Over You (31 page)

‘Go away,’ she said, heart hammering.

There was a pause, then another rush of words. ‘I’ve only just found out. He lied to me, too. And . . . I’m really sorry. I’m really,
really
sorry. I feel awful. I . . .’

Josie wrenched the door open again, almost sending Sabine flying from her position at the letterbox.

Sabine got to her feet, dark eyes apprehensive. Josie’s eyes raked over her, taking in her blow-dried hair, her cropped jeans and high heels, her sexy, strappy black top. Was that the sort of thing Sabine wore to pop out of an evening? Or had she dressed up for the occasion?

Josie wished she’d changed out of the top she’d been wearing all day. It had got painty round the cuffs from playgroup, and she hadn’t really cared enough to take it off. Now she cared. Now she felt a scruff next to scrubbed-up Sabine. Off out with Pete after this, was she? Duty call followed by booty call?

‘If I’d known about you, I never would have got involved,’ Sabine said quietly now. Her eyes hung on Josie’s. She fiddled with her hands. ‘I’m not a home wrecker, no way. My dad left my mum for another woman; I know the kind of damage it causes, and . . .’

Josie shook her head. She didn’t want to be in this conversation. She didn’t want to start feeling sorry for Sabine. She twisted the knife instead. ‘Did he tell you he has kids, then, as well as a wife? Did he tell you that bit yet?’

‘Yes, he—’

‘Very big of him! Very honest of him!’ She was sneering, she couldn’t help herself. ‘So, what do you want now? Why did you come here? For a cosy little chat about Pete, eh? Compare notes? Or are you just trying to salve your own conscience? Make yourself feel better about destroying my marriage?’

‘Don’t take it out on me!’ Sabine shouted. Her eyes flashed with emotion. ‘I came to apologize, but—’

‘Well, save it. I’m not interested. I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t want to know anything about you,’ Josie said, spitting the words out. Sabine’s face hardened, but she ploughed on. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to him. So why don’t you both fuck off together?’

She slammed the door shut, panting, before Sabine could reply, and gripped the radiator for support. She felt as if she’d been in a fight, a physical fight. She hadn’t actually done anything except stand there shouting, but her whole body throbbed from the exertion. Blood pounded through her veins, and her fists were clenched so hard her nails dug into her palms.

There was a moment’s silence. Come on, then! Let’s have it! What have you got to say for yourself now, Sabine?

‘Fine!’ Sabine yelled through the letterbox. If that’s what you want, we will!’

Josie held her breath as she heard Sabine’s heels tip-tapping their way down the drive and out on to the pavement.

Then there was silence, and Josie let out a great raggedy sigh of relief Her hands were trembling. She felt
sick

Oh God! Sabine had actually come here, to her house, for peace talks! And she’d ignored the white flag of surrender and gunned her down instead.

But what else could she have done?
Oh, you didn’t know
he was married? Well, that’s all right then! No probs – cheers for clearing that up!

As if. As if!

She slid down the wall to a crouching position. She rested her head on her knees, adrenalin draining away. It had been all too easy to paint Sabine as the villain of the piece, the self-centred husband-stealer who’d ruined everything for Josie and Pete. It had been convenient to blame her, rather than Pete.

It was disturbing to find out that Sabine was actually a victim of Pete’s lies as well. And it was disturbing to come face to face with her, close enough to see her smooth skin, sexy hair and Friday-night clothes. Disturbing that she was gutsy enough to rock up at Josie’s on a bridge-building mission.

Sabine might be lying too, of course. Playing the innocence card, making herself out to be a victim as well as Josie.

But why bother? Evil villainesses didn’t do that. She’d got her man, after all. Why should she care about what remained in his wake? Why stop to look back at the abandoned wife and children, bobbing about like debris?

Josie sighed. It had all been so much simpler when Sabine had been anonymous and loathsome. And now she kept seeing those troubled dark eyes, that nervous buckle of the other woman’s mouth.

I am not going to start feeling sorry for Sabine in all of this! she told herself forcefully, getting to her feet with a burst of resolution. I will NOT!

The morning brought a nice surprise. Not one, not two, but three postcards from Zambia. The boys fell upon them as if they were pirate gold on the doormat. ‘Look! An elephant!’ gasped Sam, staring at the glossy print on his.

‘And I’ve got a lion!’ Toby cheered, waving the lurid picture in Josie’s face. ‘See? “Toby”, it says there. Read it, Mum. Read it! Did Rob see a lion?’

Josie smiled at their faces and, as they clambered on to her lap at the table, one boy on each knee, she felt a beat of excitement herself.

‘Let’s start with Sam’s,’ she said, turning it over. ‘“Hello Sam, I’m in a country called Malawi, in Africa (a long way from Devon). This morning when I was having breakfast, a herd of elephants came down to drink from the dambo, a little river, just near me. Love from Rob.”’

‘Wow,’ Sam breathed, eyes wide. He gazed around the kitchen, as if half hoping to spot some elephants drinking at the sink, rubbery trunks draped over the work surface. ‘Elephants!’

‘Read mine, read mine,’ Toby urged, jiggling on Josie’s thigh.

‘OK, OK, take it easy,’ she laughed. ‘Let’s see: “Dear Toby, I’m staying in a big park called Kasungu in a country called Malawi. Last night when I was in bed, I heard lions roaring outside. It was very exciting! Love from Rob.”’

The boys were silent, drinking it in. ‘Can we go to Africa?’ Toby asked, his face alight. ‘I want to hear lions too!’

‘And me!’ Sam chimed in.

Josie hugged them both. ‘Maybe, one day,’ she said vaguely. ‘When you’re a bit older.’

They jumped down, clutching their postcards. ‘Let’s go and play Africa!’ Toby suggested, running into the garden.

‘I’ll be an elephant!’ Sam shouted, barrelling after his brother.

Josie picked up the third postcard, a vivid sunset over rolling grassland, the wide sky streaked with orange and purple. It was funny to think of Rob being somewhere so different,
so foreign,
when it was only a few weeks since she’d seen him. She read her own message eagerly.

Josie looked at the picture again, feeling warm, as if the heat of the African sun had stretched all the way to her own little kitchen.

‘The boys would love it . . .’ Oh, they would. Wouldn’t they just? But how was she ever going to be able to afford to take them somewhere like that?

Still, it was sweet of him to write, and to the boys as well. She could already hear the roars and brayings through the back door.

She checked the postmark. He’d posted it ten days ago. Maybe he’d started his new job by now. ‘Hope it’s going well, Rob,’ she murmured aloud to the empty room, then, on impulse, pressed the postcard to her cheek.

‘Oh, at last! I was starting to think you were avoiding my calls!’

Josie rolled her eyes and swung her legs underneath her on the sofa. ‘Of course not, Mum. I’ve just been busy, that’s all.’

‘With Pete? Has he come back to you?’

Josie sighed. ‘No. He hasn’t come back to me. You don’t have to keep asking me that, Mum, you know. If he comes back, you’ll hear it first, OK? But I don’t think that’s going to happen.’

‘Nonsense! You mustn’t give up that easily! What happened to Stand By Your Man?’

Josie gritted her teeth. ‘I’ve tried that already, Mum. I can’t chain him to my ankle, though, can I? It doesn’t work unless he wants to Stand By Me.’ This was turning into one of those games she and Stu had played as music-mad teenagers, where you had to talk in song titles.

Don’t Leave Me This Way.

Please Don’t Go.

Come Back and Stay.

Stay With Me.

Back For Good . . .

‘How are the boys taking it? Must have hit them hard. I bet they miss their daddy, don’t they?’

Josie glanced out of the window to where the boys were digging in the sandpit. ‘They’re fine, Mum,’ she said tonelessly. It was like getting flayed alive speaking to her mum these days.
Hit me! Go on, again! Harder! Got any salt? Pour it into the wound, rub it in with a scouring pad, why don’t you?

‘It’s so common, these days, isn’t it, for men to walk out on their families? I keep reading about it in magazines. Honestly – your generation don’t seem to know how to stick with anything!’

‘Mum!’ Josie yelled. ‘You’re not helping!’

‘I said to Louise next door, I said, marriage should be for life, if you ask me. Why don’t people seem to respect their vows any more?’

‘Mum, I need to go now. I’ve got something in the oven.’ It was a lie, of course. There was nothing in the oven – not even any burned black bits these days – but it was the sort of lie that worked for her mum, because Mrs Bell was the kind of person who always
did
have something in the oven, even on a hot summer’s day.

‘Oh well, I won’t keep you, then,’ she said. ‘Give the boys a kiss for me. Oh – any more fits, by the way?’

‘No,’ Josie replied. She’d already had the epilepsy conversation with her mum, who had advised her to take Toby for an MRI scan at the double. ‘Bye, then. See you next weekend. Yeah – love to Dad. Bye.’

Any more fits, by the way?
Asked in passing, as if she’d just remembered. God! Maybe that was why Pete had dumped her, because the thought of Josie becoming more like her mother was too much to stand. It would scare away any sane man, she thought gloomily, replacing the phone.

It rang again straight away and Josie glared at it. What now? More marriage-guidance tips? Another article her mum had seen on epilepsy and was thoughtfully going to post her? Or something as banal as a recipe for her lemon drizzle cake?

‘Oh, Josie, hello, it’s Annette, Oliver’s mum.’

‘Annette, hi! How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks. I’m sorry to ring on a Sunday – I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘No.’ Josie let out a short, self-conscious laugh. ‘No. Weekends have become a bit of a different concept now that . . . Well, you know.’

‘I do know. That’s why I’m ringing. I don’t suppose you and the boys fancy coming over for the afternoon, do you? We’ve got a paddling pool set up and a bubble machine, and with a bit of luck they can all get stuck in, and me and you can have a chat.’

Josie smiled. ‘I’d like that. Cheers.’

‘Oh, great. I was hoping you’d say that. We’re at number 17 so just . . . come over.’

‘Will do. See you soon!’ Josie put the phone down and ran to the window, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Something to do, somewhere to go. And on a Sunday too! ‘Boys!’ she shouted, waving and smiling at them. ‘Come in and find your trunks. We’re going out!’

‘Tea or coffee? Or something stronger?’

Forty minutes or so later, she and Annette were in Annette’s kitchen, watching through the window while the boys splashed noisily outside in the paddling pool. It was a tiny room, basic and bare, with bright white walls broken only by Oliver’s paintings from playgroup tacked up.

‘Tea, please,’ Josie said decisively. She’d had way too much booze lately. And besides, it wasn’t as if she knew Annette well enough to launch into an afternoon on the lash with her. She certainly didn’t want to do anything embarrassing like go off on one about Pete – which she was highly likely to do, given even a sniff of alcohol.

‘You’ll have to excuse this place,’ Annette said apologetically. ‘We only moved in a month ago and I still haven’t got everything sorted. Gary was always the one who did the Handy Andy stuff, so . . .’

Her sentence hung unfinished in the air. Josie nodded sympathetically, stepping in before Annette had to complete it. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I’m like that about the car. I’m terrified of something going wrong, I’m clueless about all that.’

Annette flicked the kettle on at the wall, and there was silence for a moment.

‘So . . . Where were you living before? Did you grow up round here?’ Josie asked, trying to steer the conversation away from ex-husbands. She didn’t want to have to answer any questions about Pete yet. She was tired of talking about Pete.

‘We had a house on the other side of town, me and Gary,’ Annette replied, getting out a couple of mugs from the cupboard. ‘It’s been a bit of a whirlwind, really, this year. New job, new home, new life to get used to . . .’