Page 124 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Kate’s stomach lurched. Richard was marching across the green, but Matt was on his heels. Kate followed. Richard was a big guy; she didn’t want him to get into a fight with Matt. Matt was persistent.
“What’s it to you?” Richard sneered.
“Tell her!” Matt shouted.
“Stay out of it, friend,” said Richard. “You don’t want to start with me!”
“I’m not your friend,” said Matt.
Matt caught up with Richard and grabbed his jacket, spun him round. Richard swung a punch at Matt, but Matt ducked down swiftly and then back up and jabbed Richard hard in the face. Richard lost his balance and toppled backward.
Kate rushed over and knelt by Richard. His nose was bleeding.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she yelled at Matt.
“Tell her!” said Matt.
Richard sat up, wiping his bloodied face with his hand.
“If you give so much of a shit, why don’tyoutell her?” Richard spluttered.
Matt looked from Kate to Richard and back again. The anger seemed to drain out of him.
“He’s married, Kate,” said Matt quietly. “I overheard him talking to his wife in the toilets. Giving her some bullshit about having to stay in town to close a deal. I think it’s pretty clearyou’rethedeal, Kate.”
Matt turned and went back into the pub.
“Anything you need a hand with, Kate?” came a booming voice. It was Barry. He was standing by a picnic bench with his arms folded across his broad chest.
“I’m fine, thanks, Barry,” said Kate.
“If you need anything, just holler,” said Barry. “I’m good at putting the rubbish out. I’ve dispatched bigger things than that shower of shite!”
He looked pointedly at Richard as he said it. Big as he was, Richard was wise enough not to pick a fight with Barry.
“Thanks, Barry,” said Kate. “I’ve got this.”
“Okay, folks,” said Barry. “Let’s let the lady have some privacy.”
The small crowd that had come outside to watch the show filtered back into the pub after Barry, leaving Kate and Richard sitting in the snow.
Kate was dumbfounded. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. Richard dabbed at his nose. Kate’s jeans were wet through, her legs freezing where she knelt. Her head reeled.
“You’re married?” Kate asked.
Richard didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her. She said it again.
“You’re married!”
He looked at her then. There was no remorse in his expression, only annoyance that he’d been found out, a defiance in his countenance that spoke volumes.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m married.”
“Aren’t you going to try to excuse yourself?” asked Kate. “Tell me your wife doesn’t understand you? Tell me you lead separate lives?”
“Would you believe me if I did?” he asked.
“No,” said Kate.
