up. I pick Spike up. I take him to the kitchen. I give him some choc drops and I plump up his bed. And when I go back into the living room, Gabriel’s standing by the window. Scanning the pink remnants of the low October sunshine, his hands clasped together in his thicketty gold hair.

He turns as I enter and spreads both his arms. ‘Spike’s tired,’ I tell him. ‘So he’s gone to have a lie down.’

He enfolds me between them. ‘Is that so?’ he says.

I’m in heaven. I must be. ‘Just a short one,’ I tell him. ‘A power nap. Half an hour, tops.’

He smiles then, and dips his handsome face to meet mine. But then he stops. ‘Abbie,’ he says, glancing behind me and smiling. ‘Why is there an artificial leg on your mantelpiece?’

I turn to look. ‘Oh, that. Don’t worry. It’s not related or anything. It was given to me when I left my job at the hospital. It was our mascot. It was supposed to bring me luck ’

His kiss meets my words just as my hands reach his hair. As gloriously golden as an archangel’s should be. Celestial. Perfect. He moves his lips softly against my cheek as he speaks. ‘And has it been lucky for you, Abbie McFadden?

I kiss him again. Just to be sure I’m not dreaming. ‘You know what, Gabriel Ash?’ I answer. ‘I think it has.’

End