breath, struggling to slow down the frantic slide show of images that filled her head. Maybe if she started to speak, her brain, with something else to think about, would throttle back and slow down the montage of memories, words like weights making the rush of thoughts and recollections into something more manageable.
‘Come on, Carol, take no notice of them,’ said Adie. ‘So, once upon a time Lady Macbeth left Belvedere High School and then…?’
‘And then, well, I worked in a bookshop in Cambridge—you remember that, Netty—we used to meet up for lunch? And I worked in a pub at weekends. I was planning on going to teacher training college when I met Jack French. He came into the shop and swept me off my feet, which sounds totally ridiculous now but it was true at the time. He kept coming in and flirting, and I said he would get me the sack. I remember that I was unpacking a whole box of sale books onto a table display when I said it—and so he bought the lot and then took me off to lunch to celebrate in his Mercedes.’
‘Wow,’ said Netty. ‘Bit flash. I don’t remember meeting him.’
‘Unfortunately it was mostly all flash and balls. But I was very impressed, which shows how shallow and how gullible I was back then. To cut a long story short, I moved in with him, we got married—he was a lot older than I was—and we had two kids, two boys called Jake and Oliver.
‘He was thirty-six when I met him, and anyone of his own age would have seen straight through him. I think he was rather hoping I’d stay nineteen for ever—he was so very disappointed when I grew up.’
At which point Netty cleared her throat as if to say or ask something but Adie raised a hand to silence her. ‘There will be time for questions at the end,’ he said officiously, and then nodded for Carol to continue. ‘Off you go, honey. We’re all listening.’
‘Sad thing was it took me a while to wake up, but by then I’d got Jake. We’d bought a house, Jack had a drink problem, was a financial disaster and had a roving eye that perfectly matched the other parts of his body that were prone to roving. He did about as much for my self-esteem and peace of mind as the Titanic did for maritime insurance. But what we did do—against the odds re ally—was have two re ally great kids and build up a good business between us, which is mine now. So it’s not all bad news. I’ve been on my own nearly eight years and I’m doing OK, more than OK—I’m doing good.’
Adie nodded appreciatively.
‘And have you got anyone on the horizon. You know—a man, a dog, a cat, a goldfish?’ asked Netty.
Behind them Carol could see two waitresses approaching with late lunches on a tray. She hesitated, hoping that the arrival of their food would break the thread. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t make them think she was a perfect cow, keeping a good man on hold while she weighed up Gareth Howard? She suddenly realised it was re ally important that they didn’t think badly of her.
‘Yes, I have,’ Carol said, after what felt like for ever. ‘His name is Raf—and he’s—he’s…’ She could see that she had everyone’s undivided attention, ‘he’s re ally nice.’
Netty groaned. ‘Bugger! Hard luck, kid,’ she said, taking the plate of steak and chips proffered by the barmaid. ‘Never mind, it could have been a lot worse.’
Adie nodded. ‘God, yes, he could have had a decent job with a pension.’
‘Or be sensible.’ Jan.
‘Or reliable.’ Netty slapped her head and groaned.
‘Or no oil painting but good with his hands,’ said Adie, shaking vinegar over his chips.
There was no answer. Carol looked down at her chicken Caesar salad, wondering how the hell she was going to be able to swallow it down past the great knotted guilty lump in her throat. She looked round the faces. ‘He re ally is nice,’ she said thickly, but there was no way back now.
‘…And how have you been keeping?’ George asked, as if there was some real chance that all the years could be condensed into a line or two, as he launched himself gamely into Callista’s silence. ‘I kept meaning to ring—I always think of you on your birthday—but well, you know how it is.’ He paused, his discomfort increasingly obvious. ‘There was always Judy to consider and you know how things were, how they still are. I just wanted you to know that I’ve missed you. Missed you a lot. It wasn’t an easy decision at the time, not easy at all.’
Callista Haze looked up from her drink, her composure totally unruffled. ‘George, please, there is re ally no need to put yourself through all this. It’s fine, I’m fine. It was all an awfully long time ago now. Life moves on, people move on, so please just relax and enjoy your lunch.’
‘I know, I know, it’s been so very many years. I’m almost afraid to work out exactly how long it is since I last saw you—and do you know what, Callista?’
‘What?’ she asked pleasantly. Surely there couldn’t be much more. George Bearman looked much the same as she remembered him, except he had a little less hair and what he had left had faded from old gold to a soft grey. He had the florid slightly purple complexion of someone with poor circulation and a bad heart. Poor George.
He took a deep breath. ‘I regretted ever letting you go,’ he said. The words spilled out.
Callista stared up at him in astonishment, she felt her heart dropping like a stone. ‘Sorry?’ she began, but George wasn’t ready to be halted.
‘Please, Callista, hear me out. Every single day since you left Belvedere I have thought what a bloody fool I was to have ever let you go. I’m so sorry, so very sorry, Callista; can you ever forgive me?’
She looked up into his eyes to see if there was some hint of jest, some cruel joke, and found none; instead she saw the bright promise of tears. Callista’s expression softened. ‘Oh, George…’ she whispered.
But he was in full swing now. ‘I felt so bad about everything, for betraying you like that, for abandoning you.’ He shook his head in total despair.
Despite his obvious distress Callista couldn’t help laughing. ‘Oh, come on. George, stop it, people are looking at us, for God’s sake. What on earth makes you think that you abandoned me?’
He was surprised. ‘Well, all those times I told you that I was going to leave my wife for you.’ He sounded slightly indignant. ‘All those times I promised you that we would have a life together—a little house, a fresh start, a cocker spaniel, be a real family.’
‘All those false promises and false hopes you trotted out to keep me hanging on?’ she said.
He visibly bristled. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Oh, don’t be so silly, George. I’m not totally stupid. I always knew that you would never leave Judy for me.’
He looked at her in astonishment. ‘re ally?’ he said. He sounded genuinely amazed.
She laughed. ‘Of course. Don’t sound so surprised. Hopeless, impossible, doomed love is a wonderfully dramatic thing—at least for a while. I was young and it all seemed terribly romantic.’
‘So what happened?’
Callista took a long pull on her drink. ‘Honestly?’
He nodded.
‘I grew up.’
‘Good God. How terribly pragmatic of you,’ he said.
Callista stroked his hand. ‘Yes, that’s right. Now eat your pie; you’ll feel a lot better.’
‘But I’ve pined for you for…’ George said. ‘If I’m honest I have pined for you for the last twenty years.’ He looked pained and sounded quite cross now.
‘You silly man,’ Callista said kindly, pulling the knife and fork from his pocket and shaking out his napkin.
‘I’ve always suspected that Judy knew