The Woman He Loved Before Page 5

  ‘Look, Libby, can’t you just talk to me? It doesn’t sit right with me that we don’t speak when we’ve …’ He didn’t need to say it because we both knew what we’d done.

  ‘Doesn’t bother me,’ I fibbed.

  ‘It bothers me, a lot. I’ve seen you cross the street and throw yourself into shops to avoid me. I want to make things right.’

  ‘There’s nothing to make right. We did what we did and we just have to pretend it didn’t happen.’ I chanced a look at him. As I did so, I flashed back to his face in the mirror a moment before he told me he wanted to fuck me and I cringed, and refocused my eyes on wooden slats of the pier floor.

  ‘But it did.’

  ‘And for you it happened with a lot of other people – do you hound every one of them?’

  ‘I have no need to because I still speak to them.’

  ‘You mean, when you’re in need of …’

  ‘No!’ he said sharply. ‘I don’t mean that at all. I mean we exchange conversation if we pass in the street.’

  ‘Why is it so important that I speak to you?’ I asked. ‘What difference does it make to anything?’

  ‘Why is it so important that you don’t speak to me?’ he asked, obviously thinking if he turned it round on me I might change my mind or something.

  ‘I told you why: speaking to you, seeing you reminds me of something I’d rather forget. I’m still ashamed about what I did.’

  He stood in silence for a while. ‘Look, walk with me down to the end of the pier and while we walk, tell me everything that is wrong with what happened between us. I won’t talk, I won’t interrupt or try to justify myself, I’ll simply listen, and you can purge yourself of that night. Hopefully it’ll be cathartic, and if afterwards you still don’t want to speak to me, I’ll respect that. I’ll walk past you in the street like you’re a stranger. What do you say?’

  ‘Libby, I’m going to be right here, waiting,’ Jack tells me. ‘I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be fine and I’ll see you afterwards.’

  October, 2008

  ‘I’ve lost my bet. And won my bet as well,’ Jack said to me, as we leaned on the railings halfway along the pier.

  The length of the pier wasn’t long enough to talk about what we were talking about. It was an unusually warm October, even this late in the day, so there was only a slight edge of coolness to the air, which allowed us to stand by the railings, watching the waters swirl below as we talked.

  ‘Bet with who?’

  ‘Myself. I bet myself that I would be able to get through this without doing something to mess it up.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything to mess up.’ He had been impressively attentive while I had tried to explain how bad I’d felt that we’d had great sex that was so impersonal. Once I started talking, I realised that it was difficult to convey what I felt without bringing up the fact we didn’t kiss. Theoretically, I could have kissed him (even though there didn’t seem to be the opportunity) so, logically, it was my own stupid fault. But I was feeling distinctly illogical about it and had no idea why I was so hung up on a kiss. It was illogical, but vital. I still hadn’t managed to get that across.

  ‘I’m about to,’ he said, and leant in towards me, his eyes closing as he came nearer. Millimetres away from me he paused, giving me the opportunity to move, then he continued and touched my lips with his. I closed my eyes as our bodies automatically moved closer and our lips crushed together. His hand slid into my hair, while the other rested on the base of my spine as I slowly parted my lips to let his tongue carefully and tenderly slip into my mouth. For a few minutes, or was it seconds, our lips moved together and everything around us was still as we kissed. This was what was missing from that night. This was what I hadn’t been able to articulate.

  He pulled away first, then stood back staring at my mouth as he said, ‘See, told you.’

  ‘I repeat, you haven’t done anything to mess up.’ I was trembling slightly. I’d never trembled after a kiss before, but there really was something about Jack that touched parts of me that I didn’t know existed.

  He put his fingertips on his lips, as though checking they were still on his face. ‘You’re the second woman I’ve kissed on the mouth in over three years,’ he stated. ‘The other one was my wife. My late wife. She died three years ago.’

  ‘Wife? You have a late wife? Why didn’t you mention that when we went out?’

  He looked down at his hands, twisting the simple gold band on the ring finger of his right hand around and around. His wedding ring. Of course! That was why it looked so incongruous with the rest of him and the way he dressed.

  ‘Telling someone about your dead wife isn’t exactly the best way to charm them, is it?’

  ‘I guess not. Is that why you have sex like that?’ I asked.

  He kept touching his lips, almost as if they were tender, hurt, damaged from kissing properly after so long.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I could pretend that’s only just occurred to me, or I could pretend that in my grief I’m not that self aware, but neither of those things are the case. Yes, that’s why I have sex like that. I like sex, but kissing as we’ve just done would feel like I’m cheating on her. Cheating on Eve. That was her name. It’s still her name, actually. Her name didn’t change because she isn’t here any more.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s still a big part of your life.’

  ‘In some ways.’

  ‘You could pay for sex, you know. I hear they have sex without kissing.’

  He fixed me with a serious look as he shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t. Maybe other men can, but I can’t. Can you imagine me trying to strike up friendships with people who’ve only looked at me because I’ve paid them?’

  ‘I suppose so. I’ve never really thought through the finer details of all that before.’

  ‘Don’t bother, it’ll only upset you in one way or another if you do. I know it did me when I thought about it. I’ve done some appalling things in the last three years because almost everyone I know has let me get away with it, basically. At first, I genuinely didn’t realise I was behaving badly because I was so consumed with grief, and everyone accepted that. As the fog cleared, I realised what I was doing and still no one said, “Enough, stop that!”. So, I carried on. Getting that little bit worse each time to see if someone would say, “No”. Not one person said it meaningfully until you.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘I know. And I do feel ashamed. But I know I would never stoop so low as to pay someone for sex. Or screw someone who I don’t share at least some kind of real connection with.’

  ‘There’s logic in that, I suppose. But you really haven’t kissed anyone else like that in three years?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘So why did you kiss me?’

  ‘Because it seemed like the thing I wanted to do most in the world. I thought, “If I don’t see her again, at least I will have kissed her.” I almost did when we had breakfast in the park, and that night in my corridor, but I was too scared. I can at least say now that I did. And it was better than I hoped it would be.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. It was better than I expected, too – I’d never been kissed like that before. I looked down at the water below us, wondering where we went from here. I liked him, that wasn’t the problem. I simply wasn’t sure if he was good for me. The way I was so rude to him, then the sex, then the trembling after kissing … Jack was something different from anyone I had ever met.

  ‘Libby, I know I’m arrogant, and I could pretend that my arrogance comes from insecurity but it doesn’t. It’s a rather unattractive by-product of having had all the best opportunities in life and then a time period in my life when no one said no to me. But, I do have other qualities, at least I hope I do.’ He stopped talking and I looked at him to find his eyes raised to the heavens, as if searching the air for where those qualities had been written down so he could recite them. He seemed to give up the quest and instead came back to ta
lking to me. ‘I like you, Libby. You’re confident without being arrogant, and you’re honest. And you make me examine who I am and how I present myself to the world. Few people can do that. No one has done that in a long time.

  ‘And, you know, I’ve felt sick ever since that night. The sex was great, probably the best I’ve— but when you fled, I knew I’d done wrong. I knew I’d crossed the line. And your face when we were outside your house,’ he rocked his fist into the hollow of his solar plexus, ‘it got me there. Hadn’t felt so bad since …’ he shrugged almost in despair, ‘since a very bad time with Eve. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for using you like that, and making you feel so bad.’

  ‘It’s all right now. I understand you a little better, so it’s OK.’

  He grinned at me and my whole body thrilled, the trembling starting again. We held each other’s gaze, then at the same time we both decided to stare into the sea.

  ‘How did Eve die?’ I asked, refocusing on him.

  The shrug he gave this time was different from the previous one; this one was defensive, and a little wary. ‘To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it. Kissing someone on the mouth, then talking about her is extremely unlike me – I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about why she’s not here.’ Another wary shrug. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

  I nodded. And we stood in silence for a few moments, allowing the sounds of the pier to fill the gaps between and around us.

  ‘You can kiss me again, if you want,’ I said, as much for something to say as a desire to repeat the experience. We’d never be able to get that back; we’d never repeat that experience because we would never again be the people we were ten minutes ago. He would never be the man who hadn’t kissed a woman in the three years since his wife died; I would never be the woman who somehow managed to have sex with a man before she kissed him. What we would be is a woman who obliviously helped a widower to break through his fears and a man who was moving on from his wife.

  Jack shook his head. ‘I’m not going to push my luck.’ And I smiled at him because I knew he meant he wasn’t going to push his luck with trying to repeat the experience, not push his luck with me.

  I want this to be over with. I want to skip to the end and to know that Jack is waiting for me, that the man I fell in love with is waiting for me, just like he said he would.

  October, 2008

  Walking to the station at six o’clock on an autumn morning was nothing new to me, but something I always did with a slight worry because it was dark. If I didn’t plan to drive, then I couldn’t take the car because I’d then be stuck with driving around trying to find an all-day parking spot close enough to make it worthwhile, which would also result in me missing the train.

  Nothing had ever happened to me on this early walk, but there was always a first time. I’d been propositioned before – men had looked at me, walking the street at six o’clock, and had assumed I was out looking for business. I was never sure, in those circumstances, whether to be offended or flattered and always gave the men who did it a hard stare until they realised their mistake and drove away.

  The headlights of a car approached and I was momentarily blinded, but carried on as the car slowed and came to a stop. Here we go, I thought, another man who should be at home in bed – alone or with his wife – not last-chance salooning it out on the streets.

  The driver’s side window came down and the driver stuck his head out. ‘Fancy running into you,’ Jack said.

  I blinked a couple of times, wondering if I was really seeing him. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Jack in a couple of weeks – despite the kiss, and how lovely it was, I wasn’t sure if taking up with him was something I should be doing. I liked him, there was no doubt about that, but I wasn’t sure if he was good for me or not. I didn’t always stick to things that were good for me – positively railed against it sometimes – but Jack was a different type of not good for me. He did things to my mind and body that I hadn’t ever experienced before.

  But it wasn’t as if I could get him out of my head, either: every moment I had free would suddenly be crammed with thoughts of him. His soft lips, the gentle urgency with which they’d kissed me. The intoxicating smell of his skin. His moss-green eyes that would follow everything I said, then would meet my eyes so we could share a smile. It was driving me slowly and pleasurably insane.

  ‘Jack,’ I said, not being able to keep the grin from my face. He hadn’t called me because he said he’d leave that choice up to me but had been pleased when I said if I saw him in the street I would talk to him.

  ‘Off to work?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you want a lift?’ he asked.

  ‘What, to London?’ I asked with a laugh.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

  ‘No, a lift to the station would be more than enough,’ I replied.

  ‘OK, but a lift to London would be no trouble whatsoever.’

  It wasn’t until I’d clipped the seatbelt into its holder that I realised that him being out at this time probably meant he’d been out with someone and was coming back from her house. My stomach filled with liquid ice and flipped a few times. I did not like the idea of that at all. ‘So, what are you doing out so early?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

  ‘I was on-call,’ he said as he made his way through the dark Brighton streets. ‘My client decided to break into his neighbour’s house while they were away for a few days. Never mind the neighbour’s high-tech security system and massive dog and the family member he had house-sitting for him. My client got a sound beating before the police picked him up. I wouldn’t mind but this is the third time he’s been caught this year. I’ve managed to get a suspended sentence – twice – for the man, but he’s definitely going away this time. I didn’t say this, but he’s an idiot.’

  The relief I felt that he hadn’t been with someone else was a little embarrassing considering I didn’t want to see him. ‘Do you mind having to work such strange hours?’ I asked.

  ‘No more than you must mind walking to the station?’

  ‘I usually get the bus.’

  In the car, at that time of the morning, we were at the station in no time. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said, suddenly wishing it was a longer drive, that I had more time with him. It was the thought of Jack that I had problems with, I realised. The reality was really rather desirable.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to London?’ Jack asked, hopefully.

  I wanted to say yes, but … ‘No, no, I couldn’t impose on you that way. I should probably catch up on my reading on the train.’

  Disappointed, Jack nodded and mumbled goodbye before I mumbled goodbye, in return.

  The station was, as usual, quite full for that time of the morning, swollen with those of us on our way to London and beyond, needing to be there early. I weaved through the crowd, feeling stupid. I should have let him drive me to London, it would have been a good way to spend time with him, to find out if the attraction I had for him was more than an enjoyable dinner and a few minutes here and there. I stopped walking and ignored the people who bumped into me, tutting before they stepped around me. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back out, see if he was hanging around? Maybe he would be waiting, staying there to see if I’d change my mind? I looked over my shoulder at the gaping exits. He’d offered to drive me; it wasn’t as if I’d asked. And he’d clearly been disappointed when I said no. Maybe I should go back.

  Are you insane? The voice of reason intoned in my head. This isn’t some romantic movie where you run outside and find him waiting for you, ready to sweep you into his arms. This is real life. Where real things happen. Like getting on the train and going to work.

  If there was anything in all the thoughts I’d had that morning, that was probably the truest. I turned back towards the barriers, towards the place I needed to go.

  ‘Libby,’ he said, suddenly in front of me. I stared at him in surprise, wondering if I was imagining him,
if the other voice in my head that wanted me to go running out after Jack was conjuring up an image of him to make sure I didn’t let this chance slip away.

  ‘Jack,’ I stated cautiously, not sure if I was talking to an apparition or the real person.

  ‘I forgot something,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  Before I knew what was happening, before I could properly react, his arms were around me and his mouth was on mine, drawing me close to him, filling up my senses with the essence of him again. Unexpectedly, I swooned, my knees weakening and my body melting against him. I was scared as I kissed him back that when he stepped away I would fall over, feeling as weak as I did right then. As the kiss deepened and I slipped my arms around his neck, the world around us – the commuters, the announcements, the train engines, the murmurs of the morning – ebbed away until there was no one else in the world; the whole of planet Earth held only Jack and me, standing there kissing.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider going into work late so we can have breakfast somewhere?’ he asked immediately after we broke apart. We were both touching our lips, staring at each other in a muted but delighted shock. ‘You know, to talk or …’

  Trembling, as I had after the last time we kissed, I focused exclusively on him, not daring to wonder what the people around us were doing, if they were staring, grimacing or throwing disapproving glances our way.

  When I didn’t speak, Jack’s gaze dropped to his feet, and his face twisted in disappointment.

  ‘If I go in late, then it’s not usually worth going in at all,’ I explained.

  He said nothing, simply nodded with his gaze lowered, the hurt of rejection written deeply in the lines of his face.

  Watching the fall of his hair and his humbled body language, I was struck again by the effect he had on me. What was it? I was an ordinary woman. I grew up in an ordinary house in South London, with a postman father and a nurse mother. My life was unremarkable, especially after Caleb arrived. The whole world seemed to revolve around Caleb from the day he was born and I didn’t mind. I loved my little brother and his dramas often became my dramas because I couldn’t stand by and let him suffer without trying to help. In college I had a few boyfriends, but nothing special and it was the same after university, while studying for my Masters, and then when doing my PhD. In the years of my life, nothing extraordinary or special had happened to me. Not until Jack.