As I’m replying to Vanya, telling her I’m fine, it’s complicated, and I’ll call her tonight, a text from Ted flashes up,
Ted: Where did you go? I’m taking Bell to see Dad. Back soon, please don’t go anywhere.
No kiss. Don’t go anywhere. Maybe he wants to let me down gently, in person—Ted would be courteous like that. Part of me thinks I should just leave now. Fly home and forget this whole weekend of madness. Except I’m never going to be able to forget Ted, am I? I’m certainly never going to forget last night. Maybe Ted’s ruined sex for me now. Like showing someone a film in surround sound from the comfort of a luxurious private cinema, and then telling them they have to watch all future films on their phone, at the back of a bus, with crappy broken headphones.
Maybe I should move back to Bristol, be closer to Gran. Perhaps I should grovel my apologies to Suki and simply go back to work next week. Though I don’t think I want to do that. The idea of being freelance again, which terrified me before, now feels strangely exciting. I could still write things I wanted to write for Love Life, but I could also write other, more serious things, for other publications. I could be my own boss again and work from anywhere.
Something needs to change, I know that. At the very least, this weekend has given me a taste for the restorative power of the sea, my need to see the horizon occasionally. I promise myself I will try to get out of the city more at weekends. Maybe Brighton would be a nice place to live?
As my mind races with possibilities, I feel a creeping anxiety about all the new decisions I’m going to have to make once I get home. I turn to the workbench and see a coin on the table. Maybe I should let fate decide. Heads, I walk out of here right now, pack up and go home. Tails, I stay. I spin the coin on the work surface, waiting for it to fall, but it comes to a stop on its side; even fate thinks I’m a lost cause.
* * *
*
When Ted eventually returns, I’m sitting on the bed in the cottage.
“You’re here,” he says, standing in the doorway.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” I ask, mustering a sad smile.
“Please don’t look like that.” He comes over to sit beside me and puts an arm around me, pulling my head to his broad shoulder.
“How do I look?”
“Like a sad puppy.” Ted presses a palm against my cheek.
“Your wife coming back kind of rained on my parade,” I admit, leaning into his hand.
“She’s not ‘back,’ Laura, and she’s no longer my wife, she hasn’t been for a long time. She only came to serve me with divorce papers and to see Gerry.”
“Do you want to divorce her?”
“Laura, trust me, I do.”
I turn to look at him and feel a flicker of hope. “Where is she now?” I ask.
“I left her with Dad. She was upset to see he’s got so frail.”
Reaching up for Ted’s hand, I’m unsure of what to say. Ted takes it, his fingers entwining in mine, and with the other, he slowly rubs my back.
“I know we haven’t known each other long, Ted, but”—I sigh—“well, someone like Belinda casts an intimidating shadow. She was the love of your life, your dad adores her, she’s so beautiful and—”
“And she broke my heart,” Ted cuts in. “She left me, without allowing me the chance to even discuss it.” He takes my hand in his and pulls it onto his lap. “Besides, I don’t believe you only get one chance at love in a lifetime, I hope not anyway.”
He pulls my face up to meet his and kisses me tenderly, and I feel how much he wants me to believe him.
“Look, things weren’t right in our marriage for a long time before she left. We both changed a lot in our thirties; we both hit this life junction, and we went different ways. When she left, I felt I’d failed her, failed us—but when we spoke on the phone on Saturday”—he pauses, thoughtful for a moment—“I realized I’d been clinging on to an idea, to two people who don’t even exist anymore.”
“That makes sense,” I say quietly, trying to sound mature and understanding.
“But still the sad face,” he says, needling his chin into my shoulder.
“I’m just—I’ve never felt like this before and I’m jealous that you have.”
“I’ve never felt like this either,” says Ted, turning to hold me by both shoulders. “How could it be the same? Laura, from the moment you got into my cab and shouted at me, I’ve done nothing but think about you.” I cringe at the memory, but smile despite myself. “Like it or not, you do make the world a prettier place for me, and when we started talking in the car, well—it was kablammo central for me.”