Errors of Judgment(67)

‘I take it you and his dad still get on?’

‘Better than we used to.’

‘How long ago did you split up?’

‘A year after Oliver was born.’

‘Can I ask what happened? I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want—’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Rachel paused, glancing out to check on Oliver, who had finished the bread and was leaning against the palings, watching the river. ‘Leo just wasn’t – isn’t – very good at commitment. Which is a nice way of saying that he was having affairs with other … people. Some I knew about, some I didn’t. I wasn’t prepared to put up with it.’ She sipped her wine. ‘What about you? No one reaches thirty-six without some kind of back story.’

‘Oh, fairly typical stuff.’ Simon sipped his beer. ‘The usual girlfriends before, during and after uni, nothing serious. Then a long-term girlfriend that I lived with for about six years. We broke up just after my thirty-first birthday. Messy, splitting up with someone after that long. Carving things up. Possessions, the flat.’

‘At least your relationship lasted longer than my marriage. Why did it end?’

Simon shrugged. ‘She wanted to get married. I didn’t.’

‘Another man afraid of commitment. The world seems to be full of them.’

‘Not entirely fair. I ended it because I thought, well, if I didn’t love her enough to marry her – what was the point? I was wasting time. Hers and mine. I do want to get married some day, have children, the whole family thing. Most men do, I reckon. But it has to be the right person.’

At that moment Oliver barged back in from the deck area, bringing a gust of chilly air. ‘Mummy, when’s lunch?’ he demanded. ‘I am so unbelievably hungry.’

Simon spotted their waitress heading towards them with a laden tray. ‘I think your roast beef is on its way right now.’ He grinned and ruffled Oliver’s hair. Rachel winced – it was something Oliver generally hated. But Oliver let his hair be ruffled and grinned right back, then wriggled onto his chair and watched appreciatively as his food was set in front of him.

Twenty minutes later, on her way to the Ladies at the very back of the pub, Rachel saw Felicity. She was sitting at a table with a dark, broad-shouldered man dressed in jeans and a combat jacket. He had two-day-old stubble, and seemed mildly, cheerfully drunk. He was sitting with his legs propped on a chair, paying no attention to Felicity, conversing with two couples at a neighbouring table. Felicity’s attitude was one of defeat and boredom, verging on apprehension. Although the two men at the next table were responding to whatever Felicity’s friend was saying with wary tolerance – it seemed to be something to do with football – it was clear that their girlfriends were fed up with the intrusion. Rachel took this all in at a glance. She stopped by the table and said hello.

Felicity looked up, startled. ‘Rachel, hi!’ Rachel could sense her embarrassment. Felicity glanced across at Vince, who had been sufficiently distracted by Rachel’s arrival to stop chatting to the two men. ‘Rachel,’ said Felicity, ‘this is Vince. Vince – this is Rachel Davies. She was my boss, once upon a time.’

Vince smiled at Rachel woozily, giving her an appreciative once-over. ‘Was she now?’ He lifted his feet from the chair and stood up. Rachel, not quite sure what was coming, put out her hand. Vince shook it, then leant in to kiss her cheek. He reeked of both beer and whisky. ‘Rachel, you are most welcome. Like to sit down? Get you a drink?’

‘No thanks. I’m just on my way to the Ladies.’ Rachel turned to Felicity. ‘I’m here with Oliver and a friend. We took a long walk along the river before lunch. Isn’t it a glorious day?’

‘Glorious!’ exclaimed Vince loudly, imitating Rachel’s proper vowels. ‘I say, isn’t it absolutely glorious?’ He laughed and turned to the two men at the next table for confirmation and approval, then sat down clumsily. One of them grinned sheepishly and looked away. The other muttered something into his drink, not smiling. Vince gave him a bleary, searching glance, then decided to let it go. He looked back at Rachel. ‘Glorious. You’re fucking glorious, you know that?’

Felicity put her hand on Vince’s knee. ‘Vince! Stop it!’ she urged. People at nearby tables were glancing round.

Rachel pretended it was all fine. ‘Listen, good to see you, Fliss. Give me a call some time.’ She turned and headed to the Ladies.

When she came out a few moments later, something had clearly kicked off between Vince and the men at the next table. He was shouting incoherent abuse, and one of the men stood up and fetched Vince a punch that knocked him off his chair. The girls began to scream, and then the table went over, sending drinks crashing and spilling across the floor. Bar staff raced across. Felicity crouched down to try and help Vince up, but he pushed her away so forcefully that she went sprawling backwards.