Always You (17 page)

Sarah’s heartbeat quickened. ‘I’m just busy at work, that’s all,’ she snapped. ‘Can’t you give me some peace?’

Becky picked up the bowl. ‘Sorry I asked.’ She left the room, kicking the door shut with a loud thud on her way out.

Ian picked up the note lying on the kitchen table and loosened his tie as he read Raquel’s scrawl.

Working late. Will eat out. Don’t wait up. Raquel.

He turned the paper over.
Special K, low fat yoghurt, Ryvita.
So this is what communication between them had come to? Messages hastily scribbled on the back of old shopping lists. He checked his phone – she hadn’t even tried to call or text. He sighed, tossed the note in the bin and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

Upstairs he switched on the lights in the all-white bedroom, emptied his pockets onto a lacquered white tray Raquel had bought for the purpose and kicked off his shoes.

Then he sat down on the bed, laced his fingers together and listened to the oppressive, deathly silence. The room smelled of Raquel – expensive perfume, hairspray, fake tan and body lotion. He felt her presence all around and in a strange sort of way, he felt closer to her in her absence. For when she was here, they barely spoke. They hadn’t slept together in months. The last time Raquel had come on to him, he’d feigned a headache, full of guilt that he was being unfaithful, not to her, but to Sarah. Because it was Sarah that filled his waking thoughts, not Raquel.

He was to blame of course. He’d fallen in love with his ex-wife. No, that wasn’t true. He had never stopped loving her. He sighed loudly, his heart heavy with remorse. He should never have married Raquel and wondered why she’d married him. He was glad that they’d never had kids together. He felt bad enough about the prospect of breaking up with her, without the added guilt of fathering yet another child from a broken home.

At least, from that perspective, it would be a clean break for both of them. And when he and Sarah were finally reconciled he would be making whole once again that which he had thought lost to him. His children would have their father where he ought to be – living at home – and he and Sarah would be together once more.

Cheered by this thought he changed into black jeans and a red polo shirt. He thought about the party and Sarah, so pretty in the yellow dress, and smiled to himself. The party had turned out better than he could have hoped. For when Sarah felt unwell, who did she turn to? He even wondered if she had feigned illness to get him alone. She’d been a little quiet, coy even, on the journey back to her house, but he’d taken that as a good sign. He understood how she felt. Being around her made the back of his neck prick with sweat and his palms go clammy with nervousness.

And it had felt like the most natural thing in the world when they returned to their home and he made her a cup of tea. He’d left on a high, certain that their relationship had reached a turning point. On the way out, he’d offered to fix the dripping tap in the kitchen and she’d agreed. He had his foot in the door now – and he wasn’t for turning back.

The tinny chime of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at his watch and frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he went downstairs.

Vi was standing in the rain on his doorstep, holding a potted plant in her hands, a profusion of gaudy crimson flowers peeking out of the cellophane wrapper. He opened the door wide and invited her in out of the rain, though she was already halfway across the threshold before he’d finished speaking.

‘That’s a terrible night out there,’ she complained, bustling past him.

She’d only visited here a few times but her easy familiarity didn’t bother him – quite the opposite. He liked the fact that Vi still treated him as a member of her family.

‘The plant’s not for you, son,’ she said, setting it down on the glass hall table and dusting her hands together. ‘It’s for Evelyn. I’m not going to get up to see her tonight so I wondered if you would mind taking it in tomorrow?’

‘Why, yes, of course,’ he said, peering into the dark at Vi’s small grey car parked in the drive, the nose almost touching the rear bumper of his car. It would’ve been just as easy to drive to the nursing home as here. He shut the door.

Vi pulled off a glove and a deep frown appeared between her brows. ‘How is she?’

He recalled how he’d left his mother only an hour ago, pale as the white pillows propping her up. She’d been good the past fortnight but yesterday she’d taken a turn for the worse. It had taken an age to get her to eat half a meal tonight. He was glad he’d been there at teatime because he wasn’t convinced the staff would’ve had the time or patience to persevere like he had. His hands were suddenly damp with sweat, his stomach tight with fear. ‘Much the same. The doctor says the chest infection’s gone but she’s not herself. She’s tired all the time.’ He pushed the fear down, the way he compressed the rubbish in the kitchen bin.

Vi nodded gravely. ‘I’ll pop up and see her on Wednesday,’ she said, then looked about and added a loaded, ‘Well now.’

Clearly she expected an invitation to stay and the fact that she had turned up unannounced for no good reason made him think she had come here for some specific purpose. And it could well concern Sarah. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ she said, although she’d already taken off the other glove and undone the top button on her dark green wool coat.

‘You’re not, Vi.’

She glanced at the half-open lounge door, then up the stairs. ‘Raquel out again?’ Her right eyebrow arched – and he reddened.

‘Er, yes. She’s not back from work yet.’

‘She’s working very late,’ observed Vi. ‘Though I suppose that’s the way of it these days.’

Without answering he led the way up the hall. In the kitchen she draped her coat over the back of a chair, sat down and drummed the table with short, neatly trimmed bare nails. They exchanged small talk over a plate of plain digestives. Eventually, having drained the cup of tea, Vi placed it carefully on the saucer, and cleared her throat. He forced a smile, the suspense making him impatient.

‘I thought you and Sarah were getting on well together at Isabelle’s party,’ she said.

He shifted in the seat and smiled shyly, the apprehension that had been building inside him subsiding. ‘We were. We had a good long chat when we got back, over a cup of tea. You know, reminiscing about old times.’

Vi nodded slowly, but her sour expression troubled him. The smile fell from his face.

‘What is it?’

‘Cahal Mulvenna’s back in Ballyfergus.’

Ian froze. It couldn’t be. Cahal Mulvenna had gone to Australia years ago – and hadn’t been seen or heard of since, not by anybody Ian knew anyway. He stared at Vi, sitting there with a face like she’d sucked a lemon, and spluttered, ‘But that … that can’t be.’

‘I’m afraid it is. I saw Sarah talking to him with my own eyes on Saturday morning.’ She explained that Cahal had taken a house in Grace Avenue, was over here on business and worked for the same company as Sarah.

‘By coincidence?’

‘Who’s to say?’ said Vi, taking a sip of tea.

What did Cahal want with Sarah? He could think of only one thing and it filled him with jealous rage. Cahal had no right to come here and interfere between man and wife. Because in Ian’s heart, he and Sarah were still married.

And what was Sarah thinking of? Why was she even giving the time of day to a man like Cahal Mulvenna? A man who, by Becky’s account, had broken her heart? Ian had never underestimated Cahal Mulvenna and he did not do so now. Even he could admit that Sarah had loved Cahal more than she had ever loved him. ‘Turns out he’s divorced,’ said Vi pointedly and Ian took the Lord’s name under his breath. His stomach churned with anxiety and his heart beat so fast he was certain it must be visible under his shirt.

Ian swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to control his emotions. ‘Sarah … she’s not seeing him, is she?’

Vi unfolded her arms and leaned across the table. ‘Not as far as we know. But you have to understand he has a hold over her. I always said that.’

He felt his hopes slipping away. ‘I thought … I thought that Sarah and I might … you know … get back together. We’ve been getting on so well lately.’

‘I know, Ian. It’s what David and I have hoped for too,’ she said, vocalising what he already knew.

In return for her confidence, he said, miserably, ‘I was going to ask Raquel for a divorce.’

She regarded him for a few long moments, then her features hardened. ‘Don’t give up hope, Ian. Nothing’s happened yet. Maybe nothing will. But I thought you’d want to know.’ And with that, she got up, patted him lightly on the shoulder and pulled on her coat. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

After she’d gone, he sat for a long time at the kitchen table, clenched fists pressed to his eyes. He knew what Sarah saw in Cahal – or at least what she had seen in him all those years ago. Far too good-looking, in a battered leather jacket and tight jeans, he oozed disdain for authority and sex appeal in equal measure, like a raven-haired James Dean. Constantly surrounded by a fog of cigarette smoke and the smell of last night’s beer, he was a walk on the wild side. He was, in short, everything Ian wasn’t.

And now he was back, threatening to ruin everything that Ian had so carefully worked towards these last weeks and months. Step by slow, painful step he’d rebuilt the trust between him and Sarah until he’d been certain they would, ultimately, be reconciled. But now, with Cahal on the scene, all his plans were in jeopardy. How could he compete against him?

He was no fool. Even though his heart had soared with happiness on the day Sarah accepted his marriage proposal, he’d always known that she never would’ve done so had Cahal still been on the scene.

He stood up. A great surge of adrenaline coursed through him. Cahal had so nearly taken Sarah from him before. But Ian had bided his time and he had won her in the end. He would not let him win this time either. He would fight. For her and for his children.

Without any thought at all, his hands closed round a wrought-iron chair, the one in which Vi had so recently sat, picked it up and hurled it across the room. It clanged off the wall, one of the legs puncturing the plasterboard, and came to rest, with a screech of protest, on the limestone tiles. Shocked, Ian looked at his hands – and in the silence that followed he heard the slow, deliberate click of high heels on wooden floorboards.

He looked up. Raquel was standing in the hall doorway in a tight navy trouser suit and white silk shirt, opened just enough to offer a peek of honey-brown flesh and a pink lace bra. Her normally sleek blonde hair looked a little dishevelled, like she’d just run her hands through it, and her carefully applied eye make-up was slightly smudged under her eyes, making her look old and haggard.

He looked at the chair. How to explain what he’d just done, especially when he didn’t understand it himself?

‘I heard everything,’ she said stonily and he looked up sharply. His heartbeat flickered with the fear of discovery. When had she come in? How much had she heard?

She cocked her head a little to one side. ‘When exactly were you planning on telling me that you want a divorce?’

The air and anger went out of him all at once. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them he saw in her face, not the hurt he’d expected, but rage. ‘I’m sorry, Raquel. This wasn’t how I planned to tell you.’

She snorted and walked further into the room, her heels clacking on the stony tiles like horses’ hooves. ‘I’m glad I heard. At least I know where I stand now.’

He hung his head. ‘I never meant to hurt you, Raquel.’

‘Hurt me?’ she said and stabbed at her chest with a long red fingernail. ‘Oh, you haven’t hurt me. I am angry though.’

He did not react. He knew that this was all a bluff, a performance. Of course she was hurt and she had every right to make him suffer. He deserved nothing less.

She circled him like a wolf, came to rest standing in front of him and looked up at him with cold blue eyes. Her breath was stale and smelt of wine. ‘I always suspected that you hadn’t got over Sarah. There was only ever room in your heart for one woman and it was never me, was it, Ian? This marriage didn’t stand a chance.’

‘Wait a minute. That’s not fair, Raquel. I did love you – at the start at least. I did try to make it work. Yes, I … care for Sarah but it’s not fair to blame me entirely. You’re not interested in me either. All you want to do is party with your friends.’

She looked at the floor and shook her head. He softened. ‘Raquel, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’

She lifted her head and gave him a terrifying, sort of triumphant, smile. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I’m actually glad. At least I don’t have to feel guilty.’

‘You’ve nothing to feel guilty about, Raquel. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

She threw back her head then and laughed – a horrible, scary chuckle. Her amazingly bright teeth, the result of too much chemical whitening, glinted warningly. ‘You have absolutely no idea, have you?’

He looked at her quizzically. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’re so wrapped up in the fantasy that you and Sarah are going to get back together, so blinkered, that you can’t see what’s going on under your very nose.’

He shook his head, bewildered. She was taking this remarkably well. Better than he could have hoped, but he didn’t like the hint of menace in her voice.

She sighed and looked at him with pity. ‘I’ll go and pack.’

He held out a hand and touched her arm but she pulled it away as if his touch was toxic. ‘You don’t have to leave, Raquel. I will.’

‘No,’ she said icily, ‘I’m not staying here another minute.’

‘But where will you go? Look, I’ll go and … eh … stay in a hotel or something.’

She tutted dismissively, got out her mobile and started tapping the screen with the pad of her index finger.

‘What’re you doing?’

‘I’m texting Jim to come and get me.’

‘Jim?’

‘Jim Proudfoot,’ she said matter-of-factly. He was secretary at Ian’s golf club where he used to take Raquel regularly for meals. He wasn’t a close friend of Ian’s, but they’d known each other from childhood. Ian had consoled him when his marriage had broken up last year.