Beautiful Losers: A Novel of Suspense (18 page)

forty-one

“Don't you think Crozes-Hermitage
smells of horse piss?” I thought it screechingly funny. Everything seemed hilarious. Even Chris bunking off with the games teacher amused me. It seemed so commonplace and predictable. I'd met the bitch once. Carolla Dennison. Unusual name. Great figure. Pretty face. No scars.

We'd drunk Andy's peace offering in record time and were
three-quarters
through our second bottle. The flowers were for my birthday, he explained. The party had been postponed—too many people away or unable to make it. Jen had opted for a girls' night, instead.

“How long had it been going on?” We sprawled on the terrace in deck chairs, a couple of straw hats planted on our heads. Andy wore his lightly tipped over his face at a rakish angle.

His mouth screwed into a frown. “Is it helpful to have a post-
mortem?”

“Probably not but, as a shrink, I specialise in them.”

He gave in with a smile. “I found out about six months ago. I think it had been going on for two or three months before.”

“Oh God. That's long enough to have a baby!” The length of time for which he'd deceived me sobered me up. Had I really been so dumb? How come I hadn't picked up on it? Because I wasn't there, I thought. Like an idiot, I'd handed the possibility of an affair to him on a plate. No wonder he didn't fancy me moving back. And that's why he'd bought a smart new motor, a means to impress his new love. In my inebriated state it all made perfect sense.

Andy was contrite. “I should have told you.”

I shook my head. “It might have burnt itself out and I'd have been none the wiser.” Who was I trying to hoodwink?

“In spite of all the arsing about, I really believed you two were meant for each other. You seemed so good together.” There was real regret in his voice.

I thought so too, believed we were made for each other. I took a large gulp of wine to drown out the sentiment. “Who else knows?” You couldn't do anything in Devon on the quiet. Relationships broke down and moved around as erratically as musical chairs. Adulterous liaisons were something of a spectator sport.

“It was kept pretty schtum. I expect the Head put two and two together. To be honest, I was shocked to hell. Chris was my friend. A dark horse, I know, but I never expected this.”

Tell me about it, I thought, grim. “Do you know where they've gone?”

Andy averted his eyes. “He wouldn't say.”

I struggled to sit up and abandoned the attempt. “Because he knew you'd tell me?”

He looked straight at me. “I tried to talk him out of it, Kim, honest.”

I looked into Andy's wide, open face and saw the concern in his eyes. “Thanks.” I rolled across and kissed his cheek.

He flashed a smile, lowered his voice as if letting me in on a great secret. “They were planning to go to the States. Carolla's mother lives there. Michigan or Massachusetts.”

“Hell, Andy, there's a bit of a difference.”

“Sorry, geography's not my strong point.”

“Great admission for a teacher.”

“Only if you're teaching geography,” he countered, making me shriek. I drained my glass unsteadily. A drop of wine dribbled down my chin and plopped onto my shirt. Normally, I'd be embarrassed. I didn't give a fuck and wiped it away, poured out more, and stared at the empty bottle. I wasn't drunk enough, not by a long way. “Perhaps we should drink a toast to the happy couple,” I said, tipsily raising my glass.

Andy started, as though I'd poked pins in his eyes.

“Well, I've got to be
grown-up
about this,” I said airily. “It's why I've decided to move away, go back to civilisation.” Grow up, straighten my head out, and get on with my life. Fresh start.

Andy sat up. He had a half smile on his face. “You can't be serious?”

“Deadly,” I sniggered. “I've visited three estate agents and they're all going to give me the benefit of their expert opinion.”

“You don't hang around.” He looked genuinely shocked.

“That's my point. I've hung around for too long.” And obsessed for too long. I was starting to sound like one of my own clients with an extra dash of paranoia for good measure. Not good. Not good at all.

I lurched to my feet and tottered towards the kitchen, bouncing off a wall as I negotiated may way to the wine rack.

“Bugger, things are getting serious. We're down to the last bottle.” I opened it with a tremendous flourish and, brain and feet muddled, headed back to the terrace.

“Don' look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“As though my knickers are caught in my skirt.”

“I'm not.” He grinned, eyeing up the fresh bottle. “But do you think that's a good idea?”

“Absolu … absolu …” For the life of me I couldn't think how the word finished. “Yeah,” I said, merrily splashing fresh wine into our glasses. “Pity Jen's not here to share in the celebrations. You did well there, Andy. Looks like we'll have to put the foursome on hold.”

He gave me an
old-fashioned
look.

“Did Chris tell you I've got a fan club? Very select. Jus' one member.” I lunged towards him with a giggle and pressed a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Don' tell anyone, but I've got my very own personal stalker.”

Andy gaped.

“You didn't know?”

He shook his head, astounded.

“'Course not. Dark horse. Chris tol' me not to tell anyone.”

“You mean someone's following you,” he said in shocked disbelief.

“Not here.” I gestured, waggling my thumb. “There.”

“Cheltenham?”

“Yeah. Police have sorted him, 'cept he won' go way. Keeps on coming. Got to stop him, the bastard. Sen' me stuff, borrowed my motor, porn.”

“You're not making too much sense, Kim.”

I agreed with a smile. Things were getting a bit blurry. There were now two Andys in the room and the sound of helicopter blades whirling above my head. Somewhere in my brain I registered that I was displaying a disgusting lack of
self-control
. What the hell?

“This guy following you,” Andy said slowly.

“What about him?”

“Have you actually seen him?”

A cruel laugh sounded out of nowhere. It took me a while to work out that it was coming from me. “Can't miss him. Got a face like mine. Well, bit of an exaggeration. One side's irresistible, the other, yuk.”

“And you're sure it's him.”

“Positive.”

Andy leant towards me, a determined expression in his eyes. “I could sort him out for you.”

“You're lovely.” I patted his knee and did my level best to focus. “My knight in shining armour.”

“God, you're pissed as a fart.”

“I know.”

Serious again, he said, “I mean it, Kim. If this guy bothers you, you let me know.”

“No need. All taken care of. You're a sweetie, Andy, but you don' understand. Mr. S. is in for the biggest shock of his life.”

forty-two

I'd been sick.

Eyes pickled, tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, brain in a
tumble-dryer
, I reached for the painkillers.
Happy birthday, Kim
.

I didn't recall what time Andy left. I had a dim memory of rambling about my dad giving me my first taste of alcohol when I was ten, a crème de menthe frappe, and instructing me never to eat spaghetti on a first date. Andy had coaxed me to eat a cheese sandwich and drink a pint of milk in a belated attempt to line my stomach and sober me up, not that it had done much good. The grease lay on top of the booze like an oil slick.

The conversation floated back in fragments. Chris. Games teacher. Stalker. Unlike on the previous evening, the idea of Chris falling in love with Carolla Dennison didn't seem the least bit funny. I felt humiliated. There was only one thing worse than losing the love of your life: the realisation that he'd never loved you at all.

Trying to stem another tide of rising nausea, I showered gingerly, letting the cool water mingle with and wash away a fresh surge of tears. Then I dressed in a
loose-fitting
shirt and jeans and went downstairs.

I
picked up the collection of envelopes, sat down at the kitchen table, and opened them, smiling weakly at the particularly daft card from Luke. Halfway through a cup of
heart-starting
coffee, the doorbell rang. I put a hand to my pounding head and squinted painfully through the window. Claire stood on the doorstep. Beyond, I spotted Claire's SUV parked in the drive, Charlie and the boys inside. When I opened the door I was immediately enveloped in a hug.

“Andy told us. I'm so sorry, Kim. Happy birthday anyway.” Claire wore a sleeveless dress, the child she carried conspicuous by the roundedness of her belly beneath. Our two situations in life couldn't be more polarised.

“Do you want to come in?” I glanced at the car. The suspension bounced furiously, Charlie shouting at the boys in an effort to retain order.

Claire broke into a smile. “We want you to come out.”

“Oh no, I don't think …”

“Birthday surprise.” Serene and calm, Claire slipped her arm firmly through mine.

“I can't. I've got things …”

“It's no use,” Claire said with a laugh, giving my arm a gentle tug.

“But I feel absolutely dreadful,” I protested, ethanol seeping out of every sweaty pore. My body felt as if my blood had reached boiling point. A sudden lurch in my stomach signalled an urge to vomit again.

“I know,” Claire said, her expression one of maternal reproof. “You've looked better, I have to say.”

“Had a bit of night of it with Andy.”

“Fresh air is what you need and a change of scene.”

The decision was already made; I'd be rude to refuse. “All right, let me pop to the loo first, splash my face with water, and get my bag.”

“Wicked!” Tommy gave an ear-piercing shriek as he emerged from the death slide, button-brown eyes gleaming with raw excitement. I was feeling at that stage in my hangover where it could go either way. Food would be the deciding factor.

“Are you having a go, Auntie Kim?”

Auntie Kim felt more like chucking up again. “Don't think so, darling. I'm not sure my tummy would cope. You go again, if you want to.”

We'd been on the water chute, the assault course, and the nature trail.
Super-dark
sunglasses in place, I dragged along with the others, hot and shaky, wishing that I didn't feel quite so horrific. The aftermath of heavy drinking left me weepy. Anything set me off. Claire's stupendous efforts to give me a nice birthday, my favourite chocolates from the boys, a shiny hardback glossily illustrated cookery book on Italian cuisine from my friends, and all the time there was the desolation that was my personal life.

Claire spread out a red and white checked tablecloth. On it were plates of sandwiches, quiches, cold meats, savouries, and salads.

“Hair of the dog, birthday girl?” With a sadistic grin, Charlie held aloft a bottle of chilled champagne.

I let out a long sigh and smiled weakly.

They toasted my birthday. Awkward yet loved, I let the burn of alcohol course down my throat. After an unfeasibly short time, my head magically cleared and I felt surprisingly better. I watched in wonderment as the boys fell upon the food, fat little hands darting like rogue hamsters, Claire and Charlie batting them off for taking too much in one go.

Slightly cooler by the river, I settled back in the shade of a willow tree and watched the picnic with benign detachment. I'd forgotten how good it felt to be part of a family, to have that sense of belonging. Temporarily, it made me feel safe, wanted, and valued. Why leave the place and the people who matter most, I thought drowsily? Why the desperate need to challenge and confront my fears, to play out my blistering anger in the blind belief that I could change the past?

And then I saw him.

He walked down the path, head held high, sunglasses in place, newspaper in hand.

He looked oddly dressed—charcoal grey pinstripe business suit. I wanted to say something to Claire and Charlie, but they were lost in domestic chatter, and the words refused to budge from my mouth. I slid down, flattening my back into the hard ground, hoping he wouldn't see me. Maybe if I kept very still he'd walk on by. Then little Harry got up and pointed to him. “Look, Dad. See the horrible man. What's wrong with his face?”

I held my breath, watched the hopeless look in Stannard's eyes, saw him turn and move towards me. He was calling now, shouting my name, yelling, steel in his voice …

“Kim, Kim!”

I sat bolt upright. Charlie had his hands tight on my shoulders. Claire was kneeling at my side. I looked around, feverishly scanning the woodland. No sign of Stannard. “Has he gone?” I felt extremely frightened.

“You fell asleep,” Claire said soothingly. “You were dreaming, Kim.”

“Was I?” I wanted so much to believe her.

“Honest.” Charlie's brow chiselled with lines. He offered me a drink of water.

Taking a sip, I tried to make a joke of it. “Delirium tremens,” I said, rubbing the tops of my arms. Heat spent, I felt icy inside.

Claire exchanged worried looks with Charlie. “The boys are in the playground,” she said, pointing to an enclosed area nearby.

I felt cagey. Was this code for
We're going to talk
? I reached for a Scotch egg, nibbled at it.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Charlie began, biting into a sandwich, “I never liked him.”

“Who?” I said, bewildered.

“Chris.”

“We went along with it,” Claire said, “for your sake.”

I looked at the pair of them, not really knowing what to say. “I'm sorry then,” I said, numb. “I'd no idea.” Like a wife who is the last to discover that her husband has been unfaithful, part of me closed down inside. These were my best friends and for four years they'd humoured me. Claire cast me an anxious look.

“He was secretive,” Charlie said, as if defending his corner, “something not direct and honest about him. You never knew what he was thinking. Of course, now we know the reason why.
Two-faced
bastard.”

Catching the mean expression in his eye, I wanted to get up and run.

“Ask him anything and he'd speak to you like he was some person you'd flagged down in the street for directions to the local cinema. Routine. Set of facts. No emotion. Then, without warning, he'd get bolshie and defensive, as if about to lose it.” Charlie narrowed his eyes in a way that spooked me. “Inconsistent, if you ask me, volatile, something missing.”

I knew all this, and yes, Chris had betrayed me. He'd abandoned and hurt me deeply but, whatever I felt about Chris's behaviour, I found the way Charlie talked disturbing. The corpse of my relationship was still warm. If anyone should be slagging Chris off, it should be me. Nobody else had the right. Not now. Not ever.

“We'd suspected for some time,” Claire said.

Hurt, I rounded on her. “You're my friend. Why didn't you tell me?”

Claire started and pinched the skirt of her dress. “Because it wouldn't have made a difference.”

“It might have made a difference to me.” My voice, against every intention, was raised.

“We didn't know who the woman was for certain,” Charlie said, clearly trying to take the heat out of the situation.

The afternoon suddenly spoilt, Claire called the boys back for birthday cake. I watched their shiny laughing faces as six token candles flittered in the sunlight. Out of steam, I blew them out after two attempts.

“Where's Chris?” Tommy said with a sly grin. Claire and Charlie exchanged uneasy glances.

“He's gone away,” I stammered, thinking how much I sounded like my father talking about my mother.

“Andy says you're selling up,” Charlie said, once the boys were out of earshot again.

“I've got nothing to stay for.” It sounded like a challenge. I supposed it was.

His pale blue eyes fastened on me. “You've got us.”

Afterwards we packed up the picnic and wandered back to watch a creepy
middle-aged
clown. The kids ate ice cream. I passed on watching a young
fire-eater
and went back to the car to wait. Hopelessly adrift, I felt that my brief foray into family life was over.

Politely declining an invitation to go back to the farm, Charlie took me home after we'd first dropped off the boys and Claire en route. Conversation became stilted.

“I meant what I said, Kim.”

“I know.”

He looked across at me. “About you staying in Devon.”

I looked straight ahead. I knew I was being an awkward cuss, but couldn't find it in my heart to behave in any other way.

“If you're worried, I could always keep an eye on the place while you're away.”

“Thanks, but it's not necessary.”

“Or, if you need any jobs done in the house …”

“Charlie,” I pleaded, “please, let's just leave it.”

He drove the rest of the way in silence. Pulling into Cormorants Reach, he asked when I was taking time off.

“Why?”

“Curious, that's all. Maybe we could all get together.”

All
didn't quite have the same resonance any more.

“I'm back in Cheltenham tomorrow evening and for the rest of the week. After that marks the start of my break.”

“What are you going to do?”

I lied without difficulty. “No idea.”

I said
good-bye
, clambered out, and walked briskly inside. In spite of everything, I looked for signs of Chris's return. Were the cushions on the sofa a little bit squashed? Slightly out of place? Imagination, I thought, nervously running my fingers along the cushions, checking to see if they were warm. They weren't. I was definitely letting my mind run away with me.

Food holding no interest, I poured myself a forbidden glass of white wine, clasped it in my hands as if it were a crystal ball, and took it out onto the patio, where the heat felt more dissipated. Like a maggot in my brain, Stannard burrowed in and refused to shift. His face swam before my eyes. Good side. Bad side. The memory of his voice was strangely seductive to my ear, hypnotic even.

How to get rid of it?