Pastures New (11 page)

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Pete. ‘I should probably go and explain.’

‘And I should really go home,’ said Amy, getting up only to discover her legs didn’t work. She realised that she felt rather tipsy. Actually, more than that, she felt legless. Amy usually kept a lid on it as far as alcohol was concerned, as in the early days of her grieving she had discovered that too much wine would inevitably end in tears. But tonight, the stress of the evening had meant that she had been drinking rather a lot more than usual.

‘Would you like me to walk you home?’ Ben appeared solicitously at her side.

‘I think you’d better,’ said Amy, leaning rather heavily on the kitchen table. Everything seemed to be swimming rather a lot. It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sensation, but the floor looked rather too close for comfort.

‘Whoops!’ she said, from a sitting position. ‘How did I get here?’

‘You fell over,’ said Ben, laughing. ‘Come on, let me help you up.’

‘I need to find Josh,’ said Amy, suddenly remembering her parental duties.

‘Drunk in charge of a five-year-old. And I don’t even know where he is.’

‘It’s okay, he’s right here.’ Ben had found Josh dozing on the sofa in the lounge.

‘I’m tired, Mummy,’ wailed Josh.

‘I know,’ said Ben, ‘I’ll give you a piggy-back home.’

‘Cool,’ Josh replied.

Amy, meanwhile, had discovered that if she stood up slowly and held on to things really tightly the room didn’t look quite as much as though it was spinning around like a merry-go-round.

‘Sorry the party was well – you know,’ she said to Pete.

‘Not your fault,’ said Pete, waving them both out. ‘Everything will be okay in the morning, I expect.’

Amy weaved her way through the allotments behind Ben, her torch bobbing up and down. She could hear Josh chattering excitedly on top of Ben’s shoulders – the cold air had evidently woken him up. With a pang she realised how much Josh was missing out by not having a dad.

But then again … the combination of cold air and drunkenness came together in a moment of absolute clarity. Maybe she should stop looking to the past. Jamie wasn’t here any more. And she had no exes queering the patch. Josh did need a dad. Would it be so bad to think about looking for one for him? And, whispered a little voice in her head, would it be so bad if it were Ben?

Getting in the house proved tricky, as Amy couldn’t find her key to begin with, and once she had, it seemed to have great difficulty fitting the lock. She couldn’t think why. Ben had to help her in the end, and the touch of his hand across hers as he took the key from her sent a frisson of pleasure right through her. He really was rather attractive. Particularly when she tripped over him coming through the doorway. Yes, Ben had a particularly attractive back. Amy was aware in some floating part of her brain that under normal circumstances she would have felt embarrassed, but all she could do was lie in a helpless heap and giggle.

‘Are you all right, Mummy?’ Josh wanted to know.

‘Fine,’ said Amy, although the effort of saying that sent her off into peals of laughter once more.

‘I think you need a coffee,’ said Ben, in a manner that she could only think of as masterful.

‘I think you’re probably right,’ said Amy, still giggling. ‘Come on, Josh, we need to get you to bed.’

When she got back, Ben was already in the lounge with the coffee. He was flicking through her CD collection.

‘May I?’ He held up a Katie Melua CD.

‘Ah, Katie Melua, top of every Radio 2 fan’s playlist,’ said Amy, before sinking down into the sofa.

She lay there listening to the music, which was pleasantly mellow. After the excitement of the evening it was soothing to listen to Ben’s voice, which was floating somewhere above her head. Her mouth in the meantime seemed to have a mind of its own, and she was vaguely conscious that all sorts of nonsense was coming out of it. But Ben didn’t seem to mind …

Amy woke with a start. She looked around the room and saw that it was 2 a.m. The lamp was still on, and someone had tucked a duvet round her. The front door was shut, but Ben was gone. There was a note on the table, saying,
You fell asleep, so I let myself out. Ben x
. A smile played on her lips. Yes, masterful. Masterful was definitely the right word …

‘So what have you got to say for yourself?’

Saffron was sitting in bed breastfeeding when Pete eventually came up. She had spent the best part of the evening crying, and her nose would have done Rudolf proud. Achingly, she thought of the sexy lingerie she had bought, hidden in the drawer under the bed. The idea had been to put it on for Pete tonight, but somehow, she’d lost the urge. And anyway, how likely was he to want to have sex with a red-nosed blobby mess? She wasn’t quite sure what had upset her most, Gerry’s snipe about her being frigid (which had hit home because it was probably true), Pete’s stupid reaction (which she knew she should have felt pleased about, but couldn’t as she was so cross with him), or her deep-rooted fear that Pete had only hit Gerry as a gesture; that underneath it all he knew Gerry was right. His wife
was
frigid. And at the moment he would certainly have good reason to think so. In the hours between Saffron disappearing and Pete coming to bed, her anger had turned to ice in her veins. Yes, frigid was probably a very good description.

Pete looked at her in a woebegone manner. He reminded her of a rather doleful-looking King Charles spaniel, which usually would have made her soften towards him, but tonight she was too angry.

‘Would sorry do?’

What more could he say? Saffron had no doubt Pete was sorry. Punching someone was so unlike him. She should forgive him, really she should, but –

‘What were you thinking?’ Saffron said. ‘What if the children had seen you?’ That was what had probably made her the angriest. All that bloody effort to keep the children okay about the split, and persuade them to accept Pete into their lives (not that they needed all that much persuading; young as they were they had already clocked how useless their dad was), and now her ex and her husband had resorted to fistfights. Where the bloody hell did they go from here?

She felt her frigidity melt, and suddenly she was crying again. Actually, bawling was a better word for it Noisy, sniffling, howling sobs came out of her. Saffron wished she could cry daintily like women did in the movies, with soft little tears trickling down her cheek, but she’d never been able to manage it. Christ, she must look such a fright.

‘You’ll have to go and apologise to him in the morning,’ she said.

‘Saff, I am not going to apologise to that twat ever,’ said Pete. ‘He started it. He had no right saying what he did about you. I’m sorry you’re upset, but I couldn’t let him stand there and insult you like that.’

‘Yes, you could. Anyway, he’s right, isn’t he? I
am
bloody frigid. We’ve hardly had sex since Ellie was born. You’ll end up leaving me too.’

Pete sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked at her in dismay.

‘Where the bloody hell has that come from?’ he said. ‘I know it’s been a while, but we’ve got a new baby and we’re both really tired. Come on, Saff, this isn’t like you.’

‘But that’s what happened with Gerry,’ wailed Saffron. ‘And he left me.’

‘When will you get it into your thick head that I am not Gerry?’ said Pete. ‘Look, if it bothers you that much, I’ll go and grovel to him in the morning, okay?’

‘You will?’ Saffron gave him a watery smile.

‘Yes. And for the record,’ said Pete, as he got undressed and climbed into bed, ‘Gerry was talking out of his arse. You aren’t frigid. And now that baby has gone to sleep, I’m going to prove it to you.’

‘What, you still want to shag a red-nosed Mrs Blobby?’ Saffron said, still sniffling.

‘You’re not blobby, you’re curvy. Curves are nice. They’re sexy. You’re sexy. So shut up, put that baby in her cot, and let me ravish you.’

‘So you really don’t think I’m frigid?’

‘Of course I don’t,’ said Pete, kissing her firmly on the mouth. ‘Now do shut up and let me show you how sexy I find you.’

Saffron shut her eyes and sighed with relief. Pete was right. Everything would be fine. If she only relaxed into things, her libido would come back of its own accord. As she cuddled up to Pete, she started to relax, and feel, if not sexy, cosy. Comfortable. And as Pete began
to run his hands over her, to her relief she felt her body respond. She was making mountains out of molehills. She was married to a gorgeous man who adored her. And who right now was actually managing to turn her on. Maybe everything would be all right.

‘Waa-aah-ahh.’ The baby set up a deeply persistent cry.

‘Ignore her,’ Pete said, stroking her shoulders.

‘Waa-aah-aahh! Waa-aaa-aahh!’ The cry became more insistent.

No, no,
no
! Saffron was furious. Just when she had started to feel something.

The baby was wailing at full pelt now.

‘I don’t think she’s going to stop, do you?’ said Saffron miserably.

Pete rolled over, turned the light on and looked at her ruefully.

‘Go on,’ he said, nudging her. ‘There’s always tomorrow.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Saffron with a sigh. ‘She can’t still be hungry.’ She picked the baby up and burped her, but Ellie still didn’t seem to settle, so Saffron got out of bed and went to change her nappy. By the time she got back into bed, Pete was lying flat on his back, snoring loudly. Saffron tried to put Ellie down again but she still wouldn’t go to sleep. Apparently she
could
still be hungry. Feeling decidedly cheated, Saffron clamped the baby to her breast and sat staring into the darkness.

Ben stood in his lounge, with a beer in hand, staring across the dark allotments to Amy’s house. He could just make out a dim light, where he had left the lamp on for her. He smiled at the image of her curled up under the duvet he had found for her. He had known Amy was attractive, but not how funny and sexy she could be. Tonight had been like scales falling from his eyes. It had taken all his self-control to leave.

‘Jamie bought that for me,’ Amy had said, when she saw his choice of CD.

‘Do you mind?’ he’d asked.

‘Not at all,’ she’d replied, flopping down on the sofa, ‘it’s perfect for an evening like this.’

‘An evening like what?’ Ben had asked.

Amy had looked at him with a slightly quizzical look in her eye, and waved her arm vaguely around the room.

‘An evening like this, when it’s late and you’ve got good company.’

‘I’ll second that,’ Ben had said, and sipped his coffee. He’d relaxed back in his chair for a moment, letting the music flow softly over him. There hadn’t seemed any need to talk.

‘I bet they call you the dishy doc, don’t they?’ Amy had said brazenly.

‘I really have no idea,’ he’d answered.

‘I bet they do,’ continued Amy, shutting her eyes and leaning back on the sofa. ‘It’s cos you’re so masterful, I expect.’

‘Masterful?’ Ben had laughed. ‘I hardly think so. You must have got the wrong bloke.’

‘Nope, masterful’s right, I’d say,’ declared Amy, one eye peeping playfully open. She couldn’t be – was she flirting with him? ‘Why don’t you sit here where it’s more comfortable?’

Damn it, she
was
flirting with him. He’d found himself staring at those liquid brown eyes, wondering whether he should flirt back. Funny how he had never noticed them before.

‘I just realised I’m lucky, you know,’ said Amy, slurring her words ever so slightly.

Ben had been rather taken aback with this sudden change of tack, and said, ‘Oh, why?’

‘I don’t have an ex,’ she’d said. ‘Look at all that crap that Saffron went through tonight. I don’t have that. I’m young, free and single. I should probably start dating again.’

Ben swallowed. What was she saying? She seemed to be making it plain that she wouldn’t knock him back. Should he make a move?

‘Mind you,’ Amy had continued, ‘just because I’m single doesn’t mean I haven’t got baggage. There’s Josh for a start – he needs a dad. I should find him a dad. But where can I find one …’

Her tone was teasingly playful, and she’d given Ben such a look, he’d felt as though she had stripped him bare, and exposed his innermost thoughts.

‘Where indeed?’ Ben had kept his voice deliberately light. This was where he should go over and put his arm around her, and …

Except he couldn’t, of course. Amy was drunk. And there were reminders of Jamie everywhere – pictures
on the wall, the presence of Josh upstairs, even the Katie Melua CD. Much as Ben would love to kiss her

– and much as he felt Amy wouldn’t rebuff him – he just couldn’t do it. He’d spent so long procrastinating that it had taken a while for it to dawn on him that Amy was asleep.

His decision was made for him. He’d found a duvet from the spare room – he hadn’t liked to go in her room – popped it over her and quietly let himself out.

He couldn’t have taken advantage of her when she was vulnerable, that much was certain. It was absolutely, definitely, the right thing to do. But now, standing here, looking across to where he knew Amy was sleeping, Ben was already regretting it deeply.

‘Mummeee!!’ A speeding bullet landed
thump
on Amy’s chest. ‘Canigodownstairsandwatchtvthankyou?’

‘Wha—?’ Amy opened bleary eyes and looked across at the clock. Ten o’clock already? She never normally slept that late; neither did Josh. Mind you, it had been a late evening. She and Ben hadn’t got back till nearly eleven, and then Ben had stayed for – actually, she had no idea how long Ben had stayed for. After waking up with the duvet wrapped round her she’d staggered up to bed. Her recollections of the latter part of the evening were hazy to say the least. Her head was thumping and her mouth was very dry. Lord, she had the hangover from hell. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had one.

Well, at least she hadn’t burst into tears and made a fool of herself like the last time – a few months after Jamie’s death. That time she’d gone to a dinner party, which had proved agony, with all the other wives looking daggers at her expecting her to pounce on their husbands at any minute, and all the men looking awkward, not knowing what to say. Out of pure nerves she had ended up sinking the best part of two bottles of wine on her own, and weeping in the kitchen on the shoulder of someone she had once considered a friend, but who clearly had no capacity for dealing with the situation.

She had left the dinner party early, conscious of having ruined it for everyone, and sworn from that day she would stay sober. Which she had done, pretty much, up until now. And, searching the memory banks, she didn’t think she’d made too much of an idiot of herself …

‘Where’s Ben?’ Josh, who was doing a good impression of a bouncing bean, was leaping up and down next to her.

‘Gone home,’ said Amy.

‘When can he come again?’ said Josh. ‘I like Ben. Can he be my new dad?’

New dad
… where had she heard that before? A vague alarm bell rang in her brain.

‘Don’t be silly, Josh,’ said Amy. ‘Ben would have to marry me first.’

‘Well, why doesn’t he then?’ said Josh.

‘Because he doesn’t want to,’ said Amy. ‘Go on, Tigger, why don’t you go and turn the TV on?’

The alarm bells weren’t just ringing now, they were practically pealing in her head. Suddenly the events of the previous evening came flooding back. She had come in and sat on the sofa, and flirted with Ben. She, Amy Nicolson, had flirted with a man! What on earth had she been thinking? It must have been the alcohol. It wasn’t as if she fancied Ben, after all …

But now her cheeks flamed as she remembered telling him he was dishy, and that she was looking for a new dad for Josh. What must he think of her? And God, had she really told Ben he was masterful?

‘Masterful?’ said Amy out loud. ‘Where the hell did that come from? It sounds like something from a trashy novel.’

She cringed under the duvet. How on earth was she ever going to face Ben again? He must think her a complete idiot. The fact that he had left her asleep showed he wasn’t interested, for which she should be grateful, but she had to face it: she had really cocked up. Her only hope was that he had been drunk too. She was clutching at straws, she knew, but maybe, just maybe, his recollection of events would be even hazier than hers.

There was a ring on the doorbell. Who on earth could that be?

‘Mummy,’ yelled Josh. ‘I think Ben’s at the door.’