Junction X by Erastes (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

the dark, just in case he was watching. “Should I tell him that?”

“I wouldn’t. She was comparing Fred with him, and not in any favourable light. Oh, darling,” she said, joining me at the window. I pulled the curtains, sharply. “I know we said, but—I hope you don’t mind, I invited them tomorrow.”

“Oh, bloody hell!”

“Darling, the children will hear you. I know we said…but—well, you haven’t met Fred…”

“And I don’t want to.” I sat on the bed and pulled my shoes off. “Oh, for God’s sake, Valerie, I’ve invited Phil.”

“Well, you’ll have to call him tomorrow and un-invite him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t do that.”

“Well, I can’t; Claire will think that we’re shunning Fred.”

“We are! We should be! If I tell Phil, he’ll think I was lying that she wasn’t coming.”

“He’ll think that if he gets here and finds her here. Oh, darling, you’ll have to do something.”

“Why the hell should I?” I stood up, angry, guilty and defensive. “Why couldn’t you have let me know?”

“I couldn’t, could I?”

“Oh—right,” I jumped right into the middle of an older argument, kept fresh by habit. “This is to punish me for playing golf. As usual. Fine. Have it your way. Just don’t expect me to deal with it. We’ll have them both—and we’ll have a lovely atmosphere, won’t we?”

I grabbed my pyjamas from the chair and stalked out, but not before she’d had the last word.

“Can’t be any worse, can it?”

Chapter 14

I didn’t sleep much that night; my stomach woke me with twinges of indigestion whenever I did nod off. Consequently, I was awake when the early autumn sun dragged itself over the trees, turning the room gold. I dragged myself up and glared out of the window. Hoarfrost had sugar-coated the garden. Today would be colder in Valerie’s presence than it would be outdoors.

So I escaped, first making some toast and then backing the Wolseley out of the drive, toast held between my teeth. I went to The Sands early, despite having told Phil that I wouldn’t. It was not ideal weather for golf. My fingers were cold and stiff in their gloves. The sun was low, causing visibility to be affected, and the grass was frozen to a dry crunch, causing the ball to be erratic on the greens, but by the time I had reached the fourteenth, the worst of the frost had cleared. I was warmer, and most of my bad mood had evaporated.

I thought about my predicament with Phil as I played my way around. I reasoned, as I cleared the fifteenth green, that it would be awkward, but if he and Fred had to meet—and it was inevitable, eventually—perhaps it would be better if they met on neutral ground in front of others. Tempers would perhaps be held more in check than if they met privately. I hoped so, anyway.

The irritation and worry filed in appropriate places in my head, I allowed myself to think of Alex but I very soon found that he was decidedly bad for my game. Thirteen and Fourteen had been par but I bogeyed at the sixteenth, lost a ball at the seventeenth, wasted time and strokes in a sand-trap and ended up with one of my worst scores of the season. I was glad that no one but a few chilled sparrows was there to laugh at me.

But, with the image of Alex in my head, I didn’t particularly care. I made a note to myself not to allow myself to fantasise over him in the future and went in to shower. My resolution lasted about five minutes, if that. As soon as the water hit my body, I wondered what showering with—Alex—would be like. The phantom of him, which was never far from me, for I only had to close my eyes to imagine him, stepped in beside me and put his arms around my neck. I wish I could say I had the imagination to recount what we might have done were he actually there, but I didn’t. I hardened at the very thought of him, but, on hearing other members clatter into the changing area, lost the urge almost immediately.

Mrs. Tudor was in situ when I got home. “Mrs. Johnson’s got a migraine,” she said with a piercing look. “I said I’d come over this once, being a special occasion, but you know I don’t like to do weekends.”

“It’s good of you,” I said. “We’ll be out of your way after lunch; we’re going to build the bonfire.”

The children started to get excited at that, and Mrs. Tudor had to tell them that there would be “no building of bonfires if lunch wasn’t nice and quiet.” It worked like a charm, and peace was restored. Mrs. Tudor had the magic, whatever it was.

I had lunch in solitary splendour and then, dressed in something ancient, I set about collecting the materials for the bonfire and setting them at the end of the garden. I’d just found an old fence panel near the greenhouse and was lugging it across the lawn when the children arrived, wrapped up in hats and scarves, and towing a similarly bundled up Alex along with them.

“I’ve been kidnapped,” he said, smiling a little shyly.

“He was doing maths!” Mary said, with a face. “On Sunday!”

“How horrible. And you rescued him?”

“We did.”

“Can I help?” Alex asked. His eyes never left mine.

“You can, if you are sure…”

“I’m sure. The homework was making my head spin.”

“Daddy’s good at maths,” John said.

“I can do yours. I very much doubt whether I could do Al…Alec’s.”

Alex gave me the smallest of secret smiles as the children ran down the garden. “I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to try.”

“I might take you up on that.” My breath caught in my throat and I could hear the deeper timbre that my voice took on when talking to him. I knew that I was going to have to be very, very careful around other people.

Further private talk wasn’t possible for