The Nearly-Weds (25 page)

As we load up the car in the middle of the afternoon and get ready to go home, Ryan picks up Samuel and gives him a hug.

‘I love you, Daddy,’ Samuel says, kissing his lips.

‘Aww, I love you too, buddy,’ replies Ryan, clearly touched. ‘And I’ve had a fantastic time with you guys this weekend.’

‘Can we do it again, Daddy?’ asks Ruby, strapping herself into her booster seat.

‘I’d love to,’ says Ryan.

‘Which part? The horses?’ asks Ruby.

‘For sure,’ he replies. ‘The horses, the card-playing . . . and one or two other things.’ He’s smiling at me now. ‘I’d love to do it all again,’ he says.

My heart leaps and I scramble into the passenger seat, wishing I could control my heartrate. Yet by the time we reach home a couple of hours later, I’m consumed by paranoia.

Did I misinterpret an innocent comment by Ryan as him flirting with me? Am I imagining he fancies me when last night only happened because I was the only female within a twenty-five-mile radius?

Later in the evening, as I unpack my bag behind the closed door of my bedroom, I tell myself to get a grip. Haven’t I already promised myself that the fantasies I’ve been having about my boss must remain just that? I remind myself that my feelings towards Ryan are superficial. Lustful thoughts, raunchy dreams, escapism. What I think and feel about him is nothing like the deep, pure love I have for Jason. How could I have considered acting on it?

I hear a knock on my door as I’m tucking my bag beneath my bed. ‘Come in,’ I reply.

The door opens and it’s Ryan. My heart is pounding again.

‘The kids are asleep,’ he tells me, shutting the door behind him.

‘Oh, really? God, that country air must really have got to them.’ I laugh nervously. ‘Listen, I’m glad you stopped by.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. The thing is . . . um . . . about last night.’

‘I had a nice time.’

‘Well,’ I continue, determinedly, ‘that’s as may be, but with you being my boss and everything, I’m not sure it was a good idea. Besides, there are certain things I’ve been through in my life recently that may have affected my judgement. My emotional life, that is. And on top of that it would be terrible if Ruby and Samuel found out. That’s aside from the fact that—’

‘I agree,’ he interrupts.

‘What?’ I reply, shocked. ‘Oh, well, good.’ I suddenly want to slit my wrists. ‘I mean, yes – it was ridiculous, wasn’t it?’ I babble. ‘Stupid of us, really. I couldn’t regret it more, and I’m sure you feel the same. So irresponsible—’

He is right in front of me now. ‘No, I mean, I agree with what you said about Ruby and Samuel,’ he whispers, gazing into my eyes as he strokes a strand of hair off my face. ‘I don’t mean I regret it. I
don’t
regret it.’

I return his gaze and my legs go weak. ‘D-don’t you?’

‘Of course not,’ he says.

Then he bends down and kisses me. It takes my breath away and I panic about the effect that will have on my technique. But as his fingers glide through my hair and, with the other hand, he pulls me into his hard body I soon stop worrying about that.

Chapter 59

Three weeks and two days after our weekend in New Hampshire, I have sex with Ryan. That’s three weeks and two days after I promised myself I wouldn’t. And . . .
Oh, God!
It’s the most sensual experience I’ve had in my life. More tender than I thought it could be. More electrifying than should be possible. It’s gorgeous. Mind-blowing. Loving. Amazing.

I’m torn between feeling as guilty as hell and having a lottery-win-level spring in my step.

The one thing we are both agreed on is that this thing – this affair (
argh! Is it an affair?
)
–
has to be kept secret from Ruby and Samuel. The reason they can’t know about it is obvious and doesn’t need to be spelled out by either of us: this is one of Ryan’s flings, which, logic tells us, can only end in the same way as the others. And that’s fine when it only involves two grown-ups. But the prospect of Ruby and Samuel finding out makes the stakes far too high.

Both Ryan and I know I could never be just another girlfriend, particularly where Ruby’s concerned. So when it ends – because
it will end –
Ruby knowing about it would not help matters.

Anyway, that’s the theory. The practice of keeping it secret from them isn’t always easy.

Especially when Ryan pulls me towards him behind a door and sneaks a languorous kiss when no one is looking. Or pushes my hair to one side and brushes his lips across my ear as I’m attempting to peel the spuds over the kitchen sink. Or grabs my hand the second the kids are in bed and wraps his arms round me with such tenderness that I feel bereft when eventually he moves.

All that said, I still don’t feel confident I’m doing the right thing by engaging in this liaison.

I worry constantly about having such a meaningless dalliance solely to get over the love of my life. I worry about how one-dimensional such behaviour is. How lacking in anything like the depth and breadth of my seven years with Jason. And, as old-fashioned as this may sound, I worry about the sort of girl it makes me.

On the other hand, I cannot deny that fooling around with Ryan is making me feel utterly
fantastic
. I walk about in a permanent state of semi-elation, my heart beating in anticipation of the snatched moments I have with him.

In many ways, this is understandable, given my recent history. It’s as though I’ve spent months detoxing on alfalfa seeds and melon before being presented with a giant Galaxy Easter egg. I know it isn’t good for me but, God, it’s delicious.

Ironically, one of the side effects of all this is that I’m
really
losing weight. The extra pounds I was shedding gradually are now falling off at such an accelerated pace I’m almost back to my original size.

‘You’re in love,’ Trudie declares, as we drink iced coffee in Barbara King’s conservatory. ‘The only other way you could lose four pounds in a week would be a bout of dysentery.’

The children are playing happily in Andrew and Eamonn’s enormous sandpit. So far they’ve created a ‘castle’ that looks like a semi-detached in Wigan and some soldiers that appear so severely dehydrated they’re having trouble staying upright.

‘I’m not in love, Trudie,’ I tell her. ‘Really. I’d tell you if I was, but I’m not.’

‘Well, Christ, you’re doing a good job of looking like it.’

I sigh and gulp some coffee. The fact is, I cannot be in love with Ryan Miller. I fancy him. I’m having plenty of fun with him. But, much as it pains me to say this, I’m still in love with Jason. No matter how hard I’m trying not to be, I am.

Chapter 60

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Dear Zoe,

The new bathroom is a disaster. Your dad insisted on going with a local firm and look where that’s left us: with a whirlpool bath that doesn’t whirl and a power-shower with about as much oomph as a leaky hosepipe. Still, the tiles are nice. I got them to copy the ones in the Center Parcs brochure and they’ve very nearly done it. Apart from the dolphins, that is – there’s one corner of the shower in which several of them have been decapitated. But they were half price.

I’ve got an appointment at the doctor’s next week – this feeling faint and tired business isn’t letting up at all. I went on some website yesterday and I’ve narrowed it down to one of two things: wheat intolerance or pancreatic cancer. So we’ll wait and see.

I only hope it gets sorted out soon because it’s driving me mad. Linda, the woman who sits opposite me at work, was in the middle of telling me about going to see
Dancing on Ice
at the arena and I nearly dropped off. Still, she’s bloody boring when she wants to be. How many times can you listen to an anecdote about a triple pike, even if it does involve a pair of split trousers?

We haven’t really talked about this until now, but have you decided when you’re coming home for Christmas yet? There’s only seven weeks to go, you know! I could do with you being at home at least a few days beforehand – not least to keep your father’s decorating in check! You know he never listens to me about how to do a tree tastefully. Last time he was let loose on one he used so much spray snow the fumes set Desy’s asthma off and he nearly ended up in A and E.

I assume you’ll come at least a week before but, whatever, can you remember to pick up a new bottle of Tia Maria from Duty Free? Great Aunt Iris cleaned us out last year.

Love,

Mum

XXXX

Chapter 61

Ryan is in the kitchen preparing dinner, and the world has come to a temporary standstill.

‘What is it with men and cooking?’ I shake my head in amusement. ‘I’m sure this pot roast will be fantastic, but it does feel like we’re in the presence of Marco Pierre White when the Michelin judges are about.’

Ryan has given us a running commentary on every ingredient he’s put into the dish – all five of them – and is playing up to his audience of me, Ruby and Samuel so much that he’s clearly expecting a round of applause.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He smirks. ‘I’m doing pretty well. In fact, I should do this more often – I’m obviously a culinary genius.’

At least he’s being tongue-in-cheek – I think.

I pick up Samuel and let him peep into the pot.

‘I want pizza,’ he says. From his expression you’d think he was confronting the rotting carcass of a recently deceased rodent.

A chuckle escapes me.

‘This is a nutritious, home-cooked meal!’ says Ryan, pretending to be offended. ‘It will be nothing less than delicious – isn’t that right, Zoe?’

‘It’ll be gorgeous, kids,’ I tell them. ‘And, if not, we can sneak out to McDonald’s afterwards.’

Ruby giggles.

‘Traitor,’ Ryan mutters.

Suddenly we hear a voice at the front of the house.

‘Hello? Er, um . . . hiya?’

It sounds like Trudie, but quieter. She usually announces her presence at a volume only matched by the horn of a four-hundred-ton freight container. ‘Have I got five minutes before dinner?’ I ask Ryan.

‘Sure.’

Trudie’s in the hall, wearing a short flowery dress, the sort of thing that, on a different person and in a different size, would look like one of those stylishly mumsy Boden numbers. Trudie manages to look like an off-duty
Playboy
centrefold.

‘How are you doing?’ I ask. ‘I’ve been meaning to give you a shout about whether you fancy coming to the cinema with the kids this week but— Hey, what’s up?’

Trudie is never pale. That’s partly because she’s such a fan of Fake Bake tanning products she makes the average Wag’s complexion seem positively Elizabethan. But tonight pale is exactly what she is. Pale and worried. ‘You got a minute?’ she asks, her lip trembling.

‘Of course.’ I lead her into the living room. ‘Can I get you some juice or something?’

As soon as I say it I realize she needs something significantly stronger than that. Like a beta-blocker or five.

She shakes her head.

‘What is it?’

She lets out a shaky breath. ‘Where do I start?’

‘The beginning?’ I offer.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘The beginning . . . Well, let me
begin
with Ritchie.’

‘What happened?’

‘He came over today,’ she tells me, ‘and said he wants to spend the rest of his life with me – but if I don’t want the same there’s no point in wasting any more time together.’

I fold my arms. ‘So, what did you say to him?’

‘I tried to explain – well, sort of explain – why I didn’t leap at the chance of marrying him.’

‘So you told him about not being able to have kids? That that’s all you’re worried about?’

‘That’s all?’ she cries incredulously. ‘Zoe, this is a massive thing for anyone, not least someone who talks constantly about how he can’t wait to start a family.’

‘I know, I know. I didn’t mean that,’ I tell her, regretting my lack of tact. ‘Sorry, I . . . You did tell him, didn’t you?’

She bites her lip and looks out of the window. ‘I told him I love him –
really
love him – and that that hasn’t got anything to do with why I won’t say yes to his proposal right this second and that . . . I just needed to think a couple of things through and . . . well . . .’

‘But you did tell him?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Trudie?’

‘Not exactly. No.’

‘Oh, Trudie.’

‘Zoe, think about it. If I start telling him about my problems – that I can’t have kids – there’s only two ways it can go. One, he leaves me. Two, he stays with me, and I ruin his life by not giving him the one thing he really wants.’

‘But—’

‘Don’t go there,’ she interrupts. ‘That’s not even the half of my trouble at the moment.’ Her face crumples and tears flood down her cheeks.

‘Oh, God. What else?’ I ask, putting my arm round her.

‘It’s Barbara.’

‘What about her? What’s she done? There can’t be a problem with your work. You’re brilliant with Andrew and Eamonn. And they love you. And—’

I stop. Her lips are still quivering.

‘It’s my own fault,’ she sobs. ‘All my own fault.’

‘What is, Trudie?
What’s
your own fault?’

‘After Ritchie left,’ she says, between sniffs, ‘I was so upset I put the twins in their play-pen in front of
Jo-Jo’s Circus
and went upstairs to my room.’

She pauses.

‘Go on.’

She looks down at her hands. ‘I’d given up smoking before I came out here – honest, Zoe, I really had. Or, I thought I had.’

Oh, God.

‘I
thought
I’d kicked the habit. Honestly I did.’

Oh, God.

‘But I remembered I had one fag left in a pack of Marlboro Lights buried in the bottom of my suitcase.’

Oh, God.

‘I was so stressed out about Ritchie I just found myself rooting around for it. I was like a woman possessed. I swear I was so desperate that if that fag had been the last one in a machine I’d have paid a hundred and forty quid for it.’