As I drove away from Ralph's house that Saturday afternoon, I was deep in thought. Was it possible that with Susan and Peter working as a close team that they managed to brainwash Molly into marrying Peter? It seemed pretty farfetched, and then I thought, what would it have gained Peter? He would have known that the relationship was based on lies and collusion. He's a sensible guy, surely he'd know that a marriage built on sand would inevitably fail?
But then there was an even more basic question: Did it matter? But, Yes it did. Because, maybe, just maybe, it would help to explain why she had done the stupid thing of marrying him. But I had difficulty with that, if she was a brainwashed zombie then I didn't like that image of her either.
When I got back to my new flat, life took over. Moving that morning had involved little more than getting everything to the new flat and dumping it on the floor. And even doing that had taken two trips in the car. So, the evening was spent organising things, with one break when Mum phoned. Len and her had got as far as Glasgow, and were going on a cruise of Loch Lomond tomorrow. She sounded as if they were having a good time. She did ask for an update on the state of play, but there wasn't a lot to say. I was pleased that when I just said I was still thinking about things, she didn't press me. At ten o'clock I quit unpacking and arranging things for the day, poured myself a whisky and watched the television news. It was only then that I really looked at my new place.
I was really pleased with it. It was stylish and had quality. It wasn't terribly big, but it had a second bedroom, so I had thoughts that maybe the boys could stay over once in a while. And that maybe useful if life gets tough between Molly and Peter.
What I also noticed was that the place was impersonal. I'd lived for three months in the company flat and it hadn't worried me. But this one was My Flat. And it had very little of me in it, except for my clothes. I'd have to do something about that. So, I spent most of Sunday walking around shops looking for things to personalise the flat and to make it home By Sunday evening I'd spent quite a lot of money, but as I looked around the flat I was quite pleased with the look of the place. I gazed at the set of crystal decanters that I'd bought, wondering how to fill them. Brandy was obvious. Maybe a sherry in case Ralph calls? I'd have to consult Piers on the whisky. That would give me an excuse to phone him in the morning.
Monday morning in the office, and Carole openly asked, "And the next instalment?"
"Not a lot, except..." and I told her about Susan and the tickets for Longleat. It was the first time I ever saw Carole leaving my office angry. She obviously decided she couldn't say what she thought of my ex-mother-in-law to me, and she left the room, quietly fuming.
I let her fume whilst I called Piers. I opened, straight to the point. "Is he in?"
"Yes. In his office. I don't know how well he's going to work, but he's in. I've told him that he can cancel his regular Wednesday's research at the eye hospital, they can do without him; he's got work to catch up on things here. Anyway, he's got to go your way later, Neil's got to give him a dressing down and his formal warning letter. I'd keep my head down if I were you. In no uncertain terms, he is pretty sure all his troubles are your fault."
"I really couldn't give a damn. Now the real reason why I phoned..."
"That wasn't?"
"Well, it was a pretty big part of it. But now I want to turn to religion. Which whisky should I have in my decanter as a nightcap type of drink?"
"Ah! The search for the Holy Grail! Personally, I'd choose something from the North of the Highlands. But, for a novice convert like you I'd recommend something old, probably from Speyside, and with some years in the vat."
No name? No recommendation? That's not what I wanted, "Is that it?"
He laughed, "Yes. Discovery is what it's all about. The journey, not the arrival."
"Research you mean. Bloody researchers."
"We're all fucking bastards!" He chortled happily as I put the phone down.
On Monday evening I drove back to the wine shop where I'd bought my whisky before. I found the same guy as had been there before, not that he remembered me. But I explained that I was looking for an aged Speyside malt, and he produced a 21 year old Balvenie matured in Port Wood. So I bought it because I like port, and that was the only clue I had. At over £50 per bottle, I thought for a first attempt it that was quite enough.
Later that evening I couldn't resist trying. Who was it that said they don't know much about art, but the know what they like? I don't know much about malt whisky, but I know I like this stuff.
As I sipped it, I started thinking about Molly. In some ways I wished I'd never come back to Bristol, but then I'd never have rebuilt my relationship with Jamie and Ben. I couldn't imagine building anything but some supportive friendship with her, but there were too many memories, too many echoes of what we once had. Then I began to worry, I guess Peter was back living in their gym next door. Would he make trouble? It was a ridiculous situation, him camping out in the gym, and her and the boys next door. I had to talk her into something better, away from him.
In the end I called her, it was gone eleven o'clock. She sounded tired and quiet when she answered the phone.
"Hi, I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I'm in bed, but not asleep."
"I was sitting here getting worried that Peter's back. Is he causing any problem?" I asked.
"No. Not a problem. He knocked at the kitchen door earlier, and that was a first, he's just come and gone before. Anyway, he very politely and formally asked if we could sit down and talk. He says he has a right to be heard."
"What did you say?"
"That there was no point. But that I'd think about it. I promise you I have no intention of sitting and talking to him. I just wanted him gone. I only agreed to think about it so that he would leave this evening."
There was a pause, then I told her, "He had an official warning letter at work today. He's screwing up his job."
"I kinda guessed that. It doesn't help. He is a good man, and he does love me. And he's screwing up his whole life."
There was a long pause. I was thinking that she sounded tired. Which made me think that now wasn't the time to tell her what I really thought of Peter Fucking Davies.
Instead, I suddenly suggested, "Could you get a babysitter for tomorrow evening, late evening, after you've seen the boys to bed? If you could, then why not come down here for a drink and to see my new place?"
"You know I'd like that. I'm sure Ralph would baby-sit. He feels so guilty about what Susan did. On Saturday, after you'd gone, I found him in tears. I've never seen my father cry before. And I couldn't say that what she did didn't matter, because it did."
"I wish we knew how much."
"How much our splitting matters? Everything. Don't you know that?"
"Yes, it was the worst thing that ever happened in my life, too. But I didn't mean that. What I meant was: I'd like to know just how influential Susan and her collaboration with Peter was in it all going so wrong."
"You want to know that? How do you think I feel? I think I'm going mad." She sounded very bitter, "There's nothing in that bit of my history that I can grasp and say I genuinely felt that, I wasn't just manipulated to feel it. Or that I freely chose to do something, and wasn't manipulated to let it happen."
"We haven't got any answers, but maybe we should talk about it tomorrow evening."
"Yes. I'll look forward to it. I love you, Chris. And I am sorry......"
I didn't say anything, very conscious that I couldn't make the wanted response. After a couple of moments silence I heard the phone click as she put hers down.
I went to bed still pondering just how much a free, independently minded adult could be manipulated. It was her signature on the wedding certificate to Peter, not Susan's. I was willing to talk, willing to try to understand, but I didn't think I'd be convinced.
First thing on Tuesday morning, Piers phoned me, "Hi, Chris. I thought I'd phone you. You know Myra's arranged this meeting about the future of this site. Well, she's moved it to be held here, and I guess I should invite Peter. What do you think?"
My heart missed a beat. Maybe I'm a coward, but from what I understood of Peter's mood and what he thought of me, I'm not sure I needed a showdown with him in front of a property developer, an architect and my staff. I was wary, very wary. "I didn't know she'd moved it. I'm not sure I've got the time to drive over to the Abbey and back, just for one meeting. It isn't that sort of day for me. If she has to hold it at the Abbey, then I won't be there."
"But if we hold it as planned in your office, you would be?" Piers asked.
"Yes." I said with more enthusiasm than I felt.
"Well, unless Myra has some real reason why it has to be held here, then let's hold as planned. And I'll tell Peter he's invited, and we see what he does. I suspect he'll find a prior engagement, but we don't know."
"That sounds like a plan. Will you talk to Myra? I'll tell Carole." I smiled bitterly to myself. I'll tell her to have the Band Aid ready, and at least I'll have a stiff whisky to hand if I need it!
"I'll call her right now. By the way, Jeanette insists that you come to us on Saturday. She never was too keen on restaurants, and she argues that home is more private if you want to talk. As if she'd let you get away without!"
I smiled to myself, "I'm looking forward to seeing Jeanette. She knew Molly well, I'd be interested on her views on one aspect of all this. Oh, by the way, I chose a twenty one year old Balvenie. Any good?"
He laughed, "I couldn't tell you until I've tasted it. Any Tuesday evening this week will do."
Now I laughed, "Hard luck. I can't do it, but you can tell Jeanette this just to tantalise her: Molly's coming over this evening."
He wished me the best of luck, and rang off.
Peter didn't turn up for the meeting which was held in my office. But Piers brought a Research Project Manager with him instead. She seemed an amiable and intelligent young woman, and when I asked after her, in a private few words with Piers, he said she was a possibility as a future Deputy, should anything happen to Peter.
Afterwards some guilt and shame attacked me, for not going over to the Abbey and facing up to Peter. As Managing Director I can't have no-go areas in my own company.
So, I was in a very mixed mood when Molly buzzed the entry-phone that night.
I opened the door for her and waited. As she came up the stairs I thought she looked good, casual, but sexy. As I kissed her on the cheek, her perfume hit me. It wasn't her usual one but it was very good.
"You smell nice." I said as a greeting.
She smiled, "Thank you. It's L'Air du Temps. Peter gave it to me for my birthday."
God! That hurt. For a moment our eyes locked, and she knew what she'd done. But she didn't say anything, and I hoped my smile stayed in place.
I showed her over the flat, and she seemed to like it. When we got to the little second bedroom, I did say that I hoped the boys could come and stay some times.
Her response worried me, "They're a bit...... mixed up at the moment."
We talked for some time about them, whilst we returned to the living room, and I poured us a couple of glasses of wine. We talked about how they had been through our original divorce and how they were now as their lives changed yet again. I used it as an excuse to argue that she should take them and go and live with Ralph. I don't think she was opposed to the idea, but was reluctant. I asked why?
She looked at me, "Because I hoped ......." And the look in her eyes told me what she hoped for.
"No. You know that's not going to happen. We're a long way off that happening, if ever."
She looked very disappointed, but her face tightened and she accepted it and she continued, "And I guess I'm a bit scared of Susan coming back. At some stage Ralph has got to let her back. At the moment they meet for lunch once or twice a week, but I assume he'll let her come home sometime, and I don't think I want to live under the same roof as her."
I smiled, "I don't blame you. Does she know that you are going to divorce Peter? And what state is that in, by the way?"
"I don't know whether Susan knows. Who knows who talks to who any more? But I spoke to the solicitor this afternoon. We've had no reply from Peter to her letter, so I told her to start preparing for me to divorce him. I'm going to see her on Thursday about that."
"Good." Was all I could say.
There was a long pause, a silence. For my part, I was wondering how to approach talking about the gulf that lay between us. But, it was Molly who spoke first, "The other day you said you'd moved forward in your thinking. Could you tell me how? Even if you haven't come to any conclusion...please, Chris."
I looked at her, "OK. I guess I feel, no, I know that whatever I feel, whatever you feel, it is impossible to just pick up where we left off. I know that's what you want. Everybody seems to want it, it'd be the fairytale ending. But this is real life, and you can't go back in time, however much we might want to."
As I watched her, her face drained of colour, and her eyes filled with tears, "Couldn't you at least try....please, I know I hurt you, I know it's been over four years, but I still love you. Please Chris...."
Before she collapsed completely into tears, I interrupted, "But that doesn't mean we can't try and find a way of building something new."
She looked up at me, there was interest and some hope in her eyes, and I continued, "Maybe we can get to a happy, supportive friendship, without hurts and jealousies, something that gives the boys the stability and love they need..."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"
"Well, how would you suggest that we get to a place where we're comfortable with each other? Where we can understand and share each other's lives, without regrets and hurtful memories?"
"But not share love, not get back to a true partnership?"
"I'm sorry Molly, I don't think that's possible. But I would like to be able to see you, to talk to you, without getting hurt because you tell me that the perfume I like was bought by Peter."
"Time will do that. But I want more, I want to be more than a friend...."
The idea that time will do it just wasn't enough, that was too simplistic, "I had dinner with Myra last Monday. Today I spent two hours at work with her. And I had lunch with her and some others. How do you feel about that? Don't tell me that you didn't just flinch. That a pang of jealousy didn't just hit you. It will take a huge effort just to get over that sort of thing, let alone anything else. And I don't know how to do it. What do you think?"
She ignored my question, "I thought you said you were finished with her. But you were taking her out to dinner only a week ago?"
"I didn't say I took her out to dinner. I said I had dinner with her, although as it happens, I did pay. But she is a friend. A very attractive and sexy one I will admit, but only a friend. And she knew that something big and dramatic has happened in my life, and she wanted to know what. So we had dinner together." I paused and looked at her, and thought: What the Hell, there is no good time for this bit. "I knew Peter was going to come round last Monday with flowers, and an all is forgiven attitude. And I guessed he wanted to take you to dinner in your special restaurant, and as Myra wanted to talk to me, I just happened to suggest that we could talk over dinner in a random restaurant in King Street."
She looked at me, very questioningly, but then said, "How did you know?"
"Because he told Piers, and Piers told me. And we realised that Peter's talks to both of us in the morning were misunderstood, or he purposely misled us. And we knew what he intended. I thought about warning you, but what good would that have done? He was intent on his mission to save the marriage."
Suddenly, she smiled, "And you were scared and jealous that I might let him take me to dinner."
"No! Not jealous, just interested...concerned."
She just looked at me, with a little smile of victory on her face. A look that I'd seen many times before, but then it was over minor incidents; being proved right on some detail or winning a tennis match. I'd have to think about it, was I jealous?
I partially conceded, "Well, you have to remember, I loved you so much, and I guess old habits die hard."
"So, let them have a chance of growing again. What happens if we could rebuild something? Please don't just close the door on that for ever. Please, Chris."
"Well, I'm not. If two people are seeing each other regularly, sharing a bit of their lives, and we have two sons so we'll definitely be sharing something, then I guess anything can happen. But I wanted to be honest with you, I don't think it will."
"But you would try to build some relationship? How about counselling? Or just meeting to talk? Whatever you want."
"I don't want to raise your hopes. You asked where I was in my thinking, and I'm trying to tell you. I'm not committed to anything yet, except trying to make sure you're in a position to give my boys a life they deserve. But, Piers McBaine raised the question of how do you go about trying to rebuild anything after all this time."
"You talked to Piers about this?"
"He raised it. And like you, he suggested counselling. But I said No. We then went on to just talk about all the aspects that would have to be covered. The past; the future; sex; why are we in this horrible situation. There are so many aspects of it all. There are the facts of what happened, and there's how we felt then and how we feel now. It's complicated."
"You spoke to Piers, I spoke to Heather Washington at the Hospital. She's a counsellor...."
"I told you, no counsellors. If we can't talk between ourselves, then it isn't worth trying. I don't want some do-gooding, soft-centred nosey-parker crawling all over my private life, thank you."
"Thanks very much. What do you think I do for half my life as a dietician?"
I looked at her and realised that I'd gone over the top, "Whoops. Sorry. It's just that I don't want to share this with someone else, a complete stranger. This is just us. What happens between us is all that matters. Whatever Ralph thinks, or Susan did, or my Mum wants, it has to be just us that solves it. I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel."
"Heather may have some good tools, ways of dealing with issues."
"So, you talk to her if we get stuck. That assumes we ever start."
She didn't like that last comment, but I could see her thinking as I poured us two more glasses of wine.
She looked at me for some time, then she asked, "What does it take to get you to at least be willing to start? To be willing to talk to me?"
I wished she hadn't asked that, "Oh! There's plenty I have difficulty with. Why my wife of seven years went with that man to his flat and fucked the afternoon away? That isn't a good start."
She immediately burst into tears, "You know it wasn't like that. But you're right, there is no answer to that one. Don't you think I haven't asked myself that over and over again. Why did I do it? Why did I throw everything away in a moment of lust? I'm sorry....."
I leant over and squeezed her hand, "Actually, I think I'd be kinder to you on that one than you'd be to yourself."
She looked up at me, through her tears, "I'm sorry....."
"I know you are." I gave her hand a squeeze. "I think the real problem that goes around and around in my head isn't what happened in a moment of stupid lust, it's what happened in weeks and months that led you to marry him. That's where I lose respect for you."
She didn't like that one much either. "I wish I could answer that as well. Some of it must be Susan's influence....."
"You can't blame Susan for all of it. You wrote me that dreadful letter. It was your signature on the bottom, not Susan's."
She frowned and sipped her drink. Then she wiped her eyes, "I don't blame Susan for all of it. And that letter was one of the inexplicable things in whatever Susan was playing at. Looking back, I can see some of the things that Susan did that did do damage, that manipulated me. She argued so heavily that I must give you time to decide for yourself if you wanted me back. And she was heavy on that you probably wouldn't. That you were too proud a man, you wouldn't take me back. I think that sort of talk probably pushed me more and more into depression."
I shook my head, "How could a mother do that?"
"But it was more than that. I remember at least twice when she physically stopped me coming to see you. When I got so upset, so desperate, that I was heading out of the door to see you, she physically held me back. 'You can't go and see him when you're like this. You'll do more harm than good. Come and have a cup of tea and calm down. Go and see him at the weekend, when you're calmer.' And, of course the moment passed. If only..."
"If only...." I echoed.
"But then, when I came to write that letter, she was helpful. I don't understand that, I talked to Ralph about it the other day. Because suddenly, one afternoon, I scrawled out a letter to you, begging you to take me back. It was lying on the table when Susan came round. She used to call in every day just to check up on me and see how everything was. I used to be so grateful for all the time she put in, now I wonder.... Anyway, she saw it and asked what it was and I let her read it. Well, she told me it was an emotional scrawl and that we could do better. She then sat down with me and helped compose a sensible, constructive letter, that wasn't all emotion, but it still said how sorry I was and wished you'd take me back..."
"If that's what you thought you said, then I suggest you launch a suit against your English teacher, because it drove a knife into my heart. Several knives."
"Why?"
"Well, for a start, as soon as I opened it, I saw it was typewritten. Where's the loving appeal in a typed letter?"
"That was Susan. She said it should be typed, and I let her. But it was the words that mattered. And they did tell you how I felt."
I sighed, "I wish I still had it. I threw it away. For a split second throwing it away helped. But I read it at least twice, and scanned some of the phrases a dozen times." I paused, and thought, "You don't think Susan corrupted it do you?"
"No. I'll swear it was all my own words. I checked it very carefully before I signed it and I put it in the envelope and put a stamp on it myself. Every word was from my heart, I promise."
I shrugged, "Then you have some very odd understanding of the English language. 'That special afternoon.' I remember that phrase to explain your tryst with Peter. And that you 'thought' you'd loved me. Even our past love was written off as a mistake...."
"Did I say that? I don't remember what adjective I used for that afternoon. And I know I had been saying that I thought I loved you, but I'm sure I just said that I loved you in the letter. You must have read it wrong. You admit that it upset you that it was typewritten, you probably had written it off before you ever read it."
I sipped my wine, "Maybe. I do have to admit that I was so hurt by all of this. I don't think I was so angry by the time of the letter, but I was still hurt. Maybe I didn't read it all correctly. But even then...."
"Ralph's been trying to explain to me how much I hurt you. I'm sorry. I think I was so wrapped up in my own horrors I didn't understand. And Susan was saying you'd be alright. That you were a man, they get over these things. Again, I guess she was steadily peeling me away from you. That's what makes the way she helped over the letter so odd, even if you didn't like that she wanted it typed up."
"Maybe it was her one act of redemption. So that, in her own mind, she could say she tried."
"Yes. That's what I decided. One act of doing the right thing to balance weeks of doing it wrong. I don't know if I can ever forgive her. I don't want to split with my own mother, but..."
"Give it time. See if she apologises, when she realises that she's been found out, and that Peter's on his way out. It's up to her to say sorry."
We both sat and drank the rest of our wine in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Molly asked, "Do you want the boys at the weekend? It's a Bank Holiday one again."
"Yes. It's because it was a late Easter, but we seem to be only doing a nine day fortnight recently. But, of course I want them one day. How about the Monday? I guess I should take them to Longleat, if that's where they want to go. It's as good a place as any for a day out."
"That sounds nice. They had a good day there last time, it was only me that didn't."
"Well, they'll have a good time. I do owe you a big thank you on how easy it has been to get back into their lives."
"I think making sure that your memory never died with them helped keep it alive for me. And, considering you were travelling or living abroad for over three years, you did all that could have been expected of you. I wasn't surprised that you never forgot a birthday or Christmas, or even the new school terms. But in some ways it hurt me, it reminded me what a good man I'd lost, that I'd pushed their father away. I owe them big time." And her eyes clouded again.
We stood up and I gave her a reassuring hug, "Don't worry. Children survive parents. Its just life to them."
We knew the evening was over, and I escorted her down to the front door, where I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye.
After she'd driven off, I went back inside and poured myself a whisky. As I sipped it, I thought about how I still couldn't reconcile the intelligent Molly that I knew, that had been here in this flat until a few minutes ago, with the fucking stupid idiot that allowed her life to go so wrong.
For the next three days I hardly had a second to think of Molly and her or my future. Two days were in London, of which a whole twenty minutes was spent reporting to The Old Man. We talked about the possibility of developing the Marston Abbey site, and he insisted that we involve the PR people. Corporations selling off historic buildings, if it turns out to be against the wishes of the local population or some special interest group, can always turn into a PR nightmare. I did also mention that I was considering the future of the Exeter operation, and the possibility of selling them off, or allowing a management buy out, if that's what Stephen Hobbs can put together. That allowed him to finish the meeting with "Exodus 5:1".
As I left his office, I said to Pamela, "Can I borrow your Bible?" and through the open door, I heard The Old Man's voice, "Let my people go."
Pamela looked at me, and we both laughed. Then she rather surprisingly said, "I like Carole."
"So do I." I answered.
"The best of her type in the Group, I'd say."
I looked at her, and very clearly said, "And she's staying in Bristol."
Pamela smiled, "Just testing. Making sure you appreciate what you've got."
As I sat on the train on Friday evening, heading for Bristol, I thought I was becoming paranoid. I began to wonder what Pamela's message of appreciating what I've got was meant to mean. Was it possible that Carole had talked my problem through with Pamela, and this was Pamela's hidden advice? Common sense told me that that was a stupid idea, and even if it wasn't, the advice was wasted because I couldn't see how it applied to me.
By the time I got home on that Friday, I was tired, and feeling grimy from London and travelling. I ran myself a nice deep hot bath and was just about to get in it when Mum phoned. They were now in St Andrews, and Len was thinking of taking up Golf. I did tell her that my thinking was now focussed on trying to understand what happened to Molly that made her marry Peter. I told her about Susan's games, and that kept us talking for quite some time. And, although I made no real progress in my thinking, it was calming and relaxing just to talk all my thoughts through with Mum. She didn't contribute much to my thinking, but was a good listener, and that was possibly the best thing she could have done.
It was about eleven o'clock on Saturday morning that I got a call from Ralph. Could he come and see me? And it was about a quarter to twelve before he arrived.
I let him in, and asked, "Do you fancy a cup of coffee? I'm about to have one."
"Yes, thanks." And he followed me into the kitchen and watched me make a couple of mugs of instant coffee, with little more than small talk about the weather.
When I handed him a mug, he sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, whilst I just leant against the kitchen units opposite. "OK, what's this about, Ralph?"
"It's about that letter that Molly sent you." He paused, "Look Chris, I never knew there had been a letter until you told me that day in my shed. No one had told me about it. But then, Susan couldn't tell me because we weren't meant to be interfering, were we?" There was a sharp edge of bitterness in his voice.
"Even if you'd known it wouldn't have made much difference. You might have stopped her sending it I suppose, that might have saved me some heartache, but the result would have been the same."
"Well, anyway, I talked to Molly about it, or rather she talked to me about it when I asked how Tuesday night went. And it struck me as odd that you and Molly have such different views on it."
"I guess memory corrupts..."
Ralph ignored me, "So I asked Molly all about it. I don't know if she explained to you, but one afternoon, in desperation, she wrote you a long letter. Well, by chance Susan saw it, and read it, and told Molly it was an emotional scrawl and almost illegible, which was possibly true. Anyway, call me Mr Suspicious if you like, but as soon as Susan came into the picture I got worried."
"So did I. But Molly assured me she checked it and sealed it in the envelope herself. That's Susan-proof, on this occasion."
"Well, I wasn't surprised that Susan wanted to type it up. If you remember it was just after we got our first home computer. We've still got it, although I guess I really should buy a new one. I'd used computers at the office for years, of course, but it was all new to Susan. And she learnt, taught herself really, MS Word. And she was typing everything. She produced two beautiful ring binders of all her cake recipes at that time, each recipe in one of those plastic pockets so that they didn't get mucky as they were used. I think she typed everything then, it was her new toy. I suspect she even typed her shopping lists."
I smiled, and Ralph continued, "So, it was natural that Susan would want to type it up, especially if Molly's handwriting was a bit emotional, and they wanted to make changes. But, now this is the bit where I have an apology to make, I got nosey. So, I asked Molly if she had a copy and if I could read it, but she didn't. Anyway, last night I decided to check the computer. And there buried amongst the five years of letters to the bank and the gas company and the credit card companies, and letters about my pension, there was Letter-CB."
And Ralph produced three sheets of folded paper from his inside breast pocket.
"Now, please Chris, I know this may mean revisiting painful memories, but is this the letter you got from Molly?" and he handed me the three sheets.
I took one glance, their image was already burned into my memory. The first sheet with the address and date at the top. The second sheet with five paragraphs on it, and the third sheet with only one paragraph and Molly's sign off. I glanced at all three sheets briefly, and said, "Yes. This was it. For the life of me I don't see how Molly could have believed that this would solve anything."
"No, Chris. I'm sorry. I want you to read it properly, and tell me if you are certain it's a copy of the letter."
I looked at him, I didn't want to do this, but he just looked at me and waited. Eventually I read every hurtful, painful word. And I put it down on the work surface.
"Yes. That's the one. Are you going to tell me that Susan was clever enough to get those words past Molly, without Molly knowing? I know she was emotional and depressed, but that would make her plain stupid."
Ralph handed me a second set of three pages, "And this is the letter that Molly wrote."
I took it from him, and he added, "I've had Molly check it this morning, and she swears that's the letter she wrote, just like you swear the other one is the letter you received."
There was a pause while I read this new letter. It was basically in the same format as the first. There were now six paragraphs on the second page. But the third page was the same vanilla ending as the earlier version.
When I finished reading, I looked up at Ralph. I could feel tears pricking my eyes. What I had in my hand was a desperate plea from a desperate woman, seeking a chance to make amends, to be able to put our ****** back together at any cost.
"If I'd have received that, I'd have been knocking at her door half an hour after the postman had delivered it to me. I really would."
"I know. I know. And I'm so sorry that you didn't get it."
For a moment we just looked at each other. I'm not sure who was closer to tears.
In the end, Ralph asked, "What do you notice about the two letters?"
I held them in my two hands, "Her real plea for a second chance is all focused in one short paragraph on the second page, which was deleted in my version. Otherwise, in words they aren't that far apart. 'That special afternoon' that I got was 'that dreadful afternoon' that Molly wrote. The changes are small, but powerful."
I looked at the letters again, I noticed that 'I love you' had become 'I thought I'd loved you'.
I looked at Ralph. "I guess this was Susan's doing, but how?"
"Look at the third pages."
I did so, "They are both the same."
"Exactly. I've talked to Molly, I reckon that Susan took Molly her version, all typed up and neat, and Molly checked it and signed it. She then put it in an envelope that Susan had brought with her, already addressed, sealed it up and put a stamp on it. Then Susan volunteered, and Molly says this is what happened, that Susan would post it on the way home."
Light began to dawn, and I completed the story, "And all she had to do was open the original. Swap the two first pages with the horrid version, still with Molly's signature on the third page, pop it back in a new envelope with a new stamp, and it's all done."
Ralph nodded, "That's my guess. And the letters are so close in many ways that you and Molly could talk about them, with completely different views on the meaning, but never realise. Ninety percent of the words are identical. In fact, you and Molly have discussed them without realising."
I drank my coffee, while there was silence between us, then I said, "Bit of a risk, but she got away with it."
"What else could she do? With Molly determined that she was going to write to you."
Again there was a long pause. I looked at Ralph, "You once described my ex-wife as a stupid dumb cunt." Ralph smiled, and I asked, "Do you mind if I call your wife an evil selfish bitch?"
He smiled again, but grimly, "At the moment you could put it on her headstone as far as I'm concerned."
I drained my coffee, and asked, "How's Molly taken it?"
"What would you expect? Shell-shocked. Disgusted. At the moment, she says this is the last straw. She's saying that she doesn't want to see Susan ever again. She's disowned her. In fact she thought she might write her a letter to tell her that. At least she could see the funny side of that, she thought she might apologise if it was an emotional scrawl."
There was a long silence whilst I absorbed the story. Then I asked, "Do you fancy another coffee. I think I'm having one."
"No thanks."
I turned to switch the kettle on again, and make myself another mug of coffee. As I went to the fridge for the milk, I asked over my shoulder, "And what will you do?"
"I'm seeing her tomorrow for lunch, at a pub just outside Blandford Forum. I thought I might lay out both versions and just see what she says. If she hasn't got a very good explanation, or that she doesn't apologise and convince me that she is truly sorry, well, I reckon any solicitor or judge would see it as unreasonable behaviour, don't you?"
I recognised the phrase. I turned slowly, "Divorce? Are you sure? How long have you two been married?"
"Thirty seven years in September. But yes, divorce."
I finished making my coffee and looked at him.
Ralph looked out of the window for a few moments, before turning back towards me, "Over the last few weeks whilst I've forced her to stay down in Weymouth, I've been giving our marriage a lot of thought. What is it, beyond a comfortable habit? She has absolutely no interest in the garden. I have no interest in her cake circle, making cakes for any old charity that wants to hold a coffee morning or a bring and buy sale. We go out for a country pub lunch once or twice a week. We see each other over the dining table and talk about the day's headlines or Jamie and Ben. We watch television in the evenings, but don't really talk. She has no interest or willingness to travel, and yet some of my life's ambitions are to see some plants in their natural habitat. We sleep in the same bed, and occasionally have sex. But that's about it."
"But it was enough."
"Yes it was. But now I've got to face a woman everyday over that dining table who was a secretive, evil selfish bitch, to use your words. I don't think I want to do that."
"I'm sorry. I never envisaged this, and I never wanted that to happen to you and Susan. What does Molly say?"
"She doesn't. I haven't told her yet. I don't think I'll tell her until I've finally made up my mind, but Susan's got to do something pretty radical to drag me back from the inevitable."
For a while Ralph was asking my advice on what would happen with the financial settlement in any divorce. He knew he would have to split their current wealth fifty-fifty, and that would mean selling the house. What worried him was just how big a slice of his pension would Susan win.
When we'd talked about that for some time, I asked, "You don't fancy a pie and a pint do you? I've got a new local, and I haven't tried it yet. I assume we can get something for lunch there."
"I'd love to." Ralph cheerfully accepted.
Once we had ordered our lunch and got our pints, we found a table to sit at. Ralph sipped his pint and looked at me, "You know I think this is only about the third time you and I have actually gone to the pub together. Peter was always wanting to take me to the pub, I guess he knew I was the one who he had to win over."
"You're not a bad judge of character. Tell me about Peter. What's he like, or going to be like in the next few months?"
He shrugged, "He's very easy going, at least on the surface. Very clubbable."
I smiled, "Can I volunteer to do the clubbing?"
Ralph laughed, "You know what I mean. But somewhere I always got the vibe of an immature person below all the very well honed social skills."
"What do you mean? What makes you think that?"
"From what I've learnt over the years, I don't think Peter discovered women until quite late in life, not until he was well into his twenties. Before that, I think he was what I would call a swot, and Jamie would probably call a nerd or a geek. But once discovered, I think he set about making up for lost time. I think there were quite a few notches on his bed post before Molly came along..."
Just then, our food turned up, but between mouthfuls, Ralph continued, "...Anyway, when your decree nisi had been declared, he used to come and collect Molly from our house some evenings. When we were babysitting by having the boys to stay with us. I guess a lot had been going on before that under Susan's conductor's baton. But anyway, I always felt I was answering the door to a young schoolboy. It was like when Molly was seventeen, and the first boyfriends started appearing. There was an immature earnestness to him. It was as if Molly was his first true love. He just seemed all keyed up and obsessed."
"I remember that feeling. Oh for the innocence of youth..." I responded.
Ralph paused, and looked at me, chewing thoughtfully, "Well, add the sophistication and money of adulthood to how you were. How did you react when your first true love turned you down?"
"She was Yvette Cooper, and she told me that Charlie Taplin had asked her out, and she was going. I was devastated. I could have murdered both of them, just to show her how much I needed her." I paused, "If you're right, God help us. He could do anything."
"Well, he is also highly intelligent and a little more mature than you were then. But, I wouldn't be surprised if he gets very upset, and doesn't play by mature and sensible rules. I hope I'm wrong. Maybe he'll go away defeated. He must know that he's a lost cause."
"Yes. He was the one that accused her that she loved me. So he knows, in his heart, the true story. Let's hope he acts sensibly."
After that, we finished our lunch and then strolled back to my flat. But Ralph didn't come in, he got in his car and went home. As he drove away, I realised that he hadn't asked me what I was going to do, not that I could have told him. But I was grateful that he hadn't asked.
I went in and watched sport on the television, until it was time to change and head for Piers' and Jeanette's home in Bath.
On my way to Bath I did manage to stop and buy a huge bunch of flowers for Jeanette, and far more important, with a minor detour, I was back at my whisky shop, where I bought half a dozen miniatures of what I hoped were fairly unusual malt whiskies.
When I arrived, and after the initial welcome, when Piers marked each of my six little miniatures out of ten, and I scored a total of forty-seven, we went and sat down. Jeanette announced that, although she wanted to know every detail of my story, we weren't going to talk about that until we sat down to eat. So, instead, I got a complete gin and tonic's worth of Edward including photo's, the joys of grandparenthood, and how his other two grandparents were doing everything wrong, but I was let off the video.
But almost as soon as we sat down to eat, Jeanette just said, "OK then, from the top...."
I looked at her, "But I know Piers has told you almost all of it...."
"Yes. But he's a scientist. He only tells me the facts. He never tells me about the look in someone's eye, the inflection in the voice, all the important things."
And so, with Piers sitting there between us, I told Jeanette everything as best I could remember it. I just hoped he wasn't too bored, but it was him that prompted me on a couple of things, which did help explain things to Jeanette. It took all the first course and a very large part of the main course before I'd finished. The only bit that I didn't talk about was the details of Molly's story of her limiting their sex life inside her marriage. I did say that she limited it, but I drew a veil over exactly how. For some reason, I seemed to respect Peter's privacy when I was talking to his boss. Jeanette had asked a couple of questions, but I got the impression that hearing the story told my way, in my words, from my lips, was very important to her.
I finished with telling as much as I knew of Peter's and Susan's collusion, and of Susan's lies and manipulation, ending with the story of the letter. Afterwards there was a long silence. When I'd finished Jeanette just said, "Tell Molly to phone me. I'd like to meet her and talk to her. It's time to mend my fences with her."
I was surprised, "I thought you had problems with adultery? And whatever the circumstances, she still cheated on me. But I am very pleased that you said that, and I will certainly tell her. You know that she doesn't know why you and they split? Peter never explained it."
Jeanette smiled, "Then I can leave her thinking it was Peter, not her, which is mainly sort of true." She paused, "But you're right. I'm the ******** of a Presbyterian minister and still a regular churchgoer. With very few exceptions in some grey areas, adultery is wrong and unacceptable to me." She paused to look directly at me, "And that includes you with Molly a few weeks ago. But I'm also a ******** of the manse who was taught to take a tolerant view of people's mistakes, and to forgive those who trespass against me."
There was little said after that, until Piers had finished serving the dessert, when he asked "Can you forgive her, Chris? Do you want to, or even to try?"
"Actually, that stupid moment of lust seems quite minor in my thinking at the moment. Mind you, I have found that things keep changing in importance. What was important last week is minor this week, and vice versa. But I don't think I've ever thought that one moment's stupidity, especially fuelled by alcohol or circumstances, should be allowed to ruin a ****** or a good marriage. Instead, it's something to be got over, recovered from." I paused and smiled, "Maybe it's the nearly five years since that's taken some of the sting out of it. Maybe it's that I've had too many lousy lustful moments with the wrong person in the intervening years that has lent me some tolerance, some understanding, but that isn't my problem at the moment." Again I paused, and realised that both Piers and Jeanette were listening intently, "I'm not saying that I don't mind, I don't like the idea of my wife cheating on me...."
Piers asked, "If you'd known then what you know now, would you have forgiven her?"
"That I can't answer. In theory, I'd like to say Yes. But I was so hurt, so angry, I don't know that my rational mind would have won."
Jeanette seemed to take a different tack, "Was spontaneous sex part of yours and Molly's life? You don't seem to be the sort of people for Thursdays and Saturdays, after the ten o'clock news and with the lights off."
I smiled, and was grateful for her blunt question. She wasn't politely shying away from sensitive areas, and I liked that. "Yes. I mean you have to be a little more circumspect with two young boys around. But before they came along....Yes."
"Yes. So for Molly it wasn't surprising to suddenly want sex with the right man at the right moment. It was just that it was the right moment, but the wrong man. But then we know he'd worked very hard to be The Man at that moment..."
I smiled, I liked her choice of words. "You could say that..."
Piers looked round the table, "Why don't you go and sit down comfortably, and I'll get some coffee."
And that's what we did. Jeanette asked another very basic question whilst Piers was in the kitchen, "Do you still love her?" But I couldn't give her a proper answer on that. I tried to explain how I felt about Molly, that surely some of my love for her has not died, but I really couldn't separate out my current feelings from memories, and the hurt and the anger still, and loyalty to the mother of my sons. It was all too muddled.
It was the natural break of Piers returning and pouring the coffee that brought that wandering, unintelligible explanation of my feelings to an end. But then Piers sat back and asked, "OK. So what are you worrying about this week then? What stops you trying to see what's left?"
I sighed thoughtfully, this was the question I needed to be asked, but I wasn't sure how to answer it. Eventually, I tried, "I know that Susan used every trick in the book to make the fault line between Molly and me a permanent feature. And I know that Susan and Peter worked in some sort of collusion to trap Molly into that new relationship. But, I still can't get over that she allowed it to happen. I can't help feeling that there must have been some part of her that wanted it to happen as well. And if that's true, then maybe we are where we are, not because her true love has broken through at last, but because her second love just didn't work out quite as well as she hoped."
I looked at Jeanette. I knew I wanted her thoughts and not a clinical analysis from Piers. Jeanette knew Molly, and maybe a woman's view would give me something new.
Unfortunately it was Piers who started to answer, "Surely, that's a matter of trust. You either believe her and trust her, or you don't...."
But Jeanette interrupted, "No. I don't think that's what Chris is worried about, is it? Not really? It's that you can't reconcile the way she behaved then with the woman you thought you knew and maybe even the woman that seems to be around now?"
I felt relieved, "Yes. That's it exactly. I can't see a rational explanation for what happened after her moment of stupid lust."
We all sipped our coffee in silence. Then Jeanette turned to Piers, "Maybe it's like Claire after Roger's death?"
Piers shrugged, and Jeanette turned to me, "Roger and Claire were neighbours of ours in our first ****** house. Claire was an accountant by training, and Roger worked for one of the big banks, in their corporate loans department I think. Their garden backed on to ours, and they were similar age and had two children like us. Only theirs went girl boy whilst ours went Fraser then Ester. We weren't that close as friends, but we got along OK. Anyway, one day Claire knocked on my door in tears. I think I was the only one around when she needed someone. Roger had gone into hospital for a couple of days for some tests. He was thirty one at the time, and that morning the doctor had seen them both and told them that Roger had cancer..."
I interrupted, "I'm sorry, Jeanette. And I know you think this story maybe relevant, but I had Myra Hepsted giving me little anecdotes of other people's lives the other day to argue a point. I was hoping that, as you know Molly quite well, you could just tell me if you think she was just dumb enough to do what her mother told her to do."
"I didn't really know Molly then. Not well. I guess Peter didn't introduce us until he had almost got her to the altar, or at least the Registry Office. But, I think you've got to let me answer your question in my own way, as best as I can."
"OK. Sorry." I said and sipped my coffee.
"Anyway, what followed was two years of Roger fighting the Big C. Operations, chemo, radiotherapy, love, recuperation, long holidays, you name it. And then, after about two years, the doctors said they were sorry, but there was nothing else they could do. He had about two months left, and they got him into a hospice. And he died seven weeks later."
I did a quick calculation, "So he was thirty three. I'm sorry. That is young, too young."
Jeanette continued, "Yes it is. Well, you can imagine, everyone rallied. Poor Claire's freezer was brimming over with casseroles. And her children were taken on every day trip any neighbour was taking. But, after the nine day wonder died down, it seemed that I was the only one taking a real interest. Claire's ****** lived miles away. Anyway, I did my bit, and checked up on her every day, and tried to make sure she ate properly, and that she was looking after the children. And I let her talk and talk and talk, because that's what she needed to do. And that went on for weeks."
"OK." I said, still not seeing where this was leading.
Jeanette smiled, "Stay with me. There is a point to this story. Then I began to notice that if she said she didn't know what to get the children for supper, and I said my lot were only going to get pizza because I hadn't had time to cook properly, then the next day I'd find out that her two got pizza. If I said that Piers and myself were going to watch Morse on the television that night, then you could bet on it that Claire would watch Morse. She started attending my church, although I'd been careful not to invite her, I didn't want to push my religion onto her. She had become totally dependent on me, she was incapable of thinking for herself. I don't think she knew she was doing it, and it was all quite scary."
"You really were shaken by it, I remember." Piers observed, "I told you to go and talk it over with our doctor."
"And I did," Jeanette continued, "And I went to see the people at the hospice where Roger had died. They said it wasn't at all unusual, and that she needed professional counselling."
"And did she?" I asked.
"Yes. I used these very powers of influence that I seemed to have to get her to see a proper bereavement counsellor. And that did the trick. A year later she moved to live nearer her ******. A few years after that she met another man, and now she's happily married to a farmer in New Zealand. On her last Christmas card she said she runs the farm holiday side of their business. She has four fulltime staff and twenty-one part time staff under her. There is nothing wrong with her mental abilities, there never really was."
Piers sat forward, "She was shocked and grief-stricken. She had two years warning that Roger might die. She had seven weeks notice that it was definitely going to happen. And yet, when it did happen she became totally dependent on a friendly neighbour. Molly went from being a happily married wife and mother to a single parent where her partner now hated her, or so she thought, in the space of a couple of weeks. And she turned to the one person in the world who she thought she could trust, her own mother." He paused, and then added, "And Claire knew that it was an act of God. Molly knew that it was all her own fault."
Jeanette turned to me, and looked me in the eyes, "I don't know what Molly was like in those days. But is it possible that, in her way, she became totally dependent on her mother? In my opinion it is well within the bounds of possibility. And she herself probably doesn't know how dependent she really was. But you know her, Chris, you'll have to make up your own mind."
After that I was probably pretty lousy company. But Jeanette and Piers didn't grumble. I was deep in thought. The only real decision I came to was that, whereas before I was shocked and disgusted at what Susan had done to Molly, now I was beginning to take on a personal hatred for what she had done to me.
At some point, Piers had slipped a small glass of whisky onto the table in front of me. "It's my Highland Park. You look as if you could do with it."
I smiled and took it and sipped it, "I'm sorry. I seem to have a lot to think about."
Not long after that, with very grateful thanks to both Jeanette and Piers, I said my farewells.
I was almost out of the door when Piers said, "Well, if there's anything we can do, then let us know. It can't be easy."
I smiled, probably fairly weakly, "Thanks."
"And anyway, we've got to continue your education in the true religion, the gift of my forefathers to the world."
Now I did smile, "You just want to get your hands on my Balvenie."
As I drove home, I seemed to feel that I had got to make-your-mind-up time. That I knew everything that I was going to know about Molly and what happened.
On the Sunday I put my bike on the back of my car and drove out into Somerset. I parked and quietly cycled. This time I was very careful not to over do it, and I stopped several times, three times at very pleasant pubs, but I only had alcohol at lunchtime. But whilst cycling along the country lanes I had time to think. And that's what I needed to do. It was up to me to decide, did I want to try and build some new relationship with Molly, or do I just walk away but have my boys at the weekends?
But then there was an even more basic question: Did it matter? But, Yes it did. Because, maybe, just maybe, it would help to explain why she had done the stupid thing of marrying him. But I had difficulty with that, if she was a brainwashed zombie then I didn't like that image of her either.
When I got back to my new flat, life took over. Moving that morning had involved little more than getting everything to the new flat and dumping it on the floor. And even doing that had taken two trips in the car. So, the evening was spent organising things, with one break when Mum phoned. Len and her had got as far as Glasgow, and were going on a cruise of Loch Lomond tomorrow. She sounded as if they were having a good time. She did ask for an update on the state of play, but there wasn't a lot to say. I was pleased that when I just said I was still thinking about things, she didn't press me. At ten o'clock I quit unpacking and arranging things for the day, poured myself a whisky and watched the television news. It was only then that I really looked at my new place.
I was really pleased with it. It was stylish and had quality. It wasn't terribly big, but it had a second bedroom, so I had thoughts that maybe the boys could stay over once in a while. And that maybe useful if life gets tough between Molly and Peter.
What I also noticed was that the place was impersonal. I'd lived for three months in the company flat and it hadn't worried me. But this one was My Flat. And it had very little of me in it, except for my clothes. I'd have to do something about that. So, I spent most of Sunday walking around shops looking for things to personalise the flat and to make it home By Sunday evening I'd spent quite a lot of money, but as I looked around the flat I was quite pleased with the look of the place. I gazed at the set of crystal decanters that I'd bought, wondering how to fill them. Brandy was obvious. Maybe a sherry in case Ralph calls? I'd have to consult Piers on the whisky. That would give me an excuse to phone him in the morning.
Monday morning in the office, and Carole openly asked, "And the next instalment?"
"Not a lot, except..." and I told her about Susan and the tickets for Longleat. It was the first time I ever saw Carole leaving my office angry. She obviously decided she couldn't say what she thought of my ex-mother-in-law to me, and she left the room, quietly fuming.
I let her fume whilst I called Piers. I opened, straight to the point. "Is he in?"
"Yes. In his office. I don't know how well he's going to work, but he's in. I've told him that he can cancel his regular Wednesday's research at the eye hospital, they can do without him; he's got work to catch up on things here. Anyway, he's got to go your way later, Neil's got to give him a dressing down and his formal warning letter. I'd keep my head down if I were you. In no uncertain terms, he is pretty sure all his troubles are your fault."
"I really couldn't give a damn. Now the real reason why I phoned..."
"That wasn't?"
"Well, it was a pretty big part of it. But now I want to turn to religion. Which whisky should I have in my decanter as a nightcap type of drink?"
"Ah! The search for the Holy Grail! Personally, I'd choose something from the North of the Highlands. But, for a novice convert like you I'd recommend something old, probably from Speyside, and with some years in the vat."
No name? No recommendation? That's not what I wanted, "Is that it?"
He laughed, "Yes. Discovery is what it's all about. The journey, not the arrival."
"Research you mean. Bloody researchers."
"We're all fucking bastards!" He chortled happily as I put the phone down.
On Monday evening I drove back to the wine shop where I'd bought my whisky before. I found the same guy as had been there before, not that he remembered me. But I explained that I was looking for an aged Speyside malt, and he produced a 21 year old Balvenie matured in Port Wood. So I bought it because I like port, and that was the only clue I had. At over £50 per bottle, I thought for a first attempt it that was quite enough.
Later that evening I couldn't resist trying. Who was it that said they don't know much about art, but the know what they like? I don't know much about malt whisky, but I know I like this stuff.
As I sipped it, I started thinking about Molly. In some ways I wished I'd never come back to Bristol, but then I'd never have rebuilt my relationship with Jamie and Ben. I couldn't imagine building anything but some supportive friendship with her, but there were too many memories, too many echoes of what we once had. Then I began to worry, I guess Peter was back living in their gym next door. Would he make trouble? It was a ridiculous situation, him camping out in the gym, and her and the boys next door. I had to talk her into something better, away from him.
In the end I called her, it was gone eleven o'clock. She sounded tired and quiet when she answered the phone.
"Hi, I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I'm in bed, but not asleep."
"I was sitting here getting worried that Peter's back. Is he causing any problem?" I asked.
"No. Not a problem. He knocked at the kitchen door earlier, and that was a first, he's just come and gone before. Anyway, he very politely and formally asked if we could sit down and talk. He says he has a right to be heard."
"What did you say?"
"That there was no point. But that I'd think about it. I promise you I have no intention of sitting and talking to him. I just wanted him gone. I only agreed to think about it so that he would leave this evening."
There was a pause, then I told her, "He had an official warning letter at work today. He's screwing up his job."
"I kinda guessed that. It doesn't help. He is a good man, and he does love me. And he's screwing up his whole life."
There was a long pause. I was thinking that she sounded tired. Which made me think that now wasn't the time to tell her what I really thought of Peter Fucking Davies.
Instead, I suddenly suggested, "Could you get a babysitter for tomorrow evening, late evening, after you've seen the boys to bed? If you could, then why not come down here for a drink and to see my new place?"
"You know I'd like that. I'm sure Ralph would baby-sit. He feels so guilty about what Susan did. On Saturday, after you'd gone, I found him in tears. I've never seen my father cry before. And I couldn't say that what she did didn't matter, because it did."
"I wish we knew how much."
"How much our splitting matters? Everything. Don't you know that?"
"Yes, it was the worst thing that ever happened in my life, too. But I didn't mean that. What I meant was: I'd like to know just how influential Susan and her collaboration with Peter was in it all going so wrong."
"You want to know that? How do you think I feel? I think I'm going mad." She sounded very bitter, "There's nothing in that bit of my history that I can grasp and say I genuinely felt that, I wasn't just manipulated to feel it. Or that I freely chose to do something, and wasn't manipulated to let it happen."
"We haven't got any answers, but maybe we should talk about it tomorrow evening."
"Yes. I'll look forward to it. I love you, Chris. And I am sorry......"
I didn't say anything, very conscious that I couldn't make the wanted response. After a couple of moments silence I heard the phone click as she put hers down.
I went to bed still pondering just how much a free, independently minded adult could be manipulated. It was her signature on the wedding certificate to Peter, not Susan's. I was willing to talk, willing to try to understand, but I didn't think I'd be convinced.
First thing on Tuesday morning, Piers phoned me, "Hi, Chris. I thought I'd phone you. You know Myra's arranged this meeting about the future of this site. Well, she's moved it to be held here, and I guess I should invite Peter. What do you think?"
My heart missed a beat. Maybe I'm a coward, but from what I understood of Peter's mood and what he thought of me, I'm not sure I needed a showdown with him in front of a property developer, an architect and my staff. I was wary, very wary. "I didn't know she'd moved it. I'm not sure I've got the time to drive over to the Abbey and back, just for one meeting. It isn't that sort of day for me. If she has to hold it at the Abbey, then I won't be there."
"But if we hold it as planned in your office, you would be?" Piers asked.
"Yes." I said with more enthusiasm than I felt.
"Well, unless Myra has some real reason why it has to be held here, then let's hold as planned. And I'll tell Peter he's invited, and we see what he does. I suspect he'll find a prior engagement, but we don't know."
"That sounds like a plan. Will you talk to Myra? I'll tell Carole." I smiled bitterly to myself. I'll tell her to have the Band Aid ready, and at least I'll have a stiff whisky to hand if I need it!
"I'll call her right now. By the way, Jeanette insists that you come to us on Saturday. She never was too keen on restaurants, and she argues that home is more private if you want to talk. As if she'd let you get away without!"
I smiled to myself, "I'm looking forward to seeing Jeanette. She knew Molly well, I'd be interested on her views on one aspect of all this. Oh, by the way, I chose a twenty one year old Balvenie. Any good?"
He laughed, "I couldn't tell you until I've tasted it. Any Tuesday evening this week will do."
Now I laughed, "Hard luck. I can't do it, but you can tell Jeanette this just to tantalise her: Molly's coming over this evening."
He wished me the best of luck, and rang off.
Peter didn't turn up for the meeting which was held in my office. But Piers brought a Research Project Manager with him instead. She seemed an amiable and intelligent young woman, and when I asked after her, in a private few words with Piers, he said she was a possibility as a future Deputy, should anything happen to Peter.
Afterwards some guilt and shame attacked me, for not going over to the Abbey and facing up to Peter. As Managing Director I can't have no-go areas in my own company.
So, I was in a very mixed mood when Molly buzzed the entry-phone that night.
I opened the door for her and waited. As she came up the stairs I thought she looked good, casual, but sexy. As I kissed her on the cheek, her perfume hit me. It wasn't her usual one but it was very good.
"You smell nice." I said as a greeting.
She smiled, "Thank you. It's L'Air du Temps. Peter gave it to me for my birthday."
God! That hurt. For a moment our eyes locked, and she knew what she'd done. But she didn't say anything, and I hoped my smile stayed in place.
I showed her over the flat, and she seemed to like it. When we got to the little second bedroom, I did say that I hoped the boys could come and stay some times.
Her response worried me, "They're a bit...... mixed up at the moment."
We talked for some time about them, whilst we returned to the living room, and I poured us a couple of glasses of wine. We talked about how they had been through our original divorce and how they were now as their lives changed yet again. I used it as an excuse to argue that she should take them and go and live with Ralph. I don't think she was opposed to the idea, but was reluctant. I asked why?
She looked at me, "Because I hoped ......." And the look in her eyes told me what she hoped for.
"No. You know that's not going to happen. We're a long way off that happening, if ever."
She looked very disappointed, but her face tightened and she accepted it and she continued, "And I guess I'm a bit scared of Susan coming back. At some stage Ralph has got to let her back. At the moment they meet for lunch once or twice a week, but I assume he'll let her come home sometime, and I don't think I want to live under the same roof as her."
I smiled, "I don't blame you. Does she know that you are going to divorce Peter? And what state is that in, by the way?"
"I don't know whether Susan knows. Who knows who talks to who any more? But I spoke to the solicitor this afternoon. We've had no reply from Peter to her letter, so I told her to start preparing for me to divorce him. I'm going to see her on Thursday about that."
"Good." Was all I could say.
There was a long pause, a silence. For my part, I was wondering how to approach talking about the gulf that lay between us. But, it was Molly who spoke first, "The other day you said you'd moved forward in your thinking. Could you tell me how? Even if you haven't come to any conclusion...please, Chris."
I looked at her, "OK. I guess I feel, no, I know that whatever I feel, whatever you feel, it is impossible to just pick up where we left off. I know that's what you want. Everybody seems to want it, it'd be the fairytale ending. But this is real life, and you can't go back in time, however much we might want to."
As I watched her, her face drained of colour, and her eyes filled with tears, "Couldn't you at least try....please, I know I hurt you, I know it's been over four years, but I still love you. Please Chris...."
Before she collapsed completely into tears, I interrupted, "But that doesn't mean we can't try and find a way of building something new."
She looked up at me, there was interest and some hope in her eyes, and I continued, "Maybe we can get to a happy, supportive friendship, without hurts and jealousies, something that gives the boys the stability and love they need..."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"
"Well, how would you suggest that we get to a place where we're comfortable with each other? Where we can understand and share each other's lives, without regrets and hurtful memories?"
"But not share love, not get back to a true partnership?"
"I'm sorry Molly, I don't think that's possible. But I would like to be able to see you, to talk to you, without getting hurt because you tell me that the perfume I like was bought by Peter."
"Time will do that. But I want more, I want to be more than a friend...."
The idea that time will do it just wasn't enough, that was too simplistic, "I had dinner with Myra last Monday. Today I spent two hours at work with her. And I had lunch with her and some others. How do you feel about that? Don't tell me that you didn't just flinch. That a pang of jealousy didn't just hit you. It will take a huge effort just to get over that sort of thing, let alone anything else. And I don't know how to do it. What do you think?"
She ignored my question, "I thought you said you were finished with her. But you were taking her out to dinner only a week ago?"
"I didn't say I took her out to dinner. I said I had dinner with her, although as it happens, I did pay. But she is a friend. A very attractive and sexy one I will admit, but only a friend. And she knew that something big and dramatic has happened in my life, and she wanted to know what. So we had dinner together." I paused and looked at her, and thought: What the Hell, there is no good time for this bit. "I knew Peter was going to come round last Monday with flowers, and an all is forgiven attitude. And I guessed he wanted to take you to dinner in your special restaurant, and as Myra wanted to talk to me, I just happened to suggest that we could talk over dinner in a random restaurant in King Street."
She looked at me, very questioningly, but then said, "How did you know?"
"Because he told Piers, and Piers told me. And we realised that Peter's talks to both of us in the morning were misunderstood, or he purposely misled us. And we knew what he intended. I thought about warning you, but what good would that have done? He was intent on his mission to save the marriage."
Suddenly, she smiled, "And you were scared and jealous that I might let him take me to dinner."
"No! Not jealous, just interested...concerned."
She just looked at me, with a little smile of victory on her face. A look that I'd seen many times before, but then it was over minor incidents; being proved right on some detail or winning a tennis match. I'd have to think about it, was I jealous?
I partially conceded, "Well, you have to remember, I loved you so much, and I guess old habits die hard."
"So, let them have a chance of growing again. What happens if we could rebuild something? Please don't just close the door on that for ever. Please, Chris."
"Well, I'm not. If two people are seeing each other regularly, sharing a bit of their lives, and we have two sons so we'll definitely be sharing something, then I guess anything can happen. But I wanted to be honest with you, I don't think it will."
"But you would try to build some relationship? How about counselling? Or just meeting to talk? Whatever you want."
"I don't want to raise your hopes. You asked where I was in my thinking, and I'm trying to tell you. I'm not committed to anything yet, except trying to make sure you're in a position to give my boys a life they deserve. But, Piers McBaine raised the question of how do you go about trying to rebuild anything after all this time."
"You talked to Piers about this?"
"He raised it. And like you, he suggested counselling. But I said No. We then went on to just talk about all the aspects that would have to be covered. The past; the future; sex; why are we in this horrible situation. There are so many aspects of it all. There are the facts of what happened, and there's how we felt then and how we feel now. It's complicated."
"You spoke to Piers, I spoke to Heather Washington at the Hospital. She's a counsellor...."
"I told you, no counsellors. If we can't talk between ourselves, then it isn't worth trying. I don't want some do-gooding, soft-centred nosey-parker crawling all over my private life, thank you."
"Thanks very much. What do you think I do for half my life as a dietician?"
I looked at her and realised that I'd gone over the top, "Whoops. Sorry. It's just that I don't want to share this with someone else, a complete stranger. This is just us. What happens between us is all that matters. Whatever Ralph thinks, or Susan did, or my Mum wants, it has to be just us that solves it. I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel."
"Heather may have some good tools, ways of dealing with issues."
"So, you talk to her if we get stuck. That assumes we ever start."
She didn't like that last comment, but I could see her thinking as I poured us two more glasses of wine.
She looked at me for some time, then she asked, "What does it take to get you to at least be willing to start? To be willing to talk to me?"
I wished she hadn't asked that, "Oh! There's plenty I have difficulty with. Why my wife of seven years went with that man to his flat and fucked the afternoon away? That isn't a good start."
She immediately burst into tears, "You know it wasn't like that. But you're right, there is no answer to that one. Don't you think I haven't asked myself that over and over again. Why did I do it? Why did I throw everything away in a moment of lust? I'm sorry....."
I leant over and squeezed her hand, "Actually, I think I'd be kinder to you on that one than you'd be to yourself."
She looked up at me, through her tears, "I'm sorry....."
"I know you are." I gave her hand a squeeze. "I think the real problem that goes around and around in my head isn't what happened in a moment of stupid lust, it's what happened in weeks and months that led you to marry him. That's where I lose respect for you."
She didn't like that one much either. "I wish I could answer that as well. Some of it must be Susan's influence....."
"You can't blame Susan for all of it. You wrote me that dreadful letter. It was your signature on the bottom, not Susan's."
She frowned and sipped her drink. Then she wiped her eyes, "I don't blame Susan for all of it. And that letter was one of the inexplicable things in whatever Susan was playing at. Looking back, I can see some of the things that Susan did that did do damage, that manipulated me. She argued so heavily that I must give you time to decide for yourself if you wanted me back. And she was heavy on that you probably wouldn't. That you were too proud a man, you wouldn't take me back. I think that sort of talk probably pushed me more and more into depression."
I shook my head, "How could a mother do that?"
"But it was more than that. I remember at least twice when she physically stopped me coming to see you. When I got so upset, so desperate, that I was heading out of the door to see you, she physically held me back. 'You can't go and see him when you're like this. You'll do more harm than good. Come and have a cup of tea and calm down. Go and see him at the weekend, when you're calmer.' And, of course the moment passed. If only..."
"If only...." I echoed.
"But then, when I came to write that letter, she was helpful. I don't understand that, I talked to Ralph about it the other day. Because suddenly, one afternoon, I scrawled out a letter to you, begging you to take me back. It was lying on the table when Susan came round. She used to call in every day just to check up on me and see how everything was. I used to be so grateful for all the time she put in, now I wonder.... Anyway, she saw it and asked what it was and I let her read it. Well, she told me it was an emotional scrawl and that we could do better. She then sat down with me and helped compose a sensible, constructive letter, that wasn't all emotion, but it still said how sorry I was and wished you'd take me back..."
"If that's what you thought you said, then I suggest you launch a suit against your English teacher, because it drove a knife into my heart. Several knives."
"Why?"
"Well, for a start, as soon as I opened it, I saw it was typewritten. Where's the loving appeal in a typed letter?"
"That was Susan. She said it should be typed, and I let her. But it was the words that mattered. And they did tell you how I felt."
I sighed, "I wish I still had it. I threw it away. For a split second throwing it away helped. But I read it at least twice, and scanned some of the phrases a dozen times." I paused, and thought, "You don't think Susan corrupted it do you?"
"No. I'll swear it was all my own words. I checked it very carefully before I signed it and I put it in the envelope and put a stamp on it myself. Every word was from my heart, I promise."
I shrugged, "Then you have some very odd understanding of the English language. 'That special afternoon.' I remember that phrase to explain your tryst with Peter. And that you 'thought' you'd loved me. Even our past love was written off as a mistake...."
"Did I say that? I don't remember what adjective I used for that afternoon. And I know I had been saying that I thought I loved you, but I'm sure I just said that I loved you in the letter. You must have read it wrong. You admit that it upset you that it was typewritten, you probably had written it off before you ever read it."
I sipped my wine, "Maybe. I do have to admit that I was so hurt by all of this. I don't think I was so angry by the time of the letter, but I was still hurt. Maybe I didn't read it all correctly. But even then...."
"Ralph's been trying to explain to me how much I hurt you. I'm sorry. I think I was so wrapped up in my own horrors I didn't understand. And Susan was saying you'd be alright. That you were a man, they get over these things. Again, I guess she was steadily peeling me away from you. That's what makes the way she helped over the letter so odd, even if you didn't like that she wanted it typed up."
"Maybe it was her one act of redemption. So that, in her own mind, she could say she tried."
"Yes. That's what I decided. One act of doing the right thing to balance weeks of doing it wrong. I don't know if I can ever forgive her. I don't want to split with my own mother, but..."
"Give it time. See if she apologises, when she realises that she's been found out, and that Peter's on his way out. It's up to her to say sorry."
We both sat and drank the rest of our wine in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Molly asked, "Do you want the boys at the weekend? It's a Bank Holiday one again."
"Yes. It's because it was a late Easter, but we seem to be only doing a nine day fortnight recently. But, of course I want them one day. How about the Monday? I guess I should take them to Longleat, if that's where they want to go. It's as good a place as any for a day out."
"That sounds nice. They had a good day there last time, it was only me that didn't."
"Well, they'll have a good time. I do owe you a big thank you on how easy it has been to get back into their lives."
"I think making sure that your memory never died with them helped keep it alive for me. And, considering you were travelling or living abroad for over three years, you did all that could have been expected of you. I wasn't surprised that you never forgot a birthday or Christmas, or even the new school terms. But in some ways it hurt me, it reminded me what a good man I'd lost, that I'd pushed their father away. I owe them big time." And her eyes clouded again.
We stood up and I gave her a reassuring hug, "Don't worry. Children survive parents. Its just life to them."
We knew the evening was over, and I escorted her down to the front door, where I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye.
After she'd driven off, I went back inside and poured myself a whisky. As I sipped it, I thought about how I still couldn't reconcile the intelligent Molly that I knew, that had been here in this flat until a few minutes ago, with the fucking stupid idiot that allowed her life to go so wrong.
For the next three days I hardly had a second to think of Molly and her or my future. Two days were in London, of which a whole twenty minutes was spent reporting to The Old Man. We talked about the possibility of developing the Marston Abbey site, and he insisted that we involve the PR people. Corporations selling off historic buildings, if it turns out to be against the wishes of the local population or some special interest group, can always turn into a PR nightmare. I did also mention that I was considering the future of the Exeter operation, and the possibility of selling them off, or allowing a management buy out, if that's what Stephen Hobbs can put together. That allowed him to finish the meeting with "Exodus 5:1".
As I left his office, I said to Pamela, "Can I borrow your Bible?" and through the open door, I heard The Old Man's voice, "Let my people go."
Pamela looked at me, and we both laughed. Then she rather surprisingly said, "I like Carole."
"So do I." I answered.
"The best of her type in the Group, I'd say."
I looked at her, and very clearly said, "And she's staying in Bristol."
Pamela smiled, "Just testing. Making sure you appreciate what you've got."
As I sat on the train on Friday evening, heading for Bristol, I thought I was becoming paranoid. I began to wonder what Pamela's message of appreciating what I've got was meant to mean. Was it possible that Carole had talked my problem through with Pamela, and this was Pamela's hidden advice? Common sense told me that that was a stupid idea, and even if it wasn't, the advice was wasted because I couldn't see how it applied to me.
By the time I got home on that Friday, I was tired, and feeling grimy from London and travelling. I ran myself a nice deep hot bath and was just about to get in it when Mum phoned. They were now in St Andrews, and Len was thinking of taking up Golf. I did tell her that my thinking was now focussed on trying to understand what happened to Molly that made her marry Peter. I told her about Susan's games, and that kept us talking for quite some time. And, although I made no real progress in my thinking, it was calming and relaxing just to talk all my thoughts through with Mum. She didn't contribute much to my thinking, but was a good listener, and that was possibly the best thing she could have done.
It was about eleven o'clock on Saturday morning that I got a call from Ralph. Could he come and see me? And it was about a quarter to twelve before he arrived.
I let him in, and asked, "Do you fancy a cup of coffee? I'm about to have one."
"Yes, thanks." And he followed me into the kitchen and watched me make a couple of mugs of instant coffee, with little more than small talk about the weather.
When I handed him a mug, he sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, whilst I just leant against the kitchen units opposite. "OK, what's this about, Ralph?"
"It's about that letter that Molly sent you." He paused, "Look Chris, I never knew there had been a letter until you told me that day in my shed. No one had told me about it. But then, Susan couldn't tell me because we weren't meant to be interfering, were we?" There was a sharp edge of bitterness in his voice.
"Even if you'd known it wouldn't have made much difference. You might have stopped her sending it I suppose, that might have saved me some heartache, but the result would have been the same."
"Well, anyway, I talked to Molly about it, or rather she talked to me about it when I asked how Tuesday night went. And it struck me as odd that you and Molly have such different views on it."
"I guess memory corrupts..."
Ralph ignored me, "So I asked Molly all about it. I don't know if she explained to you, but one afternoon, in desperation, she wrote you a long letter. Well, by chance Susan saw it, and read it, and told Molly it was an emotional scrawl and almost illegible, which was possibly true. Anyway, call me Mr Suspicious if you like, but as soon as Susan came into the picture I got worried."
"So did I. But Molly assured me she checked it and sealed it in the envelope herself. That's Susan-proof, on this occasion."
"Well, I wasn't surprised that Susan wanted to type it up. If you remember it was just after we got our first home computer. We've still got it, although I guess I really should buy a new one. I'd used computers at the office for years, of course, but it was all new to Susan. And she learnt, taught herself really, MS Word. And she was typing everything. She produced two beautiful ring binders of all her cake recipes at that time, each recipe in one of those plastic pockets so that they didn't get mucky as they were used. I think she typed everything then, it was her new toy. I suspect she even typed her shopping lists."
I smiled, and Ralph continued, "So, it was natural that Susan would want to type it up, especially if Molly's handwriting was a bit emotional, and they wanted to make changes. But, now this is the bit where I have an apology to make, I got nosey. So, I asked Molly if she had a copy and if I could read it, but she didn't. Anyway, last night I decided to check the computer. And there buried amongst the five years of letters to the bank and the gas company and the credit card companies, and letters about my pension, there was Letter-CB."
And Ralph produced three sheets of folded paper from his inside breast pocket.
"Now, please Chris, I know this may mean revisiting painful memories, but is this the letter you got from Molly?" and he handed me the three sheets.
I took one glance, their image was already burned into my memory. The first sheet with the address and date at the top. The second sheet with five paragraphs on it, and the third sheet with only one paragraph and Molly's sign off. I glanced at all three sheets briefly, and said, "Yes. This was it. For the life of me I don't see how Molly could have believed that this would solve anything."
"No, Chris. I'm sorry. I want you to read it properly, and tell me if you are certain it's a copy of the letter."
I looked at him, I didn't want to do this, but he just looked at me and waited. Eventually I read every hurtful, painful word. And I put it down on the work surface.
"Yes. That's the one. Are you going to tell me that Susan was clever enough to get those words past Molly, without Molly knowing? I know she was emotional and depressed, but that would make her plain stupid."
Ralph handed me a second set of three pages, "And this is the letter that Molly wrote."
I took it from him, and he added, "I've had Molly check it this morning, and she swears that's the letter she wrote, just like you swear the other one is the letter you received."
There was a pause while I read this new letter. It was basically in the same format as the first. There were now six paragraphs on the second page. But the third page was the same vanilla ending as the earlier version.
When I finished reading, I looked up at Ralph. I could feel tears pricking my eyes. What I had in my hand was a desperate plea from a desperate woman, seeking a chance to make amends, to be able to put our ****** back together at any cost.
"If I'd have received that, I'd have been knocking at her door half an hour after the postman had delivered it to me. I really would."
"I know. I know. And I'm so sorry that you didn't get it."
For a moment we just looked at each other. I'm not sure who was closer to tears.
In the end, Ralph asked, "What do you notice about the two letters?"
I held them in my two hands, "Her real plea for a second chance is all focused in one short paragraph on the second page, which was deleted in my version. Otherwise, in words they aren't that far apart. 'That special afternoon' that I got was 'that dreadful afternoon' that Molly wrote. The changes are small, but powerful."
I looked at the letters again, I noticed that 'I love you' had become 'I thought I'd loved you'.
I looked at Ralph. "I guess this was Susan's doing, but how?"
"Look at the third pages."
I did so, "They are both the same."
"Exactly. I've talked to Molly, I reckon that Susan took Molly her version, all typed up and neat, and Molly checked it and signed it. She then put it in an envelope that Susan had brought with her, already addressed, sealed it up and put a stamp on it. Then Susan volunteered, and Molly says this is what happened, that Susan would post it on the way home."
Light began to dawn, and I completed the story, "And all she had to do was open the original. Swap the two first pages with the horrid version, still with Molly's signature on the third page, pop it back in a new envelope with a new stamp, and it's all done."
Ralph nodded, "That's my guess. And the letters are so close in many ways that you and Molly could talk about them, with completely different views on the meaning, but never realise. Ninety percent of the words are identical. In fact, you and Molly have discussed them without realising."
I drank my coffee, while there was silence between us, then I said, "Bit of a risk, but she got away with it."
"What else could she do? With Molly determined that she was going to write to you."
Again there was a long pause. I looked at Ralph, "You once described my ex-wife as a stupid dumb cunt." Ralph smiled, and I asked, "Do you mind if I call your wife an evil selfish bitch?"
He smiled again, but grimly, "At the moment you could put it on her headstone as far as I'm concerned."
I drained my coffee, and asked, "How's Molly taken it?"
"What would you expect? Shell-shocked. Disgusted. At the moment, she says this is the last straw. She's saying that she doesn't want to see Susan ever again. She's disowned her. In fact she thought she might write her a letter to tell her that. At least she could see the funny side of that, she thought she might apologise if it was an emotional scrawl."
There was a long silence whilst I absorbed the story. Then I asked, "Do you fancy another coffee. I think I'm having one."
"No thanks."
I turned to switch the kettle on again, and make myself another mug of coffee. As I went to the fridge for the milk, I asked over my shoulder, "And what will you do?"
"I'm seeing her tomorrow for lunch, at a pub just outside Blandford Forum. I thought I might lay out both versions and just see what she says. If she hasn't got a very good explanation, or that she doesn't apologise and convince me that she is truly sorry, well, I reckon any solicitor or judge would see it as unreasonable behaviour, don't you?"
I recognised the phrase. I turned slowly, "Divorce? Are you sure? How long have you two been married?"
"Thirty seven years in September. But yes, divorce."
I finished making my coffee and looked at him.
Ralph looked out of the window for a few moments, before turning back towards me, "Over the last few weeks whilst I've forced her to stay down in Weymouth, I've been giving our marriage a lot of thought. What is it, beyond a comfortable habit? She has absolutely no interest in the garden. I have no interest in her cake circle, making cakes for any old charity that wants to hold a coffee morning or a bring and buy sale. We go out for a country pub lunch once or twice a week. We see each other over the dining table and talk about the day's headlines or Jamie and Ben. We watch television in the evenings, but don't really talk. She has no interest or willingness to travel, and yet some of my life's ambitions are to see some plants in their natural habitat. We sleep in the same bed, and occasionally have sex. But that's about it."
"But it was enough."
"Yes it was. But now I've got to face a woman everyday over that dining table who was a secretive, evil selfish bitch, to use your words. I don't think I want to do that."
"I'm sorry. I never envisaged this, and I never wanted that to happen to you and Susan. What does Molly say?"
"She doesn't. I haven't told her yet. I don't think I'll tell her until I've finally made up my mind, but Susan's got to do something pretty radical to drag me back from the inevitable."
For a while Ralph was asking my advice on what would happen with the financial settlement in any divorce. He knew he would have to split their current wealth fifty-fifty, and that would mean selling the house. What worried him was just how big a slice of his pension would Susan win.
When we'd talked about that for some time, I asked, "You don't fancy a pie and a pint do you? I've got a new local, and I haven't tried it yet. I assume we can get something for lunch there."
"I'd love to." Ralph cheerfully accepted.
Once we had ordered our lunch and got our pints, we found a table to sit at. Ralph sipped his pint and looked at me, "You know I think this is only about the third time you and I have actually gone to the pub together. Peter was always wanting to take me to the pub, I guess he knew I was the one who he had to win over."
"You're not a bad judge of character. Tell me about Peter. What's he like, or going to be like in the next few months?"
He shrugged, "He's very easy going, at least on the surface. Very clubbable."
I smiled, "Can I volunteer to do the clubbing?"
Ralph laughed, "You know what I mean. But somewhere I always got the vibe of an immature person below all the very well honed social skills."
"What do you mean? What makes you think that?"
"From what I've learnt over the years, I don't think Peter discovered women until quite late in life, not until he was well into his twenties. Before that, I think he was what I would call a swot, and Jamie would probably call a nerd or a geek. But once discovered, I think he set about making up for lost time. I think there were quite a few notches on his bed post before Molly came along..."
Just then, our food turned up, but between mouthfuls, Ralph continued, "...Anyway, when your decree nisi had been declared, he used to come and collect Molly from our house some evenings. When we were babysitting by having the boys to stay with us. I guess a lot had been going on before that under Susan's conductor's baton. But anyway, I always felt I was answering the door to a young schoolboy. It was like when Molly was seventeen, and the first boyfriends started appearing. There was an immature earnestness to him. It was as if Molly was his first true love. He just seemed all keyed up and obsessed."
"I remember that feeling. Oh for the innocence of youth..." I responded.
Ralph paused, and looked at me, chewing thoughtfully, "Well, add the sophistication and money of adulthood to how you were. How did you react when your first true love turned you down?"
"She was Yvette Cooper, and she told me that Charlie Taplin had asked her out, and she was going. I was devastated. I could have murdered both of them, just to show her how much I needed her." I paused, "If you're right, God help us. He could do anything."
"Well, he is also highly intelligent and a little more mature than you were then. But, I wouldn't be surprised if he gets very upset, and doesn't play by mature and sensible rules. I hope I'm wrong. Maybe he'll go away defeated. He must know that he's a lost cause."
"Yes. He was the one that accused her that she loved me. So he knows, in his heart, the true story. Let's hope he acts sensibly."
After that, we finished our lunch and then strolled back to my flat. But Ralph didn't come in, he got in his car and went home. As he drove away, I realised that he hadn't asked me what I was going to do, not that I could have told him. But I was grateful that he hadn't asked.
I went in and watched sport on the television, until it was time to change and head for Piers' and Jeanette's home in Bath.
On my way to Bath I did manage to stop and buy a huge bunch of flowers for Jeanette, and far more important, with a minor detour, I was back at my whisky shop, where I bought half a dozen miniatures of what I hoped were fairly unusual malt whiskies.
When I arrived, and after the initial welcome, when Piers marked each of my six little miniatures out of ten, and I scored a total of forty-seven, we went and sat down. Jeanette announced that, although she wanted to know every detail of my story, we weren't going to talk about that until we sat down to eat. So, instead, I got a complete gin and tonic's worth of Edward including photo's, the joys of grandparenthood, and how his other two grandparents were doing everything wrong, but I was let off the video.
But almost as soon as we sat down to eat, Jeanette just said, "OK then, from the top...."
I looked at her, "But I know Piers has told you almost all of it...."
"Yes. But he's a scientist. He only tells me the facts. He never tells me about the look in someone's eye, the inflection in the voice, all the important things."
And so, with Piers sitting there between us, I told Jeanette everything as best I could remember it. I just hoped he wasn't too bored, but it was him that prompted me on a couple of things, which did help explain things to Jeanette. It took all the first course and a very large part of the main course before I'd finished. The only bit that I didn't talk about was the details of Molly's story of her limiting their sex life inside her marriage. I did say that she limited it, but I drew a veil over exactly how. For some reason, I seemed to respect Peter's privacy when I was talking to his boss. Jeanette had asked a couple of questions, but I got the impression that hearing the story told my way, in my words, from my lips, was very important to her.
I finished with telling as much as I knew of Peter's and Susan's collusion, and of Susan's lies and manipulation, ending with the story of the letter. Afterwards there was a long silence. When I'd finished Jeanette just said, "Tell Molly to phone me. I'd like to meet her and talk to her. It's time to mend my fences with her."
I was surprised, "I thought you had problems with adultery? And whatever the circumstances, she still cheated on me. But I am very pleased that you said that, and I will certainly tell her. You know that she doesn't know why you and they split? Peter never explained it."
Jeanette smiled, "Then I can leave her thinking it was Peter, not her, which is mainly sort of true." She paused, "But you're right. I'm the ******** of a Presbyterian minister and still a regular churchgoer. With very few exceptions in some grey areas, adultery is wrong and unacceptable to me." She paused to look directly at me, "And that includes you with Molly a few weeks ago. But I'm also a ******** of the manse who was taught to take a tolerant view of people's mistakes, and to forgive those who trespass against me."
There was little said after that, until Piers had finished serving the dessert, when he asked "Can you forgive her, Chris? Do you want to, or even to try?"
"Actually, that stupid moment of lust seems quite minor in my thinking at the moment. Mind you, I have found that things keep changing in importance. What was important last week is minor this week, and vice versa. But I don't think I've ever thought that one moment's stupidity, especially fuelled by alcohol or circumstances, should be allowed to ruin a ****** or a good marriage. Instead, it's something to be got over, recovered from." I paused and smiled, "Maybe it's the nearly five years since that's taken some of the sting out of it. Maybe it's that I've had too many lousy lustful moments with the wrong person in the intervening years that has lent me some tolerance, some understanding, but that isn't my problem at the moment." Again I paused, and realised that both Piers and Jeanette were listening intently, "I'm not saying that I don't mind, I don't like the idea of my wife cheating on me...."
Piers asked, "If you'd known then what you know now, would you have forgiven her?"
"That I can't answer. In theory, I'd like to say Yes. But I was so hurt, so angry, I don't know that my rational mind would have won."
Jeanette seemed to take a different tack, "Was spontaneous sex part of yours and Molly's life? You don't seem to be the sort of people for Thursdays and Saturdays, after the ten o'clock news and with the lights off."
I smiled, and was grateful for her blunt question. She wasn't politely shying away from sensitive areas, and I liked that. "Yes. I mean you have to be a little more circumspect with two young boys around. But before they came along....Yes."
"Yes. So for Molly it wasn't surprising to suddenly want sex with the right man at the right moment. It was just that it was the right moment, but the wrong man. But then we know he'd worked very hard to be The Man at that moment..."
I smiled, I liked her choice of words. "You could say that..."
Piers looked round the table, "Why don't you go and sit down comfortably, and I'll get some coffee."
And that's what we did. Jeanette asked another very basic question whilst Piers was in the kitchen, "Do you still love her?" But I couldn't give her a proper answer on that. I tried to explain how I felt about Molly, that surely some of my love for her has not died, but I really couldn't separate out my current feelings from memories, and the hurt and the anger still, and loyalty to the mother of my sons. It was all too muddled.
It was the natural break of Piers returning and pouring the coffee that brought that wandering, unintelligible explanation of my feelings to an end. But then Piers sat back and asked, "OK. So what are you worrying about this week then? What stops you trying to see what's left?"
I sighed thoughtfully, this was the question I needed to be asked, but I wasn't sure how to answer it. Eventually, I tried, "I know that Susan used every trick in the book to make the fault line between Molly and me a permanent feature. And I know that Susan and Peter worked in some sort of collusion to trap Molly into that new relationship. But, I still can't get over that she allowed it to happen. I can't help feeling that there must have been some part of her that wanted it to happen as well. And if that's true, then maybe we are where we are, not because her true love has broken through at last, but because her second love just didn't work out quite as well as she hoped."
I looked at Jeanette. I knew I wanted her thoughts and not a clinical analysis from Piers. Jeanette knew Molly, and maybe a woman's view would give me something new.
Unfortunately it was Piers who started to answer, "Surely, that's a matter of trust. You either believe her and trust her, or you don't...."
But Jeanette interrupted, "No. I don't think that's what Chris is worried about, is it? Not really? It's that you can't reconcile the way she behaved then with the woman you thought you knew and maybe even the woman that seems to be around now?"
I felt relieved, "Yes. That's it exactly. I can't see a rational explanation for what happened after her moment of stupid lust."
We all sipped our coffee in silence. Then Jeanette turned to Piers, "Maybe it's like Claire after Roger's death?"
Piers shrugged, and Jeanette turned to me, "Roger and Claire were neighbours of ours in our first ****** house. Claire was an accountant by training, and Roger worked for one of the big banks, in their corporate loans department I think. Their garden backed on to ours, and they were similar age and had two children like us. Only theirs went girl boy whilst ours went Fraser then Ester. We weren't that close as friends, but we got along OK. Anyway, one day Claire knocked on my door in tears. I think I was the only one around when she needed someone. Roger had gone into hospital for a couple of days for some tests. He was thirty one at the time, and that morning the doctor had seen them both and told them that Roger had cancer..."
I interrupted, "I'm sorry, Jeanette. And I know you think this story maybe relevant, but I had Myra Hepsted giving me little anecdotes of other people's lives the other day to argue a point. I was hoping that, as you know Molly quite well, you could just tell me if you think she was just dumb enough to do what her mother told her to do."
"I didn't really know Molly then. Not well. I guess Peter didn't introduce us until he had almost got her to the altar, or at least the Registry Office. But, I think you've got to let me answer your question in my own way, as best as I can."
"OK. Sorry." I said and sipped my coffee.
"Anyway, what followed was two years of Roger fighting the Big C. Operations, chemo, radiotherapy, love, recuperation, long holidays, you name it. And then, after about two years, the doctors said they were sorry, but there was nothing else they could do. He had about two months left, and they got him into a hospice. And he died seven weeks later."
I did a quick calculation, "So he was thirty three. I'm sorry. That is young, too young."
Jeanette continued, "Yes it is. Well, you can imagine, everyone rallied. Poor Claire's freezer was brimming over with casseroles. And her children were taken on every day trip any neighbour was taking. But, after the nine day wonder died down, it seemed that I was the only one taking a real interest. Claire's ****** lived miles away. Anyway, I did my bit, and checked up on her every day, and tried to make sure she ate properly, and that she was looking after the children. And I let her talk and talk and talk, because that's what she needed to do. And that went on for weeks."
"OK." I said, still not seeing where this was leading.
Jeanette smiled, "Stay with me. There is a point to this story. Then I began to notice that if she said she didn't know what to get the children for supper, and I said my lot were only going to get pizza because I hadn't had time to cook properly, then the next day I'd find out that her two got pizza. If I said that Piers and myself were going to watch Morse on the television that night, then you could bet on it that Claire would watch Morse. She started attending my church, although I'd been careful not to invite her, I didn't want to push my religion onto her. She had become totally dependent on me, she was incapable of thinking for herself. I don't think she knew she was doing it, and it was all quite scary."
"You really were shaken by it, I remember." Piers observed, "I told you to go and talk it over with our doctor."
"And I did," Jeanette continued, "And I went to see the people at the hospice where Roger had died. They said it wasn't at all unusual, and that she needed professional counselling."
"And did she?" I asked.
"Yes. I used these very powers of influence that I seemed to have to get her to see a proper bereavement counsellor. And that did the trick. A year later she moved to live nearer her ******. A few years after that she met another man, and now she's happily married to a farmer in New Zealand. On her last Christmas card she said she runs the farm holiday side of their business. She has four fulltime staff and twenty-one part time staff under her. There is nothing wrong with her mental abilities, there never really was."
Piers sat forward, "She was shocked and grief-stricken. She had two years warning that Roger might die. She had seven weeks notice that it was definitely going to happen. And yet, when it did happen she became totally dependent on a friendly neighbour. Molly went from being a happily married wife and mother to a single parent where her partner now hated her, or so she thought, in the space of a couple of weeks. And she turned to the one person in the world who she thought she could trust, her own mother." He paused, and then added, "And Claire knew that it was an act of God. Molly knew that it was all her own fault."
Jeanette turned to me, and looked me in the eyes, "I don't know what Molly was like in those days. But is it possible that, in her way, she became totally dependent on her mother? In my opinion it is well within the bounds of possibility. And she herself probably doesn't know how dependent she really was. But you know her, Chris, you'll have to make up your own mind."
After that I was probably pretty lousy company. But Jeanette and Piers didn't grumble. I was deep in thought. The only real decision I came to was that, whereas before I was shocked and disgusted at what Susan had done to Molly, now I was beginning to take on a personal hatred for what she had done to me.
At some point, Piers had slipped a small glass of whisky onto the table in front of me. "It's my Highland Park. You look as if you could do with it."
I smiled and took it and sipped it, "I'm sorry. I seem to have a lot to think about."
Not long after that, with very grateful thanks to both Jeanette and Piers, I said my farewells.
I was almost out of the door when Piers said, "Well, if there's anything we can do, then let us know. It can't be easy."
I smiled, probably fairly weakly, "Thanks."
"And anyway, we've got to continue your education in the true religion, the gift of my forefathers to the world."
Now I did smile, "You just want to get your hands on my Balvenie."
As I drove home, I seemed to feel that I had got to make-your-mind-up time. That I knew everything that I was going to know about Molly and what happened.
On the Sunday I put my bike on the back of my car and drove out into Somerset. I parked and quietly cycled. This time I was very careful not to over do it, and I stopped several times, three times at very pleasant pubs, but I only had alcohol at lunchtime. But whilst cycling along the country lanes I had time to think. And that's what I needed to do. It was up to me to decide, did I want to try and build some new relationship with Molly, or do I just walk away but have my boys at the weekends?
