When Good Friends Go Bad (20 page)

There it was. The thing she'd been wondering about.

'What happened with . . .' She couldn't finish the sentence.

Aiden looked bleak. 'She didn't want it. Not really. It was a horribly difficult time for her. She wasn't that happy about being pregnant in the first place and suddenly there was Bella Stringent breathing down her neck, making all kinds of demands. It was one of those critical moments. Giordani with the chance to go big-time . . . immense. No wonder it was all too much. She couldn't cope.' He shook his head as if dismissing troubling memories. 'It's ancient history. We can't change the past.'

This pregnancy couldn't have come at a worse time.
Jen could hear her now. And that was before Bella had commissioned the Tony awards frock. She had a sudden horrible feeling that Aiden was hinting that it hadn't been a miscarriage after all.

She had so many questions but she didn't want to ask them. Not of Aiden. It didn't feel right.

'You could still have children. Lots of women do at Georgie's age and older.'

'That's true.' He smiled wryly. 'If I can just get her to log it into her calendar, we might still get the job done.' She had a feeling he was agreeing only to end the discussion.

'So,' she said, changing the subject, 'is Georgina looking forward to Saturday, did she say what time we were to meet or anything?'

'No, but I'm sure she'll call you.'

'Still reckon there's no hope of finding Rowan?'

'Shit, I don't know. Georgie's been on the blower loads to some guy called Frank. Got him putting posters around Ashport, ads in local papers, bulletins in the school newsletter, you name it. I guess she's hoping the more people hear about it, the more chance there is of Rowan showing. If Georgie enjoys it, it's OK with me.' He paused, a strange smile sending shivers through Jen. 'Hey, remember that time we drove to Worthing in winter because you wanted to swim and the pool in Ashport was closed for repairs? And the heater was broken in the convertible.'

'God yeah! And the soft top had a big rip in it. It was bloody freezing. But the Worthing pool was closed too. So we went on to Gosport to go ice skating and the rink was shutting and they wouldn't let us in.'

'You stamped your feet and said to the guy on the door, "But we've come so far." You were so stiff you could hardly walk.'

Jen smiled at the memory. Instead of splashing in a pool, they'd strolled along the beach, collecting shells and skimming pebbles into the sea. Aiden took off his heavy leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders and then they huddled together under the pier, shivering uncontrollably but just happy to be in each other's company, warmed by their undying love. Undying.
Yeah right.
It was a quick death, quick but not merciful, and the worst thing was Jen hadn't even realised the relationship was sick.

'Somehow, even before I hooked up with Georgina, I've always known I'd meet up with you again,' he said sombrely, 'Even if it was only walking across the street one day.'

A jolt ran through her. She'd told herself the exact same thing.

'Too bad I can never speak to Georgina like this.' He glanced at his watch. 'I ought to be going. Tell you what, give me your mobile number and I'll give you mine. I want you to feel you've at least one friend you can call on. You know, when the pipes burst or the bath taps start to leak.' A roguish dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. 'I won't have the faintest clue how to fix them but I do know a good plumber.'

'Oh my,' she said mockingly and put a hand to her chest, 'I'm overwhelmed. But it's really not necessary. With Ollie gone so much on business I could actually teach classes in the use and function of the Yellow Pages.' All the same, she found herself stretching for the phone he'd just returned.

'If you ever need anything, seriously . . .' He pulled his BlackBerry from his jacket. 'I want you to contact me. What's your number?'

Was it bad that she handed her phone over so meekly, let him punch in the digits? It was only a phone number, for goodness' sake. Didn't mean that she'd ever use it.

And if she didn't get a move on she'd be late for work. And that
would
be bad. The Huntsleigh Jen was never late.

Anamaria gave Jen a sideways look as they cashed up that afternoon. 'How's that Starkey of yours?'

'What do you mean?' Jen said, mortified. 'Don't say that. Don't ever say that. He's not
my
Starkey.' Maybe she was being paranoid but she knew how quickly rumours could start in a small town like Huntsleigh. The last thing she wanted was for something like that to get back to Ollie or Georgina, or worse, Chloe.

'He's not my Starkey,' she repeated firmly, banging down a bag of change on to the counter.

'Mierda!'
Anamaria said. 'I was joking. You know, how you say? Idle conversation?' She half-smiled an apology and turned away, but not before Jen realised that her eyes were red. She'd hadn't noticed until now, being too preoccupied by her thoughts. And, for most of the day, Anamaria had been busying herself with completing a jigsaw puzzle. She seemed to make it her life mission that every puzzle sold was intact.

'Is something up, Anamaria ?' Jen closed the till and slipped the key in her purse. 'You look upset.'

'Only that I must go back to Barcelona for a short while. And I don't know what to do with Feo. I have no one to look after him and he cannot come with me.'

'Won't your boyfriend take him?'

'Hah! I would sooner give him to the pound. Let them murder him than keep him with that
cerdo.'
Now she really did look close to tears.

'God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap earlier. About Starkey, I mean. I suppose I'm just oversensitive at the moment. I've been feeling a tad stressed. Need to find a job that actually pays, which won't be easy what with the state the economy's in. Even looks like Woolies is going to be hit.'

'Woolies?'

'Woolworths. The shop. Great pick 'n' mix.'

At least she'd diverted Anamaria to a safe topic. Although, why feel guilty? She honestly believed yesterday's conversation with Aiden had cleared the air, made way for them to go on as rediscovered friends rather than ex-lovers.

As he was leaving he walked over to a photo Jen had taken of Chloe sitting in a deckchair, squinting in bright sunlight, with Prince, the eldest of her grandmother's golden retrievers, resting his head on her lap.

'Chloe, right? And is that your dog?' He smiled, glancing back at her. 'The one with the miner's lamp?'

For a minute she had no earthly idea what he was talking about. Then she realised he was referring to that stupid joke she'd made, about the family dog needing a lamp to wade through the current gloom of her life. He was one of those rare souls who appreciated her wit.

'No, I was just being silly. We don't have pets.'

He examined the photo as though he might be tested on it later.

'Georgie's superexcited about this reunion. It's weird. I can't get her to go anywhere with me but suddenly she's running here there and everywhere over this Rowan search. She's always been an incredible workaholic.' He tilted his head to see the photo at another angle. 'But I suppose Giordani wouldn't be such a big success without her relentless work ethic.'

'Sounds like you had a hand in it too,' she ventured. 'Georgina obviously depends on you.'

'I do my share.' He looked suddenly wistful, still studying Chloe. 'But sometimes I'm not sure the success is worth the sacrifices. I would have loved having a daughter to spoil or a boy to teach football.'

'Chloe plays football,' she blurted and realised it sounded boastful. 'Of course, we're probably well on our way to screwing her up. With the divorce, that is.'

'Nonsense.' He looked at her reassuringly, his hand searing her shoulder in the briefest of touches. 'Kids adapt. They grow up in spite of their parents, not because of them.'

'Yes, well, you and Georgina would probably do a far better job of it than we have.' She said the first words to enter her head, hoping to hide how easily the slightest physical contact with him could throw her off balance.

He was silent.

'Not too late to try,' she added, and immediately regretted the fatuous cliché. Almost insultingly stupid when he'd as good as told her Georgina had no interest in motherhood.

He gave the photo one last lingering look and turned to face her again.

'You know,' he said, 'I didn't come here today to talk about Georgina. There's something else that's been on my mind.'

'Oh?' She kept her hands tucked under her armpits this time, so they wouldn't wilfully, of their own accord, start fiddling with her hair or running up and down her throat. 'What's that?'

His eyes met hers across the room.

'Meg.'

'Man on!' one of the spectators shouted. Opposition, Jen presumed, although she couldn't be certain. The pitch might have been floodlit, but her vision was obscured by the heavy mist that blanketed the field.

Why did they have to play these tournaments in midwinter? This one had started at six on a Thursday evening, with a warm-up twenty minutes before.

Jen had been shivering on the sidelines for over an hour, and unlike many of the parents she hadn't even thought to bring a Thermos. And poor Chloe was out there in her flimsy PE gear in this frigid weather. Although the way she was tearing up and down the pitch, long flaxen hair tied back in a ponytail, her fringe masked by a headband, Jen doubted she was feeling the same chill that had by now entered the marrow of her mother's bones.

Suddenly the orange and yellow flag was raised, Ollie indicating one of the opposing school's strikers was too far forward. He was running the line tonight, a task none of the mums fancied, because however often their husbands shuffled salt and pepper pots around the dinner table to demonstrate the offside rule, few were convinced enough of their mastery to dare to put it in practice.

Let's face it, football was Ollie's bag. Oh, she'd knocked a ball around when she was a child, but seldom had it gone in the intended direction. Ollie had bought Chloe a soft toy football before she could toddle on unsteady legs. He was assistant coach to his mate, Saul, whenever his schedule would allow, and was a fundamental player in the pub team, winning most of their games whenever he was home.

In fact, normally, Jen wouldn't attend Chloe's matches if Ollie was back. Not because she didn't
like
experiencing a second Ice Age in glacial temperatures, but rather it was such a great father-daughter bonding experience for them both and she was happy to leave them to it. Only this evening was different. Unloading the dishwasher, she'd opened the drawer in the kitchen and peeked in for the fourteenth time that day.

'Final and absolute,'
she read over again,
'the said marriage is thereby dissolved.'
She just couldn't comprehend how one little certificate could carry such weight.

So it was over.

They'd lowered the final curtain.

And somehow with that realisation came another feeling, close on the heels of guilt and remorse, the necessity to compete. It was up to Jen to make sure that no longer would Ollie be considered the fun parent, the rule-breaker, and Jen the enforcer, the killjoy who insisted on regular bedtimes, pleases and thank yous, proper food that actually contained nutrition. That was why she'd bundled on her coat, hat and gloves to stand on the south side of the pitch, across from the rival parents on the north side. At first she'd stuck close to Ollie, united front and all, that noticing with a little kick of spite that Frances Hutton had started drifting towards him, seen Jen and swerved to change course. But as the game progressed Jen headed over to the back of the goal to be near as possible to Chloe, to yell out encouragement.

'Hoof it, Hattie!' someone shouted as one of the girls crashed her weight into the ball and it soared high into the air.

'Blue head on it!'

Chloe raced forward and weaved in and out of the other players, ball seemingly stuck to the toe of her right boot as she did all kinds of manoeuvres.

'Tackle, tackle,' a large bull-headed man growled. 'Get in there, Gina.'

'Go for it Chloe!' Jen found herself shouting. 'All the way!'

'Pass, pass!' Someone else yelled.

But it was too late. A hard tackle came in and Chloe stumbled to the frozen ground, clutching her knee. Jen's heart was in her mouth as the players gathered round. Then Chloe was limping towards the side, supported by two of her teammates, arms over their shoulders, and their coach was jogging to meet them with a first-aid box.

'Chloe!' Jen called, waving and rushing forward. Chloe glanced across at her and half raised a hand, but it was Ollie she hobbled towards.

That stung.

Reaching her daughter's side, she watched as Ollie handed a Gatorade to Chloe who guzzled it down, and saw her wince as Saul examined her knee.

He stood up and patted her shoulder. 'You'll do. Ready to go back in or shall we get a sub?'

'Too right she needs a substitute!' Jen surprised herself by her own vehemence. 'She's hurt. She should sit it out.'

'Mum!' Chloe shot her a look of anguished horror.

Ollie stepped between them, holding up an appeasing hand. 'She's OK,' he said in a soothing voice that only infuriated Jen more.

Helplessly she watched her daughter return to the game, making a brave attempt to conceal her injury. Who would have thought that becoming a parent would have turned her into such a coward? The minute this small fragile creature had been placed in Jen's arms, she'd known the panic of mortality. Chloe was utterly dependent on her. Jen looked in awe at the way the baby's unfocused eyes seemed to widen as her little mouth fastened on to her mother's breast, and felt a deep shuddering fear run through her. What if anything should happen to Jen? Nothing this precious should have to go through life motherless.

And what if anything bad – really bad – happened to Chloe? That was something she was sure her beleaguered heart couldn't survive.

For someone who, throughout her own childhood, revelled in climbing the tallest trees, thought nothing of jumping out of a first-floor window on a dare, it came as a shock to her that as a mother, she was a quaking mass of jelly. For years she and Ollie had battled over Chloe's right to clamber up rocks without a guiding hand, walk along the tops of walls, attempt handstands that might snap her delicate wrists.

It was a side of herself she loathed, knowing that she was turning into one of those creatures she'd always despised, a mother who squawked, 'Be careful,' 'Get down,' 'Don't fall', but she was constantly consumed with fear.

The more anxious she became, the more Ollie seemed to encourage Chloe into riskier and riskier enterprises – not that she needed coaxing. The most extreme example came last year when without checking with Jen, he bought Chloe a dirt bike – with an actual engine – so he could take her scrambling. An embossed gold-trimmed invitation to an early grave if ever one was issued, Jen felt.

The battle over the bike had been fierce. Accusations had flown, hurtful words said that reverberated through both their psyches and had probably launched the demise of their marriage. If divorce hadn't been mentioned, the word had certainly hovered unspoken in the air.

A cheer rang out as someone scored. Chloe seemed to be running normally again, her injury forgotten. The referee looked at his watch and then blew his whistle. Half-time. Jen was relieved. She decided to fetch coffee for Ollie and herself from the drinks machine as a peace offering for their earlier set-to.

Walking over with the two hot plastic cups warming her hands, she saw him laughing with Chloe, who sat cross-legged on her kit bag. Ollie's head jerked to the right, Chloe stood up, bent down and handed him something. Jen's mobile, which she'd left in her bag along with Chloe's fleece.

Ollie glanced at the display, his smile fading. Some sixth sense made Jen hurry faster, the coffee spilling on to her gloves.

He took his coffee from her and handed her the phone. 'Didn't get it in time. Sorry.'

He sounded unconcerned, but Jen had been married to him long enough to notice the tension in his body and know something was wrong.

'Did you see who it was?' Certain she knew, still she had to ask. Not to do so would have been out of character and, hence, suspicious.

'Aiden Starkson.' He looked at her levelly. 'Now there's a blast from the past.'

There was little Ollie didn't know about Aiden. She'd shared too much when they first met, because at the time Ollie had been nothing more than a mate with a useful male perspective she'd found reassuring.

And apart from anything else, in the beginning it had always been an effective excuse for her 'intimacy issues'. The old loved and lost, first cut is the deepest defence. She'd told him everything, every detail, every agony of regret, sometimes laughing about it, drumming up the funniest elements of the whole affair, once – mortifyingly – crying into his T-shirt after copious amounts of vodka. She'd spent the rest of the night retching into the toilet and if Ollie hadn't been holding a washcloth to her head he might have joined her, nauseated as he was by the mere mention of Starkey.

And it would have been far better, if she hadn't got drunk another night, not long after their engagement and revealed the reason for her tearful panda eyes the morning she accepted his proposal – how Georgina had married Aiden, how she thought Meg had known and failed to alert her, the furtive after-midnight tap at her door, and all the other woes that had propelled her flight from the Marlow Arms. Wiser, probably, if she gave up alcohol altogether.

Had Ollie remembered all that when Jen told him on Bonfire Night that she was meeting old friends? He hadn't asked who at the time, but he certainly knew now.

'Georgina must have asked him to call.' She sounded false as a St Trinian's schoolgirl, guilt stamped in large letters on her forehead, just above the scarlet A for adulteress embroidered on her jacket. 'I wonder what she wants? Arrangements about the reunion, I bet.' She drained her coffee and dropped the empty cup in her bag.

'None of my business.' He sounded genuine, but Jen could read the contempt – or was it concern? – in his eyes.

Turning on his heel he walked down the line towards Frances, who greeted him with a touch on the biceps and a smile. Ollie said something and they glanced for a millisecond at Jen, Frances's face conveying a blend of awkwardness, no hard feelings and a soupçon of apology, Ollie's showing nothing at all.

The cold made Jen's eyes sting as she took off her soggy gloves and futilely breathed on her hands.

Frances Hutton was a perfectly nice woman. Extremely nice, she had to admit. Jen had always thought her daughter, Thea, a charming, shy child with impeccable manners. 'Be nice to Thea,' she was always telling Chloe. 'She's new to Huntsleigh. She needs friends.' She'd been thinking for several months that she should invite Frances and Thea over. Now it looked like she'd be serving a big helping of warmed-up ex-husband instead.

The worst thing was, she'd sort of thought she and Frances could be friends. Granted Jen was five years older than the other mother, but she'd sensed a kindred spirit in their brief playground exchanges. She seemed sweet and vaguely dishevelled, one of the few to rush up, out of breath, hair pulled back in an untidy chignon, as the school gates were clanging shut. She wore the kind of clothing Jen had favoured until the disapproving sniffs had steered her towards a more sedate suburban-mother look: cargo pants, fitted T-shirts, Gap zip-ups. She would have felt so much better if Ollie was chatting up an obvious busty blonde or an over-made-up
Desperate Housewife
-style beauty, someone Jen would find easy to loathe. Though for form's sake she was prepared to hate Frances anyway.

Jen could have pegged two loads of washing on the silence that hung in the air during the drive home.

'Careful of the mud,' Jen said as Chloe took her boots off and smashed them against the porch side.

'Can you help me with my shin pads?'

Jen stooped down at the same time as Ollie and they practically banged heads. 'Fine, you do it,' she said. 'Make sure everything goes straight into the machine. I'll run her a bath.'

'How's your knee?' Ollie said, full of concern.

'It's OK, Daddy.' Chloe put her arms around him. Still not too old to hug her daddy, Jen noticed with a pang as she went upstairs. All the other mothers told her that would change. Around twelve, they said. Then you become the enemy. It's nature, they can't help themselves any more than lemmings diving off cliffs.

'Cup of tea?' she asked Ollie later, sticking the kettle under the cold tap. He nodded.

'There's something I've been meaning to tell you.' He took a deep breath. 'Saul suggested I move in with him. Said he wouldn't mind a flatmate. Just until I get myself organised.'

'Oh?' Her back was pressed against the stove as she swivelled to face him. 'What about Chloe?'

'We talked about that. He's cool with her staying over. He has a box room he never uses. Said we could fit a single bed in there. It'll only be temporary. Until I buy a place.'

'Sounds like you've got it all sorted.' She worked hard to keep her voice even, no hint of resentment. 'When?'

'The weekend. No point in waiting, is there?' He met her eyes with a dispassionate blue gaze. 'I'm taking Chloe to Mum's while you're at this reunion. I'll start moving my things after that.'

She was shocked. 'But that's before Christmas. Chloe'll be devastated. And aren't you due back in Tanzania? We told the Radcliffes we'd try to complete after New Year.'

'I'm not going back to Tanzania.' His words hit her like a slap in the face. 'I spoke with the company, told them I couldn't leave my daughter any more. They're shifting the staff around, finding work for me in head office. We'll have to sort things out about Christmas, of course. Maybe I can have her Christmas Eve, take her up to Mum's as usual and you do Christmas Day?'

Jen's mouth hung open, aghast, as the room seemed to tilt, the world overturn so that it wouldn't have been a total shock if a kangaroo popped out of the broom closet. Of course she'd known it would be like this. But not yet. Not so soon.

'At least you'll have me out of your hair.' He was watching the moving-picture show flickering across her face. 'There's a few thousand in the joint account. Why don't you hold on to that? I know it's a bad time to look for work, right before Christmas. I'll cover the mortgage until we complete on this place. And of course I'll be paying maintenance.' He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something else.

'Um . . . well . . . thanks.' She swallowed, feeling awkward. 'I'll reimburse you as soon as we get the house money.'

'Whatever.' He looked as unhappy as she felt.