It's Raining Men Part 6

'Is it really over with her?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Michael, were you really in Derby for most of the weekend, or were you with her?'

There was a definite pause before he answered: 'Don't be silly.' It was a very telling pause. It wasn't over with Kim at all.

May's fingers raked through her long brown hair. Was she in a bad dream? Was she Alice in some kind of horrible Wonderland? If she stepped backwards, would she fall down a p.i.s.sing rabbit hole into a pack of living, breathing playing cards who wanted to chop her head off? Her brain was dizzy with so many questions; she truly believed that even if she did have her head chopped off, that wouldn't stop them coming.

'So . . . let me recap,' said May, spinning her finger around in the air, because she needed to summarize the situation for herself more than for Michael. 'When we got together, you were scared of commitment, so you said you were married to a dying woman.'

He nodded vigorously, before saying, 'Correct.'

'At the same time you were also seeing another woman but you didn't like her as much as me so you were able to take her to visit your ill aunt in The Pines.'

Now he was smiling actually smiling as if this a.n.a.lysis was a big step towards all this silliness being over and done with. 'That's it.'

'Then when you realized that it was me that you wanted to be with, you dropped the other woman.'

Again that pause. 'Yes.'

'The woman you were with this weekend.'

'Yes. I mean, no.'

But they both knew that he was leading a double life. Kim wasn't part of his past, he was two-timing them both with each other.

'If I hadn't gone to The Pines this morning, I wouldn't have known any of this.'

'You shouldn't have,' said Michael, with an admonis.h.i.+ng finger-wagging tone in his voice.

'So it's my fault?' May pressed her hand against her chest.

'No . . . I didn't say that. But . . .' He sighed. 'It's obviously my fault. I've been an idiot. Although, if you think about it I haven't actually done that much wrong . . .'

May countered through gritted teeth: 'Except two-time me. Or is it three-time me?'

'Well, my wife doesn't actually exist so I wasn't being unfaithful to her. And Kim and I aren't married either. And you and I aren't married . . .' His argument petered out, so weak that it died on his lips.

May considered all the energy she had wasted thinking about his predicament, the heaviness of guilt. She was saturated with it, weighed down with it, exhausted by it. Maybe she deserved it all for taking another woman's husband. Even if, technically, she hadn't, she had believed he had a wife, and so, although he had nothing more than an invented wife, she had slept with a married man.

But she loved him. She couldn't just cut off nine months of real affection like that. And he was telling her that he wasn't married to anyone after all. And maybe she was imagining those pauses and Kim was in the past, as he said. If she could draw a line under what had happened and forget it they could carry on as normal. Better than normal . . . because it would be on an honest footing.

May Elizabeth Earnshaw where is your pride? Where are you from? The voice which stabbed the idealistic bubble in her brain and burst it sounded like a mixture of her mum, her dad, her granddad and two nannas. All good people, proud people, decent people.

May looked at Michael and his eager face. She looked at his kissable lips and those big soulful eyes. But with every pleasant thought came a large black stamp that flattened it. He came forward, enclosed his big arms around her and smothered her face with kisses, but they felt cold against her cheek because the man who was holding her was no longer that dutiful, needy Michael. This Michael was a bare-faced, two-timing b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a liar. She knew what she had to do; she had no option. He would cheat on her again because no man could respect a woman who put up with c.r.a.p like that.

May extricated herself slowly, because there was still a big part of her that wanted to stay against this man who had shared her bed so many times, who told her he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But she had been out with a liar before, she had experienced the dread of having her trust betrayed over and over again, and it had made her ill. Michael had mended the heart that had been battered by that liar, only to smash it up even more. She had a pain in her chest as if something had split inside her, something which hadn't quite healed from the last time the two sides of it were wrenched apart.

'You have to go,' she said. 'I don't want to see you again.'

Michael just laughed as if she had told a joke, as if she didn't mean what she said.

'Look, I made a mistake. A huge one, I grant you, but come on, love.' He held his hands out in supplication. 'I didn't kill anyone.'

May wasn't sure about that. She felt dead inside. Her surprisingly composed exterior belied an interior chaotic mess.

'Just go, Michael,' she said wearily, raising her cold brown eyes to his hope-filled ones.

Still he didn't believe she was serious and advanced towards her.

'JUST f.u.c.kING GO.'

That stopped him. He stepped backwards as if her words had physically winded him. He had never heard May use the F-word. She couldn't remember ever using it herself. She was as shocked as he was that she could sound so incensed.

He recalibrated his thoughts. She could almost see the machinations going on in his head: I'll leave her to cool down and think things through, then I'll come at her with another offensive.

Sure enough, when he opened his mouth to speak, he proved her right.

'I know this has all been awful for you, May. And you're going to need some time. Okay, okay. Here's what I'm going to do. I'll leave, go home and let you sleep on things. I'll come back tomorrow . . . Oh, hang on, I can't. I'm on an over night in Der- Durham. Wednesday, I'll definitely come back on Wednesday and we'll talk it all through. Just, please, hear me out, darling May. I love you. I never meant to hurt you I trapped myself and didn't know where to run to. I'm an idiot but it's you I love. We can recover this. I'm going to make sure we do.'

She remained impa.s.sive at least on the outside; inside was a maelstrom of chaos.

Michael smiled nervously, picked up his keys and then hovered for a few seconds, deciding whether or not to brave kissing her on the cheek. Looking at her furious face, he thought not.

'So I'll come around on Wednesday night?' he recapped. 'I'll drive round straight after I get back from work. Sevenish. I'll take you out for dinner no, I'll cook something here and we can talk. I'll bring a bottle of that wine you like.'

She opened her mouth to tell him that she wouldn't be here, that she would be in a spa in Yorks.h.i.+re, then she shut it again. She needed to book herself in for a treatment where he was battered out of her system with a rolling pin. Oh G.o.d, she hoped he wouldn't follow her up to Wellem.

'I want your key for this house back,' she said.

He looked surprised, but eventually said, 'Okay,' and struggled to unhook it from the ring of others in his hand. May wondered if one of those keys fitted the door to Kim's house. He seemed to be taking for ever to work it loose, and she knew he was playing for time. Eventually, he had it and placed it gently down onto the table as if it were gla.s.s and in danger of breaking.

May didn't move as she heard his footsteps on the oak flooring in the hallway. She stood rigid as the door opened and stayed open for ages, as if he was standing there waiting for her to run after him and declare that she had changed her mind and wanted to invite him back to scoff the Marks & Spencer's dinner for two. But eventually it closed and within the minute she heard a car fire up. Then and only then did May's shoulders slump forward and she didn't so much cry as howl.

She reached for the phone to ring Lara or Clare, desperate to hear a kind, friendly voice, but then pulled her hand back. What would she say to them? What sort of a fool would she look? She didn't know them well enough to expose herself as a married man's s.l.u.t to them, even if he wasn't actually married. Instead she sat at her table and soaked her hands with tears. She was an idiot of the highest order and as such she deserved the heartbreak she was feeling.

Chapter 15.

Clare's flat felt extra lonely when she walked into it that night. Lud's things were dotted around the place and she took a long breath and began gathering them up, either for him to collect or for her to forward: his thick woolly scarf hanging behind the door, his big blue trainers next to her smaller pink ones in the hallway, his spare watch next to her phone, the book on the floor at his side of her bed, his razor and toothbrush, his bottle of cologne, which she opened, inhaling the scent and feeling, just for a moment, that he was in front of her. Devoid of his homely clutter, the flat looked instantly emptier. It was as if their presence was so much bigger than their volume.

There was no cheery text from Lud that night to say that he was missing her. She felt its absence greatly. He would be in the airport now, waiting for his flight. As she packed the last bits for tomorrow's trip, she wondered how her parents would receive the news that she and Ludwig were no longer an item. Probably be quite delighted that she was now free to meet a good old English chap.

Maybe it would have been better if she had started the new job immediately: going away would give her time to think and she wasn't sure that would be a good thing. On the other hand she did need a break, because she was so very tired and she wouldn't have the chance to relax and recharge her batteries once she began her new position. The partners lived and breathed the place. Sometimes she was convinced they stretched time so that they could be there even longer than twenty-four hours a day. At least she wouldn't have time to miss Ludwig after her name joined the list of partners' names on the stationery that would help matters. And the sooner she moved into the big office on the holy second floor, the more warmth would rush into her parents' voices when she spoke to them. The more love they would allot her. The more time they would give to her. Success equals attention. That's how it had always been in the Salter family.

Chapter 16.

The sound of giggling greeted Lara as she pushed open the door to Manor Gardens. It was the laughter of two teenage girls and, mixed as it was with covert whispering, it was not a pleasant sound.

A head with swishy blonde hair appeared over the galleried landing and then quickly withdrew at being spotted. More chuckling ensued. Lara sensed she was the subject of the hilarity. She was obviously being hailed as the wicked stepmother. She forced a smile to her face as she took off her coat and prepared to be nice-lady.

'Hi, girls, have you eaten?'

She heard a loudly whispered imitation of what she had just said, but delivered in the sort of northern accent a.s.sociated with the depths of a working pit, and then more giggles. Lara suddenly felt like crying. Was this typical? She didn't know anyone who had gone through the stepchildren experience to ask. She couldn't find any common ground with Keely because Keely wouldn't let her find it. As for Garth well, he hated everything that wasn't an Xbox or something he could stick his finger into and pull a bogey out of.

'We've eaten, thanks.' Paris's voice floated down. 'Kristina made us something.'

Lara hoped they would stay upstairs and do whatever teenage girls did swoon over Justin Bieber or One Direction/Take That/David Ca.s.sidy whoever was 'in' at the moment. She would rather they remained out of her way and snickered about her, than watched every move she made with permanently mocking eyes.

Lara went into the kitchen and opened the fridge door, pulling out a can of diet cherry c.o.ke and the box containing the small crustless quiche that she had earmarked for tea, seeing as she wasn't going to be sharing a candlelit supper with James. The box felt very light. She opened it to find that it was empty but had been sealed up again and replaced on the shelf. She knew Kristina wouldn't have done such a thing, and Garth wouldn't have wasted precious Xbox time inventing ways to annoy her. This had all the hallmarks of a Keely prank, which is why she always kept her toothbrush in her make-up bag and a 'dummy' in the gla.s.s in their en-suite bathroom. She didn't trust Keely not to do something gross with it behind her back.

Lara was totally fed up with the constant attempts to provoke her. She fought hard to push down the rising tears when Keely came into the kitchen wearing her perma-smirk, which widened even more when she saw Lara holding the empty quiche box. It was ridiculous at work Lara could reduce grown men to rubble, at home a spotty grotty teenager with delusions of becoming the next Kate Moss was doing the very same to her.

'Having quiche for tea, I see?' she said, her face a perfect arrangement of innocence.

'I was going to, but it seems someone beat me to it.' Lara tried to laugh it off but didn't really manage it.

'Shame. What time is Dad coming home?'

'Late,' replied Lara. 'That's all I know.'

Keely sauntered over to the fridge and opened the door.

'He's always late these days,' she huffed.

'Well, he's very busy at the moment,' said Lara as breezily as she could.

'Yeah, I noticed.' Keely sounded genuinely annoyed with her father, for a change.

Lara saw her chance to s.h.i.+ne and dived in. 'Would you like any help packing?'

'No, thank you. Kristina's done it.' Keely pulled out two Pepsi bottles and closed the fridge door.

'Okay,' said Lara. 'As long as you're sorted.'

'I am, thanks.' This was said almost pleasantly. G.o.d was this a breakthrough?

'I hope you have a really nice time in France,' said Lara with a sudden determination to win Keely over. It happened in films. Eventually the kind-hearted would-be parent broke through all the defences the child had erected and friends.h.i.+p flowered.

'Of course I shall. I'll be with my mum.'

'Bring me back some rock,' joked Lara with a light laugh that resulted only in Keely giving her a sideways frown.

'I do mean it,' said Lara. 'I want you both to have a lovely holiday. I only ever see the insides of offices when I go to France, no time for sightseeing or shopping.'

'Well, I'm sure you'll have some shopping time in Yorks.h.i.+re,' returned Keely, her voice giving the county the status of a dog t.u.r.d.

'I'm sure we shall.'

Keely took one step out of the door and then doubled back.

'I feel sorry for you, Lara,' she said, an alien softness in her voice.

'For me? Why?'

'Because you think that Dad could really fall for someone like you.'

'Like me? What do you mean?'

'Where do I start? High-street clothes, inferior cooking, inferior face, funny northern accent . . . is that enough to be going on with?'

No, it wasn't a breakthrough, obviously.

Lara didn't want the tears to appear in her eyes, but it seemed she had no choice they sprang there in one leap and s.h.i.+mmered. Keely had just reduced her to as low as she could possibly get.

'Keely, why do you feel the need to hate me so much?'

Keely's head swung back round to her step-mother-in-training and, just for a second, she saw Lara as she really was a good-hearted woman pushed to the brink, a kind woman who had never done her any harm. But Keely was a spoiled brat, raised by parents with primarily their own interests at heart, and that behaviour had become ingrained in her. To admit she had been a complete b.i.t.c.h to someone who was trying to be nice to her would be to admit that she Keely was wrong, and she didn't do apologies. Besides, she enjoyed sticking the knife in Lara and twisting it. It gave her the power she felt was missing from the rest of her life: Keely didn't have the power to get any mark at school above average, the power to be popular with her peers, the power to hold her parents' attention and the mirror told her that she would never reach the supermodel status to which she aspired. But still, she did feel just a tad rotten then and the only way to combat the feeling was to be even more rotten. She wafted past Lara with the bottles of pop and the word 'Loser' thrown over her shoulder.

In her wake, Lara could smell her own perfume on Keely. So she had been in her room, going through her things. Her gorgeously expensive perfume Rain wasn't too lower cla.s.s or northern for the sn.o.bby Keely, then? And what was an 'inferior face'? It would be funny if it didn't hurt so much. And did it make her such a bad person not to be obsessed with designer labels, as the rest of the Galsworthy family were? Lara liked shopping on the high street and she had put together a beautifully smart capsule wardrobe, even if the labels littering it were more likely to be from Next and Dorothy Perkins than Stella McCartney and Chanel.

Lara couldn't wait for the moment Miriam took Keely and Garth out of her life for seven whole days. She had been craving some time alone with James, and the chance to be his girlfriend again rather than being the despised not-quite-step-mother. She resented having his children dumped on her and being extra worn out when she saw him. The thought of seven whole da- And then she remembered that of course her holiday was booked at the same time as the children's. G.o.d forgive her, but she was on the brink of praying for an illness to pay her a visit one that was not too big, just serious enough to give her the excuse not to go to the spa. She needed to stay with James and get them back on track. She could feel him slipping away from her a little more with every pa.s.sing hour.

Chapter 17.

Lara came in from work the next day to find the note she had left for Keely and Garth, a few lines to wish them a lovely week away, still couched in bags of sweets, untouched. She put it in the bin where last night she had found her missing quiche, squashed down at the bottom.

Without the hostile children there the house already felt like a different place: lighter and less threatening. Even Kristina was singing, which was something Lara had never heard her do before. James had come home early from work for once and was now all showered, scented and shaved and looking handsome in a Fred Perry blue polo s.h.i.+rt and jeans. Lara really didn't want to drive up to Yorks.h.i.+re that night. She wanted to stay here for the week and mosey around the house during the day, making Clare-standard dishes for James's tea, which she would bring to the table wearing something skimpy and revealing. But her case was packed and in the hallway. She would be setting off in less than an hour to pick up her friends and travel the motorways through the night to avoid the traffic.

James poured a gla.s.s of wine, instinctively offering it to Lara first.