‘You need a strong coffee,’ Ward says when I top up my glass.
‘No wonder she wants to find a new job,’ mutters Spencer.
‘I’m sorry?’ Ward turns to Spencer.
‘She’s looking for a new job.’
‘Is this true?’ Ward asks me.
‘Maybe, no… I don’t know.’
‘She might come and work for B & G.’
‘I’m not! I’m not doing that, Spencer.’ I shoot him a warning look.
Ward takes the bottle from my hand. ‘I think you’ve had enough.’
‘Oh, fuck off, Dad.’ Spencer stands up to face Ward. ‘It’s no wonder your wife—’
But before Spencer can finish the sentence Ward punches him, right in the jaw, to gasps from people around the bar area, including me. Spud barks again, pulling at his lead. Spencer staggers back into a table, knocking over some empty glasses, before lunging at Ward, who punches him again, this time harder, cutting his lip and drawing blood. Soon they’re in a rugby tackle; they want to kill one another. Theyaregoing to kill one another. ‘Stop it!’ I screech. ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’
The bar owner barges between them, says she’ll call the cops if they don’t take their business outside. ‘And everyone, you can stop staring, fight’s over,’ she says, addressing the room before asking a member of staff to sweep up the broken glass.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that, January,’ Ward says in that calm composed way of his, while Spencer covers his bleeding mouth with his hand. ‘But it felt good.’
I grab my handbag and coat. Funny how sober I feel now. All I want to do is get home and see Isla. Spencer urges me to stay. ‘Don’t let him ruin our night.’
‘You’ve both done that.’
Ward picks up his briefcase and follows Spud and me. I turn on him. ‘You too! Leave me alone! Both of you!’
‘He slept with my wife,’ Ward calls out to me.
I stop. Turn. Spencer is slumped in his chair as he says, ‘It takes two to tango. Remember that.’
Ward looks at me, his eyes wounded. ‘You can do so much better than him, January. Spencer doesn’t care who he hurts and the last person I want him to hurt is you.’
24
The following morning I have a sore head. Serves me right. Isla is disappointed it’s not raining. Not raining means double games this afternoon. ‘Why do they always pick me last?’ she asks, playing with her toast.
‘Someone has to come last,’ I say, a little too impatiently since I’ve heard it all before.
She drops her knife; it clatters on to the plate. ‘But why me?’
‘I wasn’t any good at sport either. You’d be picked first if—’
‘No I wouldn’t! No one ever picks me first!’
‘Oh Isla!’ I snap, my head pounding. ‘It doesn’t matter!’ But I know it does. Of course, it does, and whatever I say isn’t going to convince her otherwise.
When I drop her off at the school gates I see a couple of girls from Isla’s class walking towards the front entrance, past the netball courts. I recognise Gemma with her long blonde hair scooped up in a high ponytail. She’s huddled closely together with her friends, as if discussing something important. They appear much more grown-up than Isla. I can imagine they’re into fashion and make-up already and it won’t be long before boys aren’t quite as revolting as they used to be either. Isla is eating less and less. She hasn’t been herself since the incident with Gemma. She turns to me, waves. I feel guilty for being such a cow this morning. Her games bag looks heavy on her slight shoulder as she walks on. It kills me when I see Gemma and the girls laugh at her and talk in whispers.
I keep my head down in the office. Thankfully Ward is out. He has the twelve thirty pitch in Marlborough. He shouldn’t be back until about three. Graham and Lucie are away, leaving me in peace. My head still feels like one giant furball. Going out midweek is not a good idea. At least Ward’s anger and resentment makes sense now.He slept with my wife. Why? How long ago? And then I think of Marina demanding if Ward had slept with Lucie. She has lost a fair bit of ground playing the wounded wife. Why didn’t Jeremy tell me when I’d asked him outright? Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe there’s something else going on with Ward too, on top of Spencer and Marina. So many questions remain unanswered… but to think I was going to sleep with Spencer again. Spencer is not the solution to my problems.
An hour later Graham and I are debating what to have for lunch. For Graham it’s a toss-up between an egg or tuna mayo sandwich.
‘Not egg,’ I groan, wrinkling my nose and polishing off another bottle of water.
