Chapter Nineteen
Harriet stood in the doorway of The Drowned Sailor and squinted as she tried to see through the press of bodies. Wychwood-on-Lea’s high street might be quiet, but at nine o’clock on a Friday night the pub was hopping. Rock music blared from speakers positioned above the bar, but Harriet could barely hear it over the raucous laughter and boisterous guffaws.
Colin hadn’t told her much over the phone—only that he’d stumbled upon Richard at the pub, received an earful, and then realized Richard was far too drunk to go home by himself. Richard had rattled off Harriet’s number, and here she was.
“Harriet!”
Harriet turned at the sound of her name and saw Colin waving from the back of the pub. She shouldered her way through the crowd, looking around for Richard but not seeing him anywhere.
“He’s in the gents,” Colin said when she’d finally made it across to him. “My mate’s with him. He’s not in good shape, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear.” Harriet couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Richard drunk. In university, perhaps.
“Hat.” She turned to see Richard staggering out of the WC, one arm loped around the shoulders of someone Harriet didn’t recognize. “Hat, you came.”
“Colin rang me, Richard.”
He looked terrible, hair rumpled, face flushed, shirt untucked. And he reeked of beer and, yes, vomit. She took a step back. Richard burped and covered his mouth, or tried to.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Harriet looked at Colin, who shrugged. “He can’t drive.”
“I realize.” She felt exasperated and unsure, but underneath it all was a strange sort of affection. “Come on, Richard,” she said. “You can come home with me.”
His face lit up blearily. “Really…”
“Yes, really. What else am I going to do with you?” With a sigh she took his arm and practically frog-marched him out of the pub.
The cool night air seemed to rouse him a little, and he straightened. “Sorry about this, Hat.”
“You haven’t called me Hat in a long time.” Besides that one unfortunate mention when he’d first told her they were broke.
“I know,” Richard said. “You haven’t been Hat for ages.”
“Let’s not get into all that now. I need to get you home.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t,” Harriet said, but something fluttery was going on in her stomach. Again.
They walked in silence down the high street, and then turned off onto the narrow, darkened lane that led to Willoughby Manor. Under a pale, crescent moon, the manor house was dark, its crenellated towers thrusting into the night sky. Richard stumbled on the rutted road and she took his arm, his shoulder pressing against her. It was the closest they’d been in months. And he definitely did smell.
Back at the house the children were, thankfully, asleep, as was Daisy in her crate, and Ellie was curled up on the sofa, watching telly. Her eyes widened rather comically as Harriet came in with Richard’s arm around her shoulders.
“What…”
“It’s a long story,” Harriet said. “But thanks for watching the kids. Any trouble?”
“Not at all. Mallory’s still stirring upstairs, I think. I turned her light off at half past nine.”
“Okay.” Harriet extricated herself from Richard and he stood there, smiling goofily and swaying slightly.
“Right.” Ellie looked from Harriet to Richard and back again, eyebrows raised in silent query.
“Thanks,” Harriet said meaningfully, and with a knowing grin Ellie moved off. The door closed and with a deep breath Harriet turned around. “Right. I’m not letting you sleep on my sofa without a shower.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll make you some coffee. The bathroom’s upstairs—be quiet, for heaven’s sake. The last thing I want is one of the kids seeing you.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes,” Harriet snapped, on edge now. “It would. First of all because you’re drunk and you reek, and second, because it would confuse them, and that’s something none of us needs.” Even if she was already starting to feel confused.
“Sorry,” Richard murmured, repentant, and then headed upstairs.
“Brush your teeth while you’re at it,” Harriet called. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.” She heard the bathroom door click shut and she went to boil the kettle.
She tried to sift through her feelings as she spooned coffee into the cafetière and got out two mugs, but gave up after a few minutes because it was just too hard. Rescuing Richard from The Drowned Sailor on top of her evening with Tom, as well as that semi-awful kiss, left her feeling too unsettled to figure out what was really going on underneath the disquiet.
The coffee made, she checked the mirror by the front door to make sure she didn’t have something stuck in her teeth and that her hair wasn’t frizzing too badly. Good on both points, although why she was bothering when Richard had smelled like a brewery, she didn’t know.
Realizing his clothes would still smell, Harriet went upstairs and dug out an old shirt of Richard’s she wore as pajamas and a pair of his track bottoms that had somehow found their way to Willoughby Close. She left the clothes outside the bathroom, pausing for a few seconds to listen to Richard humming in the shower. Imagining him in the shower, water streaming, naked—
She was ridiculous.
The shower turned off and Harriet hurried downstairs.
A few minutes later Richard came down, smelling like soap and toothpaste, his hair damp and curling. Harriet pinned a smile on her face and handed him a cup of black coffee.
“To sober me up?” Richard said with a wry smile, his eyebrows lifted. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She clutched her mug, holding it in front of her almost like a shield, at a loss now that he was here, showered, smiling, and so very Richard. “So what happened?” she asked eventually. “How did you end up half-cut in The Drowned Sailor?”
“Well.” Richard moved to the sofa and after a second Harriet followed. “I stopped by here first.”
Surprise rippled through her. “You did? Why?”
“To see the kids.” A pause as he sipped his coffee, averting his gaze. “To see you.”
“Why?” Harriet asked again, dumbly.
She sat down on the sofa with a thud, and Richard sat on the other end. Just as she and Tom had done earlier. She’d entered The Twilight Zone of relationships.
“I wanted to give you something.” He let out a little, uncertain laugh and then went to fetch something from his coat. Harriet watched him, baffled.
“It’s nothing much,” Richard said as he fished something out of the coat’s pocket. “Here.” He handed her a bundled up T-shirt and Harriet shook it out, letting out a little laugh as she saw the logo on the front. I Survived the School Dinner Rush.
She’d forgotten how he used to make her T-shirts—I Survived the School Disco, I Survived Ten Years of Toddler Group. It had been a joke between them, one she’d forgotten about.
“Thanks,” she said, and carefully folded the T-shirt back up. “That was thoughtful. I have a lot more of them to survive, though.”
“And I’m sure you will.” Richard sat back on the sofa. “I really came here tonight because I wanted to. Because… because I miss you, Harriet. I realize I haven’t said that, not up front. I had more fun chatting with you on the phone for five minutes than hours with—”
“Don’t,” Harriet cut him off, acid in her voice. “Don’t talk about Meghan now, please.”
Richard looked down at his coffee. “I miss you,” he said again, quiet now but no less heartfelt.
“So you came here and found I was out…”
“With Tom. Who the hell is he?”
“Daisy’s vet. We’re just friends, Richard. Acquaintances.” She thought about making a cheap shot about his friendship with Meghan, but somehow she didn’t feel like it right now.
“Mallory was acting like it was a date.”
“Of course she was.” Harriet leaned her head back against the sofa, her mind spinning as if she was the one who had downed several pints. “We are legally separated, you know.”
“I never wanted that.”
“I know. You wanted to have your cake and eat it too. Quite a lot of it.” She lifted her head to give him a direct look. “Are you still seeing Meghan? And please don’t give me the spiel about how you were never seeing her that way. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.” Richard’s steady look back was just as direct. “And I’m not. Not so much as a text. I told her that we couldn’t be friends anymore. I’d already come to the decision, but hearing that you were out with some guy, even if it was just as friends… it made me furious.” He gave her an apologetic grimace. “I wanted to punch him, and you know I’m not a punching kind of bloke. But it also made me realize how unfair my friendship with Meghan was to you, Harriet. I don’t think I quite saw it that way before, but trust me, now I do, and I don’t ever plan on talking to her again.”
Harriet’s breath came out in a rush, surprised and a little wary by this easy victory. “Okay.”
“My marriage is far more important than a friendship that never should have happened in the first place. I was stupid, Harriet. Completely stupid. I don’t know how I came to be in the place I was, but I did.”
Here was the groveling she’d been craving for so long, and yet now she didn’t know what to do with it. “I know what you mean,” Harriet said after a pause. She felt as if she were carefully edging around a vast and gaping emotional pit. “I feel like I’d become someone else without realizing it. Someone I don’t really like, actually. And I know you didn’t like her, either.” It still hurt to say that.
“But I love you.” He looked at her seriously, unblinkingly. “Do you believe that?”
“I’m not sure what that even means, or who I am anymore. Can I find myself at age thirty-nine? Do I have to?”
“I’ll find you.” Richard shifted on the sofa, closer to her. “I want to find you. Can we try again, Harriet? Properly? Please?”
Harriet’s fingers clenched on the stem of her wineglass. No evasions anymore, just bold questions and hard truths. Emotional risk. “How are we meant to do that, exactly? You’re in London and I’m here.”
“I come here two or three times a week. We can see each other then.”
Which meant…? Harriet’s stomach started fizzing. It had been so long since she’d been touched or kissed, not counting tonight’s clumsy experience with Tom. So long since she’d felt comfortable and safe and desired and loved. She missed that. She missed it a lot, but she still wasn’t sure she and Richard could recapture what they had. But perhaps they could try.
“Maybe,” Harriet said slowly. “But at this point, Richard, I don’t even know what that would look like.” Or feel like.
“How about I take you out on a date? Dinner at a nice restaurant.”
“We can’t afford it.”
“Fine, dinner at The Drowned Sailor. Or McDonald’s, if you’d rather. We go out and we have fun and we get to know each other again. Because it’s been a long time, I think, since either of us felt like we knew the other person. Since we knew ourselves.”
“I know.” Harriet tucked her knees up and wrapped one arm around them, hugging herself close. They were in agreement about that, but she still felt uncertain. Afraid. “And then what?” she asked.
“Then we see what happens. I’m hoping to get this job I told you about. We could be living in Wychwood House or something like it in a few months.”
“Really?” With a flicker of surprise Harriet realized she wasn’t quite as pleased about that as she would have expected.
“It’s still on the market. I could knock them down to a million five, I bet.”
It made her head spin. She was earning minimum wage and counting pennies at the supermarket, and now he was talking about buying one of the most expensive houses in the village? “Do you really think it’s in our price range?”
“With my signing bonus we could manage it. And I want you to be happy, Harriet. I want us to be happy.”
The trouble was, Harriet didn’t know if Wychwood House would make her happy anymore. Once upon a time she’d pinned all her hopes, all her ambitions, on the beautiful house in the country and the idyllic life to go along with it. Once upon a time.
Now? Now she felt she didn’t know anything anymore.
“It can all happen for us, Harriet,” Richard said, his tone sounding so sure, so promising. “We can get back together; we can live in the house you’ve always wanted. We can send Mallory to Ellerton, even. Just give me a chance to make it all right.”
How could she deny him a chance? And the picture he was painting was seductive. A life of ease and comfort again, but they would have learned and changed from the experience. Better and better. She wouldn’t turn back into the person she’d been, shallow and image-obsessed without even realizing it. She certainly wouldn’t spend the way she had. The children could have a big garden, and a pony, and all the afterschool activities they wanted. Holidays in Provence, skiing in Verbier…
Life could be perfect. So why did she feel so uneasy?
“Let’s take it one day at a time,” Harriet said finally. “To begin with.”
“Fine, let’s start with tomorrow. How about I spend the day with you and the kids?”
“I was going to visit Lady Stokeley in the morning.” After five days of treatment Lady Stokeley had to be starting to feel the effects, and Harriet wanted to check in on her.
“Okay, then I’ll watch the kids while you do that. After that we’ll do something together. A walk in the woods, maybe, and a picnic?”
“I think it’s meant to rain.”
“Harriet.” Richard looked affectionately exasperated, and Harriet managed a small smile.
“I’m scared, Richard,” she said quietly. “That’s the truth.”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared of trying. Scared of it not working out between us, and the kids and I are left in an even worse place emotionally, even physically. I know this doesn’t seem like much,” she added, gesturing to the house, “but we’ve settled here and everyone seems to be doing okay. Doing well, even. Mallory’s made new friends and so have I and I don’t want to upend it all for something that’s not a sure thing.” What if she moved out of Willoughby Close and then it all fell apart again? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to recover a second time.
Richard flinched a little, and she knew she’d hurt him with that remark. “Nothing in life is a sure thing.”
“No, but…” Harriet let out a gusty breath. “Some things are more sure than others.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Should I? You lied to me for six months. You embarked on an affair, yes, I know, only emotionally, more or less, but still. I know I’m partly to blame for the train wreck our lives had become without us even realizing, but I don’t think I abused your trust.” She held his gaze. “Did I?”
Richard looked away before resolutely turning back to her. “No, you didn’t. I’m the one who lied, in a lot of different ways, and for that I am sorry. Truly sorry, more than you could possible realize, I think.”
“What freelance work have you been doing?” Harriet asked abruptly. Richard looked startled.
“Nothing much…”
“Tell me, Richard. I want truth between us, in everything. No more evasions. No more lies.”
“I’m tutoring in history and economics,” he said. “For GCSE pupils.”
“Oh.” What had she been expecting? Not that, certainly.
She realized she’d been afraid he’d been doing something risky with investments and finance. Something that could set them back even farther, or blow up completely. Again.
“Do you enjoy it?” she asked.
“It’s fine. Doesn’t make much money, but…” He shrugged. “It pays a few bills.”
He’d studied history in university, and when they’d been first years Harriet remembered him talking about becoming a teacher. Dismissively, because there was no money in it, but with a tiny hint of longing.
“So?” Richard pressed. “You said you wanted to take it one day at a time. How about tomorrow, then? We’ll start there.”
Was there any reason, any reason at all, to say no? Harriet tried to imagine the children’s reactions when they learned they’d all be spending the day together, happy families cobbled together. Was she setting them up for disappointment? Setting herself up?
“Okay,” she said at last. “Tomorrow.”
Richard grinned, his whole face transformed by lightness and joy, so much so that Harriet had to smile back. Felt a little skip of excitement inside, even.
“You won’t regret it, Harriet,” he said. “I promise.”
“It’s just a picnic,” Harriet answered as she uncurled herself from the sofa. “And remember, it might rain.” She didn’t know whether she was speaking metaphorically or not.
“Then we’ll have a picnic in the rain.” Richard took their coffee cups into the kitchen and Harriet stood there, watching him rinse the glasses in the sink, realizing how much she missed having someone in her life. How much she’d missed him.
Then Richard turned and saw her staring. In a single second the mood changed from affable to something far more intense. Harriet’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t ready for this.
“Harriet…” He walked towards her, heat simmering in his eyes.
Harriet felt as if she were caught in a snare, unable to move. He stood before her, gazing at her so steadily, with so much certainty. How he had arrived at such a sure place so quickly? She still felt beleaguered by doubt.
And yet… that look. She wasn’t immune. Excitement and anticipation made her stomach turn over. She was still holding her breath.
Richard reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers touched her skin and she shivered. It had been a long time since she’d been affected like this. Since he’d affected her like this.
“Do you know,” she said, her voice sounding wobbly, “I can’t actually remember the last time we had sex.”
Richard laughed softly. “Maybe it’s time for a reminder, then.”
“No, Richard.” She made herself sound firm. “One day at a time, remember?”
“I know.” He brushed his fingers down her cheek. “But I’ve missed you, Harriet.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. I wish you would believe me.” He brought his hands up to her shoulders, his fingers curling around them. “Please believe me,” he whispered, and started drawing her towards him.
And Harriet went, because part of her—a large part—didn’t even want to resist. And yet as her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss, she remembered that the last person he’d kissed was Meghan. And even though she knew she was hurting them both she stepped back.
“I’m not there yet.” Her voice trembled. “Not yet,” she said again, and wrapped her arms around herself.
Richard looked gutted but after a second he rallied, nodding slowly. “Okay. Sorry, I shouldn’t have rushed things.”
“You can sleep on the sofa.” Harriet turned away, trying to compose herself. She felt scraped raw, by everything. “I’ll get some sheets and blankets. Why don’t you let Daisy out for a wee?”
Blindly she went upstairs and rummaged through the linen cupboard. When she came downstairs Richard had resettled Daisy in her crate.
“She’s a sweet little thing.”
“Yes. The children love her.”
She proffered the sheets and together they made the sofa up, both of them working in strained silence. Harriet felt as if she should apologize, but she didn’t.
She tucked the blankets into the side of the sofa and then stepped back. “There.” She pictured Mallory coming downstairs in the morning and skidding to a surprised halt at the sight of her father lying there. “What are you going to say to the kids?”
“I won’t get their hopes up too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It was. “Okay.” She let out a breath. “I hope Daisy doesn’t disturb you too much. She whimpers sometimes, in the night.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Harriet nodded and then, with nothing left to do, turned and headed upstairs. As she turned the corner she heard Richard’s voice, soft and sad.
“Goodnight, Harriet.”