This is a future chapter of Back to Afghan (via Bath) which as it happens is ready to go and can be read as a standalone shorty for now. Plus I am having a bit of a block on Part 6 and needed to work on something else. There is a slight spoiler aspect to it but not much. Read now or leave until it appears in Back to Afghan – your choice. Please keep the reviews coming or drop me a pm if you think something needs attention.
As usual, all characters are the from the brain of Tony Grounds and the property of the BBC.
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It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that recently divorced couples do not like to see their "exes" in better or happier relationships than themselves. (Apologies to Jane Austen)
16 Somerset Lane, Bath, Saturday 8.30am
"Sam. I told you. Only three toys. And they have to fit in your rucksack as well."
"Oooh Mum, please, five small ones, they're a set. I need them all."
Rebecca opened the front door of the house recalling the old simile of "herding cats". Well, that was unfair really. Compared to the children of some of her friends, Sam was a really well organised and helpful little boy.
"Come on or we'll be late, and Daddy's taking you out somewhere special today"
"Where's he taking me, Mum, do you know? Are Grandma and Grandad going as well? And its 'Dad' not 'Daddy' Mum, I'm not a toddler you know."
"Come on, get in the car, and don't make a noise, we don't want to wake Rob up."
Rebecca opened the rear door of Rob's gleaming black BMW X5 and threw in the holdall packed with Sam's overnight gear. Sam got in, sat on his booster seat and did up his seatbelt, all without being asked.
It was only eight thirty in the morning and it was very cold. There was a clear blue sky and the Sun was shining brightly but it was very low in the sky. It promised to be a lovely, if chilly, day. They set off on what was usually just a ten minute drive to Royal Crescent, but as it was a Saturday there was quite a lot of traffic heading into the city for a morning's shopping at the Winter Sales. Sam was playing quietly with a small plastic "monster" truck which he was driving, with appropriate engine noises, up and down his leg and over the armrest beside him. Rebecca's mind was wandering as she drove stop-start through the increasingly heavy traffic.
Had she made the biggest mistake of her life? Absolutely no doubt about it. Yes she had. What the Hell was she thinking but what could she do about it now though? Rob was OK, very well off and all that, and he was very good with Sam. But in the final analysis he was just the best of the bunch available when she was looking around for somebody to replace the ever-absent Charles in the bedroom. She didn't really love him, never had. He already had a paunch and was starting to lose his hair and he was only twenty nine. What would he look like in ten or twenty years? She pictured him as she'd got out of bed this morning to get Sam ready, lying there snoring with his morning stubble and some drool on the pillow beside his mouth. Yuck!
This made her think about Charles again with his perfectly toned body and his thick brown, wavy hair. He always looked amazing at any time, day or night! Why couldn't she have been more enthusiastic when he'd wanted sex. Looking back, she was embarrassed thinking about the number of "headaches" she'd claimed to have had. And why did she do that, for God's sake. Half the women in Bath would jump into bed with Charles at the drop of a hat. He was gorgeous, intelligent, a wonderful lover and, that rarity of rarities, a real gentleman. She now realised that what she had been doing was punishing him for not being and doing what she wanted and, yes, it had seriously backfired on her.
You were bloody mad! she repeated several times to herself in her head.
But, come on, it was HIS fault the marriage went down the pan not mine, she reasoned to herself, never there for me or for Sam. Always itching to get off to his next big adventure.
Whoever's fault it was, every time she saw Charles nowadays to hand over, or pick up, Sam, she still felt something stir inside. She desperately wanted him to ask her to join them for the day but he never did. To cap it all, he was now giving up the Army, or at the very least, active service, something she'd wanted him to do since they got married. So now, every time she met him for the hand over, she paid special attention to what she wore and took extra care with her make-up.
It all resurfaced when she'd heard about his injuries, and how life-threatening they were. She was terrified, not just for Sam's sake, possibly losing the father he adored, but because she knew at that moment that she still had feelings for him. At her suggestion, when they first saw him at the hospital in such a dreadful state, Sam had written "I love Dad" on his arm. Her tears had started to flow, not just because of the poignancy of the message, but also because what she really wanted him to write was "We both love you".
Then she'd heard he'd turned a corner and was on the road to recovery. She and Sam, by chance, were staying at the one of the family rooms at the Queen Elizabeth hospital and had been informed at six in the morning that he had come round and was OK to receive visitors. She could remember it as if it was yesterday, getting them both quickly dressed, going down the long corridor with Sam towards his room at the hospital, feeling so happy and looking forward to a tender moment or two with him, perhaps holding his hand. But what happened? She was confronted by that scruffy squaddie standing by his bed. What the Hell was a girl soldier doing at Charles's bedside? She even thought she saw them holding hands as she came through the door but couldn't be sure. How dare she be there caring for him before Sam and herself!
"This is Molly, she saved my life", he'd said. Yeah, I bet she did, she had thought to herself, probably by giving you relief massages throughout the tour as part of her duties.
"I'd better go", this Molly person had said.
"Don't go on my account," Rebecca had replied, but what she really thought was, yes, get the Hell out of here.
"Good to see you Dawsey." She was going to leave, thank Goodness. "Ditto" was all she'd said in reply, but she said it in such a very intimate way, as if it was THEIR own special word, full of secret meaning. She watched Charles's eyes follow this Dawsey woman as she left through the door. The look in his eyes suggested to her that there might be something going on.
But what on earth did he see in her? A bit of rough while he was away maybe? She sounded as common as muck and didn't look the slightest bit feminine or alluring in all that combat gear. Any port in an Afghan storm I suppose and probably the only woman within 50 miles. Anyway, hopefully she was out of the picture now and wouldn't be back. Good riddance!
"Mum, are we going to stay with Rob forever?" from the back seat. The question brought her back to reality with a bump.
"You like Rob, don't you sweetie?"
"He's OK Mum but he's not like Dad"
No, he's not, she thought ruefully, for a start he's a total bore in bed!
The drive continued.
Rebecca felt desperate at times. She knew that Charles's mother and father had never really liked her and that Charles would find it difficult to forgive her the string of lovers culminating in Rob. She had no allies. But at the back of her mind was a hope, however faint , that he might still have some residual feelings for her and that these could be rekindled if she tried hard despite his parent's dislike.
She was forming a strategy as she drove. Why not suggest joining them all on the trip today? she thought. Couldn't do any harm, it will be innocent enough and it might start things going again. I can do charming when it suits me and Sam is definitely the catalyst; our common bond. If Ruth and Edward are not going on the trip that would be even better. I can always ring Rob and dream up an excuse. By the end of the journey she had convinced herself that this was a good strategic move and resolved to see it through.
They arrived at the back of 20 Royal Crescent and Sam undid his seatbelt and got out. He ran over to the intercom which he could just about reach on tiptoe and pressed the button looking up towards the small camera and screen.
"Not today thank you", came Ruth's voice over the intercom, saying what she said every single time Sam pressed the button.
"Ooh Grandma, let me in", said Sam, exasperated by his grandmother's lack of originality.
"OK just this once". Sam shook his head, what she said every time. The lock buzzed and clicked, Sam pushed the back gate open and ran into the garden, closely followed by Rebecca carrying the bulging, but very light, holdall. Sam ran on ahead, down the two hundred feet of the garden and straight through the back door which Ruth had opened and left ajar.
By the time Rebecca arrived at the kitchen door at her more sedate pace, Edward and Ruth had said their hellos to Sam, who was now being held aloft by his Dad at the far end of the kitchen, pretending to be Superman. Some unknown person was also in the kitchen, seated at the table with her back towards Rebecca watching Charles and Sam playing together. All she could see of this person was a mass of lustrous cheshnut hair like something out of one of those shampoo ads. Maybe it was one of Charles's cousins she'd heard about but never met, or a friend of Emma's staying over?
The person with the chestnut hair got up and turned to greet her. She was a beautiful young woman with a stunning figure and remarkable green eyes. She looked like a glamorous actress or somebody from a fashion magazine. For a few seconds Rebecca did not recognise her. Not surprising really, as at her previous encounter this person was in army combat gear, with no make up and had had thirty six hours with little or no sleep making those eyes somewhat bloodshot! Then Rebecca suddenly realised who it was.
The blood drained from her face. She felt quite faint. The bottom fell out of her world and her plans were in tatters.
Charles spoke as he lowered Sam to the floor.
"Hello Rebecca, I think you've already met Molly."