Love holly, p.15
Love, Holly, page 15
She reached the ground floor and tore through the reception, heading out to the gray and the cold. And then she fled, away from this mess and toward the safety of her home and Abi. Abi, who had been right, as usual. Because it had been wrong of Holly to get involved. Wrong of her, to think that she, of all people, could be the one to fix what was broken.
Chapter Sixteen
Jack stared at the front door. At his front door. This should not be difficult, for Christ’s sake—he still owned half the damn flat. Though they’d bought in Balham because that’s where Vanessa had wanted to live, compromising on the space—and the garden—that they could have had if they’d gone for somewhere on the outskirts of London, as he’d suggested. But still.
He squared his shoulders and knocked. He had a key, but after nearly nine months not setting foot in the place, it felt kind of rude to use it.
Vanessa opened the door. Wearing a blue dress to match her eyes, her blonde hair neat as always. She seemed to wake up with that hair—in two years of marriage, he’d never seen it anything other than perfect, and honestly, he didn’t know how she did it.
She smiled—and it was only because he knew her so well that he saw the tentativeness of it.
“Well, hi there, stranger.”
“Vanessa.”
Her lips twisted. “So formal.”
“You asked me to come, so I’m here, OK?”
She sighed as she stood aside to let him into the flat. It was hot—it had always been too hot in here in summer. He followed her through the hallway and into the living room—wooden flooring, with a big patterned rug that Vanessa had spent a fortune on in the center of the room, two leather sofas he didn’t recognize at its edges. It was weird, to see the flat looking so hers, with no sign he’d ever lived there, even though it shouldn’t have come as a surprise—he’d moved his stuff out six months ago. Not that he’d had a lot of stuff, but the painting they’d bought together, the one which made him chuckle—of a man looking totally baffled as he turned in his seat to see who was there—had been taken down, and, of course, none of his books were shelved in the bookcase anymore. The few photos he’d put on the top—initially at Vanessa’s insistence to make the place feel “homey”—were also gone, still in boxes at his rental flat.
Vanessa headed to the square wooden coffee table in the middle of the living room. She bent down, picked up a few papers, then held one out to him. “I wanted to show you these,” she said, and though her body language was calm, he could hear the tightness in her voice. Well, good. At least he wasn’t the only one who felt uncomfortable and strange.
He glanced down at the paper she was holding and felt a little jolt. He didn’t need to take it to know what it was, but he did anyway, staring down at the county court stamp, his and Vanessa’s names printed at the top. She’d never taken his surname—neither of them had been bothered about it—but somehow the different surnames, Tooley and Fox, seemed to jump out at him, announcing the fact that they were completely different entities now. That maybe they always had been.
He glanced at Vanessa. She was watching him, her hands twisting together in front of her. “It’s official?” he asked.
She dropped her hands to her sides. “It’s official.”
He looked down again. The final divorce order. Proof that the marriage had been “dissolved,” nine months after filing. He put the paper back on the coffee table. He didn’t want to hold it, this document that proved how epically he’d managed to fail.
“You could have just told me this over the phone,” he said with a sigh. All the paperwork was sent to this flat, because he hadn’t had a permanent address when they’d separated. Which they’d done after she’d arrived home late one night and told him that she’d cheated on him.
“I know, but I wanted to see you. Thought it was the kind of thing we should do in person.”
He couldn’t think of what to say to that. Do how, exactly? he wondered. There was nothing to sign this time.
The last time he’d seen her was when she’d come into the office because she needed a signature on one of the forms that they’d missed the first time around. He’d been ignoring her calls and so she’d taken it upon herself to just turn up. He still cringed at the memory of Mike’s voice, on speaker. Your wife’s here. Still remembered Holly’s expression, shocked and hurt. He shouldn’t have let her believe he was married. It was cruel, something he’d done only because he had felt hurt, angry that she’d tracked him down and hadn’t told him why, then thrown it on him like that, asking for something he couldn’t give. He’d told Mike a dozen times to stop calling Vanessa his wife. Vanessa herself had stopped when they began the proceedings back in October—and in March, they’d already had the divorce papers. But while Mike had many good qualities, following directions wasn’t one of them.
“Want a drink?” Vanessa asked, heading for the kitchen.
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Are we celebrating?” But he followed her anyway—it felt weird, to be standing in the living room alone.
Vanessa gave a sad little headshake. “Whatever you may think of me, Jack, I do not deem a failed marriage to be a cause for celebration.”
He blew out a breath. “Fine, yeah. Let’s have a drink.” He leaned against the granite counter as she opened the fridge—a fancy, bloody expensive one that had a wooden door to make it look like a cupboard.
She opened two beers—the light stuff—and held one out to him. He took a sip more for something to do than because he really wanted one. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He’d never thought he’d be the type to get divorced. If there even was a type. But he’d assumed he’d keep following the right trajectory—he’d landed the right sort of job, was successful in his career, made a good salary, lived in London in a nice flat. It was all supposed to lead on from that—marriage, kids, move out to the suburbs. Not the most exciting of lives, maybe, but secure, and comfortable, and you couldn’t ask for more than that, could you? But now…He no longer felt the gut punch he’d experienced at first, but he was still a bit lost, unsure what to do or where to go from here.
Was this how his mum had felt, after his dad’s death? This, times a million? He knew she’d felt lost, because even after they’d moved to the other side of Devon, she’d had this sort of…vacant look about her. He’d catch her sometimes in the kitchen, with the fridge door open or the tap on, just staring, as the fridge started beeping or the water ran so hot it turned scalding, and he’d have to snap her out of it.
He had a memory, then, of the night itself. Of waiting downstairs, nervously twisting his tie—one that had been bought just for this occasion—and wondering if they were going to be late. He’d heard his mum’s voice upstairs.
“Come on, Richard, you knew we had to leave at six.”
“I’m ready, I’m ready.”
“You’re not. We’ll just go without you.”
“Of course you’re not going without me—I want to see Jack play.”
Emma had come into the hallway then, her gray hair all curly in the way she did it for, as she put it, “occasions that are worth the effort.” She’d winked at him. “Ready, my boy?”
“Umm…”
She’d waved a hand. “Course you are. You were born ready.”
His dad’s voice had got a bit louder. “Where are my damn keys?” There was a pause. “Come on, Rose, where are my keys?”
Emma’s smile had turned a bit fixed then. “I’ll just go up and chivvy them along, shall I?”
It had been the school concert—he’d been learning the trumpet, which he’d later given up when he and his mum moved house. He’d never really been that into it, but his dad had loved the idea that he would be a “performer” one day, so he’d stuck with it for a bit.
“What would you have played, Richard?” his mum had asked once, with raised eyebrows.
His dad had grinned. “The triangle.” It had made his mum laugh, and his dad had swooped in, across their little kitchen, and twirled her around. “You’d have liked being married to a musician, wouldn’t you? Much more glamorous.”
“I’d prefer a bit of help with the washing up—I’m not a glamorous sort of person.”
“How about a glass of wine instead?” His dad had winked at Jack, who was hovering in the doorway, wanting a biscuit but unsure as to whether he’d be told off for asking.
“Jack? Are you listening?” Vanessa was staring at the side of his face.
He cleared his throat. “No. Sorry. I am now.” He needed to stop doing that. He’d been thinking about the crash, and his dad, more and more since Holly had shown up in March. He hadn’t called Emma, though. He didn’t know how to get ahold of her, even if he wanted to. Actually, that wasn’t true—he could text Holly and ask for Emma’s number. He was sure she’d be only too delighted to give it to him. But what would he say? He’d meant what he said to Holly—you couldn’t just kiss and make up after this length of time, after something like that. He’d dealt with what had happened, had moved on from it as best he could. But that didn’t change the fact that things would have been different, if Emma hadn’t been driving that day. And it didn’t change the fact that she’d not been there for him, after it had happened.
“So,” Vanessa said, “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to say this.”
Jack studied her face for clues. He knew that face so well—knew the dimple that would wink out when she smiled, the one she hated but which he’d told her was cute; he knew the frown lines that would pull together when she scowled, the slight pigmentation on her forehead, which she’d spent a goddamn fortune trying to get rid of, no matter how many times he’d told her that no one noticed it but her. Right now, though, he didn’t know what she was thinking. Maybe he’d never known what she was thinking, in fact—after all, he’d never even suspected that she was cheating on him.
“Say what?” he asked eventually.
She took a sip of her beer. “That I’m sorry.”
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. It didn’t sound to him like that should have taken much figuring out.
“I realized I never said it,” she continued.
“No,” he said flatly. “You didn’t.”
“Well, I am. Sorry, that is. I’m sorry for my part in it.”
“You’ve waited until now to say that?” He frowned. “And what do you mean, your part in it? You slept with someone else, Vanessa. It was all your part.”
“I did do that. But I did not destroy our marriage single-handedly.”
“I’m not sure I need to hear this.”
“You left, Jack,” she said, and though her expression was smooth, there was a wobble in her voice.
“After you told me to! After you announced you were bloody cheating on me! What the hell did you expect me to do?”
“But you left immediately. I told you I’d slept with someone; you didn’t even ask their name.” The wobble was stronger now. “You just walked out.”
He stared at her. “What did you want me to do?”
“I wanted you to talk to me! I wanted you to fight, for me or with me, just a little.” She blinked furiously, and looked away, down to the tiles, and then to the near-empty beer bottle in her hand.
“You were cheating on me,” he repeated, his voice frostier now. Because seriously, what was she doing, trying to put this on him?
“Was. I slept with someone three times. It was a mistake. But it wasn’t ongoing.”
“So you said,” Jack muttered, taking a deep swig of his beer. “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Vanessa. You cheated. Then you asked for a divorce. What did you expect to happen?”
“I only asked for one because you’d walked away so easily.” She pressed her lips together, lifted her gaze to his. “Because it was like…It was like you’d been looking for a reason to end it. It doesn’t excuse what I did,” she said quickly. “I’m not saying that. But I…”
“Why did you do it?” he asked quietly. He hadn’t asked before—hadn’t wanted to know the answer.
“I was lonely,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“You had me!”
“Did I?”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s harsh.”
“I know.” She let her breath out on a whoosh. “I’m sorry.”
“So you’ve said.” He put his beer bottle down on the counter next to him. “Well, it’s done now.” He pushed away from the counter, not sure he wanted to be here, hashing it out when it didn’t matter anymore. But he couldn’t help hesitating, couldn’t help looking at her again. His friend, who had grown into something more, who had become his wife. It felt like so long ago, when they used to sit up talking about everything and nothing, lamenting all the bad dates they’d been on, the bad sex they were having. Until one day, she’d looked at him with those baby blues and cocked her head. “Do you think maybe we should have sex? You know, just to try it?” And they’d just fallen into a relationship, as easily as they’d fallen into being friends. Where, along the line, had that gone wrong?
“I wasn’t looking for an excuse to end it,” he said. For a moment, though, he allowed himself to consider the possibility. He wouldn’t have ended it, not without a reason—you didn’t end things just because they weren’t perfect. And he certainly wouldn’t have risked the instability, just for the sake of it. But would he have wanted to end it? He’d never really thought about it—would never have asked himself that question. Even now, he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to it. He’d agreed to a divorce without much of a fight, yes: If she wanted one, then he wasn’t going to stand in her way. He didn’t want to be married to someone who didn’t want to be married to him. It had felt like the right option. It had felt like the only option.
“I kept thinking of how I pushed you into it,” Vanessa said. “Getting married, I mean. After a while, I started to wonder whether that was the only reason you went along with it.”
He frowned. “I asked you to marry me.”
“Because I dropped the hints.”
He nearly smiled. “Yeah. But I wanted to marry you, Ness. I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t. Surely you know that.”
She nodded firmly. “I do. And I wouldn’t have said yes if I hadn’t believed you did—I have too much self-respect for that.”
“Then…”
“You were always so level,” she said, with a huff of what might have been a laugh. “So difficult to rile. I loved that. But then I got thinking—maybe you were so level with me because you weren’t really…in it. Because you didn’t really care. So I lashed out. It was wrong,” she said sadly. “I should have just asked you.”
They looked at each other for a long moment.
“Are you still sleeping with him?” Jack asked.
“No. No, I’m not sleeping with him—as I said, it was over by the time I told you.”
He hesitated. “Are you sleeping with anyone else?” She didn’t answer right away and he winced. “Scratch that. I don’t want to know, and it’s not my business anyway.”
She laughed then—not her usual bright laugh but a laugh nonetheless. She pushed away from her side of the kitchen, met him in the middle. “Forgive me if I’m a little bit glad, seeing you squirm like that.”
“Jesus, Ness.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Shows you care.”
“Of course I care.”
“I’m sorry. That was a low blow.”
He met her gaze. “I loved you, Vanessa.” It felt important that he say it—that she knew. He’d loved her, and no matter that things weren’t perfect, it had felt like something ripping inside him, when she’d made the announcement. Because she’d been his friend, first and foremost, and she wasn’t supposed to hurt him.
Something flashed in her eyes, and it took a moment for him to realize what it was. He’d put it in the past tense. Without even thinking about it.
With a sad sigh, he rested a hand on her shoulder, and she moved toward him, coming into his arms and laying her head on his chest, the way she’d done so many times before. They knew exactly how to stand with their arms wrapped around each other like this, knew how to position themselves just right.
“I’m sorry,” he said into her hair.
“Me too. That kind of got lost there.”
He paused. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I was too ready to walk away.” He hadn’t really considered it. But he realized now that she was right—he’d fled, the moment she’d told him, and he’d barely had a conversation with her since.
“We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?” Vanessa asked, her voice slightly muffled.
“What, hugging or getting divorced?”
Vanessa huffed out a laugh. “Either. Both.”
He didn’t answer that. It was too late to change things now—and he knew he wouldn’t, even if he could.
She didn’t press him for an answer. Instead she eased back, and he dropped his arms away from her. “I saw a woman coming out of your office,” she said, her voice careful. “Back in March, when we last spoke.”
“Nothing happened.” He said it too quickly, and it earned him a look. But it was true—nothing had happened. So why did it feel like it had? He’d wanted something to, that’s why. He’d forgotten in those stolen hours with Holly that he was a divorcee, that he was only thirty-two and already had a failed marriage behind him. He hadn’t really been thinking of much at all, while he was with her—for those few hours, she’d swept him away.
“Is that so?” Vanessa said wryly. “Because she was in a bit of a temper, the way only certain things can fire you up.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Jack insisted. Maybe it would be easier for Vanessa, if it were—even the balance, somehow even though the divorce was already well under way by then. Maybe she was just curious, the way he’d been curious about her. “I kind of had a go at her,” he admitted.
