Elvis’s third birthday dawned bright and sunny. I sang ‘Happy Birthday’, gave him his card – which he tried to chew – and let him unwrap the squeaky chop. Then he leapt around the cottage, throwing the toy in the air and catching it to the accompaniment of tortured squeals, while I fed the Krays and organised breakfast for us both.
After eating, I took Elvis out and walked up over the moor, meeting plenty of tourists but, thankfully, no Dexter Bay residents. When we returned two hours later, the sun was blazing, and I could hear voices, laughter, and the jingle of ice-cream vans floating up from the seafront.
I pictured the café, wondering if it was coping with the hordes of Saturday visitors, and then told myself off and focussed on the evening ahead. “Better do some housework,” I told my dog. “That’s the thing most other people do regularly, and I do whenever I remember. Or when I can write my name in the dust on the sideboard.”
Elvis followed me around the house, carrying his new toy and chewing it at random moments, making me jump every time it squealed. I checked the drinks cabinet, opened out the dining table which stood against one wall in the living room, and covered it with one of Gran’s lace tablecloths. I set out bottles, plates, glasses and cutlery and planned to make my hedgehog an hour before the party.
Then it was lunchtime. Elvis sat and stared at me until I filled his bowl with kibble, added some chopped meat on top, provided clean water, and gave him a dog biscuit and two treats for afters.
I had toasted cheese.
After that, I changed into the black jeans and Indian top I’d worn for my date with Tim – that seemed years ago, now – and applied foundation, eyeshadow and mascara. I was ready for the party, barring last-minute disasters, so I could relax until it was time to create my cocktail stick centre-piece.
“Shall we go and sit in the back garden?” I asked Elvis, and he seemed to agree, so we went outside to the bench. We were sitting there enjoying the warmth and the birdsong when I heard my phone ring in the kitchen. “Another video extravaganza from Gran. Shall we go back inside?”
We returned indoors, and I answered the call at the kitchen table. “Hi, Gran, hi, Jolene.” Both sported bright pink tracksuits and headbands. “Where are you off to today?”
“Just out for a walk,” Gran said.
“And cocktails back at my place,” Jolene said. “What are you doing, honey?”
I explained about Elvis’s birthday and the party I was planning. Jolene and Gran insisted I hold the screen in front of my dog so they could sing ‘Happy Birthday’, and Elvis fetched his squeaky chop and brought it to show them. After they’d fussed and cooed over him, Gran said, “Did you get my surprise?”
“What surprise?”
Gran’s face fell. “It didn’t come? And I ticked the box for special delivery and everything.”
“Gran, what are you on about?”
“I sent you a laptop.”
“Oh, wow.” I gaped at her. “That was you?”
“You got it, then.” She beamed at me.
“Yes! And it was a surprise – thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome, love. I thought you could use it to write your book.”
“I will.” I grinned at them both. “That’s such a lovely thing to do.”
“It was my pleasure.” Gran looked like she might cry, and I feared I would join in and end up like Bride of Dracula. I was searching for an alternative topic of conversation when the doorbell rang. “Oh, hang on, this might be Sue.” I headed down the hall, taking my phone with me, and opened the front door.
Jeff stood on the porch.
I opened my mouth and made a noise like a pervert on a heavy-breathing phone call.
“Marnie.” Jeff got no further as Elvis pushed past me and launched himself at my husband. “Aargh! What the hell…?”
“Jeff…?” I said weakly. “You’re back.”
“Is that him? Well, he ain’t much to write home about.”
“Hush, Jolene.”
“Great hair, though.”
I held the phone closer to my side and pulled the door tight against my body. Jeff swiped at Elvis, and Elvis ran off around the front garden. “Whose bloody great dog is that?”
“Mine.” I found my inner warrior princess. “He’s called Elvis.”
“You have a dog? You know I hate dogs.”
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“It’s nothing to do with you. You left.”
“Marnie, look, I’m sorry.” Jeff shrugged and gave me his best naughty boy smile. “I just had to get away and clear my head.”
“Right.” I pursed my lips and stayed silent, wondering where he was going with this line.
“After that conference –”
“The one in Bournemouth?” I said sweetly.
“Yeah, that one. Well, afterwards, I had a bit of a…a breakdown.”
“Did you call the RAC?”
“Huh?” He frowned and then forced a laugh. “Oh, right, no, well, it was a bit more serious than that.”
“Was it?” I tilted my head and pouted. I was beginning to enjoy myself. “How serious, Jeff?”
My husband looked uncertain but carried on, brows knitted. “I wasn’t myself.”
“No? Who were you, then? Jackie Chan? Rasputin? David Cornwell? Edward the Seventh? Daffy Duck?”
Jeff started at the mention of John Le Carré’s name but recovered and continued with his well-rehearsed patter. “I needed time on my own, away from everyone, to re-evaluate my life.”
“Time on your own?” I pretended to ponder this. “No one else with you?”
“No, just me, by myself.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“Jolene!”
“Wha…?” Jeff spun around and stared at the empty street. “I thought I heard someone.”
Elvis reappeared, sniffed at Jeff’s trouser leg and then sat beside him. Jeff cringed away, and Elvis moved closer. “Good dog,” I said, then looked at my husband. “What d’you want, Jeff?”
“I…I mean…I’m telling you what happened.”
I sighed. “Bollocks, bollocks, and triple bollocks.”
Jeff stared at me as if I’d materialised in front of him wearing a Starfleet uniform and waving a phaser. “Uh, Marnie…”
“Where have you been staying?” I asked, startling him by the subject change and my reasonable tone. “You’ve been gone for two weeks.”
“In a caravan, out Bournemouth way.”
“Bournemouth? And you didn’t stay at a hotel?”
Jeff’s face clouded. “No…what d’you mean?”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Now he sounded worried. “Marnie, you’re not making sense. Let me in, and we’ll talk.” He stepped forward and then stopped as it became evident that I wasn’t moving. “C’mon, Marnie.” He tried his best smile and wheedling voice.
“You’re not coming back in here. Ever.” I gripped the door tighter.
“What? Marnie, don’t be stupid –”
“I’m far from stupid, Jeff. In fact, this is the sanest thing I’ve done in fourteen years.” I gave him my best smile. “How’s Nicola Soames?”
Jeff paled. “Wh-who?”
“Don’t give me that. You left me your e-mails, remember? Nicola X?” I studied his sweating face as though he was a specimen in a jar. “Are you okay, Jeff? Actually, don’t bother answering that because I really don’t care.”
“You go, girl.”
“Shush, Jolene.”
Jeff whirled around again, scanning the street. “Uh…I thought…” He turned slowly back to me, his face a picture of confusion. Then his expression cleared, and I watched, fascinated, as my husband shifted gear into one of his lying modes. “I’ve missed you, Marnie. I realise how much you mean to me.”
“Well,” I said. “You mean sod-all to me.”
“I don’t…you can’t….” Jeff struggled to regain control of the conversation. “C’mon, let me in.”
“No.” I stared him down.
“Okay, I should have let you know where I was, but it was sudden.”
“Jeff,” I said wearily. “You left the emails between you and your girlfriend, remember? Nothing was sudden, and you’ve been seeing each other for three months.”
“No, I –”
“Ever since you left Bayfield Engineering.”
“Uh…what?”
“And Nicola was fired from the supermarket. By the way, Mrs Bayfield sends her regards.”
Now it was Jeff’s turn to sound like a dirty phone call. I watched him try to breathe, stem the rising panic, and stay focussed while his mind raced around what he thought I knew and how much he could get away with.
“What happened to the three-quarters of a million?” I asked in a pleasant, smiley voice. “You know, your lottery win?”
He grasped this straw. “It wasn’t that much - I exaggerated so I would look good.”
“It doesn’t look good from where I’m standing, Jeff. Did you forget to tell me about it?”
“It was seven and a half grand. I added a few noughts to the end so I would….”
“Look good? Save face before the Bayfields fired you?”
“They didn’t fire me; I resigned.” Jeff realised he’d said too much. “Okay, Marnie, yeah, I left that job.”
“Three months ago. You weren’t at any conference in Bournemouth because you don’t work there anymore.”
“Okay, right, yeah.” Jeff chanced a grin. “You got me. I should have told you, but I needed a change of job. You know I’ve been doing accountancy since Uni.”
“That’s the reason you left?”
“Absolutely. Hand on heart.”
“So, it’s nothing to do with you stealing from the company?”
“What? No. Who told you that?”
“Mr and Mrs Bayfield, when I visited them at their big-ass house. The one with the Jag outside.”
“You…uh…” Jeff began to sweat again. He stepped back. “Er…I…”
“Guess who else I visited?” I asked, smiling, eyebrows raised. “No? Okay, I’ll tell you. It was…” I paused like an announcer on a TV talent show where the result is spun out as long as possible.
Jeff broke before I did. “Who? Who have you seen?”
“Ollie and Cheryl.” I watched this news sink in. “Tell me, Jeff, how does a grown man forget he’s had a vasectomy?”
Jeff slumped against the porch wall. “Uh…”
“And you’ve never been to university.” I nodded and then pretended to suddenly remember something. “Oh, yes, the other thing.” I waited until Jeff raised his eyes to meet mine. “Your parents aren’t dead.”
My husband turned into a statue of a man in jeans and a Blake’s Seven T-shirt.
“Hold that thought.” I called Elvis inside, shut the door and laid my phone on the hall table. I leaned close to the screen and said, “Give me two minutes.”
Then I dashed upstairs with Elvis at my heels, collected the bin bags full of Jeff’s clothes, lugged them down to the hall, and picked up my phone again. “Round two.”
“You go, Marnie.”
“Absolutely, love. Give him what for.”
“Give the bastard hell.”
“Jolene!”
I opened the door an inch and peeked out. My husband stood where I’d left him, staring at nothing. Elvis pushed past me and stopped to sniff Jeff’s leg while I resumed my position wedged into the door frame with the phone at my side.
Jeff raised his eyes. “My parents died when I was thirteen.”
“You told me you were twelve.”
“Twelve or thirteen.” He shrugged. “I can’t remember. It was a traumatic time for me, Marnie.”
“Jeff.” I tilted my head and smiled sadly. “They’re alive. I’ve met them.”
“No…you can’t….”
“Your parents last spoke to you when you were twenty. Is your memory getting worse, Jeff? If I were you, I’d phone the doctor.” I smiled brightly at his ashen face. “They swapped you for a Basenji, which sounds like a good deal to me.” Just then, something blue caught my eye outside on the pavement. A noisy engine stopped. Doors opened and closed.
Elvis gave an excited bark and lunged for the gate as Tim edged through, a tall, slim woman following in his wake. She wore pedal-pushers, a tiny cropped top, and her short, spiky hair was pillar-box red. She fussed over my dog while the actor/model power-walked up the path.