Don't Go Breaking My Heart: Break Up to Make Up / Always the Best Man

Who the hell was Craig, anyway?

She got undressed and left her clothes in an uncharacteristic heap on the floor and tried to let the hot water wash away her disappointment. It was the coward’s way out—leaving a note like that. She should know.

She leaned forward and twisted the hot tap until the water splashing into the bath was just short of scalding.

At least she’d had a proper reason for not being able to face Nick last May. Leaving a note might have been gutless, but it had been all she could manage at the time.

Why was he so surprised at her request for a divorce? They hadn’t been living together—hadn’t even spoken—for months. What did he think was going to happen?

Since the bath was threatening to overflow, she reached forward and turned off the taps. Then she sank back into the blissfully hot water and tried to loosen her shoulder muscles.

She scrubbed her face and tried not to notice the way every sound echoed round the bathroom. Echoed round the house, even. It had taken her months to get used to living alone.

She’d only ever envisaged their Victorian terraced house as a nest for her and Nick, somewhere they could be impossibly happy and gradually fill with children. When he’d disappeared, taking the possibility of all that with him, she hadn’t been able to stand being there any more. Too many daydreams burst like balloons.

All she’d wanted was a home that seemed warm and inviting, a place you could walk into and feel the love. She and Nick had spent a couple of years doing it up, but now it didn’t seem to matter if they’d got just the right door knobs for the kitchen cabinets. A home was more than furniture and fixtures. Of all people, she should know that.

Her own family home had been a suburban palace, fitting for the business king who owned it. Pity it hadn’t been designed with children in mind. ‘Don’t touch’ and ‘Look what you’ve done!’ had seemed to echo round the high-ceilinged rooms. Her mother had been forty-one when she’d had her—a complete shock by all accounts. Adele suspected her mother had never quite got over it.

She’d certainly never let the existence of a daughter slow her down. She’d hired a nanny and continued to travel the world with her husband. To Adele she’d always seemed a little far-off and glamorous—a bit like the queen.

Adele rested her head on the bath and stared at the ceiling.

She’d had such great plans for this house—for her life—and, in one swift move, Nick had turned everything upside down.

When he’d left she’d tried to give it a new identity. A few new prints on the walls, different pot plants in the living room.

Of course, she’d cleared up all his things and stuck them in a box in the wardrobe almost immediately she’d returned from her stay at Mona’s, but the lingering stamp of Nick on the house had been harder to erase.

Eventually she’d managed to stop expecting to find his jacket slung over the back of the sofa, or to have to close the back door he’d left open after racing down to his workshop to try out his latest brainwave.

He’d only been back a couple of days and now she had to start all over again. And it wasn’t as if his stuff was scattered round the house this time. No, this time it was all in her head, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy to spring clean it right at the moment, not when she had to spend the weekend with him. Better save it for Monday.

She wouldn’t tell Mona, though. Mona would get the wrong idea and think she didn’t mean what she said about the divorce.

Nick stayed true to his word—he didn’t phone for a few days. That didn’t stop Adele jumping out of her skin every time she heard it ring. In the end, she decided to let the answer-phone save her from any more breathless hellos. It was getting embarrassing.

Then, on Wednesday night, at eight forty-three, she heard his voice on the speaker and froze.

‘Adele? It’s me. I…um…we need to decide what time we want to leave on Friday morning.’ There was a long pause. ‘I’ll call again later and see if I can catch you in.’ Five seconds passed—Adele knew because she counted them in elephants—and then he hung up.

She carefully slid her laptop off her thighs and onto the sofa and walked over to the phone. The caller ID revealed a number she didn’t recognise. The accommodating Craig’s, she guessed.

She pressed the dial button and waited while it rang.

‘Hello?’

The voice was young, blonde and was still halfway through a giggle. Adele stiffened.

‘Could I speak with Nick, please?’

‘Sure. He’s just in the other room.’ There were muffled noises as the girl covered the mouthpiece with her hand. She didn’t do a very good job of it, because Adele still heard everything she said.

‘Nicky?’ she yelled. ‘It’s for you…I think it’s your mum.’

Nicky? Adele shuddered. And she wasn’t even going to think about the other comment.

She could hear him laughing as he made his way to the phone and held her breath as he picked it up.

‘I’m wearing my clean underwear just in case I get run over by a bus, Mum, I promise.’

‘Bully for you.’

‘Adele!’

‘Craig sounds a lot blonder and squeakier than I thought he would.’

‘Huh? Oh, no. That’s Kai. She’s his girlfriend—this week. How did you know she was blonde?’

Adele rolled her eyes. ‘Lucky guess.’

‘I take it you heard my message.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, are we going up Friday or Saturday?’

She bit her lip. An extra day with Nick was going to be difficult, but it might be the last time she got to see her in-laws. A family dinner sounded wonderful.

‘I can do Friday.’

She heard him exhale. ‘That’s great. We’re going to have to leave early, though.’

‘How early?’

‘Dunno. Haven’t settled on a time yet.’

Typical. He hadn’t thought about this at all.

‘Well, what time is the dinner?’

‘Hang on a second—Mum rang me with all the details. I just need to find them.’

The phone at his end clattered onto a hard surface and she heard a rustling noise. It must have driven Maggie mad not to send him a little card with all the details in it, just in case he forgot. Honestly, she’d put little notes in his packed-lunch box if she could.

‘OK,’ he said, sounding slightly breathless. ‘It starts at eight.’

‘Let’s aim to get there for six at the latest. It should give us a bit of time to stretch our legs and freshen up. How long will it take us?’

‘Debbie says it takes her nine hours, but she’s about an hour closer, so I’d suggest we leave at eight.’

‘Let’s make it seven. We’ve got the M25 to deal with.’

Nick groaned.

‘What time are you picking me up, then?’ Adele asked.

Silence for a few seconds.

‘You’ve got the car, Adele. I didn’t sneak one back into the country in my hand luggage, you know.’

Adele closed her eyes and dropped onto the sofa. ‘So, not only am I going to be stuck in a car with you for eleven hours, I’m going to have to do the driving as well?’

‘We can share. I’ll let you do the first leg.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ She opened her eyes and gave the ceiling a long, hard look. ‘You’d better tell me Craig’s address. I want you standing on the doorstep at seven o’clock sharp or I’m driving away without you.’

Now who was sounding like his mother?

‘Whatever you say.’

Adele just knew he was doing a little cocky smirk at the phone. Her lips curled into a smile anyway.

Impossible. The man was impossible.

If it weren’t the crack of dawn, Adele would’ve been leaning on the horn with all her weight. It was bad enough she’d ended up as chauffeur, without being made to wait around in her car in sub-zero temperatures. The heater was a bit dodgy and would only produce something approaching warmth once her foot was near the floor.

The clock on the dashboard ticked. Seven minutes past seven. He had until ten past and then she was aborting the mission.

She shook her head. Aborting the mission. What kind of phrase was that? She was starting to sound more and more like Mona with each passing day. Anyone would think this was some kind of military operation.

Adele jabbed the radio on with a gloved finger.

Maybe she was on to something.

Maybe if she treated this like a campaign she might emerge, if not triumphant, at least with her heart and her dignity intact. She couldn’t let Nick worm his way past her defences this time. If she failed, and had to pick up the pieces afterwards, there wouldn’t be enough bits left over to glue back together to make a whole Adele. She’d never be the same.

The only problem was she knew nothing about warfare. Only a few jumbled phrases from World War Two movies and things her rather stern grandfather had used to say.

Know your enemy.

Well, that was easy enough. She knew Nick inside out. Didn’t help much, though. The more she thought about him the more she seemed to turn to mush. And this soldier wasn’t going to do mush, thank you very much.

Always keep the element of surprise.

Adele smiled and stroked the steering wheel, a smile widening across her cheeks. Nick was going to go mad when he saw the car. She smothered a giggle with her hand and the fluff of the angora glove tickled her lips.

It was about time Nick had a taste of his own medicine. She rubbed her hands together. So, this was what it felt like to be bad. The scary thing was, it felt kind of good.

The second hand of the clock juddered towards the twelve. It was nine minutes past seven…and forty seconds…and forty-five seconds. Adele turned the key in the ignition.

True to form, Nick burst from the front door of the flat with a holdall and a small backpack. He hadn’t spotted her yet. A stocky guy with red hair handed Nick what looked like a sports bag. Nick clapped him on the back and smiled.

Then the smile dropped off Adele’s face. Something blonde and skinny ran from inside, flung its arms round Nick’s neck and plastered a big kiss on his cheek. Adele growled then suddenly stopped, surprised at herself.

A few seconds later her soon-to-be-ex-husband was down the garden path and looking up and down the street. Adele wound down her window and waved. Nick waved back—and then did a double-take.

She grimaced. He was striding this way and he didn’t look very happy.

‘Adele! What have you done with the car?’

‘Shhh! It’s seven o’clock in the morning.’

‘I know what blooming time it is. I want to know what you’ve done with my car!’

‘Our car—and I sold it.’

‘You…you…’ He looked heavenwards then pressed his lips together and shook his head. She flinched as he opened the boot and threw his bags inside. One of them jangled, which was a bit odd, but she didn’t stop to think about it. She had more pressing matters holding her attention.

Nick got in the passenger seat, slammed the door closed and turned to face her.

‘Well?’

‘We didn’t need that boxy old thing any more. It’s not practical for the city.’

Nick seemed to be mouthing the words boxy old thing.

She swallowed. Perhaps she’d gone a bit too far.

Selling their Jeep had been the only bit of revenge she’d had. She’d wanted to shred his shirts to ribbons with a razor blade, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. They’d still smelled of him.

‘I needed something smaller, more efficient—a little runabout.’

He poked at a button on the dashboard. Nothing happened.

‘A little rust bucket, more like,’ he muttered. ‘If this is all you got for the money you should have got from my Jeep, then you were well and truly done.’

She gave him a sideways glance. ‘I’m not stupid. I didn’t spend all of the money on this. I’m perfectly capable of buying a car without your input, you know.’

He snorted. ‘Adele, capable is your middle name. Why would I ever think you needed me for anything?’

‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’

Nick turned away to do up his seat belt.

Adele followed suit. ‘I suppose you’d like me to be a bit more like blondie over there, falling all over you and worshipping at your feet? Does she always wander round in just a vest top and a pair of knickers? She must be very resilient to the cold.’

Nick’s lips stayed firmly clamped together as he smiled. ‘She’s from Sweden. She’s used to it.’

Adele crunched the gear stick into place and checked the rear-view mirror, scowling.

‘Of course, sometimes she forgets to wear the vest,’ he added.

She yanked at the handbrake.

Nick chuckled. ‘I’m kidding, Adele. Lighten up. We’ve got a long journey ahead. I thought we could stop in the Midlands around lunchtime. Let’s make nice, polite conversation until then.’

‘You do the talking. I’m driving.’

‘OK. Now, what shall we talk about? I know. Going back to our earlier conversation, there was at least one thing you needed me for. Begged me for on occasion, if I recall rightly.’

Adele hunched over the steering wheel and said nothing. At this rate, Nick would be lucky if he was still alive by lunchtime.

CHAPTER FOUR

A LORRY hulked past in the outside lane and Adele gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. What was it about being overtaken by one of those monsters that made you sure you were going to veer off the road and end up in a heap of twisted metal?

Nick was fumbling in the rucksack at his feet. She flicked a look over and breathed a sigh of relief. He had one of his gadgets in his hand—probably his iPod—and she’d have a few moments’ peace if he plugged himself in.

Much to her annoyance he started fixing a big sucker with an arm attached to the windscreen.

‘What on earth are you up to now?’

Nick just grinned. ‘Just wait and see. You’ll love it.’

Another truck decided to overtake with millimetres to spare and she fixed her eyes on the motorway lane in front of her. When she had a chance to look again, Nick was huddled over the gadget, pressing buttons in rapid succession. It beeped back at him. He reached over and fixed it into the cradle stuck to the windscreen.

‘Satellite navigation,’ he said proudly.

She rolled her eyes then concentrated on keeping well back from the car in front.

‘I should have guessed that eventually you would get a whole host of gizmos to do your thinking for you, especially now I’m not around.’

‘You’re sitting right next to me. You are around.’

‘You know what I mean. You’re a typical man. God forbid you actually pick up the road atlas.’

‘Adele, you would never let me within ten feet of the road atlas. Admit it, sweetheart, you just don’t like giving up the control.’

‘So not true. I just like having something to do on long journeys.’

And she’d been looking for a distraction, something to take her mind off the man sitting so close to her that all her nerve-endings were sizzling with awareness and she was constantly on edge.

Come on, who liked being replaced by a machine? She glared at the contraption as it sat in its cradle.

‘What happens if that thing gets you hopelessly lost?’

Nick leaned back and stretched his legs out. ‘Impossible. That’s the beauty of it. The information is always at your fingertips. It pinpoints exactly where you are, night and day.’

She stopped glaring and studied the display. Maybe she should give it a go?

‘It never goes wrong?’

Nick shrugged. ‘It’s a machine. It has its moments but, on the whole, it’s as accurate as you would be. Just about perfect.’

Adele sighed. Perfect. How she was learning to hate that word.

She knew all about the pressures of having to be right one hundred per cent of the time, of having everyone expecting you to be perfect. No, not just expecting—relying on you being perfect. It was such a strain to have to juggle everything and never having the luxury of knowing that, if you dropped a ball once in a while, it didn’t matter.

The rattle from the engine warned her that her foot had been heavier on the accelerator than she had intended. Eighty-five? Whoops. She carefully eased off the pedal.

A cut-glass, metallic voice pierced the silence. ‘In nine hundred feet, take the next exit.’

Adele squinted at the display, but the sun was on it and she couldn’t see it properly.

‘That means get over into the other lane, Adele. We’re going to miss the exit if you don’t.’

Easier said than done. Half the traffic on the motorway was trying to leave by that exit and there wasn’t a space to slip into. She tried to find a gap without causing a pile-up, but there were too many cars all packed too closely together.

‘Take the next exit. Take the next exit.’

By the time she had checked her mirrors again and tried to slow down, it was too late. The rust bucket sailed right past the cluttered slip-road.

Nick threw his hands in the air. ‘Great!’

She glared at him. ‘It would have been easier if you’d just let me rely on my own eyes and ears and read the signs! I’m not used to using this stupid—’

The sat nav interrupted her with a persistent binging noise. A huge question mark flashed on its screen. ‘Perform an U-turn as soon as possible,’ it ordered in an infuriatingly calm manner.

‘Be quiet, you bossy woman!’ she yelled back. ‘We’re on a motorway. I thought you were supposed to know that!’

Nick threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Of course, he would find it funny.

The service station was a welcome sight, although not the most glamorous of locations. Adele leapt out of the car and headed for the Ladies’. Once there, she placed her hands on the shelf in front of a wide mirror and leaned forward to let them take her weight.

She breathed out and stared at herself. Her hair was still in its pony-tail and she looked as neat and tidy as always, but as she studied her reflection she could tell she was coming slightly unravelled. It was something about her eyes, a slight downturn of her mouth.

She stared until she thought she would go cross-eyed and then she straightened, pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

It was a familiar routine. One she’d learned at school when she needed to present a brave face to the world. She hadn’t had the charm and easy wit of some of her classmates, but what she’d lacked in confidence she’d made up for with observation and hard work.

She’d spent hours studying the popular girls, the way they stood and talked. Even their laughs and hand gestures. Then she’d got up early and practised in the bathroom mirror while everyone else was snoring. Pretty soon she’d had friends and the teachers seemed to notice her more and, by the end of her days at Lumley College, she’d been head girl.

No one need know the geeky girl still lurked under the surface. She was hidden by the right body language, a certain glint in the eyes. It was like slipping on a cloak, an outer skin that nobody bothered to look beneath.

She could normally make the transformation with a single bat of her eyelashes, but today had been especially trying and she needed the reassurance the mirror could give her.

Over the years her alter ego had spent more and more time in the limelight. Nowadays the real Adele only peeked out when safely within the sanctuary of her own home. Maybe one day the shy little girl would get drowned out by this alternate persona altogether and the brisk efficiency, the confidence, would be real.

She smiled. Eventually she’d named the other side of her personality. Super Adele she’d called her. Only instead of a cape and unforgiving Lycra, her costume had more to do with the way she held herself, the smile gauged to be just bright enough without being obviously fake. The precise dimensions had taken years to perfect.

Carefully, she added another layer of mascara and brushed the lipstick across her lips. There. Ready to face the world—on the outside, anyway.

She hoisted her handbag squarely back onto her shoulder and walked over to the door.

Super Adele had seemed such a good idea in the beginning. Everybody loved her. And, for a while, she’d revelled in the attention. Nowadays, the adoration had lost its warm glow.

It’s her they love, not me.

Even Nick. He’d fallen in love with Super Adele.

When they’d first been married, she’d gloried in the way he’d thought she could do anything, be anything, but after a couple of years it had just got tiring. She’d tried to climb down off the pedestal, but Nick wouldn’t let her. He was holding fast to Super Adele and wasn’t going to let her go.

The impulse to sag and let her shoulders droop was almost overwhelming, but she straightened her spine further. The restaurant was just in front of her and she could see Nick sitting at a table waiting for her.

Oh, how she longed to just slump into the moulded plastic seat, lay her head on the table and sob.

Sometimes she hated her alter ego.

Nick let Adele sweep off and made his way to the café. An abundance of bright plastic and the smell of greasy food greeted him. He avoided the ageing sausages and other offerings—they looked as if they had been sitting under the heat lamps for at least a week—and bought two cups of grim-looking coffee instead.

He settled into an off-white seat near the streaky windows that filled one side of the room and waited for Adele to appear.

The restaurant was practically deserted. An elderly couple were working their way through a rubbery-looking fried breakfast with excruciating slowness, a businessman took refuge behind a crisp newspaper and a teenager in a dirty apron was only just pretending to clean the tables.

She soon appeared and sat down, all stiff and starchy, in the seat opposite him. He hated it when she did that. She didn’t need to put on a front with him.

‘Come on, Adele. It’s not the end of the world. It didn’t take us long to find the next exit and work our way back to the right motorway.’

Adele nodded and sipped her coffee. As always, her anger had run out of fuel and she was left feeling drained.

He caught her eye. ‘Have you ever maybe thought that your standards are a little too high? You set yourself punishing goals and are tough on yourself if you don’t achieve them. You don’t have to prove yourself over and over, you know. It was just a wrong turning. Everybody goes the wrong way at one time or another.’

‘I’m not trying to prove anything or impress anyone. I just like things to be done right. I only ask of myself what I expect in others. It would be hypocritical if I didn’t.’

He nodded slightly to himself. Talk about hitting the nail on the head. To live up to Adele’s standards you needed to be able to pole-vault.

‘I think the closer people get to you, the higher the pass mark is.’

‘Don’t be silly. People don’t need to sit an exam to be my friends.’

Oh, no? Then why did he feel as if every word, every movement he made was being weighed and judged?

‘I think you want everyone to do things the way you do.’

She shook her head while she swallowed a sip of coffee.

‘Just because I don’t plan everything a year in advance, it doesn’t mean I’m hopeless,’ he continued. ‘I’m different from you, Adele, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get things done or I don’t care. I do. I’ve never missed a deadline or broken a contract. It might look like I’m winging it to you, but I’m not. We just have different methods for achieving our goals.’