Love Me Or Leave Me Page 10

  I remember being utterly intrigued as we said our goodbyes, thinking this is a girl who doesn’t even want to be here in the first place. She’s clearly coping with a lot of pain and I’ve nothing but admiration for how she’s dealing with it so bravely, but what’s baffling me is … what could have happened to bring a couple like her and Andrew to this?

  I keep tapping a pencil off the list in front of me and my eye falls on the name of another couple that stopped me in my tracks. One Dawn Madden and her husband, who goes by the incredibly impressive name of Kirk Lennox-Coyningham.

  A child, I thought, when I first interviewed Dawn a few weeks ago. My heart went out to the poor kid. If you saw her pale, frightened little face, you’d just want to take her home with you, give her a big feed of carbs and then allow her half an hour in front of the telly to watch cartoons, on account of she had to be up for school the following morning. I mean, come on, the girl got married at twenty-two. Who in their right mind gets married in their early twenties? Cousins and internet brides, that’s who. For God’s sake, I couldn’t cross the street at that age, never mind get married. How, I find myself wondering, could her family and friends have stood by and just let it happen?

  But then maybe they didn’t. Sure, who am I to judge? Thing is, I’ve met her ex too, only last week. Kirk, who’s only a few years older than she is. When he walked into his interview, I thought he was probably the most beautiful man I’d ever clapped eyes on, with jet black hair twice the length of my own, dressed head to toe in flowing white linen, and sitting cross-legged on the floor for our entire chat.

  He was one of those guys that look right at you, deeply and evenly with soft brown eyes that seemed to bore into yours till it was nearly embarrassing. Casting agents, I thought would take one look at this fella and sign him up on the spot to play the lead in Jesus Christ, Superstar. And even leaving aside the fact that I’m a good ten years older than him, I can tell you t’was was a tough enough job to concentrate on the list of questions I had to go through, when all I wanted to do was gaze and admire all that gorgeousness.

  The killer is that Kirk had seemed like such a sweetheart too. Kind and gentle. The type of guy, I thought, still gaping at him and trying to look professional, who’d give you a loving back rub if you had lady pains, then run out and buy you a slab-sized bar of Toblerone. So what could possibly have happened there?

  Thing is, I’ve interviewed so many couples here over the past few weeks and I’ve listened to so many stories about marriages that have soured over the years, I thought I’d heard it all. I thought I was immune by now, that I’d even grown a bit detached, hearing the ins and outs of just what brings any married couple to our doors in the first place.

  Then a young, vulnerable slip of a thing like Dawn walks in and just breaks my heart. Best and only hope I have to offer her is that she’s so young. She’ll move on in time. She’ll rally again and find happiness with another. At least, I’d love to think so.

  Next thing there’s a rapping on my door and I look up to see Chris, barely visible under a massive bouquet she’s carrying.

  ‘Another good luck gift for you, Chloe,’ she beams, plonking them square on my desk. ‘So come on, tell me, do you have a secret admirer or what?’

  ‘Doubt it very much,’ I laugh back at her, ripping the card open and starting to read.

  I hear tonight is the big opening of Hope Street Hotel. Will be thinking of you and wishing you well. Maybe we can meet sometime soon? Would love to talk.

  Best, Frank.

  ‘Well?’ says Chris impatiently. ‘Who are they from?’

  I try to answer her, but somehow the words stick right in the back of my throat. And then a single thought that, once it takes hold in my brain, it just won’t budge. In a parallel life, and if things had worked out differently, would any of these couples have been me? If I’d actually got to walk down the aisle that black day three long years ago, would Frank and I be checking into a hotel just like this too?

  For a second I’m completely numb. Can’t speak, can’t answer Chris, can’t even think straight.

  So he did get in touch then. And he does know that I’m back here, barely a stone’s throw from where he’s working. And now he wants to talk.

  ‘Chloe?’ says Chris. ‘You okay? You’ve gone all pale.’

  Big weekend ahead. Do not let this get to you. Just file it back into the ‘do not touch’ part of your brain. Because you can’t go there. Not now, maybe not ever.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I tell her, managing a wobbly smile.

  And I’m yanked back into the present by an urgent text pinging directly into my phone.

  I know you won’t let me down this weekend. Will be there ASAP. Rob.

  Absolutely no pressure, so.

  *

  Showtime. It’s late afternoon and already, our first guests are streaming slowly but steadily through the front door. Tommy, our lovely barman is on hand in the marble-floored entrance hallway with a welcoming tray of champagne to greet all arrivals, before they head to Reception. Already the Webers, a fifty-something couple from Munich have just checked in, along with our couple from Finland and all are currently enjoying afternoon tea in the sun-drenched Lavender Room.

  Next through the door are Jayne and Larry Ferguson and I instantly light up a little when I see them, but then they’re kind of favourites round here already. Jayne dumps so much luggage with the doorman that you’d almost swear she was staying for a month instead of just a weekend.

  ‘Oh honey, this is all looking so beee-utiful! You know, I could just break out into a tap dance routine on this awesome floor. Say, any chance I could just move in here after the divorce? I could be one of those resident guests who lives on the top floor and never leaves … whaddya say, Larry? You think my settlement will cover it?’

  ‘Let’s not jump the gun just yet, honey,’ says Larry, grinning away and gulping back the freebie champagne. ‘We’ve only just arrived … we’re a long way off talking about hard, cold cash!’

  I smile broadly, marvelling that they make it seem like such a breeze, and greet them warmly. Just as I’m inviting them to afternoon tea, I’m distracted by the sound of high heels clicking authoritatively through the door, followed by a bossy, abrasive voice wafting over from Reception. And instantly my stomach shrivels to the approximate size of a walnut.

  ‘Jo Hargreaves and I’m here to check in. Now I called in advance to request a southwesterly facing room, away from the lift and not under any circumstances to be on the same floor as Dave Evans. In fact, the further you can place us apart, the better I’ll sleep.’

  Ahh, Jo Hargreaves. What can I say about her? If the Fergusons are a firm favourite and if little Dawn is a pet that I want to keep a particular eye out for, then this one is one of those guests that I know from bitter experience will need to be handled in much the same way as you’d handle toxic waste.

  Before we met briefly a few days ago, every iota of communication I had from her had been via email. One long, bossy list of edicts that she seemed to fire off from one corporate airline lounge, in some corner of the globe after another. Cancelling appointment after appointment on me, almost like she was cancelling a blow-dry and not the chance to sort out all her marital difficulties.

  Now I know she’s a big noise in some global company called Digitech, I know she’s busy, but for God’s sake, so are the rest of us! I met with her ex about a week ago, a chunky, slightly scruffy guy called Dave Evans; a jobbing actor, with a caustic sense of humour who asked if we could have our little talk in the garden outside, just so he could smoke. He just rolled his eyes to heaven when I mentioned in passing that his ex kept cancelling on me. I told him straight that I was worried whether she’d show up at all for the big weekend, given how much she seemed to travel and how many demands there were on her time.

  ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry,’ he said dryly. ‘Jo will be here if it bloody well kills her.’

  Before we met for the first time
, the mental image I’d formed of Jo Hargreaves was some kind of powerhouse of a human tornado in LK Bennett and heels, and yet she’s absolutely nothing like that. She’s tiny, round and pointy in the face, white as a ghost and with neat, bobbed hair, the kind that gets a three-week blow dry so it’s less hassle and behaves itself at all times. Shellac nails, I notice too. The low-hassle kind.

  As I trip across the hallway, I can clearly overhear her bossily dictating to poor Liliana, our lovely receptionist.

  ‘And another thing,’ she’s saying, ‘I want to see a full schedule of events for this weekend, so if you can have that sent to my room ASAP, I’d be grateful. I’ve got an important conference call to Chicago later tonight, so I’m absolutely not available to attend whatever’s planned.’

  ‘Well, actually …’ Liliana tries her best to explain.

  ‘Oh and just another point about my room,’ says Jo, interrupting her, ‘I want to be on a high floor, on no account at the front of the building, as there’s far too much traffic. Also, if you have a pillow menu, can you forward it to me via email and I’ll select my preference. A quiet room please, and it goes without saying, non-smoking.’

  ‘We will, of course, do our best to meet with all of your requests, Madam,’ I hear poor, patient Liliana finally getting to say. ‘But I’m afraid that our events programme is obligatory for all guests.’

  ‘Yes, well, you’ll have to make an exception in my case,’ Jo all but snaps at her, just as I step in to troubleshoot.

  ‘Welcome to the Hope Street Hotel, Miss Hargreaves,’ I smile at her. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

  ‘Ah, there you are, Chloe,’ she says, shaking my hand briskly. ‘Well, for starters, you can have my luggage sent up immediately and as I’ve some work to do, you can place a “do not disturb” on my room too.’

  ‘Certainly Ma’am, and may I also offer you …’

  ‘Oh and another thing, when Dave arrives?’ she barrels over me, ‘you can put him absolutely anywhere. Trust me, he’ll barely even notice.’

  Sweet Mother of all that’s Divine, I think, smiling courteously back at her through gritted teeth.

  What are we all in for?

  Chapter Nine

  Dawn.

  Dawn was frightened, trembling and terrified. Sick and nauseous. And not sporadically either, this was all the time, round the clock, day and night. She’d become a complete nervous wreck to be around these days and knew only too well she was slowly starting to drive everyone around her up the walls.

  But then that was the thing no one told you about marriage break-up. It was a bit like bereavement, because it was ongoing. Exact same symptoms: depression, listlessness, irritability and for some insane reason, round the clock exhaustion.

  And to make matters worse, it was like everyone around her had colluded to get her to go to a divorce hotel. Seriously, she wasn’t making that up, an actual divorce hotel. I mean, who wouldn’t be freaked out just at hearing those two words in that particular order?

  Of course it had all been her Mum’s idea in the first place; she was the driving force behind this. Well, who else? She’d even offered to pay for the whole weekend, that’s how strongly she felt about getting rid of a son-in-law she’d had serious doubts about, practically from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him.

  ‘You need closure here, pet,’ she kept firmly insisting. ‘You need to put this chapter firmly behind you, so you can bring it to a civilized end and move on. You went sleepwalking into this marriage, as we all kept telling you at the time, if you’ll remember? But you’d your head in the clouds and there was just no talking to you back then. And after all, you’re still so young! You’ll meet someone else in time, love, just wait and see.’

  ‘But Mum!’ Dawn had protested with the last few grams of energy she had in her. ‘Suppose I don’t care about meeting anyone else?’

  ‘You may feel like that now,’ was all her Mum would say, all but wagging the finger in Dawn’s face. ‘But that’s only because you’re still grieving this ridiculous marriage. Look at you, you’re a complete mess! You’re trailing round the place baggy eyed and a good stone underweight; we’re all seriously concerned here. And who could blame you, after what that eejit put you through? Trust me though; life will be far, far easier once you’re newly single again, love. After all, no man wants the messiness and baggage that a separated woman has to deal with, but once you’re well and truly divorced, then it’ll be an entirely different matter. You’ll be free and ready to start over. Then wait till you see, you’ll go on to meet a lovely fella. Someone who actually deserves you. For a change.’

  Sweet Baby Jesus and the orphans, there were times when Dawn could have screamed. If she’d only had the energy.

  ‘You know Mum’s right, you’ve absolutely got to do this, hon,’ her sister Eva drummed into her every chance she got. ‘Because right now, you’re stuck in a sort of limbo-land. Here you are, technically still married to that feck-head …’

  ‘Please,’ Dawn interrupted. ‘It’s Kirk.’

  She was allowed to be disparaging about him, God knows, after what happened, she’d every right to be. But it wasn’t okay when other people dumped on him. Just wasn’t. Not yet, maybe not ever.

  ‘Sorry,’ Eva had said, rolling her eyes. ‘Like I was saying, you’re still officially married to – Kirk –’

  Eva had a way of almost spitting his name and somehow managing to make it sound a bit like, ‘prick’. ‘And yet the two of you haven’t been living together under the same roof, as man and wife for … what … over three months now?’

  ‘Three and a half actually,’ Dawn said quietly. Though in fact it was more: next Thursday, it would be exactly three months and three weeks since the day she’d first packed her bags and upped sticks. And she should know; she’d practically been measuring out the time in half-hour units. It was a coping mechanism and the only way she was somehow getting through this.

  You’d think I’d have started to heal by now, she added to herself silently. You’d reasonably assume that at least at this stage, I’d have come to terms with it, wouldn’t you? After almost three months and three weeks? What the hell was wrong with her anyway? Why was she so leaden and dead on the inside? Why couldn’t she just feel like everyone around her seemed to, angry and bitter and wanting nothing more than to pulverize Kirk’s balls through a mincer for what had happened?

  ‘It’s all over, there’s absolutely no chance of you reconciling after what he’s done and yet, you’re still officially tied to him!’ Eva went on, taking a big glug of Pinot Grigio that Dawn had brought home as a special Friday night treat for the two of them.

  ‘In fairness, we’re separated,’ Dawn corrected her. ‘You could hardly still call us a married couple.’

  ‘But sweetheart, it’s ridiculous, that’s what it is! Surely you can see that you can’t just keep drifting on like this indefinitely? Sooner or later, you and Kirk will need to split all your joint assets, so there won’t be any arguments about it down the line. Please understand, I’ve only got your best interests at heart here. You’re in a kind of fug right now and, trust me, you need guidance.’

  ‘And what joint assets would these be, exactly? We didn’t even own our own home! We rented the flat and Kirk just took over the lease as soon as I left.’

  Suddenly, Dawn was exhausted, way too tired to even entertain this conversation, no matter how well Eva meant. All she wanted to do was crawl back to bed and sleep for fourteen hours straight. Yet again. She stifled a yawn and hoped Eva might take the hint and drop it, but no such luck.

  ‘You’re way too modest, missy! Excuse me, but your little business importing spelt muesli is nicely profitable and growing every day, thank you.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but that’s only because at the moment, Kirk’s taken over most of the day-to-day running of it. Fair’s fair. He works just as hard as I do.’

  And if the truth be told, these days he was working far harder. There was a time w
hen Dawn had adored the whole challenge of building up the business and watching it grow, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to it these days, even if she’d had the energy. Besides, seeing Kirk day in day out in a work situation when she’d have to be civil to him in front of other people was just too big an ask right now.

  ‘Hmm. Well, it still needs to be divided fair and square,’ Eva snapped. ‘Ninety per cent in your favour, ten per cent in Kirk’s. At least that’s certainly what I’d consider fair and square, after everything that useless eejit – sorry, I mean, after everything Kirk put you through. Besides, I know this is the last thing on your mind right now, but it’s only a matter of time before you’ll meet someone else …’

  ‘Oh please, not this again …’ Dawn groaned, physically starting to feel ill just at the thought. Even after all this time, she still wasn’t in a place where she could even contemplate looking twice at another fella.

  Eva was having absolutely none of it though.

  ‘Yes actually, this again. You know right well Mark in our IT department has a serious eye in your direction. He’s always on at me to drag you down to the bar with the rest of us after work some night. And he’s just one guy out of many who’d kill to date someone as lovely as you! Now I know you’ve got to go through the whole grieving process for your marriage, but believe me, in time you’ll realize that you’re far better off divorced, instead of being a separated woman with an ex who’s clearly moved on –’

  Honest to God, Dawn thought. Her family meant well, her sane mind knew they genuinely only wanted what was best for her, but left to herself, Dawn wanted nothing more than just to be left alone and in peace, not constantly encouraged to put her marriage out of its howling misery, once and for all.