The Beard (26 page)

Richard nearly burst into a jig with excitement. A man who valued traditional values yet was still a man’s man. He considered putting his arm around Tom’s shoulder as a sign of solidarity, but elected just to nod quietly.

“You’ll be up there with Amy,” Richard said, pointing to a spot near the top table.

Tom offered a generic smile to acknowledge what he’d already deduced from the seating plan at the door. “In my experience, being close to or on the top table means that the food will at least be quick. And hot.”

Richard chuckled agreement. “Let me show you around the grounds,” he said, gesturing towards the marquee’s entrance.

There’s more? thought Tom.

The grounds of the house were beautifully landscaped. The gardens, if they could be called such, were huge. The grounds offered both manicured landscapes and wild woodland. There was a stream and a pond thrown into the mix, too. Well-tended paths twisted and turned their way through the tundra, taking in large plantings of colourful rhododendrons, lobelias, foxgloves, hydrangeas and an assortment of wild flowers. The effect was as impressive as it was intimidating. Tom had only seen gardens like this when visiting houses of heritage.

As he took in the amazing Tudor beams that gave the house such a distinctive character, and the stunning gardens, he began to wonder if he and Amy could make a go of it. Lots of people have sexless relationships, he thought. Why not them? They already operated as if they were married. They socialised together, went out together and argued. What would be the difference? Apart from the fact that he’d be a millionaire-in-waiting and have a fantastic weekend retreat. Tom chuckled mischievously to himself. What would Ash think? Seemingly, he was prepared to deny his true self for a few acres of land, an ornamental pond and a house worth millions. The thought made him smile, although he managed to contain it within a look of admiration. Maybe he should propose to Amy this weekend. Everyone would be in full support and he was sure that he could talk Amy around. Working through all the improbable permutations of how he could sustain this life of riley, he sighed.

Richard stopped and looked at him. “I know,” Amy’s father said again in that disconcerting way of his. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? We’re astonishingly lucky.”

Tom turned to take in the view – a garden that stretched a few hundred metres to a generous border, a small stone wall and then rolling fields beyond. “It certainly is, Richard,” he said amorously. He may never be able to fall in love with Amy, but he could fall in love with this life. As he looked and admired, he also felt shallow and fickle. Then he decided that he didn’t care. He could afford to be shallow with several acres of land!

Walking back towards the house, Tom and Richard caught sight of Amy striding to meet them. “So, that’s where you are!” she shrilled at them both.

“Uh-oh,” whispered Richard.

“We were beginning to think you’d sloped off to the pub,” Amy continued.

“Now, that’s an idea!” Richard beamed. Amy gave a look that her father was all too familiar with. “Well, maybe later, eh, poppet?” he added.

Amy looked at Tom st
ernly. “Shall we go and unpack?” she asked. It wasn’t a question, rather a coded command. Everyone knew that, too.

“Better do as she says,” Richard offered, as if Amy wasn’t within hearing distance. “Don’t upset the commander.”

Amy sent a withering look back at him. “Come on,” she said, turning and walking off.

“See you later,” Tom begrudgingly muttered to Amy’s father, who, in return, gave him a knowing look.

“You will, Tom,” he said, glancing at his daughter striding off into the distance.

As Tom caught up with Amy, he sensed that he was in trouble. He also knew that he had the silver-bullet comeback: “You wanted me to make an effort, so that’s what I’m doing!” To which, realistically, she’d have no riposte. Given that Amy and Tom weren’t romantically involved, if Amy sulked and became difficult, rather than try to make up with her, Tom would just ignore her. In this climate, he’d have her family’s support, too. Amy knew that her sanctions for feeling irritated were limited. She also realised that Tom’s opportunities for rubbing her nose in it were infinite. This only served to annoy her further.

As they walked back into the hallway, Amy marched straight up the wide staircase. The plush carpet, bound to the wood with a decorative metal rod per step, muffled her stomp. This made Tom, a few whiskeys to the good, chuckle and Amy fume.

Having yet to witness the upstairs, Tom followed Amy along a series of long corridors, mini landings and balconies before she turned into a room. Throwing the door open – which actually creaked as she did so – she marched in. Their luggage sat neatly on the impressive four-poster bed.

The room was significantly sized, with an en-suite and space for a sofa, a dressing area and reading chairs. Tom gazed through the expansive stretch of latticed-lead windows that stretched almost the length of the room. The view of the church spire peeping out over a row of trees in the distance took his breath away.

“This is like a hotel,” he said, casting a glance to see if there were mints on the pillow.

Amy was busy unpacking her clothes in an energetically inefficient way. Tom watched her throw things into drawers, knowing that they’d all have to be rearranged as soon as this fit of pique had been dealt with.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, knowing all too well what it was.

“Nothing,” came the immediately curt and outlandishly insincere reply.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed and kicked his shoes off. Maybe he and Amy
were
married? It certainly felt like it. “OK, good,” he replied flippantly. “I might have a nap – I’m feeling sleepy after that drive and food.” He hopped onto the bed and closed his eyes.

Amy let out a grunt that would be more akin to heavy manual labour than unpacking.

“You alright there, sweetie?” Tom goaded, opening one eye. Amy offered him a blistering stare in return. “Give us a kiss!” he said playfully. Amy was in no mood to play, however, and stormed off into the bathroom. “Remember to use air-freshener, love – you tend to stink the place out a bit,” he said just as the door was slammed shut with some force. Tom chuckled to himself. He was married!

Amy was getting herself into a tizzy, but what did she want to happen? It wasn’t long before Tom could hear sobbing. He rolled his eyes, knowing that he’d have to go and “sort her out”.

Yes, she’d been dumped – or she’d dumped someone – only this morning. Yes, she’d thought she might have a future with him, but everything that she and Tom were now doing was her own creation. Tom was just playing his part – the part she’d begged, cajoled, bribed and blackmailed him into doing. He didn’t see why he should be reprimanded for doing it well.

Tom wondered whether a joke about Amy’s menstrual cycle would help. Then, hearing the sobbing continue, like a pathetic cry for help, he knew he’d have to go in and make her feel better. As he stood up and caught a glimpse of a framed family photo, he felt guilty for teasing her. She was under an enormous amount of pressure and she’d thought she’d be on her way to Thailand with a new man right about now. Couldn’t be easy.

Tom knocked tenderly on the door. “Amy, you in there?” He hoped that a dose of gentle, good-natured inanity might make her feel more responsive. Hearing nothing in return, he opened the door. Sure enough, Amy was slumped by the bath, her legs drawn up to her chest and her head wilting forward.

Tom wandered in and sat next to her. “You mad at me?” he asked her. She nodded. “Any logical reason for being mad?” he added. Amy’s head didn’t move and Tom knew that she didn’t have a logical reason because there wasn’t one. “What you annoyed at?” he enquired. He knew that providing a counter-defensive list of options would help his cause – particularly as he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.

“So,” he started, getting himself comfortable on the tiled floor, “I know you can’t be mad at me for doing the very thing you asked me to do. So I know you’re not angry because I’ve played the part of your boyfriend exactly as you asked me to do. So it can’t be that.” Tom stared at the top of Amy’s head for movement. “I’m sure that you’re not annoyed that your parents like me. I mean, you always said they would, didn’t you? So, no real surprise there.” Again, a glance down and, again, no movement. Tom noted that the sobbing had stopped. “I doubt it’s because I’m enjoying myself, because that would just be small-minded, petty and vindictive, and I know you’re none of those things.”

Tom knew full well that Amy would rile at that comment, as they both knew that was exactly what she was feeling. “So, I can only assume that this has just brought everything home to you. Sam going. Me getting lavished with attention. You getting ignored and feeling even more alone and desperate than you were before. I mean, if you came home with me, you’d be fêted like a queen. The irony! Although, I think my parents would know that you were a stooge, as I suspect they’ve guessed. However, that would irritate me. After all, here we both are, living a little bit of a lie. But while I’m getting showered with affection, you’re getting ignored. Doesn’t feel fair, does it? So, not only have you split up with your boyfriend, but your fake boyfriend is getting more love than you, and you just feel like… erm… well, shit. How am I doing so far?” Tom asked.

Amy’s head reached up and she fell to his shoulder as he put his arm around her.

Tom thought about trying to console her, but decided against it. He and others sometimes indulged Amy too much. She sidestepped responsibility and the consequences of her actions. As such, he wasn’t going to let her cry her way out of the situation. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “We can pretend we had a row or something.”

Amy’s head shot up. “No!” she said quickly. “I’ve never seen my parents happier – you have to stay.”

Tom smiled. “So, you want me to stay, you want me to be likeable and to be liked, and you want me to seem happy, relaxed and natural? Yes?” Amy nodded sheepishly. She knew that Tom was only doing what she’d asked. “Well,” he continued, “I was doing that and look where it got me.” Amy mumbled a sorry and wiped her eyes dry. Tom stood up and held out his hand. “I know this is really tough for you but, trust me, it’s not that easy for me either. Your parents seem like lovely people yet, here I am, actively deceiving them while enjoying their hospitality. I mean, come on. That makes me feel like crap. I’m conning them for you and I get it in the neck!” Amy looked down at the floor. “If you want to come clean about everything, I say let’s do it now,” Tom continued. “Now’s the time to tell them the truth. I’m prepared to do it if you are.”

Amy walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. “Was this your room when you were growing up, by the way?” asked Tom, following her. “It’s amazing.” Amy shook her head. Tom wandered to the opposite side of the bed and hopped on.

Amy lay down next to him. “I really don’t mind if you want to end it all now, you know,” she sighed. “Maybe that’s what we need. Maybe we both need a generous dose of honesty.”

At that moment, the door swung open. “Knock, knock!” said Amy’s mother as she wandered in boldly. Tom jumped up and stood to attention as if being caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Amy sat up. As her blouse had fallen from her shoulder, she was forced to readjust it, giving the impression that something else had been happening.

“Oops!” Judith said, looking at them both. “I just thought I’d check to see if you had enough towels.” The question seemed ridiculous. Tom and Amy stared back at her quizzically. “Never mind, my sweets,” she added before tilting her head and sighing. “I’m just so happy to have you both here.” She started to well up as they both looked back like naughty children. Amy’s mother sniffled and, closing the door, croaked, “See you later, my dears.”

Amy and Tom remained fixed to the spot.

“I guess that answers that question, then,” Tom said. Amy, frozen to the spot by a dispiriting feeling of guilt and exhaustion, nodded before collapsing onto the bed.

Amy darted into the bedroom, pinning the door behind her. She stood against it as if to stop anyone from breaking in. Tom, who’d remained on the bed reading the newspaper that, hotel-like, had materialised in their room, jolted. “Everything alright, darling?” he asked.

“Oh, shut up,” Amy said, walking across the room into the bay. “Dinner tonight,” she said before stopping abruptly. She looked at Tom, who was propped up on a mound of pillows, his conservative blue pinstriped shirt a gentle contrast to the white linen behind him.

“Good,” Tom said. “Lunch was lovely but dinner tonight will be welcome.”

“Oh, shut up,” Amy said again.

Tom put his newspaper down, using a cushion tassel to save his place. “What now?” he asked with an air of incredulity. Amy was about to speak before Tom interrupted. “Stop saying shut up and just tell me what’s going on,” he said tersely. Amy started to pace the room nervously. “I’m rather looking forward to a nice family dinner,” he added cheekily.

Amy looked up at him, wide-eyed and evidently stressed. Tom stared back at her comatose features. Nothing. She remained transfixed, rooted to the spot, staring at him. Tom wasn’t sure whether she was paralysed by the inability to speak or so overloaded with thoughts and feelings that she couldn’t extract a coherent sentence from whatever mess was going on.