or the vast gaping chasm that Sam had left behind when she had dumped him unceremoniously for Kevin.
And, to add to the ignominy, he'd been left for a lawyer. Mark had never been keen on lawyers. He'd encountered a fair few smarmy law students when he was at dental school, but his hatred for them had been cemented when he'd watched Spike Sutcliffe, a close friend from dental school, being crucified by a patient who claimed Spike had been inappropriate with her. He hadn't, and eventually he was cleared, but not before he'd been dragged through a bruising court case in which the lawyers had dragged up all sorts of insalubrious details about Spike's rather colourful past, or before Spike had spent vast sums of money on his own defence. The costs that he was awarded just about covered the legal expenses, but they didn't make up for the stress of it all. Sam falling for Kevin had just given Mark another excuse to hate lawyers, only now his hatred was so passionate he knew it wasn't entirely rational.
‘What the bloody hell does Kevin have that I don't?’ Mark spoke aloud into the darkness. It wasn't the first time he'd asked that question and it wouldn't be the last.
‘You never listen to a word I say,’ had been Sam's constant refrain during their marriage.
‘That's not true,’ Mark had protested on more than one occasion. He had listened. Or tried to. He'd always been putty in Sam's hands. Ever since the first night he'd seen her, at his first-year dental ball: a tiny blonde vision in a red strapless dress, strutting her funky stuff to Motorhead of all things. He had been smitten in an instant and knew not just that he wanted to take her home with him, but after she'd amazingly said yes to his offer of a dance that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
And at first everything had been fine. More than fine, it had been brilliant. True, it hadn't been part of the game plan to have children so soon, but he wouldn't be without Gemma and Beth now. Sometimes he wondered guiltily if he'd supported Sam enough when the kids were small. Mark had found it difficult to adjust to fatherhood, especially when Sam appeared to be such a great and totally in-control mum. He'd often felt like a spare part in those days – maybe that was what he'd done wrong. Although she'd never actually said that he wasn't a good dad. Or that he'd failed her as a husband.
Mark had been so content; it had been a shock to hear that Sam wasn't. A year ago (had it only been a year?) she had turned to him clear-eyed and brittle and announced she was leaving him.
‘But why?’ Mark had asked, in a state of profound disbelief.
‘Isn't it obvious?’ Her bitterness had stunned him.
‘Not to me,’ said Mark. ‘If it's something I've done, let me put it right.’
But she had shaken her head, and said, rather sadly, he felt afterwards, though at the time he had been too blinded by fury to see it, ‘It's too late, Mark. I tried to tell you, but you didn't want to know.’
And now, here he was, sixteen years after he first set eyes on Sam, alone in bed in his bachelor pad. This wasn't how it was meant to be at all.
Emily walked down the little footpath that led to her country cottage. Despite the lack of street lighting, and the fact that the common was only a few moments away, she never felt frightened coming down here by herself. The dark comforted her. It hid her and made her feel safe. Although tonight the clear winter sky and the full moon lit her path quite well enough. She let herself in with a relieved sigh. It was gone midnight, she had an early start tomorrow, and with the way the trains had been lately she was going to need to be up at the crack of dawn. But she was home at last.
Ffion still didn't get why Emily had moved so far out ‘into the sticks’, as she put it.
‘I like it,’ Emily constantly said. ‘It's cheaper than London and I get to have fresh air.’
Fresh air was important to Emily, having spent her childhood climbing all the hills she could find in her home county of Pembrokeshire. Besides, Katie had moved here first and had then persuaded her it was worth leaving London for the sight of green fields every morning. Mind you, that was before Katie had gone all ‘desperate housewife’ on her. Now she frequently referred to Thurfield as a fishbowl, and Emily got the impression that her friend missed the bright city lights. Not that Katie ever said as much. Trying to prise a confidence out of her had become somewhat harder than prising an oyster from a clam. But of late, Emily had begun to wonder how happy Katie actually was.
There was laughter coming from the lounge. Loud, raucous laughter. Oh God. Callum had done it again. Decided to bring his mates back to hers. She only hoped they weren't shoving white stuff up their noses. He hadn't yet done it in her home, but she couldn't be sure he wouldn't. Callum liked to live dangerously.
Which, of course, had been part of the original appeal. She still had to pinch herself that someone as gorgeous as Callum was interested in her, the original wallflower. Emily's teenage years had been punctuated by watching her friends cop off with all the good-looking guys, while she, knowing her place as a plain Jane, was left with the geeks. So when Ffion had introduced her to Callum at a PR bash and he showed in interest in her – Emily Four Eyes (an epithet from youth which she could never quite shake off despite having worn contacts for years) Henderson – she was unable to resist. Even though she knew he was spinning lines. Even though he spelled trouble with every single one of them. There was something about Callum that was just – irresistible.
Which is how he had come into her life. And somehow remained there, never progressing beyond the Occasional Screw label Emily had given him from their early days of courtship. If courtship was what it could be called. Callum had never met her parents. Nor she his. They didn't always even see each other on a weekly basis. He had yet to remember a birthday or Valentine's, although he was always charmingly apologetic every time he forgot. And it was difficult not to respond to the dozen red roses that would appear like magic. And the sex. Well, the sex was dynamite.
She knew he was no good for her. Not long term. And not now, when her body clock was beginning to tick rather too loudly for comfort. While in her wildest fantasies she imagined how Callum would react joyfully if she told him she was pregnant, Emily was far too much of a realist not to know this was a pipe dream. And the more she tried to conjure up pictures in her head of Callum holding a baby à la Athena man, the less she was able to envisage it. She had to face it – if she wanted a suitable dad for her baby, Callum wasn't it.
Reluctantly, she pushed open the lounge door to find Callum with his two side-kicks, Jez and Danny, roaring with laughter at – jeez, what were they watching? Emily didn't like to stare, but it seemed to involve animals and naked people. Lots of naked people. It was compelling in an utterly gross kind of way. Someone had spilled beer over one of the cream sofa cushions. There was a fuggy smell of smoke in the air. Smoke with a very definite scent.
‘Hey, babe,’ said Callum, drawing on a spliff.
Callum always said Emily was over-anxious about his pot-smoking, but she was a lawyer and the consequences of being caught with drugs in her house weren't worth thinking about. She knew dope was the least of Callum's vices, but she squared it with herself that if he wasn't taking drugs in her house, then what he did in his own place wasn't her business.
‘Callum, what the fuck are you up to?’ Emily was furious. It was late. They'd trashed her lounge and the three of them were giggling inanely at her. She didn't have the energy for this.
‘Just brought Jez and Danny back for a quick drink,’ said Callum. ‘I didn't think you'd mind.’
‘Well, I do,’ said Emily shortly, ignoring Jez and Danny's muffled giggles.
‘Right, you two, out,’ she
