I nod, and struggle to speak, tripping over my words as I try to form them. Jake smiles at us both, the very picture of a professionally convivial host, and says: “Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
Mark is trying to shout over the din, but it’s no use – I can’t make out a word of it, and I’m distracted by watching Jake anyway.
In the end I simply grab Mark’s hand, and pull him away behind me.
ChapterEighteen
He follows me up the stairs, Larry at our heels, and as I shut the door behind us the music from downstairs fades to a more distant hum. I clamp my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to clear my mind.
I turn around and see Mark staring at Larry in confusion. Larry in turn is sniffing his smart shoes, obviously trying to discern if he is friend or foe, or if he comes bearing sausages or crisps.
Mark dumps his travel bag, hesitantly reaches down and pats his head. He is not one of life’s natural dog people, and looks a bit relieved when he isn’t immediately savaged.
“Why is there a dog in the room?” he asks, frowning.
“Because he’s my dog, and he belongs here,” I reply simply. “More to the point, why are you in the room?”
He shrugs, and I see him consider and reject a whole variety of replies. He is obviously tired, though, and just answers: “I wanted to see you. I finished work, went home. It was empty. It always feels empty now. So…I decided to come and find you.”
He sounds so forlorn as he says this, looks so bewildered, that I bite back the snarky reply that I feel forming in my mind. There are things I could say at this point – about the house not being empty last time I was there, about Kim, about whether she ever managed to disentangle her lacy black bra from the light fitting in our guest bedroom. I say none of these things, because Mark does not look like he could handle them.
I find that I run through angry and bitter very quickly, and land eventually at simply confused. I have not seen him for over a month, and truth be told, I haven’t thought about him that much either. I switched off from him and our shattered lives together as soon as I left, and I haven’t wasted a lot of emotional energy on wondering what his world his looked like since that day. I don’t think that makes me a bad person – he made his choices – but it does make me a bewildered person. One minute I am jumping around, and the next I am falling over, landing in the murk of my past.
He tugs his tie even lower, rubs his eyes, and yawns. He looks around the room, takes in the pastels and the prints and the bookshelves and the sunflowers, and says: “Nice. Very country kitsch.”
“It’s not kitsch,” I reply, kicking off my sandals and checking Larry has fresh water, “just country. You look terrible, by the way.”
“Thank you,” he says, managing a small grin. “I’d say the same, but actually, you look…amazing. Can we talk? And can I sit down? No, actually, can I lie down?”
He looks longingly at my bed, and I shake my head firmly.
“Help yourself to the spare,” I say, pointing towards it.
I still have the bottle of wine, and Mark looks like he needs it. I open it up, pour him a glass, and pass it to him. It’s a sign of how exhausted he is that he doesn’t do that pretentious little wine-connoisseur tasting thing first. He just drinks it, and makes no comment about its provenance of what kind of grapes it’s made from. I pass him a shortbread biscuit, and take myself off to the en-suite. Larry stays with Mark, on guard duty in case he drops a crumb.
I stare at myself in the mirror, and almost don’t recognise my own reflection. I am less groomed than I was at the start of the evening, but in a good way – my hair is wild, my cheeks are flushed, my make-up is very slightly smudged. But there is, undeniably, a different light in my eyes, a different energy to the way I feel.
I get my purse out of my bag, and pull free the folded picture of Lizzie. I have always hidden this ritual from Mark, which perhaps has been half of the problem – I have hoarded my pain, closed in on myself instead of reaching out. I give her a quick kiss, put her safely away, and take a few deep breaths before I go back out.
Mark has completely discarded his tie and jacket, and is stretched out on the small single, staring at the ceiling. He looks slightly restored by the wine, and I perch opposite him on my own bed. It is not the bed I expected to end up in tonight, and he is not the man I expected to be sharing a room with.
“How did you even find me?” I ask. “This place is a bit of a secret.”
“Damn right it is,” he replies, turning to face me. “I got lost about 15 times, ended up asking for directions at a McDonald’s. As for how I found you…well, top class detective work I suppose. I got an email about the car being repaired here, and you’ve been using the joint account card at some place called Trevor’s Emporium.”
“Right. Fair enough. I’ve not exactly been living off the grid, have I? Anyway. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Like I said, I wanted to see you. It just…well, it didn’t feel right, the way we left things. And, you know, I missed you.”
“What about Kim?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral. I don’t have the energy for a fight, but it seems like a fair question to ask.
“Oh God, Kim,” he says, hiding his face in his hands. “That’s over. It was so stupid. It meant nothing. You know that, don’t you?”
I look at his face, see the genuine regret in his eyes. I don’t hate him, I find. That would maybe be easier.
“It didn’t mean nothing, Mark – it meant we were done. Once I’d recovered from the shock of seeing Kim’s boobs jiggling around, do you know what I felt about it?”
He shakes his head, and I continue: “I felt nothing. I wasn’t even that bothered. I don’t want to be cruel, but it was actually a bit of a relief – you set me free.”
