Five Winters(69)

He sounded so desperate to make me stay. Yet in my heart I knew he didn’t love me. Not really. We had used each other, Jaimie and I. I wasn’t completely to blame. I may have plunged myself into our relationship to try to get over Mark, but Jaimie had done exactly the same thing to get over his split from Harriet. It hadn’t worked for either of us. One day Jaimie would probably see that, but right now, he wasn’t going to be convinced unless I told him the truth. So I did. Or part of it, at least.

“It’s not just those things. I do miss London. And my job. And I do find it hard sometimes with the girls, and not having my own space. But . . . there’s something else. Someone else.”

Jaimie froze. “You’re seeing someone else?”

I shook my head. “No, but . . . I do have feelings for someone else.”

“Who?” He fired the word at me like a bullet.

I lied. I had to. “It’s no one you know. And . . . and nothing has happened.”

“Yet.”

The short word dripped with venom. Before my eyes, Jaimie had transformed from someone desperate to change my decision into someone who hated me.

“Well,” he said, “you’d better fuck off, then, hadn’t you?”

“What about the girls?” I asked.

“What about them?”

“Well, will I . . .” I was going to ask whether I’d ever see them again, but of course I wouldn’t. “Can I say goodbye to them?”

“No fucking way. Forget it, Beth. Just fucking forget it.”



“I’m not sure whether he’ll be prepared to speak to you or not, to be honest,” I said to Clare.

She looked at her watch and closed her notebook. “Well, as I say, if you could let me know as soon as possible?”





26


I knew I should call Jaimie straightaway. Get it over with. If I brooded about it, the terror would only increase.

But before I could, Mark rang me.

“Beth. Hi. Sorry not to have called you back before. How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Sure? You don’t sound it.”

I closed my eyes. Talking to Mark was always wonderful and terrible mixed up together in a cocktail shaker. Bliss and torture on the rocks. And all I seemed to do lately was pretend. Capable Beth. Happy Beth. In-Control Beth.

“I’ve just had a session with my social worker. You know, about the adoption? I’ve got to phone Jaimie to see if he’ll agree to speak to her. I was just going to do it.”

“God, that’s tough. Good luck.”

Mark had been there with me in Ely when Jaimie’s eyes were lasering hatred, so I knew he really did appreciate how bad the phone call was likely to be. “Thanks.”

“Why does your social worker want to speak to him?”

“To get an idea of how I interacted with his girls.”

I heard him sigh. “It’s not supposed to be this difficult, is it? Having children.”

Had Grace told him about seeing me at Kenwood Place? I couldn’t tell. So I just said, “Still no joy for you and Grace?”

“No. It’s really getting us both down. I feel like a failure, you know? And Grace . . .” He sighed again. “Well, Grace seems determined to take it out on me. All we do is row these days. It’s hardly a recipe for making a baby, is it?”

“Not really, no.”

“She’s always out somewhere these days too. Home late, weekend appointments. And then, when she is home, nothing I do is right. Or enough. Did you make that phone call? Get that new contract? Haven’t you contacted so-and-so yet?” He sighed. “To be honest, some days I just want to stay in bed in the morning, not sit at my desk in a shirt and tie to have video conferences with clients.”

“You’re probably still grieving.”

“Yes. But how long’s that going to go on for, Beth?”

“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I suppose. I don’t think there’s an exact time span for grief, is there?”

Another sigh. “I suppose not. But anyway, I’ve decided to do something positive about it.” His voice sounded suddenly more positive. “So I’m getting us a puppy.”

I hadn’t expected that. “A puppy? Wow.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not stupid. I don’t think a puppy’s going to magically solve all our problems. But it will be a little being to care for together, won’t it, until we get pregnant? Something to practise on? I think . . . I hope that will bring us closer again. And if nothing else, it will get me out of this flat, because I’ll have to take it for walks. That’s got to be good.”

He sounded so excited. Like a little boy who’s found out he’s getting a new bike for Christmas.

“So anyway, the reason I called the other night was to ask your advice about the best breed to get. But it doesn’t matter anymore because I’ve chosen now. One of my old work colleagues has some pups at the moment, so I’ve reserved one of those.”

“What is it?”

“A border collie. You should see him, Beth. He’s so cute—a little black-and-white fluff ball. I know Grace is going to melt when she sees him.”

A border collie. God. Milo and his train chasing. His incessant ball fetching. So gorgeous but so . . . relentless with his constant, inexhaustible energy. Of all the breeds Mark could have chosen, a border collie was the very last one I would have advised him to get if we had spoken.