The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  ‘I can’t do this.’ He suddenly wheeled round, pushing me back abruptly into the stone, catching me completely off-guard. He pressed himself against me, his hands cupping the sides of my face. I stared back at him, chin raised and unflinching. He didn’t kiss me, he just held his face so close that his eyes lost all focus.

  ‘You’re going to have to.’ I breathed his breath, our lips tingling but not touching, his hips jammed against mine. I was in control of this and I knew it. The equal amounts of excitement and terror set my whole body trembling. I pushed him off and walked quickly up the path that ran alongside the river towards a copse of trees. The sounds of the water churning and splashing almost cancelled out the shouts up ahead. Teenagers by the sound of them, their voices whisking away into the rushing water as it tumbled over the weir.

  ‘Here.’ I led him further into the shadows as we turned, me tugging my skirt up and pulling at my tights and then grabbing his flies to unbutton them while he stood there, seemingly incapable, his hands hanging limply at his sides, his breath rasping a little as he leaned into me. His erection slapped into my stomach before he entered me in one shocked gasp, my leg hooked ungainly, my knickers awry. Our kiss was animal, clumsy, open-mouthed, our jaws and teeth and chins grinding into each other, our tongues not caring about the wet and the spit as he pushed himself into me over and over. Neither of us made a sound. I clung to him, feeling his shoulders powerful and sinewy under my hands as, through half-closed eyes, I watched the red jacket of a jogger flash past and heard the languid chatter of a dog-walker on a mobile phone.

  They were so close – one sideways glance and they would have seen us – their proximity making things dangerous, urgent, and I came, shuddering and gasping, his breath was wet on my neck. I opened my eyes. His forehead was tucked under my jaw; he nuzzled in, burrowing like a small animal.

  Somewhere, far off, a dog barked and the ghostly outline of the trees whispered and shifted overhead. Everything was different; I was different. The remaining fuzz of the alcohol lifted, leaving behind some strange, hollow clarity I’d never felt before: not like this. It was as though I knew him; like I really knew him.

  My hands were still on his shoulders; his every movement was mine too. My whole body thrummed and responded with his. This was the bit of me I’d been missing and he’d just found it again.

  ‘Christ,’ he said thickly, half laughing, half in amazement. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’

  ‘I was sent,’ I whispered smiling. ‘I was sent to do terrible things to drive you insane.’

  He lifted his face and laced his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back and kissed me again, his eyes wide open. I saw something there, right that moment: a split second of desire and want and attraction, and yet something else: something that looked like fear. He leaned in again and we kissed, very gently. I smiled at him softly. ‘Come on.’

  He helped me scramble out of the bushes and onto the path, but he didn’t let go my fingers, only wound and linked them into his own.

  ‘Why all the way out here?’ he tugged playfully.

  I grinned. ‘I just wanted to see if you would.’

  We walked for another minute or so without him saying anything. ‘You’re a funny mixture, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Am I? Is that your professional opinion?’ I gave him a playful sideways look.

  ‘No, that’s an “I’m intrigued by you” statement of fact.’

  He said it so seriously and calmly I couldn’t think of how to reply.

  ‘I’m not… Like… this… Usually.’ I felt almost bashful. ‘I feel a bit embarrassed now.’ I concentrated on the movement of my feet.

  ‘God, don’t be!’ He barked a laugh. His hand swung with mine. ‘I think you’re probably quite a complex person. I like that.’

  A tiny thrill rippled: he thought I was different. He liked that. Then a sudden dampening thought that I was a bit of a fraud, that I really wasn’t like this and that deep down there was just the same old me, waiting tediously in the wings.

  ‘Would you come back to my hotel?’ he said quietly.

  I was scared, excited, slightly sick, happy and wary all at the same time. Good things don’t happen to me. Good things don’t happen to me, particularly in bloody Yorkshire. Was it possible that the bad spell could be broken – or did I have to live like this forever? Could I give myself a chance? Could I?

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  * * *

  His room smelled of difference. His bag was on a chair, unzipped, the toe of a sock peeping disarmingly through the gap. The bathroom was in darkness, but the door was ajar. His washing stuff was sitting by the side of the basin: a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant and his razor. The homely intimacy of it pulled at my gut and I suddenly thought how much I wanted this: how much I’d missed it.

  ‘You okay?’ I realised he’d been watching me.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You don’t look okay.’ He came across and put his hands on my shoulders.

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘No.’ He continued to look at me, scrutinising my face as though trying to read something there, I didn’t know what.

  ‘It just feels a bit weird. Being here.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘As though I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Well technically, you shouldn’t.’ He reached forward slowly and slipped his fingers around the nape of my neck. ‘Both of us booking our single rooms, making those expense claims. We should really be considering financial accountability and professional standards…’ Strands of my hair caught as he drew me into him. ‘…All those kinds of things.’ The kiss was long and soft. The room tilted. My breath was knocked out of me and I found I was trembling.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You’re nervous.’ He said it matter-of-factly.

  ‘Not nervous, more, kind of…’

  ‘Not comfortable.’

  ‘Maybe.’ My shyness returned a hundredfold.

  ‘Don’t over-think things.’ His arm slid into the small of my back and I felt the pressure of his hips pushing me backwards. I instinctively wanted to look round, but he wasn’t going to let me.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you fall.’

  He guided me expertly to the edge of the bed, my knees buckling beneath me, and suddenly, there he was above me, gazing down. His expression was strange, troubled, as through trying to figure me out. ‘You’re still in charge; you’re absolutely in control. I’m in your hands,’ he whispered. I smiled, but he didn’t smile back, concentrating instead on smoothing my hair, his fingers threading again and again, pulling painfully at the snags as he arranged it into a coronet around my head. I went to move.

  ‘No don’t,’ he frowned. ‘Don’t. Stay like that. Look at your curls – they’re beautiful.’

  My eyes met his, questioningly. I watched his lips as they dipped towards me and I closed my eyes; I felt his breath skirting past my cheek and I opened them. His temple was pressed close to mine, his mouth in my hair, I could feel the wetness loud in my ear as he breathed me in. ‘You smell so good,’ he whispered. He looked into my eyes, and then kissed me again, letting his tongue gently tip its way against each lip.

  ‘Don’t build your walls up against me. I won’t hurt you – not ever.’

  My brain challenged every word, but my body responded.

  ‘Shhh… Trust your instincts,’ he whispered. ‘They’re right.’

  My head raged in warning, but my heart responded like bathing in the warmth of the sun.

  ‘Shhh now…’

  * * *

  The sky was dark, framed by the open curtains. I had no idea if it was late. The bedside light was making a faint buzzing sound. I shifted my ear and lay against his chest, listening to the quiet thrub-thrub of his heart.

  ‘You haven’t asked me.’ His voice suddenly boomed into my ear. ‘Sorry, were you asleep?’

  ‘No, just drifting.
’ I stretched my toes into the cool patch at the bottom of the bed. ‘What haven’t I asked you?’ Every joint, every muscle felt loose and unbound. My brain was a scrambled, pleasant wooliness.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘What do you want me to know?’

  ‘God, you’re good.’ I heard the smile in his voice. ‘Very cool.’

  I gave a tiny shrug against his side.

  His chin rubbed against my hair. It made a rasping sound. ‘I’m not married, or in a relationship, nor do I have any kids. I have my own flat, my own teeth and my own car. I am a nice, decent guy – and that’s not a contradiction in terms.’

  ‘Is that possible?’ I let him hear the smile in my voice.

  ‘Absolutely possible and absolutely true.’

  ‘Well that’s good, then.’

  His chin flexed in amusement and then he yawned, widely. He pulled me closer to him. ‘Is there anything else you need to know?’

  ‘Not just this moment,’ I nuzzled in closer.

  ‘Like you say, that’s good then…’ His voice drifted lazily and then he went quiet. There was silence for a few moments more and I felt his arm jerk. I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. I peeped up, carefully. His eyes were closed and his breathing was quiet and regular. I lay there, luxuriating in his warmth, fighting off the tiny frissons of anxiety that kept running through me. The last time I’d allowed myself to get close to someone… The last time I’d let my guard down… Dan. The pain of it had been physical… Somewhere, deep inside, the ache was still there… I batted the thoughts away. This didn’t have to be like that. Paul wasn’t Dan and sabotaging myself had become like a muscle reflex: instant and automatic knee-jerk reaction. I snuggled in and shut my eyes. I wanted to enjoy this. It was nice… he was nice. He was so right: thinking, over-thinking, letting my imagination run amok. I just needed to let things happen.

  * * *

  I don’t know what woke me. The side lamps were still on in the early morning light, giving the room an unpleasant grey glow.

  I peered over the hump of Paul’s shoulder at the clock. 05:17.

  Carefully and very gently, I eased myself from the side of the bed and patted around for my clothes, pulling them on any old how, and then finding one boot had gone missing. Fishing blindly round, I found it, clunking it against the side of the bed. Paul’s breathing changed and I paused, my own breath caught high in my throat. I waited. After a few seconds, he sighed deeply and turned over as a sudden flash on his side of the bed lit the room with a dim blue light. His phone flashed silently again and then went black. I knew I shouldn’t look. I’m not entirely sure what made me, but craning over, I gently pressed the ‘on’ button, and there, in front of me, were a whole stream of missed messages and calls, all from the same number, but no name. It took a moment for my brain to register and then a squeeze of mortification caught in my throat. What had I been thinking? Was I completely stupid? Of course. A woman: a girlfriend; a wife, even. Why had I ever thought it would be any different? Closing my mind to the stark humiliation, I blindly fished round for the rest of my clothes, and grabbing my coat and briefcase, gingerly tiptoed to the door. It glided smoothly open without a sound and I glanced back. He hadn’t moved. Slipping through into the corridor, I let the door click softly behind me.

  The corridor lay in muffled stillness. I walked quickly, feeling exposed and vulnerable; my whole body tingling and burning with the shame of it. Thank God I’d seen it when I did. I was too old now to deal with all that kind of rubbish, too old and just too tired.

  Stepping out onto the street and into the gauzy dawn, I made my way along the short route back to my hotel and up to my room. It was stark and silent, and within minutes I’d stripped off and was standing in the shower, letting the hot wash of water drum across my neck and shoulders, scalding my skin. How could he have lied like that? I tried to shake the image of him away. I’d embarrassed myself. Jesus. I’d fallen for it all yet again, hadn’t I? The acute humiliation of it seared with the heat of the water. The only saving grace was no one knew. But what if he tells people? I didn’t think I’d been seen though. I’d certainly make sure I never bumped into him again. If anyone said anything, I’d just deny it.

  Pooling a large blob of shampoo onto my palm, I began to lather my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp until the skin tingled. I could almost make myself believe none of it had happened. After all, it hadn’t seemed like me, had it? It would only take a small adjustment to make believe it had all happened to someone else. Whoever that girl had been, whatever she’d felt…

  I let the stream of water gush over my face, rinsing my hair and scouring the images away. When I squinted my eyes open again, I knew all that was left was me: the old me: the one who had always been there. I almost felt sad.

  I turned off the tap, and was just wrapping myself in various towels when the phone beside the bed begin to ring. Swearing and hopping over, I grabbed it.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ It was Emma.

  ‘Oh! Hi!’ I felt like a kid that had been caught. ‘What time is it?’ I noticed I was dripping on the carpet and looked around for the clock.

  ‘Never mind the bloody time, I’ve been worried sick!’

  I stopped dead.

  ‘I’ve been up half the night. Jesus Christ, Luce! Why didn’t you answer your phone? I knocked on your door, I even contacted Reception. Where the hell have you been?’

  I was simultaneously annoyed and suddenly flustered that she was angry. ‘Oh God, Em, I’m so sorry! The battery died on me… I didn’t think… Shit…’ I scrabbled about, looking for my phone and charger and plugged it in.

  She paused and I could hear her irritation breathing down the line. ‘You weren’t deliberately ignoring me, were you? I mean, because you’re angry at the thought of me going away?’ her voice was flat.

  She had some real front to be having a go at me.

  ‘Emma, no! Of course I wasn’t ignoring you! I wouldn’t do that.’

  This was the closest we’d ever come to having any kind of argument.

  ‘So where’ve you been?’

  I took a breath. Seriously?

  ‘I met a bloke.’

  ‘Wow!’ She sounded stunned. ‘What? Someone in that pub?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Are you okay, Lucy?’

  I heard it. I knew what she must be thinking. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. I contained a prickle of resentment. ‘It was just a one-off. I won’t be seeing him again.’

  ‘Right.’

  I couldn’t tell from her tone what ‘right’ meant. She clearly wasn’t going to ask why not? I’d had a one-night stand. So what? Was she the only one who could do such things?

  I let the silence hang stubbornly between us.

  How dare she? After all the hours I had sat listening while she went on and on about one latest shag or another? How many times had she put me off, and reorganised dates with me because some man had clicked his fingers? And where was she last night, for God’s sake?

  ‘Are you going down for breakfast?’ she said, eventually.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Best you tell me all about it when we get there, then.’ Her truculence wavered, but my irritation hadn’t.

  ‘Okay, but there’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Mm, sounds like it,’ she said trying to jolly me up but I wasn’t prepared to be jollied. ‘See you down there then? Quarter past seven?’

  I was just about to say ‘make it half past’ in a vain attempt at a bit of control, but with a rattle of the receiver, she was gone. I put my end down slowly, suddenly catching sight of the faded ink numbers of Paul’s number on my hand. If I was Emma, I wouldn’t give a toss that he was married and playing away. If I was Emma, I’d be saying that was his problem and not mine.

  But I wasn’t Emma. I was tedious old me.

  Picking up my mobile, I waited for the screen to burst into life and slowly keyed
the numbers to send a message, all the time thinking about what I could say. In the end I just typed ‘I’m sorry,’ and pressed ‘send’ before I could over-think it. Dragging the towel from my hair, I rubbed it vigorously into a mass of tangles as a clutch of what felt like grief turned my insides into a similar knot.

  I’ve been used yet again.

  I wasn’t sure who I was most angry with – Paul, Emma, or maybe I was just furious with myself. I’d spent my life saying bloody sorry when I wasn’t in the wrong. Paul wasn’t sorry was he? He’d had his cake and eaten it. Emma – well, those two words wouldn’t even figure in her vocabulary. She wasn’t sorry, not for anything: not for endlessly dumping me as and when it suited, not for running around with other women’s husbands, and not even for disappearing off to the other side of the world. No, she wasn’t sorry, she never was.

  I pulled out the comb from my bag and began to drag it through the knotted snag of curls. Little clumps broke off. I stared down at them. Bits of me; people always took bits of me and then left the rest. Why was there no one out there who wanted me, the whole me and nothing but me?

  The truth was, no matter what I did for anyone, I never seemed to be enough.

  Chapter Two

  Breakfast had been awkward. Every time there was a lull in the conversation I had this terror she was going to start interrogating me and so I’d distract her with more toast and gallons of juice and topping up the tea with vats of hot water. I kept being deliberately vague about last night and asked endless questions about Connor instead. She had just been about to wheel the topic of conversation around to me again, when I nodded over at the queue of people that were looking for spare tables and suggested we make a move.

  She’d upset me and I’d upset her; that was the long and short of it. We stood in the hotel reception area, both of us trying really hard to get past it all. I heard my phone ping with a message but studiously ignored it.

  ‘You’re very welcome to come shopping, you know.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer but there’s stuff I need to do.’