‘Good old Chris.’ Grabbing my pint, I take a deep gulp. Just what she needed. A man not shooting blanks.
‘You and me, we were just going through the motions. I couldn’t help falling in love with him.’
Just what a bloke wants to hear. More ways he was inadequate.
‘You’ll have kids now, I suppose.’ Seems that poking the old bruise wasn’t enough.
‘No.’ Diana looks down at her hands, her expression unreadable. ‘I knew we wouldn’t. Chris didn’t want a family.’ She raises her head and sets her shoulders as though expecting a blow. Then she delivers one instead. ‘I knew all that when I left you, but it didn’t matter. I only wanted to be with him.’
I was hurt .. .
You were too far away to reach . . .
I felt dead inside.
Your heart no longer in it. . .
My head races, swimming with a million things she’d said, both then and now. The ways we’d hurt each other. The things she’d said at the pub. The lies and the subterfuge all meant so little. Is it odd that I feel like a weight has been lifted? Or maybe a veil? She left me for another man, not for another man who could give her children. She left because she fell in love with him, pure and simple. The rest didn’t matter so long as she had him.
Is it strange that gives me a mad kind of hope?
I thought I was protecting Isobel in the long term, and maybe I am. Maybe she’d leave me just like Diana did, but if she does, it might be for one of a million reasons. Not only because I can’t give her children. Maybe we’d adopt. Maybe we’d be happy on her own. Maybe we’d only date for a month before, leaving me just a shell of a man, all shagged out.
Or maybe she won’t even pick up the phone.
Yeah, that’s more likely. I mean, the possibility of Isobel telling me to get fucked is real.
The windscreen wipers and heavy rain are mildly hypnotic, making me glad I didn’t get past the first quarter of my pint, or I might not be able to make this car trip right now. With a shake of my head, I move my mind back to the road.
I’d left the pub within minutes of the speaking to Diana. Called my sister and told her I wouldn’t be there for dinner tomorrow after all. Next, I’d logged onto British Airways and booked myself on the next flight to London.
Of course, I don’t know where she lives, and London is a fucking big place, but I know I’ll find her anyway. Maybe I’ll call the woman who runs the cleaning service, who also runs the letting agency, and see if she can get me Isobel’s address from when she booked to stay over on the other side of the loch. Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll work it out somehow.
My phone begins to ring, so I answer it, the sound of Jim’s voice ringing through the dark space.
‘Greg, how’s it goin’?’
‘Jim, just the person I need.’ Why didn’t I think of this before?
‘Oh, aye. Wit fir?’What for?he asks suspiciously.
‘You remember Isobel?’
‘O’ course, I do. I’m not likely to forget her, you lucky bastard. But before you start your bletherin’, I have a quick question for you.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Have you rented the cottage out?’
‘No. Why d’you ask?’
‘ ’Cause I’ve just driven passed and there’s a car parked out front and all the lights are on.’ I pull over onto the grass verge at his words. What are the chances it’s her? ‘Want me to double back and check it out?’
‘No thanks, pal. I’m on my way over there just now.’
I hang up as he begins to ask me what I’d wanted to talk to him about, swinging the car onto the other side of the road.
Isobel, that had better be you.
