Page 40 of A Clean Sweep

Inside, Celeste navigated her way through the vast displays of everything a keen gardener could possibly want or need.

With no personal interest in secateurs or compost, she headed towards the rear of the building where an arrow pointed to the cafeteria.

As she approached, the hum of conversation and clatter of plates and cutlery indicated that business was booming.

Or blooming, perhaps. Pausing by the entrance, she wished she'd worked out some kind of strategy to deal with whatever she was about to face.

She hadn't, although for a brief moment she considered popping back to the shop and arming herself with something sharp and lethal.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, she entered and cast her eyes around the room.

There were young mums bouncing babies on their knees, older couples supping soup or sharing scones and pots of tea and a group of teenagers clutching clipboards who were engaged in loud conversation.

A school outing, she guessed, as an older lady shushed them and dug into her salad with an air of resignation.

She wondered what today's lesson was. How to grow your own fruit and veg?

Clever ways to create a window box with some seeds and a whole lot of patience?

They'd probably be happier with a lesson in cultivating cannabis.

Not that she'd ever tried it herself, but right now some mind-numbing substance would be very welcome.

Just as she was wondering if Michael had actually bought something and left already, she saw him.

Seated in a far corner, but not alone. He was with a young woman who was picking half-heartedly at her food, her fork coming to her lips then returning to the plate untouched.

She watched, feeling a pain deep inside her rise to the surface, as Michael reached out and touched the woman's arm.

The pain multiplied as she put down her fork and leaned inwards, Michael's arm resting on her shoulder.

He stroked her dark blonde hair, the look on his face one of exquisite tenderness. Celeste could take no more.

'Nice to bump into you, Michael. Thought you were taking one of your epic walks but it seems you've developed a passion for something else. Anything you'd like to share with me?'

Celeste stood before them, simmering with a rage she'd never felt before.

She had given years of her life to this man – made it her mission to back him all the way – and this was how he repaid her?

By having an affair with some slip of a girl who probably only had her eyes on his bank balance and life expectancy.

Michael was staring at her with a mixture of incomprehension and terror.

His bit on the side was staring too, but with more than a hint of hostility.

Christ, did she really think they were going to skip off into the sunset leaving her behind to pick up the pieces?

She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and said the words that had been festering inside her since she'd first seen them together .

‘You know what, you disgust me. What were you thinking? She’s what, twenty-something? My God, she’s young enough to be your daughter!’ Celeste glowered at the girl, who looked back defiantly. Whoever she was, she certainly had confidence in spades.

Michael looked down at his hands, looked up at his young girlfriend, then raised his eyes to his wife. ‘She is my daughter, Celeste. This is Sophie.’

Celeste was totally dumbstruck. She stared at the girl who stared back with barely concealed contempt.

Now that she knew the truth she could see the resemblance.

The same eyes, strong chin, hair colour.

Michael had shown her a couple of photos in recent years but she’d barely glanced at them.

‘Hm, pretty girl. Hopefully a nicer personality than her mother!’ Now she cringed inwardly as she recalled her dismissive tone, her lack of interest. She’d never imagined, not for one minute, that she’d be standing in front of her husband’s only child in a garden centre café in the middle of nowhere.

It was patently clear their meetings had been going on for some time judging by the way the girl had placed a protective hand on Michael’s arm.

She whispered in his ear, something that made him sit upright and frown.

‘Absolutely not. You are not leaving, Sophie. This situation has gone on for far too long. You have a right to be here and so do I. There’s no way on earth I’m losing you again.’

They had reached an impasse. Celeste was stunned beyond belief that she was looking at her husband's only child, a person she thought he'd consigned to history as a result of his tumultuous relationship with her mother.

A person she'd been happy to leave in the past, so keen was she to create a perfect marriage with no irritating outsiders to interfere.

Yet, looking at them now, she felt a pang of guilt.

More than a pang; more like a piercing stab deep within her gut.

If Michael had felt the need to keep his liaisons with Sophie secret, what did that say about her?

Michael looked crushed, his arm still around his daughter's shoulder, his gaze upon Celeste. Feeling her knees about to give way, she pulled up a seat and attempted a wobbly smile.

‘OK, I got everything totally wrong but what was I supposed to think?

I find my husband with a younger woman, jump to the wrong conclusion, make an idiot of myself.

I blame these things!' Celeste twirled her fitness band around her wrist, wishing she'd never bought the bloody thing.

Michael looked perplexed and Sophie ignored the gesture completely.

Instead, she looked at her watch and got up to leave.

'I have to go. I need to pick up the boys soon.

Dad, I'll be in touch.' She bent down and kissed Michael on the cheek.

Didn't acknowledge Celeste's presence, simply walked past her as if she didn't exist. Which was a state she would happily embrace right now.

Disappear in a puff of smoke, pretend none of this had happened, rewind to just of the two of them.

But that wasn't possible, was it? Michael and Sophie had found each other, clearly needed each other, and where did she fit in to the picture?

Precisely nowhere. She'd shown her hand a long time ago, and it was a possessive and ultimately destructive one.

She thought Michael needed only one person – herself – but she was wrong.

So, so wrong. He needed his daughter and he had gone behind her back to make it happen.

Which meant one of two things. He didn't want to hurt her so had kept Sophie a secret.

Or he resented her so much for keeping them apart that he would leave her and concentrate on rebuilding his relationship with his daughter.

Whichever way she looked at it, Celeste couldn't see a Disney ending.

She was far past the wicked stepmother stage.

You had to actually know the person before you got to wear that badge.

And she couldn't fathom how she and Sophie would ever become close to being friends.

Too much damage had been done. Most of it – she sadly accepted – on her part.

If she'd just opened up a little bit, listened when Michael had talked about his daughter, shown the tiniest bit of interest. But she hadn't. Too wrapped up in me, myself and I.

'I'm going home now, Celeste. I'd offer you a lift but as you obviously followed me here, I assume you'll make your own way back?' Michael rose stiffly to his feet, his expression impossible to read. She stood up too, desperate to touch him but terrified of his reaction.

'I'll see you back there. You will be there when I get home?' Celeste pleaded with her eyes, begged for a chance to talk, to find some resolution in this awful mess.

'I'll be there. I'm just not sure how long for.' Michael scraped back his chair and marched off. Celeste watched his departure with blurry vision and a certainty that her marriage was officially over. And that she had only herself to blame.