3
The moment Christie’s eyes met Stephen Newbury’s, the attraction was instant. Across a hectic, rowdy pub packed to the rafters with rugby players and hen parties, they homed in on each other like radars. When their gazes locked, time stood still. Stephen’s pint glass hovered mid-drink, whilst Christie halted, her conversation abruptly stopped. An urge between the two pulled like a magnetic force, bringing them together in the thick of the crowds.
‘I’m Stephen,’ this huge chap with broad shoulders and an infectious smile said. He held out his hand. Christie shook it and noticed the firm, confident shake.
‘I’m Christie.’ She grinned back. They could hardly hear for the noise amongst the drinkers.
‘Christie, let’s go someplace else.’ It was more of a direction than a request. He seemed desperate to get to know the girl with dark, corkscrew curls and pale blue eyes he hadn’t seen before. Christie was only too happy to follow him, admiring the way his tight black T-shirt emphasised his muscular arms and his legs bulged out of faded jeans. He had blond hair cut in a short, snappy style. She suspected he was one of the rugby players, judging by his physique, so he must be a local. Whereas she was partying with her girlfriends on a hen do. Chester seemed the ideal place to celebrate, given its culture and nightlife. The fact it was brimming with hunky rugby players was a big plus too. The girls had giggled about that whilst making arrangements.
Stephen chose a small bistro tucked away down a tiny alleyway named Benedict’s after the owner. It was cosy, intimate and proved the ideal spot for Christie and Stephen to fall in love. Which is precisely what they did. They talked about just everything, from their childhood and teenage years, where they came from, families, friends, careers, to lifetime ambitions. Christie’s had always been the same: to own her own hotel. Being in the accommodation business, she had grown from being a chambermaid to the assistant manager of a very prestigious country inn in the heart of the Lake District. It was hard work, but it paid off when seeing visitor after visitor return with smiles and compliments, not to mention generous tips.
One day, thought Christie, one day I’ll own my own place. Often she would dream of exactly how it would be: rustic charm meets country sophistication that the more discerning traveller would flock to. That had been her ultimate wish, and it had almost come true, almost. Stephen had soon latched on to Christie’s aspiration and he too could see the fascination of owning his own fabulous hotel and rather liked the idea of being his own boss, instead of working for the tyrant at the estate agents. He too was assistant manager, not that it stood for much under Burns’ regime. Bill Burns was a ruthless, sexist pig who made the small team of Abbott and Reedley’s miserable. From touching up the young girls in the tea room, to refusing annual leave whilst he took himself off golfing made him the most unpopular manager ever. Stephen couldn’t wait to leave, but he appreciated, as did Christie, timing was crucial.
From the first evening they had met, Stephen and Christie had been inseparable. Weekends were spent with either Stephen travelling to the Lake District, or Christie to Chester. They had lots in common, both middle children to two sisters, with a close-knit family and circle of friends. A whole new group had been formed, as both sets of friends genuinely gelled well. Once they had announced their engagement after exactly one year, they all went wild and a mother of all parties had been thrown. Happy days.
Then, after a year of blissful marriage, the cracks began to show. Christie badly wanted to save and save, to achieve her goal of buying a hotel. She was by then the manager of a small, boutique hotel in Chester city. And whilst Stephen still liked the idea of owning his own business, his lifestyle somehow didn’t involve making the necessary sacrifices to accomplish this. He still played rugby, every weekend now, as well as attending practice nights during the week. These inevitably would end in a drinking session, often followed by slipping into town and finishing up in a club. Basically, he’d reverted back to his single days. Christie had begun to feel helpless. It was hard watching her husband who had once shared her ambitions gradually morph into a drunken slob who only lived for his boozy nights with his mates.
After three months of growing tired waiting for Stephen to come home sober in an evening, or even come home at all, Christie had had enough. She packed her bags one Friday night after returning home late from work to a note saying,“Gone out. Probably stay at Ash’s tonight.”Well, good for him, thought Christie. Ash was welcome to him. With grit and sheer determination, she hauled two suitcases and a rucksack to Chester railway station and never looked back.
Within a week Stephen followed, full of remorse. He’d promised her the earth, anything,anything, if only she’d come back home with him. Even a baby. This was his trump card, knowing full well Christie had secretly started to yearn for one. Up until now he’d always brushed away the notion of parenthood, claiming they were both too young and ambitious. When Christie had pointed out he actually didn’t seem as motivated as her anymore, he vehemently swore he’d change. So compelling were his claims, that Christie – convinced of her husband’s promises – found herself back in Chester and trying to conceive.
Then more cracks appeared. It just wasn’t happening. Month after month saw Christie on the verge of tears as the blue line on the pregnancy testing kits refused to play ball. Why? What was happening, or not happening? It further saddened her when Stephen feared it could be his fault, as though his manhood was in question. Well, a rugby player being labelled a “jaffa” was hardly what one envisaged, was it? So much so, that he made Christie promise not to tell a soul. The party line was they weren’t trying. They didn’t want children just yet – that was the patter she’d have to rattle out if anyone asked. Even though, deep down, having a baby became the only thing Christie did want. So badly it graduated into an obsession.
After another year of relentlessly hoping to start a family, Christie noticed another change in Stephen. He wasn’t going out on drunken nights anymore, but was putting in prolonged working days, which was a first considering how much he’d hated his job. Then the odd weekend involving a conference, or training course would crop up, which he simply couldn’t miss.
Once, she found an earring under the car seat, which most definitely wasn’t hers. When she challenged Stephen, he declared no knowledge of it. But he never was a good liar, blushing pink and scraping his hand through his hair. Christie knew. Then it suddenly stopped. It was as if the old Stephen – the one she’d first met – had reappeared. The man she’d fallen in love with a few years ago had come back. He seemed more relaxed, happy to be with her, and together they built bridges again. Deciding they’d saved enough money now for a decent deposit for their hotel, the search was on.
It hadn’t taken long to spot The Templar in the glorious Cotswolds. After making the trip to see it for themselves and being shown around the quaint country inn, they didn’t hesitate to put in an offer. When it was accepted, they were overjoyed. Anxious to make the move and get started with their new, exciting life, Christie and Stephen pushed for a speedy sale. Luckily the landlord was very accommodating and the transaction was soon completed.
Then Stephen dropped a bombshell. It was their last night in Chester. Christie had booked a table at Benedict’s to celebrate. Stephen was joining her there straight from work. As it was his last day at Abbott and Reedley’s, she was expecting him to be in extra high spirits. Instead she took in his grim expression, the dark bags under his eyes, his pale skin, slow walk, and a sense of foreboding filled her. He hardly looked at the menu before ordering a large whiskey. Christie frowned. This was unlike him, who usually enjoyed a glass of wine with his meal.
She looked him in the eye. ‘What’s the matter?’
Stephen knocked back his whiskey, gulped, then spoke. ‘I can’t do it, Christie.’ There was a pregnant pause before he continued, ‘I’m going to be a dad.’ The statement rang in her ears. As though being punched in the stomach, Christie doubled over in pain. ‘I’m sorry, Christie… I’m so sorry.’
‘Who is it?’ she demanded. Anger started to replace shock. She glared at him. He dipped his gaze, unable to make eye contact.
‘Sophie from the office.’
‘Sophie? The one you introduced me to at the Christmas party?’ She pictured a young girl with long, blonde hair and an enormous chest. Typical. How cliché, thought Christie with venom. Stephen dully nodded his head. ‘So it was her earring then?’ she spat. ‘Obviously been going on for months.’
‘I ended it, honestly. But now… she told me she’s pregnant…’
‘And obviously it’s yours?’ Christie threw out sarcastically. ‘But of course, that’s what you want to believe, isn’t it?’ Her voice rose hysterically, causing the other diners to glance over. ‘So, not seedless after all?’
‘Christie, please,’ Stephen hissed.
Christie knew when she was beaten. Sophie was clearly able to give him the very thing she couldn’t: a child. The injustice of it all made her want to vomit.
‘Listen, Christie, this doesn’t change things for you,’ Stephen urged.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘How can you say that?’ she whispered faintly.
‘Go for it. I mean it. The Templar, your hotel, take it. I don’t care about the money.’ He spoke firmly.
Christie looked at him and realised he intended to give her everything to alleviate his guilt. Well, let him. She looked him firmly in the eye. ‘I’d like that in writing.’
‘Of course, yes I’ll… get a contract drawn up.’ He seemed desperate to appease her. Yes, she would go and follow her dream and if he was prepared to say goodbye to her and his share, then so be it.
