He raised the glass. ‘Bon voyage,’ he toasted her, took a slug and then tossed the rest in her face.
Laurie froze mid-gasp, paralysed by shock.
‘Totally unbelievable,’ said Reid. ‘Give a woman everything and it’s still not enough.’ He picked up the bracelet, stuffed it in his pocket, got off the stool. She flinched as he stepped towards her, pushed his face into hers and said in a fierce whisper, ‘Bitch.’ The lack of volume carried more threat than a shout.
‘Get out now before I call the police,’ said Laurie and her hand shot out for the fork next to her plate. His eyes travelled from it to her face and his eyebrow quirked as if she was insane.
‘Have a great holiday, Laurie,’ he said and strolled casually out of the door. She thought he’d slam it, but he closed it carefully, as if to defy her expectation. She leapt from her seat, locked it, dead-bolted it behind her and only then did she realise how much she was shaking.
She cleaned the island, cleared the dishes, went upstairs to shower the wine from her, loaded her wet clothes into the washing machine, leaving no trace that Reid West-Hunt had ever been there that night. It was, at least, over. And she was safe, it could have been so much worse. Given time, she was sure it would have been so much worse.
Sleep evaded her. Every tiny creak the house made as it settled startled her back to full consciousness. She lay in bed, glad that in just over twenty-four hours she was going away now, glad she’d booked the holiday, glad that Reid West-Hunt hadn’t managed to inveigle himself onto the ship with her. She thought of his weird smile as he ate, the disparity of the comedy apron and the way he had called her a bitch, the convivial food and the air of threat, the bread basket which he had searched for in the kitchen cupboards. She sat bolt upright. She knew then how he’d found out about the cruise. She’d put all the documentation in a drawer in the lounge. She hurried downstairs to find her cruise ticket, luggage labels and passport cut up into confetti.
Chapter 58
6 February
The day before Nigel’s cruise, Pete, Griff and Lucy were at his house. It was a year ago today that Pete had become a widower and not a day that anyone wanted him to be by himself.
The snooker table had been in the middle of the conservatory since the week after the disastrous birthday party and looked like a jewel set in a perfect mount. Nigel was whupping Pete’s backside at the game which only added to his holiday excitement.
‘So you’ve sold your house then, bro?’ said Griff.
‘Asking price, first-time buyers,’ replied Pete.
‘You jammy git.’
‘If all goes to plan, Pong and I will be moving in with Dad when we come back until I find a place,’ said Pete.
‘Ah, not so jammy git then,’ said Griff to that.
‘Oy, cheeky,’ said Nigel.
‘You might not get Pong back. He’s settled in too quickly for my liking,’ said Griff. ‘He was between us in bed last night, snoring.’
‘Oh, we’re going to have such a great time in Norway, lad,’ said Nigel, laying on the eagerness for his son.
‘I should be on my way to Venice and culture now,’ said Pete with a sad sigh. ‘Instead I’m going to have my nuts frozen off in the Arctic Circle.’
‘No point in wasting a double cabin,’ said Nigel, who’d persuaded him that accompanying his old dad would be a much better option than Italy. He wanted Pete to have something else to think about at this time of year, to stamp good memories onto future February anniversaries. Memories full of snow and Northern Lights, cheerful company and good food. He thudded the black ball into the top right pocket and fist-pumped. ‘That’s how you do it,’ he said. ‘Griff, your turn.’
While Griff was also getting beaten by their father, Pete pulled Lucy out into the garden under the pretext of checking up on how Mr and Mrs Moore was faring in the February frost.
‘I owe you a massive belated apology,’ he said.
‘What for?’ she asked.
‘Coming on to you at the end of last year.’ He knocked on his head with his fist. ‘I can’t even believe I did that.’
‘Why, because I’m so ugly?’ chortled Lucy.
‘No, because you’re like my own sister, which makes it extra gross.’
‘You were having a screw-up moment. After what you found out, who could blame you. I imagine you went into a temporary fugue state of all women are bitches, which is why I didn’t knee you in the gonads.’ She rubbed his arm, a comforting gesture.
‘If it makes you feel any better, I also tried it on with Ria and Sal’s girlfriend’s sister.’
‘Wow – you went into full-on wanker mode,’ gasped Lucy.
‘That’s what Sal called me. It’s cost me a fortune in sorry flowers.’
They both chuckled, then Lucy dared to ask, ‘What happened to the lady with the car, Pete? Laurie wasn’t it?’ Both she and Griff had wondered, presumed the worst, not wanted to pry.
‘It didn’t work out – on both sides,’ was all he replied. The mere sound of her name stirred everything up inside him.
Sadly Laurie hadn’t contacted him. Who could blame her? She had moved on and he was consigned to the history dump. No more than he deserved. He wondered if the good-looking man was taking her mind off things today, caring for her, loving her.
‘So where are my flowers?’ asked Lucy. ‘How come they get flowers and I don’t?’
‘You get this,’ he said and pulled an envelope out of his pocket. ‘Go on, open it, it won’t bite you.’
Inside was a voucher for a weekend stay at a cottage in Whitby.
‘It’s got a hot tub and a sauna,’ said Pete. ‘And a welcome basket of champagne and posh stuff to eat.’
‘This for you and me or me and Griff,’ said Lucy, pretending to be serious, then she laughed when Pete started choking.
‘You had a hard year too,’ said Pete, after almost coughing a lung out. ‘I thought a little break might be in order for you both.’
‘We’re going to try and adopt a child,’ said Lucy. ‘No more prodding and poking, we’re done.’
Pete smiled. One door might have closed, but there were plenty of adoption doors to open, leading to rooms full of children who needed a mother and father like Griff and Lucy. Maybe even one day he and a partner would open that door too.
‘How come Ria didn’t take you up on the offer?’ Lucy continued.
‘I didn’t exactly come on to her romantically,’ said Pete, cringing. ‘She got her own back, she gave me a clutch of letters that she found in the cottage and they made for hard reading. I didn’t want to at first, but the temptation proved too much and I went in.’
‘What did they say?’
‘That Tara felt more for Alex than she ever thought it was possible to feel for someone. That she didn’t want to hurt me but he was her “one true north” and try as she might she couldn’t forget him. His said similar, that he loved her beyond anything he could imagine and how sad he was that they had to damage people in order to be together. I never thought Tara was the sort to write letters, but they were beautiful. It was like . . . a different level of love between them. We didn’t have that.’