It’s too late for me to do anything other than continue. A line of cars is following one another into the field, stopping at the gate to pass two quid for parking into the hand of some lad who looks about fourteen. I end up delaying the queue by delving through my bag and purse until I find a fiver. The teenager sighs as only teenagers can, as if me giving him a note has ruined his entire day. He scrabbles around in a money belt and passes me back four fifty pence pieces and five twenties. The stroppy little sod.
I follow the line of traffic as a pair of bored lads in wellies point me towards a second field as if they’re directing a plane in to land. There are three cars between mine and Dan’s and only one way to go. Another pair of lads directs Dan into a parking spot halfway along a long row of cars. I grin to myself as he holds up the line by stopping to reverse in, rather than going head-first like everyone else. It’s such a Dan thing to do. The instructions are simple enough as I copy the other drivers, parking parallel to Dan with the same three cars between us.
People are clambering out of the vehicles but I slide down, staring through the lined-up windows to where Dan remains in the driver’s seat of his car. He’s on his phone, texting or using the internet, seemingly oblivious to everyone around him.
I was so certain he was lying about coming here that it’s hard not to wonder what else I’m wrong about.
The couples and families from the cars between have long since disappeared off to the main part of the boot sale when Dan finally opens his door. I scrunch down in the driver’s seat of Ellie’s rental car, giving myself the merest slit through which to watch him. My husband is grinning to himself about something, phone still in hand as he strides off towards the main gate.
I gently open the door, slithering out like a snake – albeit an older one with a dodgy back. I might have been wrong about Dan coming here – but I’m not ready to let things go quite yet. I crouch on my heels, watching through the windows of strangers’ cars, until I’m sure my husband is far enough ahead that he won’t look back. With that, I lock the car, pull my hat down low, and then set off after him.
If I’d known I was actually coming to a car boot sale, I would have worn better shoes. The ground is soft, though not quite a full-on mud pit. I’m in flats but they’re thin and I’ve only gone a few steps when there’s a squelch and the earth oozes over the top of my feet, into the shoe itself.
As I pass through the main gate, the smell of barbeque drifts across from a burger van where a line has already formed. There’s an enormous bouncy castle in the distance, with an attached inflatable slide. On the other side of the gate is the traditional meat man, bellowing on about how he’s not going to sell a dozen steaks together. Oh, no. This bloke wangs fifteen into a plain white carrier bag and asks for twenty quid with a thump of the gavel. The punters are lapping it up, practically charging the van with their wallets aloft.
Dan has ignored all of that. He’s bounding along the central aisle, not bothering to look at any of the stalls. He’s always walked too fast for me, surging ahead and then turning back with disdain as if I’m the problem for walking too slowly. ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ I’d say – but he’d never accept that. He was never going too fast; I was always going too slow.
I’m practically at a jog in an attempt to follow as he disappears into the depth of the market. It’s only his bright green jacket that gives me any chance of keeping an eye on him. He disappears around a corner and, by the time I get there, his green coat is storming around another.
The pace at which he’s travelling makes it clear that he knows where he’s going. When I get to the next corner, he’s in the distance, weaving between shoppers and browsers with impressive ease. He’s always been impatient, often walking away from shops or restaurants simply because there’s a queue. He never suffered fools, either.
We’re towards the furthest reaches of the field now, with a hedge at the end of the aisle instead of more stalls. I’m still at a jog when I realise Dan has slowed almost to a stop. The stalls are further apart, with regular people selling from a car, as opposed to professional traders.
I’m still a good distance from him but it’s quickly apparent why Dan is here – and why he’s stopped. One of the final stalls is selling exercise gear. There are yoga balls and mats, small weights, stretch bands, and protein shakers.
I edge forward slowly, closing the gap because Dan is moving even slower. My first thought is that they’ve arranged this but that changes immediately when I see the look on Alice’s face after she spots him. She’s in her tight yoga gear, a bright figure-hugging pink and blue lycra against the gloom of the field. The smile is initially painted on as she tries to attract customers but, as soon as Alice sees Dan, her expression slips. She’s confused and definitely not expecting him. I drift off to a stall selling second-hand clothes, flicking through the items on a rail and using it to shield myself from Dan and Alice.
He steps towards her, arms wide for a hug. She accepts it, but only leaning forward with the top half of her body. I’m too far away to hear what’s being said but her body language gives away that her opening line is something like, ‘What are you doing here?’
Dan is all smiles and charm – but she’s like a wall. He speaks for a few seconds and she replies with one-or two-word answers. I move to a second rack of clothes, still watching, fascinated at seeing someone I thought I knew so well in an alien situation.
And then I get it. Dan’s smitten with her.
For Alice, the cheery pleasantness is part of the job. If her clients book more sessions, she makes more money. That’s how she pays her bills. It’s her job to put on that front. Dan has misread everything. What Alice sees as drumming up repeat business, Dan has misconstrued as flirting.
Oh, God.
I’m cringing as I watch them. It’s like the geeky kid trying to ask out the most popular girl in school. Ellie and I used to gossip and giggle about this type of thing when we were young teenagers. This type of tittle-tattle was our lives before we discovered cigarettes and alcohol.
Alice’s arms are folded across her front and, every time Dan takes a half-step forward, she takes one back. She’s smiling but, even from this distance, I can see that it’s not real. She isn’t enjoying this at all.
Dan is oblivious. He’s leaning forward, doing that thing where he talks with his hands like an excited octopus. They do a strange semicircle around her stall, Dan taking small steps forward as she takes larger steps back. It’s like an elaborate performance dance piece and so terrible to watch.
It takes a good five minutes but Dan eventually seems to take the hint that she’s not interested in whatever he has to say. They do the relieved goodbye wave that people do when they’re grateful an encounter is over, and then Dan turns on his heels. I duck behind the original rail of clothes but he’s not looking anywhere other than the path in front of him. He’s frowning, confused, unsure what’s just happened.
I watch him go, striding at the same pace as before in the direction we came.
It’s perhaps the last thing I expected but there’s a part of me that feels sorry for him. Here we are, half our lives gone, neither of us apparently knowing what’s next. He was convinced he’d caught the eye of a gorgeous young woman. Who wouldn’t be flattered? Perhaps he still thinks that’s the case? It’s not love, perhaps not even lust, but crushes can come from nowhere. Suddenly, a perfectly sane and settled person can be fourteen again, insides churning at the thought of somebody else’s attention.
I watch my husband disappear into the distance, not bothering to try to keep up this time. Then I remember the thousand pounds on our credit card statement – and everything else that’s been going on. It doesn’t feel so innocent any longer.
Chapter Forty-One
Stephen is already sitting at the restaurant table when he realises who I am. I approach quickly and he starts to stand with an awkward ‘oh’, but I’m moving too fast. Before he can step away, I take his wrist and squeeze.