What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (8 page)

The rest of the journey is relatively easy, filled with
enjoyable banter with Annie, Pete (as I had since had confirmed) and another
guy called Colin, who had moved places to sit across from us on the coach. 
Annie is such a natural flirt with men; she has them both eating out her hand
immediately.  It’s fun to listen to. 

When John announces we are five minutes away, I peer out into
the overwhelming darkness, trying to get a glimpse of the area.  Barring the
occasional house lights I can’t see much through the windows.  When the coach
eventually pulls up it’s on a long gravel driveway.  I gather my stuff and
follow everyone else off the bus to collect my pack from the hold.  We then
traipse the rest of the way up the gravel drive to the house.  I say house...
It’s huge.  Like a proper mansion, built in the Georgian style.  It is
beautiful, even in the darkness.  I can make out a vast red brick frontage and
columns around the front door.

“Welcome, everyone,” James says as he fumbles with a key.  “I
hope you like it.”

“What’s not to like?” Annie mutters beside me.

“Oh my God, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I breathe
as I walk into the entrance hall and take in the expansive space and sweeping
staircase.  Portraits of stiffly formal ladies and gentlemen ascend the walls
to the first floor.

“Do we have to do the walks?” Annie grumbles. “I want to
stay here and play lady of the manor, please.”

“I couldn’t agree more – it couldn’t be less like home
if it tried, well except perhaps for the artwork wherever you look,” I amend.

“Oh, does Greg do portraits?” she enquires.

“Not really, I mean, occasionally he’s done them of us, and
we have some of those up.  Mostly he likes more contemporary abstract art; that’s
what he’s doing at the moment.”

“I mean it when I say I want to see it,” Annie says.

“Please, can we not talk about him?”

“Okay, sorry, subject closed for the rest of the weekend.”
Annie grins at me, making a zipping motion across her mouth, before grabbing her
bag and saying: “Come on, let’s nab a decent room before they’re all gone.”  We
run up the stairs giggling like girls.

The house is massive, and to be fair there isn’t a bad room in
the place.  Annie and I find a beautiful room, with a large open fireplace and
a small en-suite, that we bag.  It has one large double bed we’ll have to
share, which is why some of the guys are a bit more squeamish about it, but we don’t
care.  We quickly unpack our clothes, Annie cooing over my new dress and shoes,
before leaving the room to find our way back downstairs to the others.  I only realise
my handbag is still in the room, with all my money I would need if we were
going to the pub, when I get back down to the bottom of the stairs.

We can hear the noise of excited chatter coming from one of
the sitting rooms.

“I’ll join you in a sec, Annie,” I say, nodding in the
direction of the parlour.  “I’ve forgotten my bag,” I call over my shoulder, sprinting
back up the stairs.  I run into the room, retrieving the bag quickly and
exiting without a look, smashing instantly into a solid object and bouncing off
it onto the wall and then the floor in a little heap.

“Bloody hell!” a familiar arrogant and slightly exasperated
voice intones.  I look up, embarrassed as I inelegantly scramble back to my
feet, ignoring the hand he held out to help me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, squirming with awkwardness, only enhanced
by the physical reaction my body is having at his proximity.

“We seem to continually meet like this, Lily.  Where’s the
fire this time?” he enquires.

“We’re going to the pub, and I forgot my bag,” I say by way
of explanation, feeling like I needed to offer an excuse for why I was running
in the halls.

“Are ‘we’?” he questions pointedly.

“Well,” I stutter, “Pete asked Annie and me, and I think
Colin is coming, probably a few of the others too.  I’m sure you’d be welcome
if you wanted to join us,” I add, feeling obliged to make the offer. I both
want him to come and don’t at the same time.

“No, that’s quite alright, thank you,” he replies in clipped
formal tones. “I was just retiring to my room.”  To my horror he indicates the
room next to ours.  “There’s a spare front door key on the hook in the kitchen
you can use to let yourselves in with when you get back.  Just remember to put
it back up there, won’t you?”

“Oh.  Of course.  Thank you, I mean, sorry.”
Oh my God,
what the hell am I saying?
 
Why do I lose the power of rational speech
when he looks at me?
 
I am a 37-year-old woman, for God’s sake, not a
teenager.
 He’s looking at me with that arrogant but curiously entertained
expression on his face, and I feel a flush of embarrassment yet again.  I back
away down the hall for a few steps before turning and running the rest of the
way.  I could swear I hear laughter behind me as I flee – I really hope
I’ve imagined it.  This was becoming a humiliating recurring theme.

I detour until I find the kitchen and have collected the
key, before making my way back to one of the parlour rooms, where Annie in true
‘Georgian lady of the house’ style is holding court.  While everyone else looks
dishevelled following the long drive with barely a moment to do more than run a
brush through their hair, Annie still looks like she just stepped off a photo
shoot, standing and laughing in the middle of Pete, Colin, Arthur and Stuart.  The
blonde, whose name I’ve learned is Sarah, is sitting in the corner with another
girl, Rachel, whispering and casting looks like daggers in Annie’s direction.

“Lily, at last!” Annie exclaims when she sees me at the
doorway.  “What took you so long?”

“I had to get the key,” I say, dangling it in front of them
from my finger.  “I bumped into James,” I say, flushing at the mention of his
name and the memory of the accuracy of that statement, “and he told me where to
find it.”

“Oh, is he coming?” Sarah enquires from the corner, suddenly
brightening visibly.

“Um, no – he said he was going to retire for the night.” 
The oddly antiquated phrase sounds funny coming from my mouth.  Annie smirks. 
Sarah scowls.

“Come on then, troops,” Annie
calls, collecting us all together, and we dutifully march the mile down the
road to The Hope and Glory. 

It’s small but cosy, and I drink more than my usual in a
relatively short space of time, as do most people, so the walk home is all the
more entertaining for the meandering route we take zigzagging across the quiet
country road.
Thank God there’s no traffic
, I think as I stagger a
little for the umpteenth time.

“Steady there, girly,” Pete says, grasping my hand to pull me
back to the verge.  I giggle when he doesn’t immediately let go of it again
once I’ve re-stabilised myself.  We walk that way, hand in hand, following the
group surrounding Annie until we get back to the house, where I push to the
front of the group, brandishing the key.  After a couple of attempts I unlock
the door and we all pile through.  Annie immediately makes for the stairs and
our room, ignoring the protestations of her entourage.

“I just need to put the key back,” I stage-whisper to her,
the image of James’ stern expression immediately coming to mind, and stagger
off in the direction of the kitchen.  Key replaced, I return to the now dark
entrance hall and make my way carefully up the stairs and along the corridor to
our room. When Pete lurches out from a dark doorway and puts an arm out to stop
me going any further, I actually squeal like a small piglet.

“Where are you going?” he asks, breathing alcohol fumes at
me.  I know he’s drunk too.

“To bed,” I say assertively.

“Oh don’t, please,” he wheedles, trying to put his other arm
around my waist.  “What happens on tour stays on tour,” he whispers, moving
closer.

“No, I’m not interested,” I say, more loudly this time as my
anxiety level rises.  The sound of a door opening causes Pete to jump back from
me.  In the dark hallway I can see the light reflecting off two bright eyes.

“I think the lady said no,” a voice drawls quietly but
assertively.

“Yeah, right,” Pete says, backing away and looking
embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says, looking at me.  I just nod at him and watch him
depart.

“Thank you,” I whisper, lurching back towards where James
had been standing, but he’s already gone and all I hear is the click of his
door closing.

In the morning the light wakes me early because neither
Annie nor I had thought to close the curtains in our drunken stupor, and anyway
I’ve always tended to be an early riser ever since I had the boys.  I creep to
the shower before pulling on some fresh clothes, trying all the while not to
wake Annie.  I needn’t have worried; it seems she sleeps like the proverbial dead. 
A glance at my watch tells me it’s 6.30am, and I’m gasping for a cup of tea –
fortunately the only symptom of my excesses from the night before.  Thank God I
don’t tend to get hangovers.  I make my way down the now familiar route to the
kitchen, find the kettle, mugs and tea and make myself a cup.  The house is
silent.  I wander from room to room, discovering two more sitting rooms, a
games room which included a snooker table, a formal dining room and a library. 
I return to the prettiest sitting room and stand at the picture window, admiring
the view out over the countryside.  The theme tune to the James Herriott All
Creatures Great and Small vet T.V. programme (I had watched when I was a kid)
starts playing in my mind, and I start humming it as I stand there drinking my
tea.

“Wrong county,” a voice from behind startles me.

“Sorry?”

“All Creatures Great and Small.  It was filmed in North
Yorkshire, and we’re in Derbyshire.”

“Oh,” I say faintly as he walks further into the room,
embarrassed again. 
Why do I always feel so stupid around him?
I wonder. 
He’s wearing jeans, faded by years of wear rather than fashion, and a fleecy
jumper.  He manages to look sexy and yet dressed for the elements.  
How does
he do that?  What is it about rich people that they always have just the right
outfit for any occasion?

“How are you feeling?” he enquires. “Hungover?”

“No,” I say a tad defensively.  An image of him seeing Pete
off the night before flashes to mind.  “Sorry for disturbing you last night,” I
say, blushing slightly.

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Oh, well thank you anyway.”
Why does every conversation
feel so awkward with him?
I wonder
.
  I move to the fireplace and
pick up the photo of him with his arm around a striking blonde. She looks
vaguely familiar. I recognise the location as the top of the staircase in the
house.

“My partner,” he says before I ask.

“She’s beautiful,” I force. 
Entirely perfect for someone
as perfect as him
.  I feel a spike of jealousy. 
What right do I have to
feel jealous?

“We’re separated,” he adds.  My heart leaps. 
What the
hell am I thinking?  I’m married, for God’s sake!

“You need to be careful, Lily.”  He has stepped up behind me
now, and I can feel heat rolling off his body and his warm breath tickling the
back of my neck.

“Why?” I whisper, my mouth suddenly dry, but not from the
alcohol.

“You stand there, a naturally beautiful woman, looking
luscious and sweet with your kissable lips and big innocent brown eyes, and I
want to eat you up.” 

His breath is brushing my cheek now, and I have to will
myself not to lean back against his firm chest.  I can’t look at him, or I know
I would be lost.  My mouth opens slightly, and I feel my nipples tighten at his
proximity. 
Oh my God, he hasn’t even touched me yet
, I think in despair.

“And so do most of the other men on the trip, it seems to
me,” he says, stepping away again, his voice sounding less intimate.  “What was
your husband thinking letting you out alone, I wonder?”  Is that censure I can
hear in his voice?

“Hellooo,” a voice calls from the hallway.  It’s Stuart.  “Ah,”
he says on finding us, “I thought the kettle was hot so someone must be up.”
He’s totally oblivious to the overt sexual tension in the room, or at least he’s
choosing to ignore it.  “Need to wake up those others in a minute if we’re
going to get this show on the road by 9.30.  Some of them are going to need
breakfast, rehydration and paracetamol before any walking can happen, I expect.”
He looks at me before adding meaningfully, “you okay?”

“Yes!” I say it a tad more defensively than necessary,
perhaps, given the state of me last night.  “I didn’t drink that much.”  Both
James and Stuart snort.  I choose to ignore them.  “Want me to knock on some
doors?” I ask.  “I’m used to waking teenagers up, so how hard can a few hikers
be?” I say it for effect, to emphasise my family – judging by the smile on
James’ face, he sees straight through the tactic.

“Oh would you, sweetie, that’s great.  Face like an angel
and the personality to match – your husband is one lucky guy, eh, James?” Stuart
smiles at me before looking at James.

“Indeed he is,” says James, eyes on my lips. 

I literally scuttle out of the
room and up the stairs, wondering what the hell just happened there –
did
I imagine it?  Had he just made a sort of pass at me?  Men like James don’t
notice me.  My newfound freedom must be going to my head
, I tell myself
sternly. 
Focus on the task at hand before you make a fool of yourself.

An hour and a half later, and everyone is up and gathered in
the kitchen drinking coffee and orange juice.  The fact it can accommodate us
all gives an indication of its size.  A large oak table with benches running
along either side is the centrepiece.  Porridge, croissants, bacon and toast are
all available to eat, although a couple of the group seemed a little too fragile
for food.  I hear James explaining to Arthur that his housekeeper Mrs Edge had
got in some supplies in advance of our visit.

“She even got some food in for this evening, but I told her we
wouldn’t need her to prepare or serve it, so I hope someone here knows how to
cook a roast chicken with all the trimmings.”

“I’m hopeless in a kitchen,” Sarah whines before continuing,
“and I can’t bear to get food under my nails – plus,” she’s warming to her
theme now; “these extensions cost a fortune.  And if any break, I don’t want to
look tacky for the do tomorrow night.” James turns to her, and she withers
under his look of disapproval.

“I can cook,” I say in a small voice.

“Good, well that’s sorted, then.  You can be head chef, and
I will be your sous chef.  The kitchen is the only place I take orders.” His
tone is light, but I hear the teasing underneath it. 

Oh my God, I am starting to see sex everywhere
, I
despair.  Now I have the prospect of an evening of trying to avoid him in the
kitchen to look forward to, endeavouring not to embarrass and humiliate myself
any further.  I look around at the group, but no one seems concerned now the
decision has been made about who’s cooking.  Only Sarah is looking at me with a
scowl spoiling her pretty face.

“Morning, Peeps!” a lyrical voice announces, and Annie
floats in looking like a vision of loveliness in her skinny jeans and t-shirt. 
She grabs a croissant and a coffee before turning to me and asking, “What did I
miss?” 

I blush, and she laughs. 
Curse
my blushing
,
I think angrily,
what am I feeling so guilty about? 
I haven’t done anything wrong…Yet.
  And that right there is the problem,
really.

By half past nine we’re all on the coach again, with packed
lunches made and cagoules packed.  Countryside this beautiful doesn’t get this
green and lush without plenty of rain.  I’m glad for my waterproof walking
boots but still feeling a bit nervous about how I’ll manage with the pace the
group has set, considering how new I am to the whole exercise thing.  Some of
these guys have been working out for years.  When I raise my worries with Annie,
she just shrugs and says that lifting weights does not necessarily mean you are
good at walking hills. I hope she’s right and I’m not about to humiliate myself
yet again.  Still, judging by the state of some of the team, not everyone will
be operating at their best. 

We’re heading for the first peak, called Kinder Scout.  The
coach stops in the village of Edale, and the initial part through the village
and the first part of the moor makes me more hopeful I can actually cope.  We’re
following the brook upstream, and the gradual gradient is relentless, but I can
manage.  People have naturally begun to split into different-paced walking
groups, and I find myself walking with Pat, Pete and Colin.  Annie is with the
lead group, with Sarah desperately trying to keep pace with her from the looks
of things.  It seems Sarah has decided Annie is her competition for the title
of top girl,
or top bitch in Sarah’s case.  Jeez, where is all this girly
animosity coming from?
I wonder.  James is in the middle with Stuart, the
pair of them continually checking behind to see we’re still with them.  Or at
least that’s what Stuart is doing; James just seems to look at me,
or am I
imagining things now and just seeing what I want to see?  What had that all
meant this morning?
  I need to talk to Annie about it, I realise – I
need a second perspective.  

The ground has become boggy, so much so that in places it’s
almost bouncy where there’s a firm top layer over wetter parts.  Everyone
enjoys springing about on it until the earth gives way on Stuart and he
finishes up ankle-deep in bog, at which point everyone focuses back on getting
through it without any more mishaps.  It’s a relief when we get onto the firmer
ground for the last part of the climb.  It’s steeper here, but I keep up well. 

In fact everything’s okay until I trip over a rock and land
hard on one knee.  It hurts briefly, but my pride takes a bigger hit.  Pete is
beside me in an instant and offers me his hand, which I gratefully take, giving
myself a moment to rub my knee.  As I stand up I scan the group to see who had
noticed; only one pair of eyes seems to be watching me as ever, and they
actually look pissed off for some reason.  Pete has taken up position beside me
and continues to reach out to help me over trickier parts, and I just try to
ignore any dirty looks I’m getting from James. It’s hard work, and I barely
look up from my feet until we reach the high ridge.  When I do, the view is
spectacular: out towards Snowdonia one way and the distant smog of what we
think is a city – in all likelihood Manchester – in the other.  We
pause for our lunch huddled down on the side facing away from the wind.  I’m sitting
with Annie, but Pete comes to sit behind me.  His perpetual presence around me is
becoming slightly concerning.
Oh shit, now I’m going to have to say
something.  That’s just great
, I think.  
How much more embarrassing can
things get?

“Look, Lily, I just wanted to say sorry,” he starts,
sounding awkward, “for last night, I mean,” he stutters.  “I shouldn’t have
been so in your face.  You’re a lovely girl, but I knew you were married and I
shouldn’t have pushed like I did – I drank too much.  Will you forgive me?” 
He looks sincere and genuinely sorry, and I figure what the hell, he’s a nice
guy the rest of the time.  I want us to be friends; I don’t have that many of
them.

“Sure,” I decide, “I’ll give you a second chance.”  He smiles
with relief, and I smile back at him.

“Well, well, well, and what have
I been missing, please?” Annie demands.  Pete looks sheepish as he describes
the pass he made at me the night before.  When he comes to the part where James
appeared, I see Annie’s eyes widen slightly.  At the end of his rendition Annie
ribs him mercilessly, and to his credit he takes it, until Stuart announces it
was time to make tracks again. Pete springs to his feet with a look of relief
on his face and moves off to join some of the other guys in the group.  There
was obviously only so much he could take.

The descent is, if anything, at least as hard as the ascent,
which is a bit of a shock to me.  My knees are killing me as we travel along
the ridge and down Jacob’s Ladder. Annie is walking with me this time, mostly
in silence, with the occasional comment about the scenery which is astoundingly
beautiful.

“I think he wants you,” Annie suddenly says out of nowhere.

“Who? Pete?  Maybe last night when he had his beer goggles
on, but he knows the score now.  He doesn’t really want me, he just wants
someone.  He’s not married so he’s got nothing to lose,” I excuse him.

“No, not Pete, my dear.”  I stop in my tracks and look at
her.

“Then who?”    

“James.” 

My pulse leaps at the mention of his name.  I hadn’t
imagined it, and here was the confirmation I was after.  I pause before
answering, asking carefully: “What makes you think that?”

“So you don’t deny it, then?”

“I didn’t say that.  I asked why
you
would think he
wants me.  I mean look at me!” I say dismissively, pointing at myself.

“Don’t be silly, Lily, you’re a beautiful girl who is
completely oblivious to both your inner and outer beauty.  Better to ask how
could he not want you?  You’re like a butterfly emerging at the moment, Lily.  You
just can’t see it yourself yet.  Or won’t – I’m not sure which.  Anyway,
the fact remains the man wants you; it’s written all over his face every time
he looks at you – which is often, by the way.  My question to you is what
are you planning to do about it?”

“I can’t quite believe it’s true,” I say frankly.  “This
sort of thing doesn’t happen to me.  People look past me, not at me.  People
look at people like you, not people like me, especially people like him,” I say,
nodding towards James, who’s about fifty metres ahead of us.   

“That’s a lot of people,” she nods sagely.

“It is,” I grin.

“But just say this time it was different, that people like
him,” she says, nodding in James’ direction, “did want people like you this
time – what would you do?”

“I’m married.”

“I know.  You might still want to give it some thought,
though.  Lily, I sense you’re at a crossroads here.  You need to be sure you
take the right path for
you
, honey. Choose what you want rather than
making bad, quick decisions in the moment. I’ll say no more, but I’m here if
you want to talk to me, anytime,” and she grasps my arm firmly.  “No judgement,”
she adds.