The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [96]
It was good advice: Val rolled away to her own side of the bed and picked up her book.
Lying beside her, Chris felt ill at ease. He was tired but not relaxed and he craved a smoke.
‘I'm just going downstairs for a minute,’ he muttered, pulling on his dressing gown. ‘Something I've forgotten.’
He didn't look at her, not wanting to encounter the disapproval that showed that Val knew exactly what he was going to do. He slipped out and down the stairs, picked up his cigarettes from the kitchen table and went into the small garden. He hoped there would be no visitors about, taking a late stroll, and he remained close to the house behind the screening of fuchsia bushes and the escallonia hedge.
The soft air embraced him, overhead a dazzle of stars, and he inhaled deeply, struggling against a desperate need to go next door to find Liv. He could see the light from her kitchen window laying a square of gold upon the cobbles and he wondered if she were sitting at her table sending an email to Andy. Supposing he were to just knock on the window; go in and have a chat and a cup of coffee? Instinct warned him that tonight it would lead to much more than that. He knew that Liv was finding it difficult too; the atmosphere between them sang and trembled with their neediness.
His hands were shaking. He threw the stub down, trod on it, then bent and picked it up and flung it into the hedge because he knew how Val hated cigarette butts lying around. Damn Val, with her rules and regs and demands and requirements. Why on earth hadn't he stuck with Liv when she invited him to go travelling with her after uni instead of accepting the prestigious pharmaceutical company job?
He sat down on the small bench by the front door and had it out with himself at last. He hadn't gone to Australia with Liv because he'd wanted security; a good job that brought fulfilment and rewards. The prospect of backpacking, picking up work here and there, simply didn't appeal to him. He'd wanted responsibility, advancement, and Val, being of like mind, had been there just when he'd needed someone to share his future. Without Val there would be no Penharrow; they would never have managed to buy the London house without her hard work and substantial salary. When Val was made redundant they'd decided to start a new life – and that included a family whether he felt he was ready for it or not.
Liv represented freedom, fun; he wanted her not just because of her warmth and generosity but because responsibility and family ties were threatening him. Chris stood up and walked to the edge of the garden. Liv's door was open; light spilled invitingly out into the yard. He stood for several seconds fighting his instinct to go in to her; at last he turned back into the shadowy garden, closed the front door behind him and went upstairs to Val.
Liv waited. She knew he was there, his cigarette scenting the mild night air. She knew too that if he came to her tonight she would be unable to resist him; she simply had no strength left, she wanted him too much. Oh, she'd told herself she'd be no better than Angela and that she'd be betraying them all but – just now, just tonight – she didn't care. She simply wanted his arms round her.
Why, all those years ago, hadn't she simply gone with him to London; settled down and made a life together? Well, she knew the answer: even now the prospect of the rat race, the concrete jungle, the nine-to-five, filled her with absolute horror. No way – not even for Chris – could she have settled to the drudgery of the daily commute and the knowledge