Eight
Friday: 5.10 P.M.
She was late. He should have expected it. Catherine had never been early, or on time, for anything in their life together, a fact that had often annoyed him. He toyed with his coffee and watched the boardwalk for sight of her from his window seat in the pub at Horsea Marina. It wasn't crowded because it was early, but there were more people here than he would have wished for, probably because it was a Friday. He had wanted to meet her in private, but she had insisted on a public rendezvous and somewhere near to her workplace: her father's marine equipment manufacturing business.
His pulse was racing at the thought of seeing her again. And he felt nervous. It was ridiculous. They had been married for twelve years and shared so much, so how could he feel nervous? But he was. Their last face-to-face meeting in April had been a disaster mainly because he'd been very drunk. After that Catherine had refused to let him see Emma. That had only served to plunge him deeper into the whisky bottle. Every time he thought of it he felt angry and ashamed.
He tapped his spoon impatiently against the saucer, urging himself to keep calm, no matter what was said, and what happened between them. But his guts were churning and it was all he could do to stop his fists from tightening.
And then there she was, hurrying along the boardwalk in high heels, wearing a short skirt and clutching her suit jacket around her slender figure to prevent it gusting in the wind. Her fair face was screwed up against the drizzling rain. He caught his breath. The sight of her gave him an ache in the pit of his stomach, brought on not only by the thought of how much he had loved her, but by the memory of the emotional security he thought he had found, and now had lost.
She pushed back the door and stepped inside. As her eyes alighted on him he experienced a quickening of breath that told him he still wanted her. He didn't know if it was love.
'I haven't got long,' she said, hovering opposite him.
Horton curbed his irritation and said evenly, 'Long enough to take a seat.'
Reluctantly she pulled out the chair. 'I don't know what we can achieve by this.'
'Would you like a coffee or a drink?'
'No. Look, Andy, I want-'
'How's Emma?'
She frowned with annoyance and ran a hand through her blonde hair. It had begun to curl at the ends because of the rain. 'She's fine.'
'I'd like to see her.'
'I don't think-'
'Catherine, she's my daughter. I love her. I want to see her. You know I was completely exonerated and I no longer drink. There is no reason for me not to see her.'
'I don't want her upset.'
'You think I'll upset her?' He was trying not to raise his voice, but it was difficult when he felt hurt and humiliated. 'Don't you think she might be upset not seeing me?'
'It's unsettling for her.'
'And seeing you with another man isn't upsetting or unsettling,' he shot back at her. He couldn't help it. She had asked for it.
Her blue eyes flashed with anger. Her thin lips set in a grim line. 'I wondered how long it would be before you brought that up.'
'No, you brought it up, Catherine. You're the one who had the affair, not me. Are you still with him?'
'If you're going to be like that then there is no point in us talking.' She scraped back her chair. A few heads turned to look at them. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to take her by the arms and shake her. He could do neither. He couldn't ruin this chance. With a supreme effort he held on to his temper.
'I'm sorry. Stay. Please.'
She hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly sat down.
'I know it's been hard for you, what with my suspension and then the media interest,' he said. 'But it's over now. I'm back in my job.' He'd have liked to have added, 'And with a chance of promotion,' but he couldn't, not at the moment. 'Can't we put the past behind us and start again? For Emma's sake can't we try one more time?'
'Don't blackmail me with Emma.'
'I'm not.' He dug his nails into his palms.
'You think I don't care about her well-being?'
'Of course you do.'
She stared at him for a moment. He could see that she no longer cared for him. It hurt. He felt sick and angry. She looked away.
Then her head came up. 'It's over between us, Andy. You just have to face that. I don't love you any more.'
He felt as though he had been stabbed. A memory flashed through his mind. He was a small boy again, alone in an empty flat: frightened, hungry and hurting. Waiting, day after day, for his mother to come home. Trying to reason what he had done to make her angry enough to stay away. Wondering what he had said to make her stop loving him. He balled his fists and tried to stop the fury and nausea washing over him.
'I want a divorce.' Catherine's harsh words ripped through his thoughts.
God, only now did he fully realize how he had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Even though he'd received those letters from Catherine's solicitor, he had thought that she might come to her senses and that they could start again. Just as he had hoped for a long time after his mother had left him that she would one day return. He'd been a bloody fool.
'Because you want to be with this other man?' Horton declared, unable to keep the anger from his voice.
'No. Because we're finished.'
'Then you'll just have to keep on wanting.' Damn her to hell and back. He wasn't going to make it that easy for her.
'You can't mean that! Didn't you hear me, Andy? Our marriage is over,' she hissed.
Conscious of the attention they were drawing, with an effort, he forced himself to speak quietly, 'I heard you.'
'So what is the point? We can both be free to continue with our lives.'
'Are you going to marry this man?'
'I don't know.'
'He's not Emma's father.'
'This isn't getting us anywhere. I agreed to this meeting so that we could clear the air between us and move on. Clearly that's not good enough for you.'
Her contemptuous tone goaded Horton, swelling his veins with rage.
'No, and neither is divorce,' he argued.
'There doesn't seem to be anything left for us to talk about.'
'There's Emma. I want to see her.'
'I'll think about it.' She rose. Horton sprang up and grabbed her arm.
'I don't think you can stop me, Catherine.'
'Let go of me. I'm not one of your suspects.'
The manager was eying them warily. People were looking at them. He let her go, feeling exasperated and angry. Through gritted teeth he said, 'Catherine, I am not giving you a divorce, and I will see Emma.'
As she stormed out of the pub, Horton picked up his helmet and rushed after her. She ran along the boardwalk and turned left towards the exit. Horton followed, he had no idea what he was going to do when he caught up with her. How dare she refuse to let him see his daughter? How could she be so hurtful and spiteful? He'd done nothing to warrant this treatment. Nothing.
She dashed up the steps by the cinema complex and then hurried across to the car park. Horton froze as a square-set man in his early forties, with a balding head and a flashy suit, climbed out of a red BMW. Catherine
