"I will be direct," Ms. Sparrow said. "I came to tell you to leave Stephen alone."
The handle slipped out of Jackie's hand, and her now full kettle hit the bottom of the sink with a deafening metal clank.
"I beg your pardon?" Jackie exclaimed.
Eddie was sitting in one of the Windsor kitchen chairs, her arms crossed.
"I know what happened in the past." Eddie pinned Jackie with an icy stare. "I know that you were married when you came to Fleckney. Your husband was supposed to join you a year later, as a teacher of chemistry in the Comprehensive. You had an affair with Stephen, who was your TA at the time. And then your husband got a job elsewhere; your plans changed; and you left. Stephen told me everything."
Not everything, Jackie thought. She turned to the sink, mostly to hide her face. Her hands were shaking violently.
"And before you say anything," Ms. Sparrow added, "I am not ashamed of coming here and dissing you."
There was a challenge in the baker's voice, which made her statement utterly unconvincing. Jackie turned the hob on and finally faced the woman.
"There is nothing going on between Stephen and me," she said quietly and fidgeted with the string on her hoodie.
"And nothing will," Eddie cut her off. "Ever since you showed up, he hasn't been himself. He hasn't been sleeping well, he's distracted. And it affects the children. Any change in the mood in the house, in the routine, throws Robbie off. And I will not have you arse up my son's life!" Her voice was rising. "If I didn't have Robbie, I'd say you could help yourself to Stephen." She barked a venomous laugh. "I brought up one child on my own, I can handle two, especially since the second one is neurotypical. But Robbie needs Stephen."
Jackie was still frozen near the counter, somehow not daring to sit down in her own kitchen. Eddie exhaled noisily and looked Jackie over.
"You're properly different from what I imagined, I have to say." The baker briskly tapped her fingers on her other upper arm. "Everyone's discussing how you're this badarse business woman, and how you worked in a school in some slum, raising money and basically rebuilding it with your own hands. There are even rumours of you being cheffed or something."
Jackie clenched her jaw, stifling a gasp, and hurriedly pressed her hand over the scar from said 'cheffing' on her right side. Judging by her vernacular, Eddie Sparrow had a rougher past than her present elegant self suggested. Cheffed, plugged, dipped; spinners, mashes, burners; frying and wooshing; gliding and touring. To think of it, just a few months ago Jackie heard these pretty much every day.
"I was the principal in an inner-city school," Jackie muttered. "I didn't leave it out of necessity. I was invited to take over Mrs. Guthrie's position."
"I don't give a toss," Eddie dismissed with a derisive grimace. "I doubt it'll make any difference for Robbie, he hardly attends. All he cares about is his music. And Lee is still little." She pursed her lips in a hard line. "But I bet you'd hate someone to cock up this new cosy set-up you bagged for yourself. And this is Fleckney. Everyone might be bloody woke and liberal and waving rainbow flags, but people here won't stand behind a home-wrecker. I spent a lot of time building connections in this county. I will use them if I have to."
An untimely joke popped up in Jackie's mind: that she was more of a 'cradle robber' than a 'home-wrecker.' The kettle started whistling, and she took it off the stove.
"Eddie," she started. "May I call you Eddie? You're misunderstanding the situation." Jackie met the woman's eyes, hoping that the sincerity of Jackie's words showed. "I've only seen Stephen twice since I returned, and both times were an accident. I ran into him in the ice cream parlour, he was there with your son. And then we spoke on the phone, strictly regarding my delivery. I wasn't even aware that he worked in the moving company."
"I'm not misunderstanding anything," the baker said stubbornly. "I confronted him, when it was impossible to ignore these bloody nervy fits of his."
Eddie watched Jackie make two mugs of tea and sighed.
"I know what he's like." The baker folded her strong, long-fingered hands on the table. "Stephen is the most beautiful man, inside and outside. He's kind, empathic, patient - everything I am not. But he's also weak. He told me how you just upped and left one day, just before the beginning of a school year. He never recovered, I reckon. He's a push-over. Tell me it wasn't you who initiated it then!"
Jackie dropped her gaze down to the table. The familiar excruciating wave of shame and guilt slashed across her at the memories of the two months that she'd been in a relationship with Stephen.
"You know what? Sod the tea," Eddie said and rose. "I've brought a bottle of Lagavulin. And we're going to drink it."
Jackie gawked at her. "What?"
"Stephen told me that you are a lightweight." The baker smirked darkly. "Pretty useless after a few shots, according to him. So, we're going to drink, and you're going to fess up."
"I don't drink," Jackie protested weakly.
"You don't drink - or can't drink?" Eddie asked, pulling the whisky out of the tote she'd placed under her chair.
The cork made a piercing squeak when she jerked it out of the bottle.
"I choose not to," Jackie gave her usual answer.
"Tough tits. You've got no choice today. Where are your glasses?"
"Um... I don't have any." Jackie got up and walked to the cabinet. "Are tea cups OK?"
Eddie shook her head. "You're no better than Stephen. A mental bint shows up in your house and forces you to drink, and you're enquiring if your china is satisfactory. And yeah, get those cups."
The first splash of the amber liquid into her Nana's Colclough made Jackie tense, and Eddie grabbed her cup and toppled it into her mouth without waiting for Jackie.
"C'mon, bottoms up," the baker ordered.
The booze hit the back of Jackie's throat, and she started coughing.
"How long has it been for you?" Eddie asked and poured another one for both of them.
"Ten years," Jackie answered and heavily sat down in her chair.
"Was it because of Stephen? He's a proper wimp. You squeeze him just a tad, and he'll blather it all out," the baker scoffed. "He told me that you got bladdered and shagged him."
Jackie grabbed her cup and downed the bevvie, squeezing her eyes. More coughing ensued.
"My husband had just dumped me then," she rasped out when she finally caught her breath. "He rang me up and told me that he wanted a divorce. After I'd spent almost three years here, alone, preparing a place for the two of us. I'd been in love with Stephen for almost two years by then, but I never would have acted on it. And yeah, I get–" She swallowed a semi-hiccup. "I get smashed after just a couple of drinks. We were all out. Stephen, Allan, me, a few of my colleagues. And I just–" She stretched her hand with the cup to the baker. "More, please."
Eddie complied. The third one was significantly easier already, and Jackie's cheekbones were starting to heat up. She released a long exhale through her rounded lips.
"How rat-arsed are you?" Eddie asked with interest.
"I'm getting there," Jackie muttered and took a few large gulps of her tea.
"Are you?" Eddie leaned back in her chair. "Where are you on the scale between a proper lady behaviour and getting your end away with someone's husband?"
"I would never sleep with anyone's husband!" Jackie cried out and clasped her hand over her mouth, startled by her own loudness. "Sorry."
A small, still hesitant snort escaped Jackie's guest.
"I'm wrong about you, am I not?" she said, studying Jackie. "You're a softie. I expected a cold-hearted bitch, and you're like a– Blimey, I put on all this battle paint for nothing!"
"You look lovely!" Jackie rushed to reassure - and that was when she understood that the kitchen was swimming in front of her eyes.
Eddie filled up their 'chalices' and lifted hers. "To husbands!"
Jackie touched the porcelain handle but didn't pick up her cup.
"I'll drink to yours, but–" She shook her head.
"Well, you can't have mine," Eddie quipped. "So... that's how it is then, innit? I smell a wanker. Why did you go back to him then?"
"Because he was my husband?" Jackie shrugged and drank the whisky. "Bloody peat," she rasped out and rubbed her cheeks. "Like sniffing tar. Ugh." She nudged her cup towards the bottle again. "I went back because I hated myself for how quickly I jumped into Stephen's bed. And you're right, I was the one who started it. At least that's the theory. I have these–" She wiggled her fingers near her temple. "These black-outs. When I drink, that is. So we were bevving up; and then I reckon, I must have offered. And then we started dating– And I wanted to enjoy it, but– And then Gabe rang me up, and said he'd take me back, and that he'd changed his mind–" Her thoughts were now swirling in her brain like smoothie ingredients in a blender. "And when I was with Stephen, everyone knew, you know? Here, in Fleckney. They were all expecting Gabe to come; and he kept lying to Mrs. Oakby, and I kept covering for him. God, I hated it so much! But he was hoping for a different job, so he kept stringing the other schools along. And then he called, and I went back. And then– then he still divorced me!" Somehow it was suddenly rather funny, and she snorted. "And then it turned out that he'd been sleeping around the whole time. Because I'm not like you, you see? I'm not– good at it. I'm not a– a woman that men adore. I bet, you are! And I'm so happy that he has you. Please believe me, I–" Her throat constricted, and she sniffled. "I still can't forgive myself. I was still married then, no matter how you look at it. And then Alexander confessed to me. It didn't mean much then, but now that I think back–"
"Alexander Fergusson?" Eddie asked; and Jackie gaped at her, bewildered, almost having forgotten the baker was here.
"Yeah. He just showed up in my office one day, and he–" She frowned. "He was such a serious boy. Lanky, pale, in those thick unstylish glasses. His brother was his guardian, and he must have mistreated Alexander terribly. But Alexander was so quiet that I didn't– And he said then, 'Give me two years. When I'm 18, I'll take care of you. I'll do better than–'" Her voice broke, and she wiped the tears that she hadn't realised were streaming down her cheeks. "'I'll do better than Stephen.' I felt horrible because–" Her head spun, and she groaned. "I thought that I was just like Gabe. Both Alexander and Stephen– There had been others, other pupils like that– It happens to boys, just because you're a teacher, even if you're... like me. But even then I knew that Alexander was different–"
She remembered 'May I kiss you?' and his eyes, black in the twilight of the garden; and his scorching palm on the side of her neck when they'd been on the windowsill.
And then everything swirled, in a sickening tornado around her; and Jackie closed her eyes.
***
The headache slammed into her temple - and Jackie whimpered. She pushed her thumb into the hollow over her sphenoid bone. The pain was red-hot, but it brought a bit of clarity.
She was in her bed, it was obviously late in the morning, or even perhaps more like an afternoon - and she wasn't alone.
Alexander was deep asleep, and Jackie's leg was draped over his lower half. She went rigid.
She didn't even need to check, she knew that she wasn't wearing any knickers. The only item on her was an oversized tee she normally wore to bed. Under the sensitive inside of her thigh, she could feel Alexander's rock-hard vastus muscles. He at least had his pants on, but nothing on top: her hand was splayed on his warm chest.
More so, while his left hand was open and relaxed on his stomach, his right palm had her left buttock nestled in it.