life is perfect; I don’t think any person is. I think there’s only perfect for you and that’s enough, really, isn’t it? You find that person who you don’t mind falling asleep with
and waking up next to and that’s enough. And it must
have been enough for you and Kerry because you survived
for all those years. You always seemed happy together.’
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‘We were to a point.’ He nodded. ‘But as I say, it wasn’t
perfect. She … She did something and it, it was hard.’
‘Did what? That sounds ominous. Killed a man?’
Beverly laughed. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that,
I’m nervous.’ She blinked.
‘It’s okay. I’m nervous too and for the record it nearly
killed me.’ He took his time. ‘She got into quite a lot of debt.’ He paused again, torn at his indiscretion and yet
already feeling the wave of relief at the very prospect of
talking to someone about it. ‘She kept it secret and I still
don’t really understand why, but she started buying things.’
‘What things?’ Beverly looked up at him, calm now
and curious.
‘Oh God, anything! But nothing we actually needed
or that was useful, things like several pairs of slippers,
pictures she would never hang, nail polish in every colour,
beach bags, board games, all sorts. Occasionally I’d notice
something new and she would be a bit coy, which was
odd as I never begrudged her a penny, of course I didn’t,
we were a partnership. I never cared about who earned
what; it was a shared pot. But then things changed when
letters started arriving, which she tried to hide.’ He took
a moment and rubbed the chill from his arms. ‘And then
one Saturday morning, Olly was about ten, I picked up
a brown envelope from the welcome mat and found out
that we owed seven thousand pounds.’
‘Shit!’
Nick nodded. Seven thousand pounds … An amount
so big the weight of it wrapped in her deceit had nearly
sunk them.
‘It turned out she had credit cards and store cards I
knew nothing about and it was all a bit of a shocker. I
found brand-new clothes, literally still with the tags on,
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stuffed into boxes in the bottom of the wardrobe. They
weren’t even her size. I wasn’t mad, not really, more wor-
ried about why she was doing it and sad that she had felt
the need to do it all so secretively, plus I was shit scared
about how we were going to pay it all off – as I say, one
shared pot. It was all around the same time as the Rod
Newberry incident—’
‘What Rod Newberry incident?’ she interrupted.
He gave a snort of laughter and pinched his nose.
‘Don’t tell me you’re the only person in Burstonbridge
who wasn’t in on that slice of gossip?’
‘I must have been washing my hair that day, or maybe
I just don’t give a shit about what other people gossip
about.’ She gave him a knowing look. He remembered
that her mum’s dramatic departure had been gossip fod-
der for quite a while.
‘Maybe you don’t.’ He took a breath. ‘When the cof-
fee shop went bust…’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot she worked there – carry on.’ Beverly
sipped her wine.
‘Well, she wasn’t really herself. Looking back, I think
she missed the company she had at work and I guess she
was bored without the routine of her job. Anyway, she
started hanging around Rob Newberry.’
‘The butcher?’
‘Yes.’
She shuddered. ‘He gives me the creeps. Has always
been a bit winky.’
‘Winky?’
‘Yeah, you know, a bit “talks to your face, but looks
at your boobs” and winks.’
‘I have to say as much as I dislike the bloke, that has
never been my experience.’ He spoke dryly and again
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she burst into laughter and her reaction made him feel
good … funny.
‘Well, Alex mentioned in passing that he’d seen them
over the Rec and I didn’t think anything of it. We would
both bump into everyone up there when walking Treacle
or taking the shortcut from town home, but there was
something in the way he said it, as if he knew something,
and it bothered me.’
‘Alex likes a gossip.’
‘He does and I factored that in, but when I mentioned
it to Kerry her reaction was a little off and it sat like an
itch in my head, you know?’
She nodded.
Nick remembered that night, her coy smile, subdued
body language … ‘I forgot about it eventually, but then
my sister said something.’
‘What?’
‘How she’d seen Kerry with Rob at the bus stop, and
not like they had bumped into each other, but relaxed,
leaning in, like people do when they are interested in each
other, like they’d planned to meet there. Anyway, that was
about the extent of it. I mulled over what to do and after
tea one night I told Kerry that she was free to do whatever
she wanted with whoever she wanted, but if she wanted us to work as a couple and to stay married, then she had to
cut out sneaking around with Rob or anyone else for that
matter. Because it wasn’t fair on anyone. Especially me.’
‘God, Nick!’ There was a moment of silence, until
Beverly spoke. ‘What did she say?’ She leant in.
‘She didn’t deny or confirm it, but sobbed and said
she was sorry, which I took as admission of something,
and then she went very quiet for a week or two, kept her
thoughts to herself, but I could hear her crying in the bath.’
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‘That’s really sad.’ Her expression was pained, seem-
ingly at the thought of Kerry’s distress.
‘Yes. It was sad for us all really. I didn’t know if she
was crying because she was going to miss him or because
she had hurt me.’
‘You didn’t ask?’
Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could have coped
with the answer. And I think in truth, a small part of me
wanted it to be the thing that finished us.’ He felt a little sick at the admission. ‘I had to deal with those thoughts
and then reconcile the fact that we were going to carry on.
It messed with my head, hers too, I’m sure. It put distance
between us that faded over time, but never really disap-
peared. It’s funny, when we left school I used to feel jealous of her mixing with David McCardle and Matty Peters.’
‘Well, David was captain of the under sixteens for their entire unbeaten season. How do I know this, you might
ask? Because he is still talking about it!’
Nick pictured him on the shop floor doing just that.
‘It’s true, though – I thought those good-looking boys,
the flash ones with their own cars while I was still rely-
ing on the bus, they were who I’d have to keep an eye
out for, thought the
y might be my competition. But I’d
given up being jealous years since. I never for a second
thought I needed to worry about her going to pick up
our weekly meat order.’
‘Maybe she was looking for something because you
stopped worrying?’
This truth was a verbal ice pick that struck him squarely
between the eyes. He flinched.
‘Shit, Nick. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was
out of order. It’s none of my business.’ She looked down,
embarrassed, and he felt her stiffen by his side.
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‘No, it’s okay, I want it to be your business, and I know
you’re right to a degree. I think I took her for granted. I
think we took each other for granted. It was hard not to
when we were both caught in the slog of living, work-
ing and falling into bed each night, keeping the wheels
turning and trying to make things the best they could be
for Olly. The gilding that coated us when we were newly
married got worn off by life, the rub of problems, worry,
rows – it exposed patches that eventually took over, and
I think I realised that being with someone I fancied was
not necessarily enough to guarantee happy ever after.
And then’ – he paused – ‘I haven’t ever said this out loud
before, but…’ He thought about the phrasing, took his
time. ‘When Kerry got sick’ – he shook his head and
smiled, as if what he was about to say was both ridiculous
and terrible – ‘we had to wipe the slate clean. We had to
find a way to come together, support each other, spend
time together, and concentrate on each other in ways we
hadn’t before. It made us close and I think we saw the
best of each other in those last months. I didn’t know I
could care for her like I did, physically, and I didn’t know
how generous and thoughtful she could be when it came
to her death. But she was practical, never dramatic, kind
even, and she made it the best it could be for Olly and
me. That was remarkable of her, a gift. I’d never stopped
loving her, not really, but I guess as a couple we became
more functional, practical than romantic. And weirdly
at the end, we were romantic. It was nice.’
‘I think you were both lucky,’ she said with obvious
emotion in her voice.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. That kind of certainty, that kindness blossoming
when you both needed it the most is a wonderful thing.’
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‘God, Beverly, here we are sharing a bottle of wine
and all I’m doing is talking about Kerry and sad stuff. I
know we have an agreement, but you must think I’m
great company!’
‘As I’ve already said, I think it’s good we can talk
about stuff. Important.’
‘I do too. But I’m out of practice, at talking and lots
of other things.’ He felt his face colour as he realised this sounded like he was talking about sex, when in actual
fact he had been thinking of wining and dining someone,
flirting, dancing, and yes, actually, he had to admit, maybe
a little bit about sex … ‘I didn’t mean…’ He floundered.
‘You worry too much, Nick. You need to not overthink
things, and for the record, I think you’re doing just fine.’
‘Thank you.’ He winked at her.
‘Although you can cut that winking thing out!’
They laughed and Nick reached for the bottle of wine.
With two bottles of wine devoured and the alcohol
sloshing pleasantly in their veins, the sharp edges of worry
had been softened and his body had lost its tension, his
muscles no longer corded, his thoughts quieted. It was
nice. The evening had a warm glow of comfort about it
and he got the impression that she, like him, was happy
to be here on the sofa, while real life happened on the
other side of the front door.
Beverly tilted her face up and kissed his cheek. This was
the moment he had been thinking about and he twisted
so he could kiss her on the mouth. It was a comfortable,
easy, wonderful thing, the way they slipped against each
other on the sofa, taking their time to kiss slowly, get-
ting to know each other, hesitantly, giggling with joy,
as if neither had expected this glorious gift of attraction
that bound them.
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Amanda Prowse
‘Shall we go upstairs?’ she whispered.
Nick nodded and stood from the sofa. He took her by
the hand and led only the second woman in his life up
the stairs and towards the bedroom. Beverly hung back
and stood in the doorway on the small square landing.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. Nerves made his mouth
dry and he felt the quake of apprehension in his limbs,
this, however, almost overridden by a new and welcome
sensation, one he had not felt for some time, and which he
recognised as desire. He stood by the bed and wondered
whether to go and lead her over to the bed, or maybe he
should strip off and get in, or … He was so out of practice
and truly couldn’t remember how these things started.
He wanted so badly to get it right.
He watched her eyes dart to the open bathroom door,
where he knew a lilac toothbrush sat next to his in the
ceramic pot on the sink. She then looked back to the
wardrobe, where the door had popped open to reveal a
neat row of jumpers, blouses, summer frocks and a pair of
who used to live there, a woman who had entered this
very room and climbed into the bed thousands of times.
Nick felt paralysed by indecision; he didn’t know what
to say or what to do.
‘I guess,’ Beverly began, her voice no more than a
whisper, ‘I didn’t really think what it might be like to
be in Kerry’s room with her things around us. I don’t
know what I thought, but I assumed that maybe, her
clothes and—’
‘Oh!’ He walked forward and shut the wardrobe door,
as if out of sight out of mind were the best way to deal
with this. ‘I suppose I should have sorted things, maybe
got rid of some of—’
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‘No!’ Beverly almost shouted. ‘No, not at all – I would
never ask; I was not saying that. God! That’s such a per-
sonal thing and I would never suggest … The time is
right when it’s right I guess, and only you know when
that is.’ She gasped, her head hung forward. ‘Shit, Nick.’
She sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ He walked towards her and pulled
her to him until the air was less spiky and their pulses
less flustered. ‘Do you want to go home?’
‘No. I don’t want to go home.’ She shook her head and
he felt sweet and instant relief. ‘How about we go back to
the sofa?’ she whispered. ‘I think I liked it better there.’
‘Me too.’ Nick
grabbed the faux fur throw from the
end of the bed and hand in hand they walked back down
the stairs.
They lay with their heads on one of those darned cush-
ions and with the throw draped over them for warmth.
Beverly was petite and fitted nicely in the space on the
edge of the couch, her head resting on his chest. It felt
good to be in such close proximity.
‘It’s funny, Bev,’ he began, whispering into the night air.
‘What is?’
He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. ‘I’m
skint. My job’s going. I’m still torn up over losing Kerry,
riddled with guilt over just about everything. I worry
about Oliver. And yet right now, lying here with you,
I feel happy. It’s like I can put all of that bad stuff to the back of my mind when I’m with you and it feels really
nice.’ He felt her nod against his chest.
She ran her fingers up under the front of his shirt and
he closed his eyes. The touch of her fingers against his
skin was a flame to the kindling that had lain dormant
for so, so long.
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Beverly looked up at him through her long, sooty
lashes. ‘We don’t have to … I mean. I want to, but I don’t
want to rush you. It’s that timing thing again.’ She smiled.
Nick moved onto his side so he could kiss her prop-
erly, pulling her towards him. He smoothed the fringe
from her face and hoped his every action told her that
she didn’t have to worry, the time was right.
The time was now.
1992
Nick wished he had paid more attention to his dad, who
had shown him how to pitch the tent. As the taillights
of his dad’s car disappeared along the trail and over the
brow of the hill, he looked at the long slender blue bag
in which lived the tent poles and the chunky bag next
to it with the canvas neatly folded inside, and knew he
didn’t have the first clue.
‘Right.’ Alex crouched by their supplies. ‘What’s first?’
Nick felt the pressure of his role as assumed leader; his
palms began to sweat and he looked again out over the
narrowing track, as if staring hard and willing it might
make his dad return and help them set up the tent.
‘You know what you’re doin’?’ his dad had asked
before leaving, and with an inflated and misplaced sense
of pride overriding any practicalities, Nick had laughed.