Now that he was being brutally honest with himself, Simon had to face up to the possibility that he might well be indirectly responsible for Orla’s death, for he had played his part by driving his wife to even out the score.
And why the hell was he so damned calm about Sorrel’s infidelity? Perhaps it was because his own indiscretion precluded him from having the right to judge or be angry with her.
In truth, he was guilty of so much more than that one moment of drunken behaviour with Orla. He couldn’t remember when it started, but for some years he had secretly fantasised about sex with her. He had convinced himself that it didn’t count as adultery, that so long as he never crossed the line, a harmless daydream had no repercussions. It had been easy to fool himself into believing that it didn’t hurt Sorrel when he imagined it was Orla in bed with him, and not her. It was a cruel deceit on his part and ironically ended after that sloppy fumble with Orla, and when subsequently he lost all his respect for himself.
He’d read once that all men are adulterers at heart, that this natural instinct to stray was constrained only by a sense of honour and conscience, both of which were as flimsy as tissue paper. But was the same true of women?
It really was shocking the level of pain married couples could inflict on themselves with their lies, and their selfish disregard for the consequences of their actions. As guilty of doing this as the next person, who was Simon to condemn Sorrel for what she had done? Or Alastair? That was what he had wanted to tell Sorrel when he’d knocked on Rachel’s door. He had wanted to put his arms around her and say he understood. Moreover, he had wanted to urge her not to say anything else. He couldn’t bear the thought of Rachel and Callum knowing their shameful secrets.
He shuddered, closed his eyes, lay down, and to his horror began to cry. Something he hadn’t done in a very long time. As the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, he acknowledged that the changes Alastair was hell-bent on making, and which Simon had been fighting so hard to resist, was all part of a greater concern. What he’d really been fighting was the sad truth about his friendship with Alastair and how it had become a sham of its former self, riddled with deceit, which they had willingly lived with.
How he envied Danny and Frankie with the contented simplicity of their marriage, both wanting only the best for each other. It wasn’t that they were perfect; nobody was, but they lived in enviable harmony.
Yet try as they might, Simon and Sorrel had never achieved the same level of accord during their marriage. There had, in more recent years, been a sense of swimming against the tide, or of struggling not to go under.
It was an analogy that shook him out of his weepy self-pity.
Rachel!He must pull himself together and go back up to the house to be with her. Surely she must be awake by now. He must also talk to Sorrel; there was so much to be said.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Rachel was dreaming.
She was dancing with Paul, but not very well. He kept treading on the hem of her dress, which was trailing the floor and getting dirtier by the second. She was becoming angry with him. Didn’t he know how much her wedding dress had cost? It was the dress she had always dreamed of wearing for her Big Day, and she felt beautiful in it. But here was Paul in his muddy shoes trampling all over the ivory-coloured silk. He was doing it deliberately. Of course he was. And why hadn’t he polished his shoes before marrying her?
Over his shoulder, she suddenly saw Nikolai. He was with Irina and they were laughing at her. Laughing at her ruined dress, which she now realised had a rip all the way up the front. She looked a mess. A hideous mess and Paul was to blame! She wrenched herself out of his grasp and marched off, except she couldn’t march, the dress was twisting itself around her legs, binding them together so that she couldn’t move.
Next thing, she was falling down a hole; a dark hole that went on and on. Like Alice in Wonderland, she tumbled down and down, caught in a vortex of nothingness until she realised she was under water and could no longer breathe. She tried to call for help, but nothing came out of her mouth, only a stream of bubbles. And then she heard laughter again. It was Nikolai and Irina. They were peering down through the shadowy darkness from a distant point way above her head, their faces blurred, but their mocking laughter all too clear.
She wanted to escape their laughter, so forced herself to sink further down into the cold water. But their voices followed her.They were calling her name, getting nearer. She thrashed her legs to get away from them, but it was no good, their voices were growing louder, and nearer. Frightened, she began to cry. Great gulping sobs that shook through her body. She was a child again wanting her mother and father to save her. She cried out to them and in an instant, she was being held, hands holding her tight. She heard a voice. A soothing gentle voice.
‘Rachel … wake up, Rachel.’
She opened her eyes with a start. ‘Dad?’
‘You were dreaming, sweetheart,’ he said in a hushed voice.
She took a moment to orientate herself, rubbed her eyes and swallowed back the grainy dryness in her mouth. On Jenna’s bed she could see her mother was fast asleep. ‘What time is it?’ she asked quietly.
‘Nearly six o’clock,’ her father whispered back.
‘Really? I’ve been asleep for ages then.’
‘You obviously needed to.’
She frowned. ‘I was having such a horrible dream. Nikolai and Irina were in it.’ She shuddered. ‘It felt so real.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, they’ve gone. Alastair took them to the station.’
‘Did he make them go?’
Her father shook his head. ‘I don’t know the ins and outs, but I’m glad they didn’t stick around.’
‘I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. Alastair must be so annoyed. Everything’s gone wrong for him since we arrived, hasn’t it?’
‘Hey, don’t you dare apologise. And if things haven’t gone exactly the way Alastair hoped they would, it’s not your fault. Got that?’
She nodded and stretched her arms above her head. ‘I should get up,’ she said, forgetting to whisper. Over on Jenna’s bed, her mother’s right foot jerked, as if she was kicking something.
