Chapter 10

Carol drove fifty yards along the road after that abortive meeting, and stopped the car. Then she allowed herself to cry. She had held it all back as he coldly destroyed her hopes and dreams. She had misunderstood him when he asked for proof of her story.

She thought he meant that if she could prove that she was taken in by Liam and her brothers, he would take her in his arms and everything would be fine again, but he merely wanted her to be clear what really happened, and to prove conclusively his innocence to her.

She had never felt so rejected, and by the man she knew she loved as no other. She felt the full weight of her guilt at the way she had treated him. How could she win him back? Did she deserve to try? She despaired, feeling powerless to get back to him.

Then she realised this was how he must have felt as he desperately tried to reach her to find out what he had done, and he had suffered for three long years. How stupid she’d been to deny him any chance to explain himself!

She thought back to to the four years they had had together. All she could remember was his utter devotion to her. How single minded he had been in doing everything he could for her; all those little things she tended to take for granted. Why hadn’t she seen all that when she so easily dismissed and divorced him?

She wiped her eyes and re-started the car, driving to Susan’s house.

There she completed her tale of woe, and Susan listened with attention and a certain amount of sympathy.

“I know I’ve been a fool, and I know I’ve ruined both our lives,” Carol continued, “but I want him back Sue. I just can’t think how. He said I’ve got to change the way he feels. How can I do that?”

“You can’t, Carol,” Sue replied. “He’s being unreasonable; it’s his anger and resentment talking. You can’t change how he feels, only he can do that.”

“So that’s us finished then,” Carol’s statement was full of defeat and sadness.

“No!” Susan countered. “Don’t be so defeatist. You don’t need to change his feelings of resentment. You just need to follow your own agenda to get him back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you remember?” Sue said, her eyes sparkling. “Think back to when we were sixteen! You’re sixteen, you fancy a lad at school. What do you do?”

“I don’t–”

“Think! What did you do when you fancied Connor Fanshaw?”

Carol thought, then remembered. “Oh, I see what you mean!” She grinned at her friend for the first time.

“Good,” said Susan. “Do it again. We have to contrive for you to keep meeting him, keep you in his mind. So how?”

They cast about for answers.

“Pubs!” said Susan. “We need to know which pubs he goes to. We could ‘happen’ to be there.”

“Parties!” said Carol. “He could be invited to parties that we are at.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Susan. “You’e got something there. Why is he unlikely to be invited to any of our parties?”

There was a long silence as Susan looked expectantly at a puzzled Carol. Then realisation dawned.

“See?” Susan said triumphantly.

Carol saw. She did not like the prospect, but it had to be done, and anyway he deserved it, and she deserved the humiliation. So they began planning.

On Monday, work took on a new intensity for John. London wanted all the new developments handled. He couldn’t grumble, they were his own suggestions for improvement!

It was quite time-consuming in addition to reorganising and coordinating the work of various departments, liaising with customers and holding regular meetings with departmental managers. Then there were the regular visits to London HQ to discuss progress, and all while he was still trying to find his feet and getting to know the staff.

His days were long and even at weekends he was catching up on work. After three weeks of this, late on a Saturday evening while he was consulting trade figures, he received a phone call.

“Tom here, John. Ann thinks you’re working too hard. Come for Sunday dinner. Have a break.”

John rubbed his eyes and sat back in his office chair.

“Very kind of you both,” he said. “Ann, as usual, is absolutely right. I’d love to come.”

As he put the phone down, he realised that as MD he was in a lonely position. He doubted whether any of his staff would attempt to socialise with him, for fear of seeming to try to get more influence with him. Tom was a friend from way back and did not care.

John was grateful for Ann and Tom’s intervention; he knew he had been burning the candle at both ends, and that such behaviour could not go on. He realised that Julie had been hinting as much, her most telling comment being ‘life is for living you know; even your exciting job isn’t life!’ followed by a wry laugh.

He put all his work away, and resolved not to touch it until Monday morning. He left his study and went to the living room, poured himself a generous whisky and selected some loud Beethoven. Immersed in the surround sound and inhaling the scent of the single malt, he relaxed and felt good.

Carol loved Beethoven; the thought crept in unannounced.

Carol. He felt guilty. He had not thought about her since she left the house two weeks before. It was no excuse that he was buried in work every minute of every day, and was thinking of new strategies as he fell asleep each night. He felt guilty, true, but something else as well, a pang of regret and loss. Only now it came to him as he relaxed for the first time in so long.

He still resented her behaviour and the suffering it had caused him, and he knew he had punished her by setting her an impossible task. Had he made a fundamental mistake? He really knew the answer to that, but was reluctant to face it.

She had not contacted him at all in the past two weeks, and he wondered if he had finally put her off. He wondered further if that was what he had wanted all along, but now he felt empty. He sighed, and realised he did not know what he wanted.

His life at the moment was full of work, and there was a good deal of satisfaction in the success he was having in his new appointment, but he had seen no one socially and that was something he was not used to. Even in London when he was bereft of Carol, he had Tracy and her housemates, not just for sexual relief from her, but for company and friendship. There had been pub visits and the odd party.

He felt gratitude for Tom, or was it Ann, who had provoked this appraisal of his state. He realised he did not want to continue on that path and would reduce his hours and get some recreation.

He would join a gym and get some exercise; it was also a good way to meet like-minded people. Now he was top of the pile he could hardly ask any of the female staff at work for a date!

“It’s tough at the top!” he said out loud and laughed. “Time for bed, you poor lonely bugger!”

Next morning after cooking bacon and egg, the poor lonely bugger chose two bottles of his best wine: one white, one red, and added a bottle of Lochinvar Malt. So armed he set off for Tom and Ann’s house.

There were the usual comments of ‘You shouldn’t have!’ in response to his gifts, to which he made his own response.

“The whisky is for Tom to say thank you for helping me with the Carol business, and the wine, well, it’s to thank you for prizing me out of my study. I really needed that.”

“I should think so,” said Ann brightly. “We can’t have you turning into a hermit.”

So the meal and the afternoon and evening went very well, and John realised afresh how tense he had become, and how relaxed the day had made him.

The day was also notable for the lack of any mention of Carol, apart from his own comment when he arrived, to which there was no response. John was silently grateful for that: he was too confused on the topic to discuss it.

However Ann did have an agenda.

“John,” she said determinedly, “you need taking in hand, or you’ll work yourself into an early grave. You must visit us more often, and I’m prescribing a trip to the Griffin once a week with Tom, but strictly no business talk. How does that strike you?”

Tom vigorously nodded his assent.

“Good idea,” said John, laughing. “I also had it in mind to join a Gym: I really need to get in shape.”

“Nothing wrong with your shape,” flirted Ann shamelessly, looking him up and down, “but it will keep you fit and stop you getting a paunch from all those business lunches.”

So they agreed to meet at the pub on Friday evenings, since it was within walking distance for both men.

It felt good after a week’s hard work to be sitting in the Griffin again. John had insisted on buying the first round, and so Tom went to sit in the ‘quiet’ room. It was ‘quiet’ because there was no television screen showing endless football matches and no piped music. Though a ‘room’, it opened onto the bar area through a wide arch, and beyond the bar the front door was visible.

It was also the room where Carol had thrown the rings at John in her temper, and the room where John had shown her how wrong she had been and how badly she had ruined her marriage. Tom wondered if John would remember those events as connected with this particular room and this particular table within it.

If he did, John gave no indication of it, but sat down with a contented smile and took a first draught of his beer, smacking his lips at the bitter taste and relishing the malty after-taste.

“Mm! I needed that!” he groaned with pleasure, “Joe Holt knows how to brew beer!”

The two men lapsed into gentle conversation about all sorts of topics, inevitably football, but also the latest national and international news, and even a discussion about how the English language developed over centuries, and whether it was improving or deteriorating. According to the rules set out by Ann, they avoided any talk of work, but in truth they felt no inclination to approach that topic.

They were engrossed in a discussion about bribery and corruption in sport when John, who was facing the opening to the bar, stopped in mid sentence.

Tom raised an eyebrow in interrogatory fashion. Then turned to see what had interested John.

Three men had entered and were getting their drinks, they were Dan, Flynn and Leo. They had been there with John, Tom and Bill on that day when Carol had destroyed John’s life and happiness.

What was more, they had, with the exception of Bill and Tom, all turned their backs on John when the ‘evidence’ was circulated by Carol and her girlfriends.

John stared aggressively at them and they saw him, and looked at one another. John expected them to find another part of the pub as they used to do before he went to London, but they exchanged glances and then came over to John’s table. John bristled.

They arrived at the table and stopped, standing awkwardly, holding their pints. Neither Tom nor John said a word of greeting, but stared at the group.

“Er, John,” said Flynn, who seemed to be the designated spokesman. “Have you got a minute? We need to put something right.”

“Go on,” said John gruffly. “Make it brief. I was having a good time with one of my few remaining friends until you lot turned up.”

“That’s just it, we need to apologise,” said Flynn.

“Yeah,” added Dan. “We were taken in by the photo’s. We never gave you a chance. We know different now.”

“So we’re asking you to accept our apology,” returned Flynn, “and we’d like to join you. Drinks are on us all night. What d’you say?”

“I don’t get it,” John said. “Why the change of heart?”

“Well–” began Flynn.

“It was Carol,” interrupted Leo. “She came to each of us and told us what really happened. She said it was all her fault and wanted to put things right between you and us. That’s one very unhappy broad.”

John remembered the fourth man that was there when Carol threw the rings. He didn’t know Dermott well; Dermott was a mate of Leo’s but was not there to apologise, but then he didn’t really know John.

John waved a hand at the empty chairs and the three sat down.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around that I sacked Liam for what he did to me,” John told the group. “That was definitely not the reason, but I’m not at liberty to tell you more. Data protection.”

“Yes,” said Tom. “It was an internal disciplinary matter and nothing to do with what Liam did to John’s marriage.”

“You getting back with her?” asked Flynn. “She seemed sort of lost.”

“Don’t know,” John replied. “Doesn’t seem like it at the moment.”

There was a lull, before Tom moved them on to other things and the conversation flowed once more. Dan was the comedian of the group and soon there was ribald laughter as he told one crude joke after another.

John and Tom left early, since if everyone bought a round it would have meant six pints each, and Tom was not a heavy drinker. The others begged them to join the trio the next Friday, and they agreed provisionally.

“Good of Carol to put things right,” suggested Tom off-handedly as they came to the point where their paths diverged.

“Yes, it was,” said John thoughtfully.

They had not seen Carol and Susan, who were also in the pub, watching from another room.

“I notice Dermott wasn’t there,” said Carol.

“Dermott?” queried Susan, “Do I know him?”

“Tall, skinny, coal black hair, Irish. Friend of Leo’s. I met him when I was with Liam. He’s a bit on the edge of our group. Leo’s in both camps and sometimes Dermott comes with him. He was there when I threw the rings at John.”

“I remember him now. He tried to get off with me at some party. Smooth talker with a really cool Irish accent. Very fit, and attractive.” She grinned and licked her lips lasciviously. “He was fun.”