Sowing Secrets (30 page)

‘So you’ve been alone the last few days? Why didn’t you call me before?’

‘Oh, I don’t know – shock, I suppose. Do you know what
really
rankles, Nia? Alison is the same age as Mal, so I’ve been left for an Older Woman!’

‘You sound really down,’ she said worriedly. ‘I wish you weren’t so far away.’

‘So do I, but I’ll see you when I get home tomorrow … or will it be today when I arrive? Or the day
after
tomorrow?’

‘Whenever,’ Nia said. ‘I’ve got it down on my calendar that you arrive tomorrow our time, and I’m going to come and pick you up.’

‘No, don’t – I’ll get a taxi back. I’ve used the credit card for everything I’ve needed this week, but I’m leaving that behind, and I intend using every last penny Mal gave me by the time I get home. If I can still call it home. What
am
I going to do, Nia?’

‘Not panic, that’s the first thing. We’ll make a plan of action when you get back.’

‘I want my studio and my roses, even if they won’t be mine for much longer.’

There was a voice in the background again.

‘Gabe says your roses are doing well, the hens are fine, and he can’t wait to show you how the Regency garden is doing. The filming’s almost finished.’

‘I wish I was home now,’ I said wistfully, ‘without the endless flight, and the hassle of catching the connection up to Manchester.’

‘Last hurdles,’ she said. ‘Try not to worry too much. And one bit of good news: the Wevills have been arrested and—’

‘What? Nia, can you hear me?’ I demanded, jerked to attention. ‘Did you say the Wevills have been
arrested
?’

But the battery had died a death, and by the time it recharged it would be too late over there to phone her … it would have to wait until I got home.

Everything would have to wait until I got home, back through the looking-glass into the real world.

I left the apartment behind me with mixed feelings. It was a lovely spot, a hothouse paradise, but now I had to go home and face up to reality – alone.

Remembering the fiasco of my outward flight I pondered two survival strategies for the journey back. One was staying sober, refusing all alcohol and most of the food, existing only on water and
very
thin air; the second was to drink even more than last time in the hope that I would pass into a drunken stupor for several hours.

I plumped for the second, fearing it would otherwise turn into one endless Groundhog Day of a flight, and discovered that, providing you stay pleasant and quiet, the stewardesses just keep them coming.

When the shopping brochure came round I impulse-bought two tinned racoons, and had I not left the chopped-up remains of my guilt card bobbing about in Mal’s bottle of Appleton premium rum back at the apartment I could have done even more captive shopping.

Remembering that water helps prevent DVT, I drank lots of that too. Self-induced DVT is another method Dorothy Parker missed, but I don’t think she’d have fancied it; eating myself to death seems a much better option.

Having drunk and slept my way back to Britain I found my co-ordination was a bit shot by the time I arrived at Gatwick, and it was a miracle I managed the transfer on to the Manchester flight … on which they also served drinks. You could go around the world in eighty whiskies and I almost had.

But it was just as well, because when we arrived at Manchester everything looked grey and cold, just the way I felt inside, and a great big northern front of depression was sweeping across me.

Yawning and shivery, I weaved my way out on to the airport concourse, a drunk pushing an obstinate, equally inebriated trolley, wishing I hadn’t told Nia not to meet me.

A voice calling my name stopped me in my tracks, and not just me – heads were turning.

‘Fran!’

‘
Gabe
?’ Maybe I was hallucinating? I zigzagged nearer, but he looked real enough. ‘
Gabe
!’

Letting go of the trolley I clutched him instead, and found myself in a warm, strong bearhug.

‘But why are you here? Everything’s all right, isn’t it? Nia isn’t—’

‘No, everything’s fine, don’t worry,’ he said soothingly. ‘I just felt like coming to meet you.’

‘You did?’ I gazed up at him and tears came to my eyes, for this endless day had left me so exhausted I could have fallen on anybody’s neck and wept … though admittedly he would have been first choice. ‘That’s
so
kind, Gabe!’

‘Oh, well, I thought you could use a lift, and so did Nia. My car’s right outside in the short-stay car park, but we could have a sandwich or something first, if you’re hungry. Aeroplane food is so disgusting, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but I seem to have lost my appetite temporarily,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why, but it’s a pity, because I can eat anything I want.
Anything
,’ I told him earnestly.

‘Of course you can,’ he assured me. His face seemed to be receding and then looming forward in a very strange way.

‘Are you shrinking or expanding, Gabe?’ I asked him.

‘I think you’re very tired,’ he said sympathetically. ‘It always makes everything look strange. And what on earth have you been drinking?’

‘Whisky, whisky … more whisky,’ I said. ‘Gin makes you sad.’

‘Very true. I think you may feel pretty sad in the morning as it is. Is this
all
your luggage? What’s the matter with the trolley?’

‘It’s drunk.’

I let him take charge of it, and after kicking the back wheels briskly a couple of times it gave in and meekly rolled forward just like anyone else’s.

I was wearing a straw hat and a tropical dress with my jacket over it, and when we went outside I was freezing, which sobered me up a bit, I can tell you.

‘I’m really, really grateful,’ I said as we sped off towards North Wales and the haven that was mine … temporarily. Soon perhaps to be on the market, my roses sold into strange hands.

‘I’ve got to go back and short –
sort
– things out … decide where to go and what to do and … ’ I gave a great yawn. ‘Excuse me!’ Waves of sleep seemed to be pounding me down in my warm seat. My
very
warm seat …

‘My bum’s on fire,’ I said drowsily.

‘That’s all right, the seat’s heated,’ he said soothingly. ‘Don’t worry about it – don’t worry about anything now: tomorrow is another day. Why not have a nap?’

And I must have done, because that was about all I remember until we were nearly home. I came to as we rattled over the hump-backed bridge into the village and turned into our lane.

‘No,’ I said suddenly, waking fully as he slowed outside my house. ‘No, Gabe, I don’t want to go back home tonight. I want my own room in Fairy Glen.’

‘But, Fran—’ he protested reasonably.

‘No! I don’t want to be here alone tonight,’ I insisted. ‘If you don’t take me, I’ll come and hammer on your door until you let me in!’

‘Well, we certainly can’t sit out
here
all night!’ he muttered, and drove on.

‘Go and put the kettle on while I bring your luggage in,’ he said, opening the door of Fairy Glen for me. ‘You can have hot cocoa and go straight to bed.’

‘I don’t want a hot drink, I want whisky,’ I said mutinously.

‘I think you’ve had enough whisky. I’ve installed a shower over the bath, though, if you want to get under that.’ He looked at me judiciously. ‘It might do you good.’

Suddenly a shower was the one thing I longed for most, and I took his advice. When I came out, he’d put my luggage in my old familiar room and was waiting with the steaming mug of cocoa.

‘I borrowed this,’ I said, holding the dressing gown up with both hands to stop it trailing on the floor.

‘Looks better on you than me,’ he said, smiling. ‘Here’s your cocoa – and then straight to bed, I think. You’re going to feel like hell in the morning.’

‘I’ve felt like hell for days,’ I muttered, looking at the contents of my mug in disgust.

‘Try not to worry too much, Fran,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sure it will all work out in the end.’

Suddenly I wanted to wrap myself in his comforting arms again, but I don’t think it was personal, he was just the nearest big warm male.

In my room I opened the window and tipped the cocoa out, then found the bag with the Mudslide rations in it and filled the mug to the brim – anything to stop the cold, shivering desolation I was feeling. But even though I was exhausted my mind wouldn’t let me go to sleep, and after a while I heard Gabe come upstairs and go into the turret room.

When the soft sound of his movements had ceased I walked silently down the landing and climbed into bed next to him, and his arms came out as though he’d expected me.

He did try and resist – he got as far as, ‘Fran, I really don’t think this is a good idea … ’ before I made it impossible for him to say anything else.

My body clock jerked me wide awake in the darkest, earliest, cruellest hours of the next morning, disorientated and scared – until my eyes adjusted to the light from the landing and outlined an unmistakable nose and familiar knotted-silk hair on the pillow next to me.

Déjà vu
– only no camper van this time, just the circular shape of the turret at Fairy Glen.

There was no blinding flash of illumination to show me the chain of events that led me from leaving Cayman yesterday, or whenever it was, to now. I did remember how pleased I was to see him at the airport, and after that I expect one thing just naturally led to another.

But shouldn’t he have seen how tired and distressed and – well, frankly,
drunk
– I was, and not taken advantage of me?

OK, OK, it’s coming back to me and I’ll rephrase that to ‘he should have fought me off’.

I eased out of bed. He was sort of half hanging off the other side, and I hoped he wouldn’t be suddenly precipitated on to the floor so I’d actually have to talk to him.

He muttered a bit, turned over (fortunately the right way) and with a deep sigh was fathoms deep again.

Light-headed, I tiptoed out of the room and into my old one, where I scrambled into my clothes, found my handbag and sandals, and then let myself out into the lane.

Walking through the darkness home I felt disembodied, as though it was all some nightmare. The house was chilly and unwelcoming and I trailed through it straight to my bed, where I didn’t so much fall asleep as suddenly pass out with flying colours.

I resurfaced around six, feeling parched and with a headache trying to split my head in half like a coconut, but if there had been any of the milk of human kindness left in there it had gone rancid. I hated the world and everyone in it, but especially myself.

After drinking about six gallons of water I was just about to climb back into bed in the hope of another few hours of oblivion (please,
please
let last night’s recollections be just a nightmare), when there was a thunderous knocking at my door.

It went on, and on, and on … and finally I grabbed my dressing gown and staggered down to open it, more to stop the hammering echoing through my skull than anything.

On the doorstep stood Gabe, and even through half-slitted eyes and a thick fog of hangover I could see he was in an almighty rage. His eyes were practically shooting off green sparks and he looked like Thor about to annihilate me with a well-deserved thunderbolt. Actually, it would have been a merciful release.

Brushing past me, he strode in and dumped my luggage on the floor none too gently, then turned and surveyed me.

‘I can’t
believe
I let you do that to me again!’ he said furiously.

I stared at him dumbly.

‘What is it with you? I’m OK for a bit of quick comfort on the rebound, but you can’t bear to wake up to the reality? I should have known better when I saw you chucking your lover out in the middle of the night!’

And out he slammed again, practically grinding his teeth.

‘You
what
?’ Nia said, when she popped round at lunchtime to see how I was. She stared incredulously at me with her dark, bright eyes. ‘Are you
quite
mad? I don’t mean
sleeping
with him – I get the “in need of comfort” idea, and there are sparks between you two anyway – but what possessed you to get up and leave without a word in the middle of the night?’

‘I just felt totally confused and disorientated and sort of
frightened
when I woke up. I think it’s because nothing’s real,’ I explained. ‘It came over me in the Caribbean, as if there’s a plate-glass wall between me and the world. I had it even worse just after I lost the baby, but I thought it was anaemia. Do you ever feel like that?’

‘No, you must be still short of iron or something – and you look like hell. Couldn’t Gabe see you weren’t yourself last night?’

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ I confessed. ‘He was really sweet when he picked me up at the airport, and I – well, I don’t know – I just thought I would feel better in my old room at Fairy Glen. Only when I was there my mind kept going round and round in circles, and I felt so desolate and alone that in the end I couldn’t bear it. So I—I went and climbed into bed with him. I still can’t believe I
did
that!’

‘Neither can I!’ she replied, staring at me. ‘And did you get what you were looking for?’

‘I can’t really remember,’ I said evasively. ‘I’m so very tired, Nia. So tired, and everything is going round and round and round again.’ My words seemed to have started to slur into slow motion and my eyelids were trying to close.

‘That’s jet lag and booze,’ she said unsympathetically. ‘And haven’t you had enough yet? What
is
that stuff you’re drinking?’

‘Mudslide. Lovely stuff – last bottle. Last bottle
ever
,’ I said sadly, tipping it to see how much was in it, which was precious little. ‘Prosh … Prospero’s island – n’more rough magic for
me
.’

‘Just as well, you can’t afford to turn into a lush.’

‘Don’t be cross, Nia. I’m so very tired … tired of everything. I want to sleep and sleep and sleep … ’

Nia eyed me resignedly. ‘You go back to bed. Come round to Teapots at nine tomorrow when you’re back in your right mind and we’ll talk it all over with Carrie. Meanwhile, I’m going to go back to Plas Gwyn and have this out with Gabe, getting my friends drunk and exploiting them!’

‘He didn’t get me drunk, I’m quite capable of doing that myself,’ I pointed out with dignity.

‘Evidently.’

‘And I think
I
exploited
him
.’

‘It takes two to tango, Fran,’ she said severely.

I remembered to give her the tinned racoon before she left, though I advised her not to take the lid off. Mine was still captive.

‘Once you let them out it’s never the same again,’ I told her, but she did and unceremoniously stuffed it into her pocket. I could tell she liked it, even though she’s not a fluffy-toy person.

‘Speaking of letting things out, have you done the hens? It didn’t sound like Gabe hung around long enough to this morning!’

‘No, he didn’t, but I remembered when I woke up and fed them. There were two eggs.’

‘Then eat them, they’ll do you good,’ she ordered.

When she left she took every last aspirin and paracetamol in the house with her, even though I quoted Dorothy Parker and told her about my new take on suicide.

When I resurfaced in the late afternoon I felt like hell – but, strangely, not like drinking any more alcohol …
ever
. My head was splitting, but since Nia had confiscated every headache remedy in the house I just had to suffer, until I thankfully remembered the first-aid kit in the bottom of my suitcase.

After that, I drank a couple of pints of water and set about loading my holiday clothes into the washing machine, unpacking and putting everything away. Mal’s shirts always used to look so happy going round and round in the tumble dryer, as if they were waving at me …

I brewed coffee, but I still wasn’t hungry. If my appetite doesn’t come back, eating myself to death might be a bit of a non-starter, and even if I hadn’t suddenly gone off alcohol I certainly wouldn’t fancy drinking myself to death, because there’s something so pathetic about a drunk.

But when I took a good hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror I was pretty pathetic anyway. Gabe must have been either desperate or have strange taste in women, because some evil genie has trapped me inside the roly-poly, dumpling figure of someone else: a sad, pallid, puffy, exhausted little fortysomething that’s been taken down, dusted and then put back on the shelf.

Hello, whoever you are – you can have your body back now.

Then I remembered that I really
am
that dumped, roly-poly fortysomething: woe is me.

In the shower my skin was so dry it felt like blotting paper and I worried I might just swell up and crumble, clogging the entire village’s sewerage system. Afterwards I anointed myself all over with tons of cocoa butter and then gingerly applied hypoallergenic face cream and cool witch hazel eye gel to my poor war zone of a complexion – though funnily enough it’s starting to become fresher-looking after its inadvertent skin peel.

The sun and sea had made my hair the consistency of bleached pink candyfloss, but nothing that a gallon of conditioner wouldn’t cure. And at least now the allergy rash has gone you can see where my hair stops and my face begins.

Rosie called me, and although I didn’t intend telling her what had happened yet – unloading on your children is
so
unfair – it all somehow came pouring out.

Of course she immediately wanted to rush home and drive me crackers, like she usually does. ‘I thought he was being a total pig lately – but to leave you for his ex-wife! I mean, I’ve seen her pictures, and she isn’t half as pretty as you, Mum!’

‘Thank you, darling, but she is half the size – and Mal doesn’t seem to find me attractive any more.’

‘No, because he’s weird! Every other man does. Tom says you’re twice as pretty as when you were a student.’

‘When did he say that?’

‘Yesterday – email. What are you going to do, Mum? I mean, where do you stand about the house and everything?’

‘I don’t know. I’m going to talk it all over with Nia and Carrie tomorrow. I’m not qualified for any kind of job that would pay enough to afford the huge mortgage on this place, so I think I’ll to have to sell it even though I hate to leave my roses and the studio, and I love St Ceridwen’s Well.’

‘You bought the studio
and
the roses,’ she reminded me.

‘I know, but I don’t think I can take them with me. Never mind, we’ll worry about it later.’

‘And you’re not really, really upset and depressed?’

‘No, of course not!’ I said brightly, and sang a snatch of ‘I Will Survive’ to reassure her. ‘How’s Colum?’

‘Fine,’ she said, and then clammed up as she usually does. I don’t know why she won’t say anything about her boyfriends; he seemed very nice.

‘By the way,’ she added, ‘my friend Star – you know, the one I met surfing? – well, she’s coming to stay with me next week, and I thought I’d bring her up for the weekend if that’s OK with you. Then she’s off back to Cornwall again.’

‘But won’t you have to take some time off from university?’

‘I don’t have much on Mondays. It’ll be OK.’ She paused. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen that gardener man since you got back, have you?’

‘You mean Gabe Weston? I … yes, actually, he picked me up from the airport, which was kind of him. And he’s been doing the hens and watering the roses while I was away. Nia and Rhodri have – well, they’re living together,’ I explained.

‘Oh, I saw that one coming on last time I was home,’ she said. ‘There was something about the way they kept looking at each other. Like you and Gabe Weston flirting right in front of me.’

‘Rosie! I did
not
flirt with him!’ I protested.

‘Oh, no? Well, that’s what it sounded and looked like to me!’

‘You’re imagining things,’ I said with dignity. ‘I’m not interested in men and I’m going to live a single life from now on. Why did you want to know if I’d seen him?’

‘Just interested in our local celebrity, that’s all,’ she said. ‘Did you know Granny shopped the Wevills to the police?’

‘Well, yes, but I forgot to ask Nia what’s happening. I
thought
she said they’d been arrested.’

‘They have, and charged with the poison-pen letters. I expect you’ll find out all about it tomorrow and you can give me the dirty details!’

‘You don’t know where Granny is, do you? Only there was no reply when I phoned to tell her I was back.’

‘A mini-cruise on the Rhine, or the Rhône, or somewhere,’ she said promptly. ‘A last-minute bargain, she said. And she’s got her round-the-world one all planned out and booked now. Wish I was going too!’

She rang off reluctantly, but really, I’m not about to do anything stupid however miserable I am.

I sort of half hoped, half feared that Gabe would come round again for a rematch, but he didn’t, and feeling sad, lonely and empty I finally opened my tinned racoon just for something to cuddle and took it back to bed, where I cried myself to sleep.

I woke early next morning feeling
much
better – which was just as well, since there were two letters with Caribbean stamps on the mat.

One was in Mal’s handwriting, but I’d have known it was from him anyway, because on the back he’d added: ‘Save the stamp!’

Hello
? He asks me for a divorce with one breath, and wants me to save my used stamps for him with the next?