Confessions Page 17

  She blew her nose. Bloody Savage was ridiculously like her. What did Jack always say? That she found too many excuses for people who behaved badly. And her reply? They weren’t excuses but reasons. But right now she didn’t care about either. She still felt afraid and vulnerable and wanted to hide. Nodding to the phone, she stood on shaky legs. ‘I think you have a call waiting.’

  Still clutching Gavin’s hanky, she returned to Robbie’s office and picked up her handbag. Needing to hear Wes’s voice, she searched for her mobile. No bloody luck. Today of all days she’d forgotten it. Narrowing her eyes, she thought back. Yup; she could picture it by her bed, untouched and unloved. She rested her head in her arms. How had things come to this? Her phone had been a lifeline between her and Wes, yet the rupture was so final she no longer bothered to even look at it, never mind realise it was missing.

  The mouse appeared again, close to her feet, a harmless little creature in far more danger than her. Trying to get a grip, she took several deep breaths. Everything was fine; she could have been hurt, but she wasn’t. Sure, she’d been frightened and alarmed, but it had come to nothing. Not like whatever had happened to Dr Woodcock’s daughter.

  An image of Aisha’s bruised face popped up in her mind. Despite being pregnant, Julian’s girlfriend had been belted hard by the debt collector last year. Until this moment, Nat hadn’t realised just how mentally strong and brave the young woman had been: not only facing up to such an aggressive bully, but doing something about it. It made her feel quite ashamed; Nat had listened many times to victims of violence and domestic abuse; she’d been horrified, appalled, sympathetic, but until now she hadn’t really understood; until now, she hadn’t felt it.

  Chantelle’s voice at the door broke her thoughts. ‘Are you okay, Nat? You seem miles away.’ She handed over a mug. ‘The cure to every ailment, as my nana always says.’

  ‘Thanks; you’re a star.’

  ‘No probs.’ She rolled her pretty eyes. ‘Better get back to the usual grind.’

  Remembering her promise to call Jack, Nat slurped her tea. Flipping heck, how many spoonfuls of sugar was in there? Not wanting to offend its maker, she glanced left and right, then slunk to the kitchen to make a replacement. Ambling back, she glanced at the bench. Still no sign of Robbie. College? Holiday? Or prevented by that angry brute of a father?

  Digging for positives, she took a shuddery breath. At least she knew what the man looked like now. She was forewarned and forearmed, and all that malarkey. If she sat here in reception, she could clock who was at the door before letting them in. And besides, she didn’t have her mobile; if she wanted to make a call, this telephone was the only way.

  Feeling a little naughty, she called Goldman Law.

  ‘Hi, Christine.’

  ‘Nat!’

  ‘Can’t talk; I’m blocking calls. Is Jack in?’

  ‘I think so…’ Then after a moment. ‘Line engaged.’

  ‘How about Wesley? Is he around?’ Oh God, the words were out. What the hell was she doing?

  ‘I’ll put you through.’

  ‘Nat, hiya!’ It was Sharon.

  Feeling a sharp mix of relief and disappointment, Nat briefly closed her eyes.

  ‘Hi, Sharon. How’s things?’

  She heard her take the usual huge breath. ‘Well… Emilia and me were only saying this morning how much we’re missing you. There’s loads of gossip. Did you hear about…’

  Nat breathed, the tremulousness ebbing away as she listened to her old secretary’s Mancunian tones. She smiled wryly. It seemed Sharon and Emilia were currently bosom pals, so that was one good thing. And Wes was clearly engaged or out; she’d been reprieved from her error of judgement, so that was another.

  Talking nineteen to the dozen, Sharon filled her in about the surprising colour of Wendy’s baby, Jack’s temporary new glasses, the alleged snog between the ginger bench boy and Catherine’s (recently married) secretary, finally moving on to Wesley and his rotten mood. ‘…he’s working at home today, which is a relief if I’m honest. He’s been so grumpy. Course Emilia thinks it’s all to do with her…’

  Aware she was still preventing incoming calls, Nat tried to interrupt, but only half-heartedly. Good old Sharon. Indiscreet as ever, but nice, safe, dependable.

  Gavin’s spicy presence hastened the end of her call. ‘Sorry,’ she said, the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘I had to make a call and I’ve forgotten my mobile.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair dos,’ he said. ‘Let’s have an hour or so brainstorming with cake, then you can go home, recover your mobile, go shopping at John Lewis, whatever.’

  Chantelle popped her head around the partition. ‘That isn’t fair; it’s favouritism.’

  ‘So it is. Don’t think I don’t know what time you arrived this morning. Get on with your work.’

  Surprised at his tone, Nat followed her boss to his office again. She sniffed. Yes, she hadn’t noticed earlier, but the heady smell of his aftershave was almost masking the fustiness. A pre-Ruthie aroma. It made her both happy and sad; she was glad of his hanky.

  Thumping down in his chair, Gavin scooped up his plate and ate his eclair in two bites. He licked the chocolate from his fingers and nodded to the door. ‘Half a day for everyone,’ he said with a grin. ‘Bit of fun winding her up first.’

  24

  Sudden Diversion

  Pleased to find a bottle of water in the passenger footwell of her car, Nat slugged it down. In one morning she’d imbibed more sugar than a person needed in a lifetime. A cream horn to start, followed by another mug of excessively sweet tea (which Chantelle had watched her drink like a bloody nurse). Then there was the box of chocolates one of the old dears had left as a thank you. She’d felt obliged to take one or two; Gavin had helped himself to a handful from the top, but by the time she left, Chantelle had demolished the whole second layer.

  Should Nat say something to her? Everyone knew that sugar was the new devil, worse than salt, butter, even lard. Diabetes was a very real problem these days. But it wasn’t her place to comment. Chantelle was a fully grown adult. And Nat had to butt out. Jed had gone the wrong way about it, but he was probably right about her being a ‘busybody’ or a ‘do-gooder’. The latter sounded infinitely better.

  Feeling the start of an uncomfortable heart flutter again, she peered through the windscreen and scanned the pavement. What would she do if Jed appeared right now? He’d clearly been furious about Robbie’s suggestion of restorative justice. It hadn’t been her idea as it happened, but she could see why that would unsettle him, bringing the tragic accident back in Technicolor-like PTSD. And not just the crash, but his feelings of anger, rage and revenge.

  Oh God, like Gavin’s.

  The thought smacked her like a slap. If it came out, would Gavin know she hadn’t actually put in her oar this time? Of all people, she didn’t want to upset him by insinuating he was wrong to refuse Heather’s request, or let him believe she’d been indiscreet by telling Robbie about it, when she hadn’t.

  Trying to ignore her trembling fingers, she lifted her chin. Get a grip, Natalie; everything was fine; they’d had a fruitful session just now. She’d brought Gavin up to speed about his files, especially the two fatal cases she’d bagged. The ‘mother murderer’ action wasn’t as troubling as the other. As she’d explained to him, Larry seemed have everything in hand, identifying with George in more ways than one. The assisted suicide was another matter. Apart from its obvious entanglements, she already knew Brian, so she felt a personal responsibility. She shook her head. To think she was once his ‘lucky lady’. Poor sod; she wasn’t giving him much luck right now.

  ‘Every case is only as good as the client,’ Gavin said reasonably. ‘You can’t change the facts; you can’t influence what they say or do, even though you’d like to.’ He’d raised his sandy eyebrows. ‘Getting too involved or emotional is not good either for you or for them. That’s why we’re called professional.’

  Another headmaster’s rep
rimand. Though she’d tried not to show it, she had felt quite offended.

  ‘Who do you think did it? Brian or Shirley?’ he’d asked.

  She had wanted to say something prickly in reply like, ‘Oh, my opinion is worth something, is it?’ or perhaps, ‘Shouldn’t we just look at the facts?’ But in truth she was still overwrought from earlier, and further ripples wouldn’t be good for her still-jangling nerves. ‘I don’t think for a minute that Brian did it, he’s covering for her, but he’s bloody stubborn,’ she said. ‘He wants to do the old-fashioned gentlemanly thing. Touching, but stupid. You’ll have your work cut out there.’

  Gavin had picked up the phone then, mouthing that it was fine for her to go, to have a good weekend. And now she was here, sugared-out and feeling lost. What to do? Where to go? Home for a snuggle with Anna and Borys? No thanks. Perhaps Gavin’s suggestion of John Lewis was a good one. Not the café, definitely not the café and a cake, but she could browse, even buy a lipstick or a frivolous pair of knickers, neither of which would break the bank.

  Trying not to catch her dejected face in the mirror, she put the car into gear and finally found a gap in the lunchtime traffic. At the end of Finney Lane she intended to turn left, but she didn’t. Instead she made a right, flicking on the radio and driving steadily past Lakeland and the garden centre, over the Majestic Wine traffic lights and down the tree-lined hill to the Wilmslow roundabout.

  She couldn’t explain the sudden diversion, so she didn’t try. Instead she kept her thoughts shallow, listening to today’s tittle-tattle in Ambridge and searching for signs of spring as the countryside trundled by. As ever, she wasn’t sure when to take the sharp turn, but eventually a few familiar landmarks from her single 10k run told her she was near, and suddenly she was at the entrance to her picture-postcard dream home.

  She stared at the ‘kissing gate’. It felt too intrusive to open it and drive in, so instead she found a dent in the bushes further along the scenic lane, parked up, inhaled quickly and climbed out.

  Her heels were inappropriate for the squelchy ground, her blouse too thin to keep out the chilly breeze and three eager chicks almost escaped from the yard. But despite nearly breaking her neck on a claw of hidden knotweed, she resolutely headed towards the patchwork path and down to the stable front door.

  Holding her breath, she lifted the knocker and rapped. No reply for several seconds. She looked over her shoulder. Like the characters from Chicken Run, the hens were eyeing her expectantly. Female solidarity or clucks of disapproval? Oh God, what to do. Turn tail or try again? She came back to the door, but the choice had been made for her. A handsome black guy had answered. He peered at her enquiringly, then lifted his arms to gather a young boy and girl who’d appeared either side.

  Oh fuck; it wasn’t Wes.

  She blew out the air snared in her lungs. This was clearly the brother Sidney and his kids, the guy who owned the house. What the hell had she been thinking? Just turning up had been crazy. She stared at her muddy shoes. Shit. And no doubt her blouse was now stuck to her chest from perspiration. Blame the sugar, excessive glucose and insanity? Instead she smiled politely as though her unexpected presence was perfectly normal.

  ‘Hi, is Wesley in?’ she asked.

  Lifting his eyebrows in a knowing way, Sidney grinned. ‘He is.’ He stepped back and hollered, ‘Wes, there’s a visitor for you.’ Then, apparently not receiving a reply, he pointed upwards. ‘I’ll go and get him.’

  Studying her with obvious interest, the children didn’t move, so Nat waited on the doorstep with a fixed polite smile. Was it really too late to bolt? Tell the kids she was really a Jehovah’s Witness? But Wes had appeared from the stairs, a puzzled frown on his face before recognition set in.

  ‘Nat?’ Then after a moment, striding forward. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No!’ The word came out ridiculously loud. She tried again. ‘No, not at all. I just…’

  She actually wanted to say, ‘Yes, someone nearly attacked me today and I really, really needed you to hold me’. But she could see how it looked. Why would anyone appear at your front door, unannounced, unless someone had died. Struggling to hold back the tears, she nodded towards Sidney, shuffling away the gawping kids. ‘I’m so sorry to turn up like this, I didn’t know that Sidney would be here; I didn’t think. It was a half day at work so I… came.’

  His expression betraying nothing, Wes nodded. He reached out his hand, led her down the hallway and into the kitchen. He glanced at her shoes, then disappeared into the utility room, returning with two pairs of trainers which he placed at her feet.

  ‘It’s all we’ve got.’

  Unable to cope with the silence, Nat found the power of speech. ‘The girl whose foot this Nike fits…’

  Wes didn’t smile. ‘Something like that.’ He seemed distracted. ‘Try them on. I’ll find a coat and…’

  She heard him bound up the stairs as she tried on the sneakers. Neither fitted, but she figured slipping out of the larger pair was preferable to bunions. Too agitated to sit, she glanced around the tidy kitchen and inhaled the sweet aroma of baking. The Odd Couple, Kath had said. She’d already guessed which one was fussy Felix.

  Eventually returning with an armful of clothes, Wes sorted them out on the table, passing her a jumper and socks. ‘They should do.’

  Nat nodded to the Aga. ‘Is something due to come out?’

  ‘Shit.’ Wes grabbed an oven glove and pulled out a tray of slightly over-baked cookies which he eased off the parchment and onto a Sheriff Woody platter.

  His attention on the task, Nat finally looked at him properly. Her tummy flipped. He had a proper beard. Did she like it? She wasn’t sure. He was attractive as ever and it emphasised his sharp cheekbones, but made him that stranger she’d spotted at the hospital. She inwardly sighed. And his expression was definitely tense; it seemed she’d be blamed for burning the biscuits as well as interrupting his work.

  Wes disappeared with the plate. By the time he returned she was dutifully attired: chunky socks, huge jumper and an oversized coat. Along with her best work skirt, they looked super stylish. She would have said so with a huge dose of sarcasm had Wesley not appeared so stern.

  Her emotions dipping yet again, she followed him through the utility room and out of a side door. The icy wind whipped her cheeks. Why didn’t he just ask her to leave, make up some excuse or tell her to fuck off? He clearly wanted to bundle her out of the house. Was her presence so embarrassing?

  After taking a few steps, she glanced up. Wes had already stalked ahead. Bloody rude, actually. She clenched her teeth. Should she leave? To hell with her shoes. Just tromp to the car and drive back the way she’d come? But at the side of the garage, Wes turned and folded his arms. He looked so heartrendingly handsome, she couldn’t have resisted the pull if she’d tried.

  ‘What took you so long?’ he asked when she reached him.

  She gesticulated to the trainers. ‘You try walking in these.’

  He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. ‘What took you so long?’ he said again. He peered at her intently. ‘You have no idea; you have no bloody idea how much I’ve missed you.’

  Needing to sob with relief, Nat buried her face in his jacket. ‘You’ve dressed me up like a bag lady just to say that?’ she managed to croak.

  ‘Pretty much,’ he said into her hair. But then he fell silent, so she pulled away to study his expression.

  ‘And?’

  He didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘Nothing.’

  Feeling nauseous, she swallowed. ‘Wes? What is it?’

  He rubbed his head and sighed. ‘You and Max.’

  ‘There is no me and Max, Wes.’ She took a step back. ‘In fact, the suggestion is bloody insulting. As though I’d do that.’

  He lifted his hands. ‘According to Sharon, you’ve had a few dates–’

  ‘With Joshim Khan and others. Or am I sleeping with them too?’ Laughter bubbled up. ‘Since when did you take any
notice of Sharon, let alone her gossip?’

  His jaw tight, he didn’t answer for several beats. ‘Since my girlfriend said she’d find nice sex elsewhere.’

  Her smile fell. He was right; it had been a low blow. ‘I didn’t mean it; I was upset and I lashed out.’

  ‘I thought…’ He looked at his feet. ‘I had thought you and I–’

  ‘Liked each other?’ It was the euphemism they’d used last year. And eighteen years ago.

  He snorted lightly. ‘Yes.’ Then after a moment. ‘It hurt, Nat. Really hurt.’

  Remembering their brief, hostile call, Nat closed her eyes. He was right; she hadn’t got what she had wanted; she had thrown out the dummy. And if he’d said the same to her? She’d have been devastated, for sure. But… But… It was her turn to examine the soft ground. ‘I was hurt too, Wes. You pushed me away, made me feel excluded. And when I thought it through, I realised you’d hidden me away; I hadn’t met your parents, your brother, your kids…’

  He massaged his forehead. ‘You didn’t say anything about wanting to, so I didn’t push it. I didn’t want to freak you out. With everything else going on, you were my lifeline, my ray of hope. The last thing I wanted was to lose you.’

  ‘You said it was none of my business, Wes.’ Her voice sounded choked and small; she didn’t want to mention her name.

  ‘I know and I’m sorry.’ Circling her waist, he pulled her in. ‘Why am I talking when I want to do this?’ Putting his lips to hers, he softly kissed her.

  Relenting, she reached up her arms around his neck. ‘I’m sorry too.’ She nuzzled his face. ‘Not sure about this beard though…’

  He grinned. Finally, that stunning Wesley Hughes smile. ‘Give it time; you’ll grow to love it.’ He held out his palm. ‘Let’s walk before we freeze.’