Never Alone by Elizabeth Haynes Page A

of the moment was that he was worried about the general election.
    Sophie smirks at the thought of it. ‘I don’t know. I don’t even care, to be honest. He’s still at least trying to be discreet.’
    ‘Oh, Soph. It’s not fair.’
    ‘It’s entirely fair. After all, I’ve not exactly behaved impeccably either,’ she says, and gives Sarah a little wink.
    Sarah frowns. Really? Sophie kissed Will, maybe more than that, but she can’t remember anything else…
    ‘You’ve forgotten Armando.’
    Sarah laughs out loud. ‘That was different, wasn’t it? You just –’ she stops herself, lowers her voice, although there is no one here to overhear ‘– you just paid him for a massage, didn’t you?’
    ‘And the rest,’ Sophie purrs.
    ‘But it wasn’t a relationship ,’ Sarah insists. ‘You weren’t seeing him… were you?’
    ‘No, of course not. It was a transaction. He provides a service – entertaining and diverting as it is – and then goes away again.’
    Sophie visits London often, meeting friends, shopping, theatre trips, events with George. She’s down there at least twice a month, often staying over. And once or twice that included someone called Armando, who visited her in her hotel room and provided her with a therapeutic sensual massage. Stress-busting, she called it.
    ‘You’re not still seeing him, are you?’
    ‘God, no! I couldn’t get over the way he kept calling me “baby”. Not to mention that fake exotic accent. I think he was from Swindon.’
    ‘I’d forgotten all about him,’ Sarah says. ‘How strange.’
    ‘It was years ago,’ Sophie says. ‘Like going to a spa, he said. Not quite the same thing, really.’
    Sophie is a veteran spa-goer, an enthusiastic partaker of facials and treatments. Sarah has tried it once or twice, usually using a voucher that had come her way at Christmas, but she has never quite got the point of it. Especially facials: being slathered in five different substances and having them wiped off again has always felt rather odd. And the intimacy of being touched on your face, she thinks, by a complete stranger. It made her feel uncomfortable. Even back massages, nice as they are when you’ve been working hard, bending over a desk… you have to get dressed again afterwards, oily and relaxed.
    She thinks of Aiden, of him stroking her back. The endless patience in the way he touched her. The care he took over it. And then the phone, buzzing in the pocket of his jeans, on the floor.
    ‘You’re worried about him,’ Sophie says. She sits next to Sarah and puts her arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, my lovely. It’s fine. Don’t be upset.’
    ‘It’s not that,’ Sarah breathes, ‘it’s got nothing to do with me, he can do whatever he wants to. It’s just…’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It feels as though he’s lying to me about something, and I can’t work out what, or why.’
     
    Afterwards, as she is driving slowly back up the hill, Sarah realises she didn’t tell Sophie about Will staying on Friday night. Sophie has not mentioned Will either; perhaps he has been forgotten, in which case it’s just as well she didn’t bring the subject up once again. The wind is fierce, and she can feel the strength of it as she drives out of the village and up the hill, where it is more exposed. The road is full of detritus, washed down the hill by the heavy rain last night, rivulets of water rushing down to the bottom. She slows down as the Land Rover is buffeted on the narrow lane. Where the road bends to the left a figure appears, straddling the narrow ditch, and she brakes abruptly. It is her closest neighbour, Harry Button, apparently wrestling with something heavy. He waves at her and she pulls into their driveway.
    The wind snatches the car door out of her hand and flings it open. She climbs down and pushes it shut again. Walking back to Harry, she finds she has to shout to get his attention.
    ‘Bit breezy!’
    He doesn’t answer but acknowledges her