Staring At The Sun Ch 01

Chapter 1, Friday

Author's Note: This is a very "English" story and I hope that I don't alienate any non-UK readers. It is also a story about relationships and marriage, and if anyone is looking for a quick stroke story, then this is not for you. I would welcome any constructive feedback or criticism. I place a lot of value on readers' opinions, so please tell me what you think. I will do my utmost to keep the chapters coming without delay.

Thank you very much.

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"Are you sure you want to take all this stuff?" My husband frowned at me as he held out the iron, a look of intense irritation on his face.

"We might need it," I replied, turning my back on him and going into the house. I heard him mutter something as he tried in vain to stuff it into the boot of the car which was already packed tight with suitcases, bags and two huge pillows.

"For God's sake, Louise! When did you put those in?" he shouted as I disappeared into the kitchen, trying desperately to remember whether I had packed the travel plug or not.

This holiday was supposed to be a chance for some relaxation, a break without the children and a time when we could rekindle the romance of our younger days. The build-up, however, had been fraught with tensions and stress and I secretly believed that we would have been better if we'd stayed at home and sent the children away.

I gazed out of the window at the garden, which had been neatly mowed and weeded. I had been cleaning and tidying for days in preparation for my parents who were coming to stay to look after our children. My husband, in turn, had spent the last few weeks grumbling about the time he'd had to take off work, the expense, the wear and tear on the family car

We were due to catch an early evening ferry from Dover with a first stop near Calais and I glanced at my watch. My parents would be here any minute and I still had the downstairs toilet to clean. I collected the cleaning things from the utility room and watched as my husband wandered into the kitchen, a look of puzzlement on his face.

"Have you seen the maps?" he asked. "I put them on the kitchen table."

I stared at him. "Nope, they're your job, Richard. I'm in charge of packing."

Another look of irritation and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Bloody hell! You've not seen them at all?"

I pushed past him and made my way to the cloakroom where I attacked the loo with the brush.

"Louise!"

"What?" I asked, not bothering to look up at him.

"Are you going to help me here?"

"Help you with what?"

"The bloody maps! They were there a minute ago!"

"Why don't you go and look in the car? You probably put them there when you were loading up."

He turned and strode down the hallway, his shoulders set with anger. I wondered what had happened to my easy-going, laid back husband. Just lately he seemed to find fault with everything and never had a good word for anyone. The children had taken to staying out of his way and it was a relief when he went to work early every morning.

I finished the cloakroom and took a last look at the living room. It was unnaturally tidy, no newspapers spread over the coffee table, no toys littering the floor. A vase of fresh flowers stood on the windowsill and I had a sudden urge to cancel the holiday and stay at home. The thought of being away from the children was upsetting me more than I had realised and two weeks away with my husband would be a test of endurance, I was sure.

In the kitchen I found Richard poring over a large map of northern France, the perpetual frown marring his otherwise handsome features. At 42 he was maturing well, the grey flecks in his hair making him look distinguished rather than old. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had aroused my interest when he came to work for my parents in the family business and I had fallen in love with him within weeks. We'd had a long and passionate courtship and then a huge family wedding. Everything had seemed perfect.

And it was. We had everything we wanted. The requisite two children, (one of each), a charming old house in a sought-after village and two newish cars. Richard was now a partner in the firm and I had taken a back seat, happy for him to make decisions and run the company with my parents who were nearing retirement age. We should both be happy, but there was something missing...Perhaps this holiday would fulfil the vital piece.

"Are you ready?"

I nodded and checked the passports and travel documents again. The children were playing in the garden and I glanced at my watch. "Mum and Dad should be here any minute. Is there anything you want to tell them?"

"No, I don't think so," he replied folding the map and putting it into a small travel bag. "Have they got a list of where the children need to be?"

I sighed. "Yes, it took me bloody ages to write it all down. I didn't realise we did so much with them."

"Hmm, well, your choice."

I glanced at the list stuck to the fridge door. Lily aged ten and Matt aged six had a busier life than we did. Almost every night was involved with some sort of extra-curricular activity and sometimes I felt overwhelmed with all the plans I had to make and the mental lists I carried around with me.

"They're here."

I felt my stomach contract with nerves and ran my fingers through my hair. Outside I could hear my father's deep voice as he spoke to Richard who laughed out loud. My mother appeared at the door and smiled at me, her warm and lovely face making me feel that twinge of homesickness again.

"How are you, love?" she asked. "All set?"

"Oh, I think so. Just the last mad scramble to load the car."

"Just be careful, Louise. Richard drives so fast at times."

"I know. Don't worry, mum, we'll take our time. We're in no rush."

She looked at me with concern and I went over and hugged her to me. "I'll miss you. Get the kids to phone me every night, can you?"

She nodded and we made our way out into the garden for me to say goodbye. The children were ecstatic about their grandparents looking after them, and after a kiss and a hug from me, dragged my mother off to look at some snail they had found cowering in the border.

I took one last look and went to find Richard. He was deep in conversation with my father, the map spread out on the bonnet of the car, his face more animated than I had seen for a long time.

"Shall we go?" I asked and hugged my father.

"Yes, of course, I'll just say goodbye to the children.

I watched as he strode towards the garden and sighed. "How're things, Dad?"

My father looked at me and smiled. "Oh, they're fine. You just go and have a good holiday. And bring me back some lovely wine, OK?"

I laughed. "It's a deal! We're going to Burgundy so there's bound to be something you'll like."

"I should think so! Just go careful. Those bloody French drivers!"

I agreed. It had always been a tradition to drive to Europe when I was a child and I had vivid memories of endlessly long autoroutes and straight roads bordered by trees.

"Where are you stopping tonight?"

"At a little hotel near Calais. A friend recommended it and we thought we'd be too tired to drive far."

Richard appeared from the garden followed by my mother. "All set?"

I nodded and took one last look at my parents. They seemed so capable and caring and I knew I should be delighted at the prospect of two weeks of freedom but I couldn't help wishing that I was staying at home with them.

With a banging of car doors we had gone, reversing down the drive and waving goodbye. I glanced at the sky and saw towering masses of storm clouds gathering overhead. All day it had been threatening rain and now I guessed we would have a torrential downpour on the motorway. The air was heavy and sultry, the atmosphere swollen with moisture and I felt as if the pressure was building up to dangerous levels before it would explode, crashing down on us with the full force of its anger.

"You're quiet. Are you OK?"

I glanced at my husband as he drove, his face set with concentration. "Yes, of course. Just trying to think if we've left anything behind."

He grunted. "Well, the bloody boot's full. What more did you want to take?"

"Oh, I don't know. I always like to take more than we need. It's so easy with the car."

"Well, don't forget the wine. I promised your dad a couple of cases."

"A couple of cases? When?"

"Just now. He wants some red."

I sighed and Richard glanced at me. "Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all. It's just that he's supposed to be cutting down on the wine. His blood pressure's up again."

Richard shrugged and I thought back to the last time my father had gone to see his GP. He had been told to take things easy for a while and relax. The pressures of the business were beginning to show and I'd expected Richard to help with making sure he was following the doctor's advice.

"Leave it, Louise. The poor bloke works hard enough as it is. Surely a couple of bottles of good Burgundy won't hurt?"

"You're right." I hadn't the energy to argue and stared out of the window at the passing scenery with a feeling of resignation. Now I had taken a back seat in the business, I felt as if my opinion counted for nothing.

Richard put his hand on mine and I looked at him in surprise. "Let's relax. The kids are in good hands, we've got two weeks of travelling planned and I've decided to enjoy it."

"I thought you didn't want to go?"

"Well, maybe I didn't, but what the hell. Let's make the most of it, shall we?"

I tried to smile, but inside I felt the beginnings of homesickness grow. I missed the children. I wanted to turn around and see them sitting in the back, their faces alight with excitement.

*

The first set of road works held us up for nearly an hour. Richard's good mood had disappeared and he slammed his fist into the steering wheel in frustration.

"This is bloody ridiculous!"

"What time's the ferry?"

Richard glanced at his watch and groaned. "It leaves at 6.30, but we need to be there by 6pm to check in."

I sat still as he manoeuvred around a clump of stationary traffic, his knuckles white with tension. "We're never going to make it."

Ahead of us I could see dozens of brake lights, a dazzling splash of red in the murk that had descended. It had been raining steadily for half an hour now and the rhythmic thump of the windscreen wipers was hypnotic. My day had been crammed full of packing, cleaning and sorting the children and I felt a deep tiredness sweep over me. The thought of a strange hotel and an unfamiliar bed made sudden tears spring to my eyes.

"What happens if we miss the ferry?"

"How the hell do I know?" my husband yelled, causing the driver behind to sound his horn as Richard cut in front of him. "We should have left earlier."

I looked at him in surprise. "But you said you had things to do at work...it was your idea to leave so late."

Richard shrugged and turned the radio on. "OK, so I was wrong. It's allowed isn't it?"

I ignored him and picked up my mobile. Dialling our home number I heard my daughter answer.

"Hello, sweetheart. Is everything OK?"

"Hello, Mummy! We're making pizza!"

I smiled as I imagined my mother in the kitchen, the children spreading tomato sauce onto the pizza bases, both of them excited as they made their own tea.

"Is nanny there?"

I heard the phone being dropped and then my mother was on the line. "How's it going?"

"Terrible," I answered. "We're stuck."

I heard Richard groan and I glanced at him as he ran his fingers through his hair, the familiar look of irritation once again marring his regular features.

"Where are you?"

"Um," I glanced at the motorway signs. "Not far from the M25 I think. But that's snarled up as well."

I heard my mother sigh and knew that she would be worrying. I had told her of the difficulties we were going through and I knew she had hoped the holiday would be stress free – two weeks of relaxation that would go some way to mending our broken marriage.

"What will you do if you miss the ferry?"

"I don't know. Get an early one tomorrow I expect."

The traffic had begun to move, and Richard moved out into the fast lane, his foot pressed down hard on the accelerator pedal. I swallowed my nerves and tried to relax as our BMW swept through the spray on the roads, the windscreen wipers sliding furiously across the soaked window.

"We're moving," I informed my mother. "I'll call you when we get to Dover."

"Please go careful," I urged my husband as I saw the speedometer creep up to ninety miles an hour. "If we're late we can get another ferry."

Richard ignored me and flashed his lights at a poor Honda which had dared to slow his progress. "Bloody drivers," he muttered as the offending car was overtaken with a surge of speed.

I looked at my husband and wondered what was going through his mind. His face was set with determination and his hands gripped the steering wheel like a man possessed. We churned our way through the rain-soaked motorway, scattering cars in our wake. The relaxed and leisurely journey to the south coast port that I had imagined was replaced by a grim journey of speed, my husband watching the clock and seemingly determined to beat the time he had set himself.

I imagined a terrible accident, our children orphaned by his careless driving and the tears appeared again. "Richard, please slow down just a bit. Surely we're going to make it now?"

"I don't know," he answered. "There's always trouble on the bridge at Dartford."

I sighed. Outside the rain continued to fall and I wondered whether I had remembered to pack our raincoats. It had felt so strange to be packing for just the two of us, almost like the holidays before the children came along. We had been so carefree then, taking off for the weekend whenever we felt like it, weeks spent travelling through Germany and France, finding quaint little hotels, making love to each other every minute we could, our need never satisfied...

Now, holidays were marked with stress and arguments. Richard wouldn't hear of travelling by car with the children, so we spent our two weeks on a Spanish island, Minorca usually or Mallorca. I had yearned for the freedom of the open road but we had to settle for planes and being herded about like cattle, our decisions made for us as we were called to board the plane, squeezed in beside people we didn't know.

The comfort of our own car was heaven compared to the squashed seats in economy. We could stop whenever we wanted and the thought of two weeks dawdling through France still had the power to thrill me, despite the bad beginning.

But, glancing at my watch I knew we were never going to make the early evening ferry to France. It was now 5.30pm and we still hadn't made the bridge. A Friday night on the M25 was a recipe for disaster and ahead of us, the red glow of brake lights just confirmed my suspicions.

"This is terrible," I sighed as the traffic slowed yet again. "What the hell do we pay road tax for?"

Richard grunted and turned the radio up. The cheery tones of the presenter made a mockery of the tense atmosphere in our car and he grimaced, his face set with anger and disappointment.

"What are we going to do?"

"How the hell do I know?"

Tears sprung to my eyes again at his brusque tone. Once upon a time he would have squeezed my knee, made a joke of the situation and I turned away from him so he couldn't see the tears in my eyes.

"We'll either have to get a later ferry or try and find a hotel when we get to France, but it could be past ten o'clock at this rate."

I bit my lip. My vision of a long leisurely dinner at the hotel and then an early night were being snatched away from me with every minute that passed.

I picked up the road atlas and tried to see if there was a way around the traffic, but I knew it was a futile exercise. "It's impossible," I said, sighing and closing the atlas. "We're never going to get there."

The traffic jam lasted another hour and our sailing time came and went. It was 9pm when we finally neared the ferry port of Dover and starting to get dark, the rain and mist adding to the murk.

"There's a sign ahead for a hotel," said Richard, his tone weary and flat. "Shall we see if we can get a room?"

I nodded and he indicated and pulled into a quaint-looking country pub, the warm light spilling out of the leaded windows. The car park was busy and I just hoped they had a room left.

Our enquiries were met with a warm welcome and we managed to get the last room, complete with four-poster bed. We paid dearly for it, but both of us were so exhausted that we would have paid anything for a bed and dinner.

Dumping our overnight bags in the room, we quickly washed and made our way back into the cosy lounge of the pub. Last meal orders were being taken and I suddenly started to relax, a large glass of wine in my hand and the prospect of dinner to come.

Richard took a sip of his pint and stretched out his long legs under the table.

"Not what we had in mind, hey?"

"No, not at all," I said looking around, "but this'll do."

He smiled and looked at me, his face more relaxed now. "A bad start, but let's try and enjoy this, OK?"

"I am!" I exclaimed studying the menu. "I just thought we'd be in France now."

"Well, we're still here so make the most of it. I want to put that four-poster to the test later..."

I looked at my husband in surprise. Sex between us just recently had been almost non-existent but I had hoped the holiday would change things. With some relaxation and warm weather I was anticipating a return of our love life.

I smiled and reached out for his hand. He grinned back and I suddenly thought that the holiday was going to be good after all.

The waitress arrived and took our order and Richard went to the bar for a second drink. He was joined there by a tall man, and I watched the two of them with interest. He was chatting to Richard and my husband laughed out loud, his face animated with mirth. I wondered what the stranger had said to make him react like that.

Richard made his way back over to me, still grinning from his encounter with the other man. "Who was that?" I asked.

"You won't believe this," he replied setting down the drinks. "That was Jake Harper, an old University pal of mine from years back."

"Really?" I looked over at the bar and Jake smiled.

"I've invited him to have dinner with us. Do you mind?"

I hesitated. We were just starting to relax and enjoy each other's company again and I didn't want the atmosphere spoiled.

"Oh, come on, Louise. It's just a quick meal. But the strangest thing is he's driving to France in the morning, too. Can you believe that?"

"On our ferry?"

"Oh, I don't know. He's just bought himself a farmhouse in the Dordogne. Lucky sod!" Richard laughed and I looked up to see Jake standing over us, a smile on his face.

"Hi, nice to meet you." He held out his hand and I took in warm brown eyes and a rugged tanned face. "Richard was a single guy when I last knew him, but I always knew he'd bag a beauty."

I laughed out of politeness, but I suddenly felt uncomfortable. He was staring at me intensely and I wished I'd put some smarter clothes on. My hair, long and wavy, could have done with a wash and I'd forgotten to put my usual perfume on before we came down for dinner.

"Jake, take a seat. We've just ordered but I'll grab the waitress!"

Richard rose to find her and I sat back, my hands gripping the stem of my wine glass."

"Richard tells me you're visiting vineyards?"

"Yes, we're driving through Burgundy first and then hoping to go down to the Rhone Valley."

"Come and stay a couple of nights...I've plenty of room."

"Well," I stammered, instantly dreading the idea, knowing Richard would jump at a chance to visit somewhere for free. I had always hated staying with people and the thought of being with someone I didn't know was even worse.