I’d never felt so guilty. I could feel the blood thumping painfully in my chest as I realised the enormity of my crime. How could I possibly think everything would be alright, that no one would mind, least of all Miriam? The flowered teapot lay shattered on the kitchen floor in a puddle of cooling tea. We stared at it, speechless. Miriam began to cry, silently, two shiny tracks coursing down her cheeks.
‘How could you?’ she whispered at last, her voice thick with tears.
I swallowed and could think of no reply. There was nothing I could possibly say in my defence. The whole sorry mess was inexcusable. Unable at last to bear my friend’s teary reproach, I looked down at my lap, and fiddled with the onyx ring I was wearing. It was large, rectangular and simply stunning; even in my guilt I couldn’t help admiring it. Martin, Miriam’s husband, had presented me with it after a stolen night away in Bath. We had been eating some Japanese noodle soup and joking over my total ineptitude with the chopsticks when suddenly, and with a flourish, he had placed a box on the table between our two soup bowls and told me to open it. Now I smiled sadly as I absently stroked the smooth surface of the ring with my thumb.
A fresh burst of weeping snapped me back to the present, to my friend Miriam sitting hunched over the table with her head in her hands and her body shaking. I couldn’t bear it and rose from my seat to comfort her. But when you have lost the right to hug your friend, who benefits? Certainly not Miriam, who stiffened at my touch. I stared at the remains of the teapot on the floor. The grout between the quarry tiles was staining rapidly.
‘Shall I clear this lot up?’ I said, desperately trying to do something to ease the situation, while trying to remember in which cupboard the dustpan and brush were stored. It seemed somehow indelicate to inquire of a sobbing woman where she kept her cleaning materials.
‘Just leave it,’ she sobbed, sniffing.
‘I don’t mind . . .’ I persevered, bending down to begin collecting the shards of china.
‘How could you?’ Miriam asked again, her voice muffled behind her hands and crumpled tissue. ‘After all this time?’ Unspoken thoughts hovered unsaid between us.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ What a hopeless response. How could it possibly make up for a love affair? And, once the secret was out, for a broken marriage? For a wrecked life? Of course I felt genuinely sorry I’d been the cause of so much upset, but I hadn’t intended to fall in love – it had simply happened. I’m only human after all. I could feel tears (of self-pity, guilt, or a combination of both?) pricking my eyelids as I replayed the scene.
I’d popped into Miriam’s for a cup of tea and a chat, just to catch up. Miriam loved the ritual of afternoon tea. She had a lovely flowered china teapot with a delicate spout rimmed with gold.
‘It all adds to the flavour,’ she’d once assured me. ‘You must have the right sort of pot, and china teacup of course.’
It had amused me, her intent expression as she spooned in the loose tea leaves, then added the boiled water. I always used teabags at home, out of sheer laziness, but I had to admit I was fascinated by Miriam’s ritual of spooning, pouring and stirring, and the resultant cup of tea was always delicious.
It was when she was fetching the cups from the cupboard that she dropped the bombshell. ‘ Martin said he saw you, in Bath,’ she said, looking at me carefully. ‘You kept that secret.’
I jumped guiltily and my bag, which I was still wearing on my shoulder, caught the teapot handle, knocking it to the floor. There was a split second of shock as the china exploded on the tiles. As the sound reverberated in Miriam’s Shaker-style kitchen I faced up to the fact that she knew. He’d told her. Miriam burst into tears. I simply stood there, heart hammering, wondering what to say.
Half an hour later, after Miriam had allowed me to brush up the mess, my heartbeat had calmed to a less violent rate. I looked at her nervously. I still hadn’t explained properly what had happened, but now wanted desperately to leave. I’d never liked scenes.
‘Oh, look at me,’ sighed Miriam at last, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. ‘What a complete mess.’
‘Of course not,’ I said gently. ‘You’ve every reason to be upset. I just wish I could do something – I feel so guilty.’
‘You can always get me a new one,’ Miriam said flatly.
I looked at her, confused. ‘What, a new husband?’ I shouldn’t have said it; it was flippant. I realised the instant it passed my lips, but I’ve always been somewhat thoughtless.
It was Miriam’s turn to look confused. Then a definite chill descended in her kitchen. I felt my mouth go unaccountably dry and my heart begin to thump wildly again.
‘I was talking about the teapot,’ she said icily, enunciating every word. ‘The teapot that used to belong to my great-grandmother, that you smashed so carelessly a short time ago.’
I swallowed, unable to speak.
‘When I mentioned that Martin saw you in Bath.’
I stared at her, horrified. She hadn’t known after all. But now, of course, the secret was out.
© Heather Haynes |
