Whatever it takes, p.24
Whatever It Takes, page 24
Eloise had studiously tried to avoid being alone with him, to stop the possibility of a repeat incident. She’d turned Poppy and Margaret into unwitting chaperones as she Velcroed one or the other to her side at all times. On the plus side, Poppy had loved the attention and Mark and Ray were both very grateful for Eloise’s devotion to Margaret. Still, it had largely been to no avail because as hard as Eloise worked to avoid Charlie, he seemed to work equally vigorously to manoeuvre opportunities for private moments together.
Whenever Eloise said she was going for a walk Charlie said he felt like stretching his legs too, then she had to think of an excuse as to why she no longer wanted to go anywhere. If she said she was popping to the Flavel centre, he offered to carry her library books. She always seemed to be bumping into him in the supermarket; what was he doing lurking in the cereal aisle when she prepared all his meals? Eloise could give up fresh air and reread old books in order to avoid him but giving up eating was a step too far! The Christmas break had been fraught with potential misunderstanding. Eloise had unthinkingly hung mistletoe throughout the house but then yanked it all down again after she’d met Charlie in the hallway and he’d lingered conspicuously. It was like an elaborate game of chess; he moved closer, she headed in the opposite direction. She was concerned that she was being cornered.
It was Eloise’s New Year’s resolution to be firmer with Charlie. Yesterday teatime she’d sat down with him and they’d drawn up a timetable for the remaining work. Or rather, Eloise had drawn up a timetable and Charlie had made daft comments throughout about there being ‘no rush’ and how great it was that they ‘could spend time together’. It took all Eloise’s energy to keep him focused but eventually he’d promised he’d have everything finished by Easter. Eloise wanted to believe the assurances but privately doubted whether this target was likely to be achieved and anyway Easter seemed a long way off. Could she keep a lid on this situation for that long? Eloise wondered whether she should just cut her losses and sack Charlie, deal with the raised eyebrows and questions. But, no matter what excuse she could come up with, sacking Charlie would certainly mean the end of her friendship with Sara; dead, cremated, ashes scattered.
Eloise was surprised that Sara, with her finely tuned radar, hadn’t already picked up on the fact that Eloise had been jumpy and uncomfortable over Christmas. Mark didn’t have a radar, finely tuned or otherwise. He’d only guess his best mate fancied his wife if there was a written statement. But should Eloise have kept it a secret? Until now she’d never kept anything from him that she considered significant (secrets about how much she spent on a piece of furniture or a birthday gift didn’t count). Mark and Eloise had met sixteen years ago, and since then she’d never kissed another man, never looked at another man. Popular belief was that fidelity was as dead as a dodo and about as relevant as Betamax video recordings, but Eloise disagreed. She liked being so single minded and sure. Eloise knew it wasn’t a welcome kiss or a sought-after kiss and that was enough for her, but would Mark draw the same conclusion if he knew about it? Charlie was Mark’s best friend, living in his home, currently earning a living through Mark; all that considered, no doubt Mark would see Charlie trying to snog Eloise as an act of betrayal, rather than an indiscreet transgression.
The last thing Mark needed right now was more disruption, duplicity and disappointment, more firm ground sliding from under him. He was so obviously struggling. He felt that his mum and dad had betrayed him; a mum who was suffering with a degenerative disease to boot. Eloise didn’t want to add to his burden. She didn’t dare mention that Charlie had done work for other people or that he’d spent the money they’d advanced for their project to pay off old debts. All of this would simply worry Mark or cause a row. And doubly so for the kiss! Eloise blushed everytime she thought of it. She kept telling herself the kiss wasn’t significant. Least said, soonest mended was applicable here. Better to bury the incident. Ignore it. Let it die quietly.
Yet, she had thought of the kiss; its very strangeness was somehow captivating. Fascinating.
Quite definitely wrong, yes.
But in a deep, dark recess, buried so deeply it would never see the light, Eloise felt a tiny spark of pride that a man wanted her in that way. Charlie wanted her in that way. It had been so long since someone had fancied her. She wasn’t even sure Mark fancied her any more. She was sure he loved her. But did he still desire her? She wasn’t certain. More often than not it seemed he could take it or leave it. For years now they’d been effective, productive partners. Carefully raising and guiding their children, conscientiously welcoming and entertaining their friends, consistently and successfully working in the office and at home to provide a good life, an affluent, valuable and useful life.
They’d forgotten about sex.
About desire.
And lust.
Not that Eloise felt any of this for Charlie, but now she wondered whether he felt it for her. That thought alone was enough to make her . . . unsettled. Curious. Which, in turn, made her awkward, verging on frosty. There was a definite tension between them. Not sexual tension. Surely not that. But when Charlie walked into a room it was as though all the air was forced out and somehow she couldn’t quite breathe properly. She felt his presence. Even the spaces between them suddenly became solid so that they seemed to be uncomfortably squeezed closer to one another.
Eloise was certain that Charlie could feel the tension too. More, that he wanted there to be a tension. He wanted there to be something between them. He was enjoying her discomfort because it was a reaction of sorts and any reaction was encouraging. He knew she hadn’t mentioned the kiss to Mark because he knew that he’d have been kicked out by now if she had, perhaps with a bloody nose. By remaining silent Eloise had been complicit and so the kiss – however regrettable, however unwanted, however nothing – had become something. Charlie’s kiss sat between Mark and Eloise. Her deception, though well intentioned, stained and strained.
Eloise couldn’t relax in her own home. She reasoned that all she could possibly do was try to pretend the whole embarrassing episode had never happened. A faulty solution, no doubt, but her only option.
‘I’m shattered too,’ Mark said, swiftly pulling the duvet up around his shoulders.
Again, Eloise didn’t know whether she was grateful for, or worried about, the speed and ease with which her husband accepted her tiredness as a valid reason for skipping sex. It was such a familiar excuse and both of them had made it with alarming regularity for some months now. Getting his teeth into the new practice had meant long hours at the office and he’d had to commute to London at least every other week to attend to a new and valuable client which neither of them had anticipated. Tomorrow, Mark would have to get up at five to be on time for the nine-thirty meeting in London. Eloise was realistic; they were no longer able to have all-night sessions and still go to work with a bouncy step. Frankly, they were no longer able to have a quickie and still go to work with a bouncy step.
Eloise would like to think that the Christmas break had left Mark rested and ready to heartily take on the New Year but she had her doubts. Despite her determined effort to provide Mark and the girls with the most fantastic Christmas ever, she thought that he was coming out of the festive period feeling a bit heavier; both in terms of the physical weight he was carrying (having indulged in too much eating and drinking) and in terms of the emotional weight he was carrying (having spent too much time in a confined space with his nearest and dearest). It was a maddening thought. Eloise had followed every glossy guide that promised the ideal Yule time but scented acorns burning in the fireplace, handmade crackers, colour-coordinated gift wrap and even a New Year’s party for all their new neighbours and friends somehow hadn’t added up to a perfect holiday. As ever, Eloise looked to Mark for reassurance and praise.
‘Did you have a nice break?’ she asked.
‘Really great. You’re the Christmas Fairy. No one does it better.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The girls liked all their pressies,’ Mark mumbled sleepily.
‘I’m not sure about the wisdom of a drum kit for Emily.’
‘She loves it.’
‘Yes. But do the neighbours?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Still.’
‘Not our problem.’
‘Least not yet.’
‘Dad was really touched by those antique nautical maps you sourced on eBay.’
‘They did look good framed, didn’t they? I think your mum liked the Cath Kidston sewing basket, too.’
Mark made a harrumph sound and rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Who can tell?’ he mumbled. Eloise could hear anger in his voice. And maybe pain.
‘You did well this holiday, angel.’ She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. Should she reconsider her decision as to whether or not they ought to make love? Mark was certainly in need of a bit of one-to-one TLC. The sort that was bigger than finding a sixpence in the Christmas pudding or even finding the box set of the entire series of The Sopranos under the tree.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Mark said stiffly. His remoteness suggested that he knew exactly what she meant but was still finding it too distressing to talk about.
‘Well, it was the first big family event since, you know, the news,’ she said hesitantly.
‘The news that I’m adopted?’
‘Yes.’
‘The first big event since I discovered that my parents, who are not my parents, have been lying to me for my entire life,’ he said bitterly.
‘They are your parents, Mark,’ Eloise replied carefully.
‘Are they?’ He sounded lost.
Eloise kissed his shoulder and shuffled closer to him, so that her boob was squashed up against his arm. She hoped this was an encouraging gesture or at least a comforting one; she had very small boobs so she had to be extremely close. She hoped her message was loud and clear. ‘I’m here for you. I’ll listen to you.’ She started to run her fingers over his chest. She wanted to soothe him, move closer to him.
‘Early start for me in the morning,’ Mark said and then he rolled over, turned out the light and the conversation.
Eloise lay awake staring at the ceiling long after Mark had fallen to sleep. She couldn’t relax and her numerous worries swirled around her head, threatening to drown her. Tiredness gnawed at her skull and eyelids like a hungry monster. As the minutes and hours ticked by Eloise’s worries about Mark, Margaret, Charlie and the bathrooms were replaced with the concern that she couldn’t get to sleep and therefore she’d start tomorrow – the last day of the girls’ school holidays – feeling shattered. Good mothers didn’t do that, she reminded herself critically. She felt dried out and worn out; she decided she needed a refreshing glass of water to help her sleep. Dartmouth water was delicious, it was always cold and it didn’t feel slimy on the roof of her mouth. Eloise lay pinned to her bed wondering whether she could turn on the bedside light and risk waking Mark or whether she should try to get down the stairs and into the kitchen without doing so. She was still not absolutely sure-footed in her new home. She didn’t know every nook and cranny or the depth of every creaking stair. Eloise had made Mark ditch the electric alarm clock in favour of a more traditional wind up one as it looked better with the eighteenth-century French boudoir effect that she’d tried to achieve in the bedroom – however, right now she wished there was a glaring red glow of something distinctly twenty-first century to light her way. The blackness around her was intense and complete but it was velvety rather than cold, so not threatening, just disconcerting. After lying still for what seemed like hours, Eloise remembered that there was a last slice of Christmas cake in the kitchen and that provided enough motivation for her to negotiate the pitch-dark stairs.
She slowly inched down, keeping her hand on the banister at all times, giving her eyes time to adjust. She slid into the kitchen, closed the door behind her and only then did she turn on a light.
‘Jeez, Charlie, you gave me a fright.’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to.’ Charlie was sitting at the breakfast table, facing the door that Eloise had just walked through. He’d been sitting in darkness, other than the small glow from a hand-held torch. He switched the torch off and grinned. He had a mug of tea in front of him and a plate with half a slice of toast on it. An open jam jar, the butter dish and a used knife were scattered across the table. There was a half-empty bottle of red, too. A midnight feast. He looked quite at home. He was bare-chested, in fact, he was only wearing a pair of boxers; his legs were spread wide under the table.
Eloise’s hand shot up to the neck of her pjs. She quickly fastened the two buttons Mark had loosened earlier. Then she nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. Charlie watched and smiled at Eloise’s obvious embarrassment.
‘Don’t go to any trouble on my account. You look gorgeous.’
‘Don’t be daft, Charlie,’ she muttered dismissively. She didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t rearranging her hair to look more attractive for him, was that what he thought? She always fiddled with her hair when she was nervous. That was all. The silence sat between them, thick with misunderstanding and tension. ‘I just came down for a glass of water,’ Eloise said, finally. She wanted to add that she hadn’t known he was here but it seemed childish.
‘Can’t sleep?’
‘Just thirsty.’
‘Something playing on your conscience?’
Eloise stared at him and weighed up the situation. She guessed he was a bit drunk. He’d probably sat up later than was wise, drinking more than was good for him. The tea and toast were to sober him up. It was obvious that, unlike Mark, Charlie was keen to talk. He had something he wanted to say. Damn.
‘There’s nothing on my conscience at all,’ she said sternly.
‘No guilt?’ He paused. ‘No regret?’
Eloise thought she should probably just go back to bed. Turn round and leave him to whatever it was he was thinking. She didn’t want a conversation with her friend’s husband – her husband’s friend – about guilt and regret, not at ten past four in the morning, not ever.
But this was her home.
Wearily, Eloise acknowledged to herself that she’d been feeling like a stranger in her home for almost a month now. Suddenly, she felt a wave of intense irritation that this was the case. These were important months; she ought to be settling her family, not walking on eggshells around Charlie and Sara too, come to that. Eloise began to reconsider whether she should put herself through the inconvenience of sacking Charlie and getting him to move out. Finding another plumber – someone who didn’t have an unsuitable crush on her – might be a good idea. Yes, it would be better in the long run. She didn’t have to tell Mark the real reason for firing Charlie; she could just say she wanted their place to themselves. Or she could mention the other clients, the squandered advance. Surely those alone were sackable offences. But she couldn’t sack him right now. Not when he was sitting in his underwear, it just wasn’t professional. It was weird. She decided to do it first thing in the morning.
‘I’m just going to get my water and then I’ll be out of your way,’ Eloise said curtly.
‘Oh don’t be like that, Ellie. We need to talk.’
Eloise walked to the sink, picked up a glass from the draining board and then filled it. ‘No, we don’t,’ she replied carefully.
‘Yeah, we do. You know we do.’ He sounded determined. ‘Please sit down just for a moment. There’s something I have to say.’
Eloise wondered whether he wanted to apologise. Get it all in the open and then move on. A wave of relief swept through her body. That would be brilliant. She wouldn’t need to fire him then. She wouldn’t need to find another plumber. Her bathrooms would be completed by Easter.
Eloise pulled out a chair, not next to his and not opposite, either, but at a distance that she hoped said ‘distance’. ‘What is it you want to say?’
‘About the other week. When I kissed you in the bathroom.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She stared at her hands, she really didn’t know where else to look. The kitchen clock’s usually discreet tick suddenly sounded like Big Ben.
‘It does matter,’ insisted Charlie.
‘It didn’t mean anything.’ Eloise thought it was wise to get in her pre-emptive blow. Set the record straight. Make sure they understood one another. It had been years since she’d had this sort of conversation and she was out of practice. She knew she sounded abrupt and clumsy. There had been a time when she’d known the words to use when she wanted to captivate, flirt or move a guy right on by, but she couldn’t seem to find the suitable tone any more. Her throat was dry and gritty. She could feel the tension in the air again, smell it. Taste it. She didn’t want there to be anything between them, but there was. Undeniably.
‘Look, you know more than anyone that Sara and I have been under a lot of strain for quite some time now,’ said Charlie.
‘Well, yes,’ Eloise admitted. This wasn’t the opener she wanted from him. She didn’t want to hear about problems between him and Sara, it was one step away from ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’. She tried to put him back on track. ‘Things are difficult, obviously. But they’ll get better.’
‘When?’
‘Well, when she has . . .’ Eloise faltered. She couldn’t insult Charlie by saying things would get better once Sara had a baby. They both knew she might never have a baby. What sort of sentence was she handing him? ‘They will get better,’ she said, less definitively.
‘I don’t think so. It’s not just the baby, although that’s massive. She doesn’t seem even to like me any more. I don’t earn enough for her. I’m not clever enough for her. All we do is row and scream at one another or ignore each other altogether. You must have seen as much this holiday.’ Charlie sighed dramatically. ‘I’m at the end of the line with Sara.’
‘No, no, you don’t mean that.’ Panicked, she reached out and squeezed Charlie’s arm. She suddenly understood. They had money problems and fertility problems. They’d been rowing. He was desperate and confused. That was why he’d kissed her.
