(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)
Chapter Seven: "Here You Come Again"
August 1988
"I don't think the children had a rather enjoyable summer."
Gregory looked over at his father-in-law. "Oh?" Their letters were pleasant enough. That could have been due to Sean writing them. The eight-year-old still had a rather innocent view of the world. Gregory was determined to keep his son that way as long as possible.
"July was nothing but rain," Thomas explained. He nodded, sidestepping a woman walking her small spaniel. "And, of course, they're used to California. They had a hard time with how cool it's been."
"I'm sure they didn't mind that much. They love you and Barbara." Thomas glanced over, a small grin dancing on his lips. "They were bouncing off the walls before they left Sunset Beach." It exasperated himself and Olivia to no end. Back in mid-June, in the days leading up to their flight, Caitlin and Sean had been unbearable. The pent-up excitement had turned their usually reasonably well-behaved children into annoying monsters.
"They'll certainly be happy to see you." He nodded again, but said nothing in the face of Thomas' smile. Of course they would be happy when they saw him in the morning. It had been five weeks since they had seen him. He would have seen them tonight, but he arrived later than expected. His children were, Barbara apologetically explained, sound asleep. That was when he felt a now familiar anger flood through him. He had been cursed with the feeling ever since Olivia nonchalantly explained she and the children would be staying in London longer than the three weeks they had planned. The three weeks they planned on staying in London as a family. Together.
"Be reasonable, Gregory. Time apart would be…well, good for us at this stage."
He pushed out of his mind their endless fighting. His fury over her second DUI, less than six months after her first. Her temper tantrum when she found out about him and his intern. Instead, he glared, his left hand clenched around his glass of wine. "So, I just go back to Sunset Beach?"
She nodded, glancing across the aisle and he turned, following her gaze. Caitlin and Sean were snug in their first-class seats, the overhead lights off as the sounds of the engines lulled them to sleep. "Yes. There's a case you couldn't get out of." Their eyes met again as she continued reciting the story she would deliver to their children and her parents. "We're lucky you were able to get away for the three weeks you did."
She had thought of everything. Planned everything, right down to the minute she dropped her bombshell on him. He hadn't thought to wonder while the children each toted an extra suitcase. He hadn't questioned it when she said the travel agent needed to reissue their tickets. He hadn't contributed anything to her story when she broke the news to her parents and their two young children. It was her fiasco. Let her play it out to the bitter end.
But now, it was mid-August. Five weeks had gone by. He had letters and postcards from the children. Phone calls with them. But, not her. Nothing from her. For a vague moment, he wondered how she explained the lack of contact to Barbara. A half-chuckle rose tiredly in his throat. His mother-in-law noticed everything.
"What was that?" Thomas asked as they came to a stop in front of a brick building with a red door. The Greyhound. It was their neighborhood pub. It was the pub where he asked Thomas for permission to marry Olivia.
"Nothing," he lied, rubbing his bleary eyes. "Ready for a pint."
His father-in-law smiled knowingly. "You're ready to see your wife."
He forced a half-smile. It was the one thing he and Olivia never spoke of, but which they both agreed on. The façade of a happy marriage was maintained. For their children. For her parents.
"I'm sure she wouldn't have gone out with Anthony and Rosie if she had known you were coming," Thomas called over his shoulder as he pushed open the door.
He only rolled his eyes in reply, grateful that Thomas was facing the other direction and didn't see. He wouldn't quite say that. Olivia's drinking had been out of control this year. His wife no longer needed an excuse to knock back a drink…or, as of late, an entire bottle.
The pub was crowded, country music drifting out of the jukebox in the corner. God, what was it with the British and their love of the American country-western genre? He followed Thomas through the crowd, ignoring the hearty laughter and the clinking of glass pints. As he passed a small table beneath a framed photograph of Queen Elizabeth, he couldn't help but remember when he and Thomas sat there thirteen years ago. When nerves coursed through him as he waited for Olivia's father to reply. I need her, Thomas. I can't imagine my life without her. When his throat swelled as he listened to Thomas' reply. I'd be proud to have you for a son. Now, a middle-aged couple sat there, facing each other but silent as they drank their pints.
He cleared his throat and looked away, his head pounding. It was the time change. It was the frustration of the last five weeks. It was that he was at the mercy of his wife's decision. And, he hated that he had no control over her decision. Over her actions. Over the last five weeks.
"I'll tell you what you do," Del suggested as he adjusted his putting stance. He had been back for one week. He and Del were on the thirteenth hole and the conversation had turned to conversation about their respective wives. His first – and only – wife, while Del was already on his third. "You ignore her the way she's ignoring you."
"That's the ridiculous behavior of a child."
Del scoffed, his teeth clenched around the cigar. "That's what wives do. Hell, that's what Olivia does!" When he glanced up questioningly, his friend continued, "Didn't she ignore the hell out of you before I introduced you two?"
He slowly nodded, remembering how she was before they began dating. She wouldn't give him the time of day. Her relationship with AJ Deschanel may have ended, but she wouldn't so much as look at him, let alone speak to him.
"Then, when you go back to London for her and the kids, she'll be begging you to forgive her."
"How far into your cups are you?" he heard Thomas ask as they turned a slight corner. There they all were at the usual table. Anthony, Olivia's cousin. Rosie, his wife. Olivia, his wife. And, a man with dark hair and dark eyes he didn't recognize. The stranger sat close to his wife, his arm practically around her shoulders as they both looked up. Olivia's face registered blatant shock as she blinked, her lips parted in surprise.
"Not too far into them," Anthony laughed as he stood, his hand extended to Gregory. He nodded, shaking Anthony's hand. But, it was Olivia he watched. Olivia, he couldn't tear his eyes from. Olivia, who he hadn't seen in five weeks. Since the day she finally spoke to him all those years ago, they had never been apart this long. Now, here she was, with another man pressed against her. A rush of irritation flooded through him even as their eyes met.
All you gotta do
Is smile that smile
And there go all my defenses
She pushed herself up as Thomas began, "Francis! What a surprise to see you!"
Francis. Francis. He struggled to place the name as Olivia reached for his hand. He saw the dazzling smile on her face for the briefest of moments before she threw her arms around him. "Oh, darling," she sighed, her breath dancing against his ear. "You came back."
His arms went around her involuntarily, drawing her in against him. Came back? Came back? It was never his choice to leave! "Olivia-," he began before she pressed her lips to his. He sighed against her mouth as her finger tips danced through the fine hair at the nape of his neck. The frustration and anger melted away as he remembered what it felt like for her to stand in his embrace. For him to taste her lips. For her hands to cup his face as she gazed up at him.
She shifted against him, her chest pressed into his side as she murmured something beneath her breath. Slowly, his eyes opened and he untangled his hand from her hair. "Francis," he said quietly into the dark. It was a slight movement, but he felt her flinch. It was her middle name, but he knew she knew what he meant.
Who is he?
Did you fuck him?
Do you love him?
Are you coming home?
Are you leaving me?
Do you still love me?
A moment later, he felt her leg slip between his as she propped herself up onto her right arm. The moonlight falling in through the sheer curtains let him see he way she blinked sleepily. The way her bruised and swollen lips parted in a sigh. The way her left hand came up to brush his face before her fingers combed through his sweaty hair. He heard her repeat the name before she chuckled slightly and lowered her face. "Francis is Frankie," she whispered as she nuzzled his neck, her hand trailing down his bare chest. "Frankie Doyle."
He inhaled sharply as she kissed him, swallowing up the curse that rose in his throat. Frankie Doyle. He should have known. The ringleader of the infamous band of morons she dated as a teenager. The first boy she ever did date. With a grunt, he rolled over and pinned her beneath him. She only watched him, blinking her blue eyes bashfully as her arms wound around his neck. His shadow loomed over her for a moment before he leaned down, kissing her hard.
Reminding her as she started against him.
Reminding himself as he pushed her legs apart.
Here they went again.
A/N: The chapter title and lyrics are from "Here You Come Again" (written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil.)
