As Greek as It Gets: A fun, feel-good romantic comedy Page 18

  Mum doesn’t have any grandchildren yet, or many friends, so I guess she gets a little bored sometimes, especially as Rex spends hours mooching around in his garden shed.

  ‘Okay, Mum, I’ll get back to you,’ I say, thinking that my mum really does seem to be becoming a little gentler as she gets older and maybe I ought to try to understand her a bit more. I know she found life difficult following the split with Dad, but I strongly resented the fact that she clouded our opinion of him.

  ‘Well, don’t leave it too long, and whatever is going on between you and Max, sort it out. There was definitely something not right with him.’

  Mum’s right, of course, and I can hardly wait to get home after work and talk things over with Max. Last night I went over and over our conversation, unable to forget his comment about not being able to trust me, and I wonder where we go from here. I don’t see how there can be a relationship without trust and the thought fills me with dread. With a heavy heart I pray that we can sort things out between us. And if we manage to, I vow never to give up trying to communicate with Max.

  Halfway through a busy morning at work, Max texts me to tell me that he’s meeting up with his friends from National Finance again this evening and not to wait up for him. I’m wondering if he’s trying to hurt me. At the very least he seems to want to avoid me. And part of me is annoyed that he is so unwilling to confront our fight head on. I know that I avoid confrontation, but I don’t run away when there is a problem right in front of me.

  I press on with work, careful not to make any mistakes at the till. I don’t want to bring my personal problems into the workplace ever again. A customer purchases a picnic basket and I think of the one Max bought for me not long after we met. I recall the wonderful summer days we spent in the park, barely able to keep our hands off one other – as we kissed publicly like the kind of couple I find embarrassing to witness – and find myself suppressing tears. I wonder what it says about me that I couldn’t trust myself around a handsome stranger on holiday.

  I wonder if Max was the one to instigate this meet-up with his old colleagues and if Rachel will be there again. I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach, worrying that things could be unravelling between us, but I throw myself into my work in an effort to forget thinking such things.

  I’m exhausted when I push the key into the front door of our house a little after six o’clock, but I’m thankful that it was a busy afternoon at the shop, giving me little time to think about what is going on between Max and me.

  A short while later, Max arrives home and gives me a curt nod, before going upstairs for a shower.

  ‘Are you eating out?’ I ask, as he walks into the kitchen a while later, reeking of the aftershave I bought for him on his birthday. He’s wearing a new shirt with fashionable jeans and his designer shoes that usually only come out on special occasions. ‘I was going to make a risotto.’ Risotto is one of Max’s favourites and the first thing I ever cooked for him.

  Max eyes the ingredients set out on the kitchen counter and hesitates for a moment, before declining. ‘No, thanks, we’re going to grab something in town.’

  ‘Max,’ I say, as softly as I can, ‘how long are you going to keep this up? I feel as though you’re punishing me.’ The weekend is upon us and I can’t remember the last time Max spent a Friday night out with his friends.

  ‘I’m not punishing you.’ He turns and looks me in the eyes. ‘I just can’t get over the fact that you spent the night with another man. Even though you claim nothing happened, I feel so betrayed. You haven’t told me what you were talking about, which makes it all sound pretty secretive. But perhaps I could have forgiven that if you hadn’t then told me that you kissed him. There was obviously a spark between you both and it makes me wonder what might have gone on that evening. It just keeps going around and round in my head.’

  ‘Oh, Max.’ I attempt to embrace him, but he shrugs me away. The rejection kills me, and a feeling of panic seeps through my bones as I think how naive I was to expect Max to just shrug my confession off.

  ‘Max, please, I know I’ve hurt you. I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry, but I need to know things will be okay between us.’ There’s that twisting knot in the pit of my stomach again.

  Max fills a glass with water and glances at his watch. He won’t meet my eyes. ‘I should be setting off soon. I said I’d meet the guys at seven o’clock in town. It will probably be a late one.’

  There is a tiny hope in my heart that he will kiss me, as he does every time he heads off somewhere, but tonight there’s nothing. He can barely look at me and my heart sinks.

  ‘Look, Alice, I know it might seem to you like I’m overreacting about all this and maybe I am. But I’m trying to sort things out in my head.’ He picks his keys up from a hook and turns to face me. ‘But I still love you. You can’t just switch those feelings off overnight. Don’t wait up.’

  As the front door closes behind him, I burst into tears. Maybe there’s hope for us after all. Just maybe.

  I watch a film on TV and after a few glasses of wine I doze off on the sofa. When I wake and stretch my arms out and glance at the clock, it’s a little after two o’clock in the morning and Max isn’t home. Or perhaps I didn’t hear him come in. I go upstairs on the off chance that Max has returned home and I didn’t hear him, but the bedroom is empty.

  I sigh as I change into my pyjamas and climb into bed, remembering Max telling me not to wait up. It’s strange to think that not so long ago he suggested his old pals bring their partners to their next reunion. It seems that idea has been shelved though, unless I was the only one excluded from the invitation. For a second I worry about him, hoping that nothing has happened, then tell myself to stop it and remind myself that he’s a grown man.

  I find I’m wide awake after the sleep on the sofa and I’m about to flick on the television in the bedroom, when I see an earlier text message from Kerry, asking me what I’m up to tomorrow and do I fancy brunch at her place? It’s her birthday tomorrow so I can hardly say no, even though I really don’t feel like socialising, or eating Hal’s vegan cooking. Also, although it’s a Saturday I don’t have work tomorrow.

  I’m still wide awake at four o’clock and, as another movie ends, I try to settle down to sleep again, but find myself tossing and turning. As the dawn breaks and Max still isn’t home, a slight panic engulfs me. Max has never stayed out overnight before and, despite his hurt over the things I have told him, didn’t he tell me he loved me before he left? Something doesn’t feel right and I ring his phone, which goes straight to voicemail.

  I don’t have the numbers of any of Max’s old colleagues, apart from Jay’s and his partner Kim’s, who are coming to the wedding. It’s a little early to be ringing on a Saturday morning so I tap out a message to Kim, asking if Jay has arrived home after their evening out. She replies a while later, telling me that Jay is snoring soundly, having returned home just after one thirty in the morning, and asks if everything is okay. I tell her Max hasn’t arrived home and apologise for bothering her, and she promises to get in touch if Jay knows of Max’s whereabouts.

  I pad downstairs to make coffee. Glancing around our beautiful kitchen, I wish with all my heart that Max was here, standing next to me, retrieving eggs from the fridge to make my favourite eggs Benedict, while I pour us some freshly brewed coffee.

  It’s almost seven now and I switch the radio on, vaguely anxious about whether there will be anything on the upcoming news about an incident in town, before realising that my imagination is probably running away with me.

  As I sip my coffee, I watch the seconds tick by on the kitchen clock and my heart sinks even further as I ask, Where on earth are you, Max?

  Twenty-Three

  The queue for the ferry to Seacombe is quite long this morning, probably due to the weather forecast promising a day of sunshine. A little blonde boy of about five is holding his parents’ hands and jumping up and down excitedly, asking when he will be able
to go on the ‘big boat’. A few minutes later the little boy gets his wish, when a guard removes a barrier and we step onto the wooden boards of the ferry that will take me over to where Kerry lives.

  As it chugs along gently, I think of Max and wonder if he’s arrived home yet. I’ve sent him a couple of messages, telling him at the very least to let me know he is safe, then, since the police hadn’t turned up at our door, I decided not to message him again. He clearly wants some space, never mind how inconsiderate he is being about it. Yet, despite myself, I keep checking my phone for any messages. Nothing. I wonder whether Max has stayed out with someone as an act of revenge if he really believes I slept with Vangelis, then quickly dismiss the thought because Max is not that kind of man. But perhaps if Rachel was there last night and the drinks were flowing and…

  ‘You dropped these.’ I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a woman, standing with the young boy I was watching earlier, who is holding out a pair of grey woollen gloves that are rolled up into a ball.

  ‘Oh right, thank you.’

  ‘No worries.’

  I don’t think I’ll be needing the gloves today. Or the long coat, for that matter, which is a little heavy for the weather, although I’m grateful for it on the slightly blustery ferry crossing.

  The blonde woman, who looks a similar age to me, heads back to the rail of the boat, where a dark-haired man places his arms around her shoulders and she takes hold of the little boy’s hand again. The sight of them enjoying a family day out together brings a lump to my throat and suddenly I’m fighting back tears. Just over a week ago, I had the most perfect relationship and was looking forward to being married, if not exactly to my wedding, and now I’ve gone and screwed it all up. As the boat continues its short journey across the water, my phone rings and I fumble in my pocket, praying that it’s Max and that he’s alright.

  ‘Alice, hi, where are you?’ It’s Kerry.

  ‘Hi, Kerry, I’m on the ferry.’ I laugh at the rhyming sentence despite being disappointed that it isn’t Max on the other end of the phone. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m close.’

  ‘Okay, see you in a bit then. I’ll have the kettle on.’

  I’m hoping she has something a little stronger when I get there, as I could use a drink right now, before remembering that it’s only a little after eleven o’clock in the morning and I’m not going down that road.

  Arriving at Kerry’s house, a pleasant ten-minute walk from the ferry terminal, the unmistakeable waft of bacon hits my nostrils as I approach the front door. When Kerry opens the door she’s wearing a tiny denim mini skirt, a white T-shirt and a floral hairband.

  ‘I knew it!’ I enter the kitchen to find a plate of juicy bacon and a thick crusty farmhouse loaf on the kitchen counter. ‘Or are you telling me this is meat-free bacon?’

  ‘Nope. Best quality Danish bacon from the butcher’s up the road. I’ve done some cauliflower hash browns in the oven. One of our five-a-day so I don’t feel so guilty. Oh, and some beans if you like.’

  What is going on?

  ‘Were you ever really a vegetarian?’ I ask suspiciously. My stomach gives a little growl as I realise I’m feeling ravenous.

  ‘Kind of. I wanted to cut down on meat anyway so I did that when Hal was around. The rest of the time, well, I ate whatever I felt like.’

  I sit at the reclaimed wooden table and we tuck in to the most delicious doorstep bacon sandwiches, with a side of cauliflower hash browns, which are home-made and really tasty, plus a ramekin of baked beans, all washed down with some delicious Colombian coffee.

  ‘Mmm. Is there really anything nicer than a bacon sandwich on a Saturday morning?’

  I’m glad I couldn’t stomach anything earlier as it would have spoilt my enjoyment of this simple, comforting brunch. I’m wondering where Hal is and if he’ll walk into the house soon and rumble Kerry and her dark secret, when she tells me he’s in London for a few days.

  ‘He’s gone on a march to support the WASPI cause.’ Kerry sighs loudly and rolls her eyes.

  ‘WASPI?’ I say in surprise ‘Erm, isn’t that inequality in women’s pension age or something?’

  I remember it being all over the news and Mum telling me she had been lucky to get her pension at sixty as she had avoided the new age entitlements by a couple of years.

  ‘Yep. I mean they have my sympathy, obviously, but I’m not sure why he goes on every march he can find, even things he hasn’t appeared to show any interest in before. Although I suppose he does have a meeting in London tomorrow anyway, I think. I might have buggered off by the time he gets back.’

  To my surprise she sounds serious.

  Kerry takes a huge bite of her bacon sandwich and glances outside to the slightly messy patio area, where a broken chiminea, an assortment of recycling bins and some soggy canvas bunting from a previous party are strewn across the flagstones, all of which have moss poking through the cracks.

  ‘Really? What do you mean?’ I ask her softly.

  Kerry tells me that she hasn’t been happy for a while and that Hal seems to be pleased to be doing anything other than spending time with her.

  ‘And it’s not as if I’m demanding. I’m happy to stay at home when Hal doesn’t feel like going out, but he never wants to do anything. That is, other than talk about his work and sustainable housing… and climate change… the plight of the badgers… and now the injustice of the women’s pension age. I never get dressed up any more, as I never get to go to fancy restaurants, apart from with you and Ria. The last straw was this weekend.’ She places her coffee cup down and lets out a deep sigh. ‘He forgot my birthday.’

  ‘He never!’ Kerry had a huge party for Hal’s birthday in the spring, with a home-made cake and everything. To think that she went to so much effort for him and he forgot about her makes me annoyed on behalf of my friend.

  ‘When he told me he was going to London, I asked him if it was really essential that he stayed over and couldn’t he get the train home. I thought that he might have booked a restaurant for us to go somewhere nice over the weekend. He didn’t bat an eyelid and clearly had no clue that it was my birthday weekend and I wasn’t going to bloody well tell him. Anyway, that’s it, I’ve had enough. Not just because of my birthday; things just aren’t working between us. We’re two totally different people. I’ll miss the light in that conservatory when I paint though.’ She gives a short laugh.

  If I’m honest, I never thought Kerry was really suited to Hal. She changed a lot since they got together, trying to fit in with him, but I wondered whether she was really being true to herself. She’s talked of growing her hair again and today she’s back to wearing her old style of clothes. I would never have told her this, of course. I guess we all have to figure things out for ourselves…

  ‘I know. The things we do for love, hey? And no one could have said anything to me, because I wouldn’t have listened. At least not when I was all loved up.’ She lets out a sigh.

  ‘Are you really going to move out?’

  ‘Yes, I’m moving back across the water. This place is in Hal’s name anyway. I’ll rent somewhere until my next painting is snapped up by the National Gallery, then I might consider buying a place.’ Kerry plasters a smile across her face and I lean over and wrap her in a lingering hug.

  ‘Sounds like we’re both having man trouble.’

  I tell her all about Max and how, as far as I know, he hasn’t returned home yet because he hasn’t been in touch with me. All my concerns about the wedding come tumbling out and I sob all over her kitchen table.

  ‘Stay here tonight, if you like,’ she says gently. ‘That is, unless you feel you should go back home to try to sort things out. Although I have to say, staying out all night without contacting you and making you sick with worry is completely out of order.’

  Kerry and I spend the afternoon chatting, against a background of songs on the radio, and drinking coffee until just after three o’clock, when Kerry opens the fridge and offers me a gla
ss of white wine. I still haven’t heard anything from Max and almost weaken and tell Kerry I should really be heading home. I think of every scenario, including the possibility that Max may have lost his phone, so I make a decision to give Molly a call.

  Molly answers on the third ring and tells me that she’ll try Max’s phone and get back to me. I’m praying she can get through to him, but when she calls me again, it’s to tell me she has drawn a blank. ‘He’s probably in bed right now sleeping it all off. Max isn’t much of a drinker, as you know, so he might have been in a right state last night and stayed over with a friend. Or maybe he went on to a party or something. Staying out all evening doesn’t necessarily mean you’re up to no good, does it?’ she says pointedly. ‘Look,’ she continues, ‘if you’re that worried, I’ll call round to your house, if you like. Do you still keep a spare key with Iris next door?’

  I tell her that we do, and that I would appreciate the gesture and hope that she finds Max sound asleep at home. I also ask her to tell him that I’ll be staying here at Kerry’s tonight and then follow that up with a quick text to Max myself.

  ‘Are you two okay?’ Molly asks more gently.

  ‘I hope so. I think maybe we just need a little space between us for the time being, but I’m sure we’ll be able to sort things out.’

  Molly doesn’t push, so we finish the call and I try to concentrate on being here, supporting Kerry. I suppose it’s entirely possible that Max has lost his phone, especially if he drank a little more than usual. Molly will tell Max that I’ve tried to get in touch, so for now I try to push things out of my mind.

  ‘Do you want to go to the cinema tonight?’ Kerry interrupts my thoughts. ‘There’s a new Gerard Butler film, if you fancy it?’