Author's Note: Many thanks for your reviews for the previous chapter. I was especially delighted by one which noted how detached Guinevere is. That was exactly what I was trying to get over, so I'm glad it's clear. It will be a big issue in a chapter or two. A VERY big issue.
I've been trying to get another chapter up this week, to push things forward a bit, but also because I will definitely be delayed for a few days. I have family coming from Ireland from today, so I know I will get nothing done to speak of until next weekend at the earliest, when they go back. Bear with me next week though, because the good stuff, or at least part of the main reason for the story, is definitely coming, a warning way in advance for it though. You will probably hate me for a little while and those of you who have told me in reviews that I have made you cry so far, you ain't seen nothin' yet, but it's all for a good cause!
Guinevere didn't stay at her Dad's too long after she finished her coffee. She told him she needed to do some shopping. She told herself she wasn't telling lies, not really. She probably could do with getting some fruit, vegetables, the basic things, she told herself, even if food was the last thing she wanted lately. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten something and really enjoyed it. Nothing seemed to have any taste anymore, and cooking seemed to be such an effort, especially for one. On the odd times she did want something to eat, like the days when she was between calls at lunchtime, she tended to want things that were easy and quick. The microwave in the flat had never worked so hard, even if most of the results were bland and boring. At least half would end up in the bin anyway, because there was no time to sit and eat a meal when she was working, but even if she'd had time she had no appetite.
Before she left her Dad's Guinevere washed up their cups and the tea-plate from her toast, which had surreptitiously gone in the kitchen bin when her Dad popped to the loo. Tom walked back into the kitchen just as Guinevere was drying his cup, having dried the tea-plate and put it away first, so Tom wouldn't ask too many questions.
"Do you want another cup of tea before I go Dad?" She asked the question as Tom sat back down in his chair at the table.
Tom nodded, "Yes please sweetheart, but only if it's not too much trouble."
"Of course it's not too much trouble." Guinevere shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Tom watched Guinevere as she turned to boil the kettle again and put another teabag in the cup she'd just washed and dried.
The mood between them became awkward after Tom mentioned Gwydre and Arthur. Suddenly Gwen seemed to be keen to go. She had practically inhaled the last of her coffee and she'd begun to tidy up, gathering their cups and the things from the breakfast he knew perfectly well she hadn't eaten, before running some water in the sink to wash up. Normally he would have told her not to worry, he could manage the bit of washing up they'd produced if she was in a hurry, but today he let her do it, let her think she was doing something useful for him. He knew he was keeping her there a bit longer too, though he knew she probably wouldn't be saying much more now. She'd clammed up after he'd mentioned Gwydre and seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.
Tom wondered if anything he'd said had got through to her. He saw the reaction in her eyes when he told her Arthur still loved her. For a second it was as if some of the weight that she seemed to be carrying around with her since Gwydre's death lifted, just a little bit. Tom wished he could have assured her more, convinced her he was telling the truth, but he couldn't. She needed to hear it from Arthur, but there was no chance of that while the pair of them were avoiding each other, keeping their contact to the bare minimum to sort out matters for the divorce, and even then, restricting their conversations to five minutes here and there on the phone.
To his credit, Tom recalled, it was Arthur who'd broken the news to him that he'd applied for a divorce. The phone had rung one afternoon when he was alone in the house. He'd tried to get to the phone, but he just wasn't quite quick enough on his feet since his stroke, not without trying to rush and risking falling over. Typically, the phone rang off just as he reached it and he cursed under his breath, laughing softly at himself for doing such a thing when no one was there to hear him. However, after a few seconds the phone rang again and Tom picked it up. He'd expected to hear Guinevere's voice. She'd got into a habit of ringing straight back if he missed a call the first time, knowing he was probably either in the loo or on the way to the phone, so Tom thought it would be her. He was surprised when he answered the phone to hear Arthur's voice.
"Tom?" Arthur sounded exhausted, even to his father-in-law's ears.
"Arthur, is everything all right, you sound tired son?" Anxiety coursed through Tom, wondering why Arthur was phoning. It wasn't so much that he never did, but he certainly didn't phone Tom often. "Is it Gwen – what's she done?" Even as he asked the question Tom didn't quite know why. He was being silly he told himself, telling his heart, which had been pounding in his ears from the moment he heard Arthur's voice, to shut up.
"Guinevere's all right….I….I think." Arthur's voice sounded uncertain, shaky, almost as if he was on the brink of tears. Tom heard him swallow hard and reflexively did the same.
"Tom I…" Arthur swallowed again. Tom could visualise him doing it, gathering himself so he could speak properly. "Tom I'm sorry, but I've applied for a divorce." Tom heard the intake of breath when Arthur finished his statement, as if even he couldn't quite believe what he'd just said.
"You….You've done what?" Tom didn't shout. He asked the question calmly, sure he'd misheard.
"I'm sorry Tom, but I just can't live like this anymore. Since….since the baby…" Arthur stopped talking abruptly. Tom heard another heavy swallow.
Tom Leodegrance gripped the phone as a wave of emotion hit him. The memory of the tiny coffin they'd buried Gwydre in three months before went through his mind. In a flash he was back at the cemetery his arm around Guinevere's waist, the rain lashing down as the coffin was lowered into the tiny grave. He could feel Gwen's head on his shoulder, feel the shudder that went through her as the coffin reached the earth below and the local vicar recited the burial ceremony. All the time Arthur was sobbing silently, his tears falling and mingling with the rain.
"We can't talk to each other anymore Tom. We're being polite with each other, like strangers, except for when we forget and start screaming at each other over things that don't matter. We can't sit in the same room anymore without it turning into a yelling match, and I just can't…I moved out a fortnight ago, fully intending to go back, but now I've realised I just can't, not to that, so I've applied for a divorce."
"Arthur you've both just lost a child." Tom reasoned, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his emotions in check. He could hear Arthur's despair, his frustration, down the phone line.
"I know, and I know you'll think what I'm doing is terrible and selfish and self-centred, and maybe it is, but I just can't sit back and watch her slip further and further away from me Tom, I just can't, so….."Arthur let the rest of his words hang in the air.
Tom listened to Arthur's outpouring and his heart ached. He hadn't seen Arthur and Guinevere together since the funeral. He had problems walking any distance and didn't drive anymore, so he couldn't just pop round to theirs any time he wanted. Before the baby died they would go to him, sometimes having tea on a Sunday evening, when he would sit in his favourite armchair in his living room, the baby in his arms, while he chatted away about nothing. After the baby died, particularly when Guinevere went back to work, she would call on him during the week, usually when she was between calls to people she looked after, or when she had a day off. When he asked after Arthur she always said he was fine.
It was at the funeral that Tom noticed the distance between Gwen and Arthur. At first Tom told himself he was imagining it, the way they barely exchanged a word and never touched. He convinced himself he was being stupid. They were both devastated in their own ways, Guinevere grieving in her own silent way, leaning on him in a way she hadn't in years. Arthur stood a foot or so apart, on Guinevere's other side, trying, and failing, to hold back his tears. Arthur bit his lower lip, it's colour draining away as he applied more and more pressure to it. Then he seemed to be biting the inside of one of his cheeks. Tom watched as the cheek tautened slightly before filling out a bit again when Arthur took a sharp intake of air as tears swamped his vision. A second later Arthur gave way to his grief, sobbing silently in the rain. Tom stood at the graveside and watched Arthur falling apart, wishing he could reach out and comfort him, but finding himself unable to move without disturbing Guinevere. Instead Tom watched, feeling that Arthur's soundless sobbing was just as heartbreaking as if he'd stood at the grave and wailed.
"Look Arthur," Tom said, pushing the memories away, "I'm not about to accuse you of being selfish or any of that. I'm just asking you not to do something hasty I know you'll regret. I know you're both going through hell at the moment, but in time…."
"Please don't tell me time heals Tom." Arthur's voice was sharp, filled with bitterness.
"I wasn't going to say any such thing", Tom replied kindly, overlooking Arthur's tone. "I was just going to say that time won't heal, but it will make it easier to live with, for you and for Guinevere. You just need to hang in there Arthur, together."
A huff of ironic laughter came down the line. "That's just it though Tom, we're not together anymore, not now. Guinevere won't talk to me unless it's to find fault. She won't tell me how she feels. She hasn't cried, not once. She organised the funeral, made all the arrangements without consulting me, and then she shut me out. Did you know she went back to work the week after the funeral?"
Suddenly Tom had to bite his tongue. In any other situation he would have given Arthur a piece of his mind, told him to grow up and stop whining, but the despair in the young man's voice stopped him. Arthur was at the end of his tether, quite clearly.
"Maybe work helps her", he tried desperately to find something to help Arthur find a way to understand Guinevere's behaviour. "Maybe it takes her mind off things. Maybe it fills some of the time."
"Maybe it gives her an excuse to be away from me," Arthur supplied, his frustration boiling over.
"I'm sure that's not why she's working Arthur", Tom said, biting his tongue again. "Look, Guinevere is trying to cope with this in the only way she knows how, which, for her, is keeping busy. She's never been one to sit around, you know that."
On the other end of the line Arthur sighed heavily. "I do know that, and if it was just that I wouldn't care, honestly I wouldn't. I know Guinevere copes with things by being busy, keeping herself occupied, but it's not just that. She's completely shut me out of her life Tom and I'm just too tired to fight with her anymore, especially because that's the only way we talk now, by fighting with each other. I can't live like that Tom, not with her."
Tom felt the sting of tears in the back of his eyes when he listened to the futility in Arthur's voice. "Does Guinevere know about the divorce, have you told her?"
"I told her yesterday. I told her she can have the flat and I've told her I'll support her financially for as long as she wants, but knowing her she won't let me do that for long. She's so independent."
Tom laughed softly in spite of the sadness in his heart. "I know all about that son, believe me."
"There is just one thing Tom." Arthur spoke hesitantly, as if he was suddenly uncertain of how what he said might be taken.
"What is it Arthur, you know you can say anything to me, ask me anything, don't you?"
"I know that Tom, it's just, in the circumstances…"
"What do you need Arthur?" Tom asked, rolling his eyes.
Arthur sighed again. "Will you look after her for me?" His voice wobbled for a moment and he took a breath before speaking again. "I know it's my place to look after her, but she won't let me anymore, she won't even let me try. I just can't stand the thought of her being alone Tom. I know she's independent and would swear blind she can manage, and in a lot of ways I know she can, but deep down I think she needs someone now, and since she won't let me near her anymore, I just…."
"I'll do everything I can Arthur, you know that, but…."
"Thanks Tom. I'll pop round and see you when I have time."
"Wait a minute Arthur, where are you…?"
Before Tom could finish his question the line went dead and Arthur was gone. Now, months later, he still hadn't come round, but whether he genuinely hadn't had time, or if he had convinced himself that after leaving it so long he wouldn't be welcome, Tom wasn't sure. He also wondered if Arthur was afraid of bumping into Guinevere if he turned up. Maybe it had become easier for him to just stay away.
"Right Dad, I'm off to do a bit of shopping and have a look around the market. Do you need me to get you anything?" Guinevere was walking towards the front door as she spoke, her father following behind her to see her out.
"No thanks love, I'm all right. You enjoy the rest of your day off."
"All right, I'll pop in before I start work at the weekend then, if you're sure you're all right." Guinevere stood up on her tip-toes to kiss her Dad goodbye.
"All right sweetheart, take care and try not to work too hard." Tom kissed his daughter back and embraced her briefly before she turned to go.
Tom Leodegrance stood on his front step to watch his daughter drive away. He waved her off feeling much the same as he did on her first day at school years before. He knew now, just as he knew then, she had to go out into the big wide world on her own one day, but he prayed she would be all right. He'd been assured when she was a child. She'd virtually skipped out of school, beaming and chattering about a new friend she had made, clutching a picture she'd painted of a butterfly, which she insisted was for her Mummy, who wasn't in the best of health, even then. Tom could still see the vivid colours, red, yellow, orange and an almost fluorescent green, she had used on one half of the piece of paper, whereas on the other half, though they were the same colours, they were more faint. A fold, obviously done by a more mature hand than his five year old daughter, ran down the centre of the paper, separating the two halves of the completed butterfly. It was clear how it had been done, by painting on one side of the paper before folding the page and pressing down on it, to create a perfectly symmetrical butterfly when the paper was opened out again. Now she was an adult and Tom desperately wished life was still as simple.
Guinevere drove back into town and headed towards the market that was held once a week. She used to love wandering around the market for an hour or so on her days off. She loved seeing the fresh produce, fruit, vegetables, speciality goods. She loved the stalls of hand-made items, knitted shawls and blankets, sweaters and the hand-made jewellery and could stand for ages just browsing. Now she just headed for the stalls which sold what she needed as fast as possible, hoping she didn't bump into someone she knew. After the difficulty of the talk with her father she didn't need another awkward encounter, not today.
She had almost reached the fruit and vegetables stall when she was stopped in her tracks.
"Princess, long time no see!"
Guinevere looked around for somewhere she could hide. She knew she'd been seen and she only knew one person who ever called her that, Gwaine, one of Arthur's closest friends.
It wasn't that she didn't like Gwaine. In fact, if she was really honest, the night she met Arthur, in a local pub when she'd been dragged out by some of her friends, because one of them was celebrating a birthday, it had been Gwaine she'd met first. He'd been utterly charming and just a bit naughty, flirting with her in a way that would have been annoying from anyone else, but it soon became clear that Gwaine, for all of his showing off and bravado, was completely harmless. He reminded Guinevere of a spaniel a friend once owned, he was a bundle of energy and instinctively knew everyone adored him because he was beautiful, inside and out, but underneath he was loyal and affectionate to his friends.
However, after going through the motions of flirting with her, making her laugh and even buying her a drink, Gwaine said, pointing to his right, that he'd come over to ask her to come and meet his friend who was dying to meet her and too shy to come over and say hello himself. "Personally I think he's a fool who should just get off his arse and get over here!" He shouted in the direction he had pointed and a blonde man, with the most beautiful blue eyes Guinevere had ever seen, blushed all the way to his hairline.
Eventually Arthur walked over and glared at Gwaine for embarrassing him, which Gwaine, naturally, shrugged off. Then he walked away and found another woman to chat up, a blonde with legs up to her armpits.
As if by magic Gwaine appeared through the crowd in the market, or rather, the crowd parted like the red sea for him. Gwen watched as he smiled at all the old women he passed and winked at the younger ones, each and every one of them eating out of his hand, because that was the sort of person Gwaine was. People, men as well as women, but especially women, were drawn to the tall, dark Irishman who had clearly kissed the blarney stone more than once, because he definitely had the gift of the gab.
"Hello gorgeous, it's good to see you!" Gwaine greeted Guinevere by sweeping her off her feet into an enormous bear-hug.
"Gwaine, honestly, put me down, people are looking!" She chided him, smacking his chest as she laughed at her exuberant friend, though she cringed inwardly when she realised they were gathering quite a crowd.
Gwaine released Guinevere and she dropped back down on to her feet. The crowd began to disperse at that, realising the show was obviously over.
"Hello Gwaine, it's good to see you too," she said, when she was sure their audience were gone. "How are you?"
"Apart from being knackered because Leon's a slave-driver, I'm all right thanks my sweet, you?"
Guinevere deliberately ignored the last part of Gwaine's comment. "Leon is not a slave-driver and you know it Gwaine," she told him off good-naturedly. "He just wants the restaurant to be a success, you know that."
Gwaine and Leon shared a flat in town. They'd bought it together because the property prices in the area where they wanted to live, not far from Gwen and Arthur's flat, were too high for them to afford on their own. Gwen remembered Arthur laughing several times when he came home from an evening with 'the boys', before the baby was born, when he'd witnessed people mistaking Leon and Gwaine for lovers, but she knew very well they were best friends. Close, but not that close. Leon, a qualified chef, who was quite shy, almost retiring compared to Gwaine – although Gwaine would make anyone look retiring Gwen thought – decided one day to announce that he had always wanted to own and run a restaurant, a classy, upmarket restaurant and wine bar, so he and Gwaine went into a business partnership. They'd been pretty successful too, keeping going even as other businesses in the area closed when the economy crashed, but it hadn't been easy by a long way.
"How are things with the restaurant?" Guinevere asked, the two of them falling in to step and walking, so as not to get in the way in the narrow space of the market.
Gwaine smiled, "Doing all right actually. Leon reckons it's the posh nosh he serves up in the evenings for his exclusive", he used air-quotes dramatically, "clientele, but I think it's more to do with my idea to open up for a few hours in the day and serve basic stuff for the peasants."
Gwen smiled. "Which category do I fall in to then, exclusive or peasant?"
Gwaine looked like he was thinking about it for a second. He eyed Guinevere up and down and stroked his beard. Then he grinned and clicked his fingers. "Queen of the peasants, M'lady," and he bowed with mock solemnity.
Guinevere laughed. "You're mad you are. I don't think I'll be Queen of anything any time soon."
Gwaine shook his head, "I bet I can think of at least one person who would disagree with that."
"Oh?" Guinevere's brows arched.
Out of nowhere Gwaine became more serious. "You know very well who I mean Princess. Why won't you come round to ours and just talk to him?"
"Gwaine", Guinevere glared.
"Look," Gwaine ploughed on, in spite of Guinevere's annoyance. "All you need to do is come round and have a drink or something. Leon and I could come up with some excuse to leave you alone and you could sit down and work it out."
"I'm busy Gwaine. I work for a living, remember?" Guinevere's voice was edged with steel. "Besides, the Decree Nisi was granted, it came through today, so there's nothing to say, is there?"
"Well that explains why Arthur was like a bear with a sore arse this morning," Gwaine said, almost like he was talking to himself. Then he smiled, "It's just a piece of paper though, it could be ripped up, if you would just talk to Arthur."
"I said no Gwaine; it's too late."
Before Gwaine could present another argument Guinevere turned on her heel and was gone. Her tiny stature meant that he lost sight of her in the in the crowd quickly, leaving Gwaine wondering what on earth had just happened and what on earth could be done to put it right.