‘We were in the cloakroom after games. They held me down against the bench and burnt my hand with a cigarette lighter. I screamed inside but didn’t cry. My father used to say only wimps cried. He wasn’t a cosy man, January. If I came second in a test he used to think nothing of giving me a beating and he’d hurt me even more if I cried, so I got used to just, well, keeping it all inside me.’ He exhales deeply.
‘Oh, Ward. Why did they do it to you?’ He seems the most unlikely of people to be bullied, but then again, sometimes it doesn’t work like that.
‘They have to target someone, Jan. I was quiet, hardworking, didn’t dare not to be with my dad. Remember I told you I loved National Trust houses, visiting old castles and ruins? Well, none of the other boys were into that. They wanted to smoke and kiss girls. I wanted to do that too.’ He looks at me with that half smile before laughing sadly. ‘I couldn’t take part in as much sport as I would have liked either, which didn’t help my cause. I had terrible asthma. The teacher used to make me do circuits around the sports field until I could hardly stand up straight or breathe.’
‘How long did the bullying go on for?’
‘Three years. I used to spend a lot of time with my grandparents in the school holidays. My father was a barrister, spent all his time in court so my mum packed me off to Devon. My grandad had this sailing chart in his shed. He used to say that there was treasure hidden under the ocean, pots of gold. He kept loads of wood in his shed too, and I used to dream of building a boat in there and sailing away. I had it all worked out. I could push the boat into a local brook and then into a stream, and out I’d go into a river, and then I’d be alone on the high seas, just me in the boat with a box of sandwiches, surviving on choppy waters, looking for that treasure.’
It’s the first time Ward has truly opened up to me and I look at him, wondering what it would feel like to run my hand over his cheek or through his hair. ‘So what happened? Please don’t tell me those boys got away with it.’
‘They did that time. My mother talked to the teachers, but it was hard telling Dad. Mum was soft, kind, she hated the way my father treated me, but she was scared of him too. She pushed Dad to wake up to what was going on, but he refused to believe it could happen to his son. A year after that incident I’d had enough. Mum told me to stand up for myself and if that meant hitting back, then fine. One decisive strike, target neutralised.’ Ward smiles, but I can see the pain behind his eyes. ‘If ever I had a child now…’ He takes another deep breath. ‘My advice would be to walk away at first, but if they don’t leave you alone, stick on that George W. Bush hat and launch a missile.’
‘But what if you can’t?’ I ask, thinking of how vulnerable Isla would be to the likes of Toby Brown. Tears sting my eyes. It’s unthinkable and I’m thankful we’re nearly home. I want to see my baby girl.
But before I know it Ward has pulled over into a layby. ‘She’ll be all right,’ he says gently. ‘Don’t underestimate Isla. Like her mother, she’s had many battles, but she’s come through them.’
I glance down to his hand and want to touch it, stroke his painful memories away with my own.
‘We need to go,’ I say, but when I look up again, Ward’s eyes still rest on mine and I can’t turn away. Something has changed between us. I catch that look in his eye and understand he’s asking me if I feel the same. With his thumb he wipes a tear from my eye. I don’t move. I know I should but… He touches my cheek with his hand as he says, ‘It’s not just about physical strength. It’s about strength of spirit.’
Our foreheads are now touching, his lips close to mine.‘What are we doing?’ I whisper, but he doesn’t answer. He kisses me and I kiss him back, a slow deep kiss, but soon his arms are around me, my shirt is coming loose, I feel his hand brush against my bare skin. I kiss him back more urgently, passionately, lost in this man; I am lost in his arms, in his touch. His telephone rings. His telephone keeps on ringing. It’s getting louder. I pull away. ‘Take it,’ I urge him, looking out of the window. WhatamI doing?
‘Hi.’ Long pause. ‘Marina, can we…’
I shudder with guilt when I hear her name.
‘I’m in the car,’ Ward continues, clearly desperate to finish the conversation. ‘We’ll talk later.’ He hangs up.
I’m unable to face him.
He touches my arm. ‘January, listen, I—’
I snatch my arm away. ‘Drive. Ward, please drive. I need to get home.’
‘Let me explain.’
‘Explain what? That you’re married? I gathered that.’
‘I’m not happy.’
‘Oh, poor you! I don’t know what I was thinking! What wereyouthinking, Ward?’ I know, deep down, it’s my fault too, and that’s why I hate myself. Why do I fall for men who will only hurt me? ‘We can’t do this to Marina. And not only are you married, you’re my boss.’
‘I know, I know, but will you let me—’
‘No. Drive.’
‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you—’
‘Stop.’
‘Things aren’t straightforward between my wife and me.’
Finally I turn to him. ‘Don’t you feel guilty?’
He nods. ‘We shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have kissed you but…’
‘Just drive!’ I feel so ashamed of myself. ‘Or let me out, now.’
