Chapter Twenty-Two
Kit stayed the entire weekend. He popped home for some fresh clothes and toiletries, but wasn't gone long. He got a taxi straight back to my flat, and to be absolutely honest, we spent most of the time in bed. He hadn't been scornful about the flat, at all, even though I'd apologised for how tiny it was. He'd just looked at me in surprise, as if he hadn't even noticed, then went back to making us scrambled eggs in my bijou kitchen, which was probably the same size as one of his cupboards.
On the Sunday morning, we just lay there, arms around each other, my head on his chest, a smile on my face, as he gently played with my hair, and we reminisced about the good times—carefully avoiding all talk of how our previous relationship had ended.
We talked about the Christmas Eve we'd spent with Grandad, having our own early Christmas Day together at Grandad's suggestion, and how Kit had had his first whisky that day, and how awful my first attempt at Yorkshire puddings had turned out, and how Grandad had laughed and said not to worry, the lumps in the gravy would take our minds off how bad they tasted.
"He was such a lovely man," Kit remembered. "I still miss him, even now."
I loved him for that. He was quite right. I thought about Grandad every single day, and the fact that Kit had thought so highly of him made me feel all warm and happy inside.
"I miss him, too," I said.
He kissed the top of my head. "It was awful when he died. He was far too young. I know how badly it affected you, and of course, your mum didn't understand why, and you could hardly explain it to her, since she didn't even know you were still in touch with him."
"But I had you," I pointed out, because it was true. Kit had been a tower of strength for me in those dark days, holding me while I cried and attending the funeral with me, holding my hand while I struggled to keep it together. After that, our relationship had deepened and matured, somehow. We'd shared something that bonded us, and it felt, to me at least, that we were no longer just boyfriend and girlfriend, but partners. Real partners. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. When your dad died, I mean."
He shuffled a bit, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. "Doesn't matter."
"But he was young, too. It must have been a terrible shock."
"It was, but if I'm honest, I can't say I grieved as much for him as I did for your grandad. Does that sound awful?"
"Well, no. I suppose not. I'm just a bit taken aback. I had no idea things were so bad between you."
"Didn't you?" He sounded surprised. "I thought you realised. Why did you think I never took you back to meet him?"
I hesitated, not sure how much I should reveal, or how deep I wanted to delve into past hurts. "Honestly? I thought you were ashamed of me."
He pulled away from me and stared at me in horror. "You didn't!"
My face burned with embarrassment, and I lowered my gaze, staring intently at the dark hairs on his chest, which, to be fair, was no hardship at all. "What else was I supposed to think? I asked you loads of times when I could meet your family, and you kept fobbing me off, saying they had no need to meet me and that our relationship was our own business."
"Because it was. Christ, Marley, you really thought ..." He shook his head and pulled me close again. "You must have been so hurt. It wasn't like that, at all. I just didn't want him spreading his poison to you. He didn't like anyone, and he made damn sure they knew it. Plus, I was afraid he'd turn you against me."
"How on earth could he do that?" I said, incredulously.
"He never had a positive word to say about me," he muttered. "He'd have made damn sure you knew what a failure and a disappointment I was. I didn't want you to think badly of me."
"Badly of you? Why on earth would I listen to him?"
He shrugged. "He had a way of getting under your skin. Making you believe the worst. I know he made me believe I was a failure. It took me years to shake off the feeling that I was a complete waste of space. I don't know that I have entirely, if I'm being honest."
"But you proved him wrong," I said. "You went abroad and got a great job, and made a success of your life."
He laughed. "Not in his eyes. It depends how you measure success. If I'd gone to university when he asked, and then learned the ropes in the factory and stayed on there, maybe I'd have had a chance. Going off to work in the third world with a variety of charities didn't even begin to pass muster."
I sat up. "Charities? You worked for charities?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you know?"
I'd assumed he worked for some holiday company, or some big business overseas. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd been working for a good cause. Of course, I'd wanted to think the worst of him, and I'd certainly not risked making enquiries about what he was up to. It would have been far too painful to know.
I shook my head, and he sighed and sat up, too, pulling the duvet around us to fend off the cold December air. I hated sleeping in a hot bedroom and never had the radiator on in there.
"After we—I mean, the first time I went abroad, before uni, I volunteered for a charity in West Africa. Then I came back after a year, did my duty at university, got my degree. Dad fully expected me to start work in the factory, but I had other ideas. I couldn't stand the thought of working beside him every day, so I found a job in South America, working with indigenous children in Peru. We were trying to educate them and make sure they got schooling, got off the streets, basically to empower them. There's so much trafficking there, and poverty, and the kids are expected to work, rather than go to school." He shook his head sadly. "It really is another world."
"I had no idea," I whispered. "So, you've been in Peru, this whole time?"
"Oh, no, not the whole time. I went to India and worked to help the street children over there for a few years. I was contemplating my next move, when I got the call from Jack about Tim."
"You were in India when he called you?"
"No, I was back in Peru. I was just about to start walking the Inca Trail for charity, when he told me what was going on and asked if I could come straight back after I'd finished, which I did. Hence the Yeti look."
I stared at him in awe. "You're amazing."
"No, I'm really not. Jack's amazing. He carried the burden of Tim's illness and the factory all that time, without bothering me about it. I had a lot of time to think while I was walking and, believe me, I've been pretty selfish. I've basically done what I wanted to do with my life, and not given a thought to the people who needed me at home. My brother and his family, the factory workers .... They were all my responsibility, and I was so busy with my own life, I didn't give any of them a second thought."
"But you were doing good," I protested. "You were being totally unselfish."
"Not as unselfish as you might think," he said. "Like I said, I had a lot of time to think on that walk, and it occurred to me that I'd had my reasons for doing what I did, and they weren't all about making the world a better place. A lot of it was down to me, trying to feel better about myself, trying to earn my place in the world, trying to prove the old man wrong. He did a real hatchet job on my self-confidence, Marley. I can't even begin to explain it. All I know is, by throwing myself into good causes, it eased some of the pain, somehow. I could look in the mirror and feel a bit worthier. So, you see, I'm no saint. Far from it."
I didn't know what to think anymore. He'd spent years working to make the world a better place for people, so I couldn't exactly call him selfish, could I? On the other hand, he was right. He'd not given a thought to the people who’d needed him. He'd mentioned Jack and his family, and everyone at the factory, but he'd not said a word about me. It was as if he'd given me no thought, at all. But I'd needed him. Perhaps I'd needed him most of all, and he'd abandoned me.
"You've gone very quiet," he said, taking hold of a strand of my hair and twirling it around his fingers. "What are you thinking?"
I almost said it, but I knew if I did, the moment would be ruined. The reckoning was coming, though. At some point, we had to discuss what had gone wrong, why he'd done what he did. He needed to explain himself. I deserved that, at least.
There were things I had to tell him, too, and I wasn't looking forward to it. But if I started to pick at that thread right then, the whole picture could unravel. The truth was, I didn't want it to unravel. I was happy. It was the best weekend I'd had in years, and I couldn't bear to let it go. Not just yet.
I smiled at him. "Just wondering what you've got me for Christmas."
He laughed. "You'll never guess in a million years, and you'll have to wait to find out. But there are other things we can enjoy, in the meantime."
I raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "There are? I can't imagine what they'd be."
He slid down the bed, pulling me with him. "Well," he murmured, holding me close and gazing into my eyes, "allow me to demonstrate."
***
Kit buttered his toast and put the knife in the sink, then sat down at the folding table in the corner of the kitchen. He looked around him, smiling to himself at the neat and tidy flat. It was small, there was no escaping that fact—God knows, Marley had apologised for its size a million times, as if it was a crime to have a small house—but it was pretty, cosy and felt like home. He preferred it to Fell House, any day. That place had never felt like home.
It had been purchased as a status symbol by Edward Carroll in the late nineteenth century—a stone, square house with a grey slate roof, large sash windows, high ceilings and original fireplaces in almost every room, including all of the eleven bedrooms. In Edward's day, the house had been full of children—seven, in all—an assortment of servants, and various house guests. It had sent out a clear message to his competitors and the community, that he was a man of standing and wealth.
Lately, it was just a drain on expenses, and a bit of an embarrassment. Kit had never liked visiting his grandparents there, and had been devastated when his father inherited it and moved his family in. He couldn't wait to see the back of it.
Talking of which .... He picked up his mobile phone and glanced at the message from Serafina. Tomorrow evening. Well, that was something. At least it would get the ball rolling, although he wasn't at all certain things would move quickly enough. She'd been totally enthusiastic on the phone, assuring him that it was a done deal, and not to worry, but he couldn't help it. It had been years since she'd last been at Fell House. Things could still go badly wrong, so he wasn't counting on anything—not even the Rochester account, as much as he wanted to.
He chewed his toast, hoping Marley wouldn't be much longer. Her tea was getting cold. He could hear her moving around in the bathroom, and the sound brought a warm glow to his heart. He couldn't believe he was actually sitting there in her flat, having had the most perfect weekend with her. All his doubts and worries had been pushed to one side. She was amazing, and he knew the feelings he'd had for her all those years ago had never really gone away. All their differences seemed to have been forgotten. Was there a chance for a happy ending, after all?
She walked into the kitchen looking like a different person. Gone was the tousled hair and makeup-free face. Her hair was neatly straightened, she was carefully made-up, and the body that Kit had thoroughly enjoyed seeing all weekend in all its naked glory was encased in a smart black pencil skirt and white shirt. Back to being Marley, the secretary.
Oops, PA, he corrected himself mentally, with a wry smile. He supposed he was Kit the boss again. Except, it wasn't time for work yet, and they were still technically off-duty.
"What are you smiling at?" she said, slipping into the chair beside him and picking up her mug of tea.
"You," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
She laughed and stroked his face, before returning the kiss. "Thanks for the tea and toast. I could get used to this."
"You could?"
The question hung in the air between them, and Kit felt suddenly awkward. He wished he hadn't said that. It was too soon. He'd scare her off.
"Back to reality now," she said with a sigh, clearly avoiding the subject.
He took a sip of tea. "I suppose so."
He wanted to ask her, where do we go from here? What happens now? Somehow, he couldn't make himself do it. What if she politely informed him that it had been a one-off, never to be repeated?
There was still something overshadowing them. He could feel it. He just didn't know what it was, and he didn't know how to ask. He turned his thoughts to work and felt a dread descending. "I'm not looking forward to today," he confessed, taking another bite of his toast.
Marley sipped her tea. "Why not? Come on, it's nearly Christmas. Cheer up. You're everyone's friend after your amazing dance show at the party on Friday."
He managed a smile. "Yeah, but for how long? I have to tell them about the bonus today. I can't put it off any longer. Doubt I'll be anyone's friend after that."
Marley's face fell. She put down her mug and stared at him. "You're going ahead with it? After all that?"
He was puzzled. "All what? And of course I'm going ahead with it. I told you."
"But I thought—"
"What? What did you think?"
She pushed her plate of toast away, untouched.
He stared at it, a sudden nausea in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong?"
"I thought, after the fun we all had on Friday, that you'd change your mind."
"Because of a few sandwiches and a beer, or two? Do you really think it works like that?"
She glared at him. "Because you might finally have seen them as real people, instead of just numbers on a spreadsheet. I thought, if you got to know them, got talking to them, that you'd realise they were decent people and might rethink your money-grabbing attitude."
"My ..." Kit's mind whirled. My God, was that what she thought of him? "So, you think I didn't see them as real people before? What sort of man do you think I am?"
"I don't know," she snapped. "You're a bundle of contradictions. You're happy to spend years helping the poor in third world countries, but when it comes to your own staff, you treat them like dirt. Aren't they poor enough for you? Or doesn't it count when it's your own pocket the funds are coming out of?"
Kit's mouth fell open. "Is that what you really think of me?"
"What am I supposed to think? You can't do this to them. It's mean and petty!"
"Mean and petty? Bloody hell, Marley, say what you think, won't you."
"Well, what do you expect? I'm so—so disappointed in you."
The voice echoed back down the years. His father's voice. ‘You're such a disappointment, boy. You'd run the factory into the ground if it was left to you. Too bloody soft, by half. You need to toughen up!’
Kit felt cold inside. He pushed his own plate away and stood up. "I'm going to work. Are you coming?"
Already expecting her to refuse, he wasn't in the slightest bit surprised when she shook her head. "I'm going to see my uncle first. He's not well. I should have visited him over the weekend. I'll make my own way to work."
Kit grabbed his overnight bag and pulled on his jacket. "Right, well, I'll see you at the office."
"Yeah."
Feeling sick, he headed down the stairs and unlocked the front door, then stood for a moment outside on the main street, taking deep breaths of cold, December air.
That was that, then. He'd seen the contempt in her face, and it had just about finished him off. He'd seen that look so many times in his own father's face. Ironic, really. His father had always accused him of being too soft, yet Marley was accusing him of being too harsh. He couldn't win.
He could have told her his reasons, he supposed. Maybe he should have told her. Jack certainly seemed to think he should. But Marley was a family girl, and she had a sister, a brother-in-law, and a mother, who all worked at the factory, not to mention Don. She would feel obliged to tell them the truth about the precarious state Carroll's was in, and then that would spread all round the factory. He had to keep it quiet, at least for a while. He wanted them all to have a worry-free Christmas. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen before the new year. He owed them all that much at least.
If that cost him his relationship with Marley, maybe that was the price he would have to pay.