The Scandal

by Nicola Marsh

  Speechless at this uncharacteristic display, and increasingly worried by his erratic behavior, I wait. When the bottle’s half empty, he lowers it.

  “I need to tell you something and you’re not going to like it.” He crosses the kitchen, grabs a chair, and turns it around so he’s sitting backwards on it, facing me. “It’s big, Claire, and I don’t know whether you’ll forgive me.”

  I’ve never had asthma but in that moment I feel the tubes in my chest constricting, the air wheezing through, as I struggle for my next breath.

  “What did you do?”

  Four simple words that could potentially lead to a complicated answer I’m terrified to hear.

  “The other night, when I said I slept at the beach, I lied.” He lowers his gaze to the beer bottle in his hand, where he’s picking at the label. “I’ve lied about a lot of things lately.”

  Oh my God. My husband has just admitted to telling countless lies. He’s about to confess. I don’t speak. I can’t. My mouth is dry, like I have the hangover to end all hangovers and my throat is so tight I can barely breathe. I’m shaking as I sit and brace for whatever horrors he’s about to reveal.

  “Remember when Beau rang me at the garden party freaking out? And then kept ringing and leaving messages on our answering machine?”

  I nod, still not trusting myself to say a word.

  “He helped me do something I’m not proud of, but I thought it was necessary at the time.” He raised his eyes to meet mine, beseeching me to understand.

  How can I, when I have no idea where this is going? Unless Dane had enlisted Beau’s help to get rid of Jodi?

  God, the stress is getting to me, my logical brain deserting me, replaced by an overactive imagination conjuring up all sorts of crazy.

  “I need to show you something first, then I’ll explain.” He fishes a folded piece of paper out of his top pocket and hands it to me.

  My hands are trembling so when I open it the paper rattles.

  It’s a sperm count test.

  With my husband’s name on it.

  I have no idea why he’s doing this. I already know the results and will have to live with the consequences.

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  “Read it,” he says, his tone rough and tinged with fear.

  Foreboding makes my stomach gripe as I scan the results, my heart flip-flopping and my pulse racing. My lungs constrict to the point I’m dragging in deeper breaths so I don’t pass out. I’m woozy, gripping the paper so hard it crinkles.

  “I don’t get it.” I blink several times and stare at the results but they don’t change.

  My previously infertile husband turns out to be extremely fertile.

  Confusion wars with outrage as I wave the paper at him. “What the—?”

  “I faked the test.”

  He sounds so anguished I should feel sorry for him.

  All I feel is soul-destroying rage.

  He faked the test? What does that even mean? I can’t fathom the logistics of doing such a despicable thing let alone contemplate his rationale. This nightmare we’ve been living through since we discovered his infertility has been manufactured, by him?

  I’m dumbfounded. Completely bewildered and utterly destroyed.

  Fury constricts my throat, but I manage to squeeze out, “Why?”

  He flinches at the sound of that one word, more a screech, and clasps his hands together in front like he’s about to deliver a sermon. Though I know there’ll be nothing remotely pious about his revelation.

  “Because my father had Huntington’s and I don’t ever want to pass that onto a kid of mine.”

  This is the start. The lies will start tumbling one after another like dominoes, until I realize the man I thought I knew implicitly I might not know at all.

  I clutch the damning test results so hard it crumples into a ball and I fling it away in disgust. “You told me your father’s dead.”

  “He is.” His eyes beseech me to understand. I can’t. I’m shocked to my core. “The Huntington’s disease manifested in his late thirties, he died two decades later.”

  I do a quick calculation. “So he was alive when we first met?”

  He nods, hangs his head in shame. “It’s an autosomal dominant disorder, which means I may still manifest in my forties and I didn’t want that to stop us getting together.”

  “Oh my God.” I stand so abruptly I bang my knee on the table leg. I barely register the pain. “Is anything you’ve ever told me the truth?”

  That’s rich coming from me, considering I’ve never told him I cheated. I should. Maybe I will. But for now I can’t comprehend he’s lied to me about something so significant, something that impacts the rest of our lives.

  “I love you. Always have, always will, that’ll never change.” The beer label is now shredded and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I saw what Huntington’s did to my dad. I could never handle a child of mine going through that, knowing it was my fault.”

  My heart breaks a little but I continue. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why lie?”

  The reality of Beau’s involvement in this farce crashes over me, making me sick to my stomach. “Beau’s infertile, isn’t he? You used his sperm for the fertility test.”

  Dane blinks rapidly but it can’t disguise the disgust. I know the feeling. “Yes. He didn’t want to do it but he understands the ramifications if I have a child. But he started freaking out, feeling guilty, and said I had to tell you the truth or he would.”

  “So that’s why you were so focused on adoption from the start and pushing me when I wasn’t so amenable,” I spit out, my venom-laced words peppering him like shrapnel. I half expect to see him duck.

  He stands too but is wise enough not to approach me. “I want a family with you, Claire, I always have. But I can’t take the risk of fathering a child so before we started trying I enrolled in a well-known program for the male contraceptive injection in the city. Its efficacy is amazing but the drug would’ve been detected in a test and I couldn’t take that risk—”

  “Do you have any fucking idea what I’ve gone through this past year, believing I was a failure somehow because I couldn’t get pregnant? Do you?” I yell, my legs trembling to the point of giving way. “And all that time you could’ve fathered ten kids if you wanted to.”

  That’s the moment the remainder of my shattered world implodes.

  What if my lying husband had an affair? Or a one-night stand?

  What if that girl got pregnant, then turned up here, and told him?

  How far would he go to ensure that child was never born?

  I run to the toilet and retch, my gut heaving until there’s nothing left. Even then I can’t stop. This time, he doesn’t hold my hair back. I’m reeling in a world completely out of control. My head’s spinning, my eyes are blurred, my mouth filled with acid.

  I stumble to the bathroom, rinse my mouth out and brush my teeth. When I straighten from the basin, he’s holding out a glass of water. I take it. Drink it. Resist the urge to smash the glass in his face. I lean against the handbasin for support, scared my legs will give out for real this time.

  My throat is dry, raspy, but I manage to get the words out.

  “I need you to take a paternity test.”

  Thirty-Five

  Marisa

  It’s no secret to those who know me best that when the going gets tough, I organize a party. It’s my coping mechanism, a way to instill happiness to chase away the pain. It’s what I’ve always done.

  I’ve thrown a hell of a lot of parties in my lifetime.

  But the last thing I feel like doing after Jodi’s death is socialize, but Avery leaves me no choice. He insists we have an intimate gathering for our twenty-first wedding anniversary. I know why. He has a mega deal in the pipeline so it’s all for show. He’ll post the evidence of his perfect life on social media and leak snippets to the gossip columns in the newspapers, solidifying his position for whatever deal is go
ing down.

  He may not have known Jodi but I did and he should be sympathizing with me. His callous disregard makes it entirely possible that my husband fathered a bastard and then killed the mother. It makes me sick to my stomach.

  But I don’t want to alert him anything’s wrong, especially with Claire investigating, so I pretend to be the cooperative wife as always. I call the caterers, hire a drinks waiter, order premixed cocktails. Once that’s done I contact a local party planner to do the decorations and I organize a local beauty consultant to come to the house and do my hair and make-up.

  I want to look spectacular for my twenty-first wedding anniversary so he won’t suspect a thing. With a little luck, it will be my last party.

  I’m keeping the guest list deliberately small. Ryan and Maggie, and close friends only. Claire and Elly might think it’s odd, me throwing a party so soon after Jodi’s death, but they’ll understand. They get me like few other people do.

  I glance in the mirror, pleased with how I look. Fancy updo akin to a French roll, smoky eye make-up in a rich navy to compliment my satin fifties-style dress in the same color. Crimson lips. Highlighted cheekbones. Sapphires, a gift from Avery for our anniversary last year, glittering at my ears and neck.

  I look good: a woman in control. When nothing can be further from the truth. But no one knows. All they’ll see tonight is a glamorous forty-something woman who’s the perfect wife paying tribute to her handsome husband.

  If they only knew.

  Avery is already downstairs, greeting guests. I hear his booming laugh, his jovial effusiveness. Forever the actor, trying to convince everyone he’s bigger and better in all aspects of his life. I inwardly cringe. But I join him, making a grand entrance down the stairs as Claire and Dane walk in.

  There’s something drastically wrong. She looks shell-shocked; he looks gutted. Claire is sporting a pallor no amount of foundation or blush can hide. She’s wearing an old black pantsuit, channeling a tux, I’ve seen many times before. That in itself is a giveaway of her state of mind because for all her toughness, when she sheds her uniform she loves dressing up for my parties.

  Dane isn’t much better. He’s wearing a crumpled beige suit, an open-necked ivory shirt and mismatched brown shoes. But it’s his expression, like he’s been through a warzone and come out on the other side that makes me want to hug him.

  Dealing with Jodi’s death can’t be easy on them. They lost the baby they never had and it must feel like they’re grieving all over again.

  “C.C., looking gorgeous as usual.” Avery steps in close to kiss Claire’s cheek and she sidesteps, treading on his toes in the process.

  Dane’s fists are clenched. He looks ready to deck my husband. Is Avery so self-absorbed and dense he can’t see these two are on the edge?

  I rush forward, needing to defuse the situation before it gets worse. “Thanks for coming, you two.”

  I slip an arm around each of their shoulders and subtly guide them away from Avery.

  Claire leans in to whisper in my ear, “I only made an effort to come tonight because I know how hard it must be for you to celebrate your anniversary after all that stuff you told me about your marriage.”

  My chest tightens at her thoughtfulness, as I murmur, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  Dane stares straight ahead like he’s oblivious to everything and when we reach the glass-enclosed conservatory where I’m having the party tonight, Claire says, “We can’t stay long. I’m expecting test results at work and it’s important.”

  Dane stiffens and when I cast him a sideways glance, his jaw is clenched so tight it juts out.

  “Stay as long as you like, we’re not doing a formal sit-down, just finger food and drinks.” I gesture at the waiter. “What would you like?”

  Both order soda with a twist of lemon but I don’t say a word. I sense they’re brittle, like the slightest thing might shatter them, so I kiss each of them on the cheek and drift away.

  Elly enters the conservatory at that moment and I’m struck yet again by how beautiful she is. Avery’s hovering nearby, moving between guests, the consummate performer. He abandoned his plans to work in the city and has been home instead, driving me nuts. I even threatened to leave at one point – an idle threat, we both know it – and he flipped, saying he’s been under great stress at work, about a possible merger with the biggest pharmaceutical company in the world and needs me more than ever.

  Apparently we have to host some of the international delegates over the next few weeks, a big splashy dinner party for the CEOs from France, Germany, Singapore and Sydney. I’m so pathetic that I can’t help but feel flattered that he needs me, the trophy wife who throws the best parties. What’s flattering about that?

  I watch him brush a lingering kiss on Elly’s cheek and she recoils slightly. Avery’s like a cat: he seems to pick the women who don’t like him and makes a beeline for them. He consistently makes it a point to talk to Elly at my parties because he senses she’s oblivious to his charms. Smart girl. He strides to the makeshift stage where the quartet I hired has set up.

  He picks up a microphone, turns it on and taps it. No feedback. Like everything else he touches, it works fine; for a time.

  “If I can have your attention, please?”

  Thirteen pairs of eyes, including mine, focus on him. I have to admit he looks spectacular in a charcoal dinner suit and white shirt, his tie matching my dress. He’s the epitome of a successful man and knows it.

  “I’d like to invite my darling wife up here.”

  I freeze. I hate the spotlight and he knows it. But he continues to beam at me and beckon so I’m left no choice but to cross the conservatory and stand by his side.

  “We’d like to thank you all for coming to celebrate our twenty-first wedding anniversary.” He slips his arm around my waist, holding on tight, like he expects me to bolt. I wish. “All of you have touched our lives in some way and we couldn’t be more grateful.”

  He stares down at me and I can almost believe there’s genuine love radiating from his eyes.

  “I love you, Ris. You’ve been my rock since we met.” He grins and taps the end of my nose. “You are my world.”

  I’m stunned by his effusiveness and a tad embarrassed it’s in front of others but manage a weak smile.

  He returns my smile, his bold and confident as usual. “I know I’m a selfish, demanding asshole at times, so what I’m trying to say is you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I appreciate you, even if I have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

  To my mortification, tears fill my eyes and a few trickle down my cheeks, when I once vowed to never cry over this man again.

  “Ryan, come on up here too.”

  My brother-in-law, who has been hanging around Maggie and Elly as they chat, appears startled for a moment before bounding toward us. He’s always like this, filled with exuberance and zest for life, that often leaves me feeling exhausted.

  When he reaches us, Avery grins and claps him on the back. “As most of you know, this guy has been the bane of my existence since he was born and stole the limelight from me. He’s shadowed me, he’s bugged me, sometimes I think he wants to be me.”

  A polite ripple of laughter filters through the room.

  “I’m his go-to guy, always have been, which is why he asked me to make this announcement rather than him doing the honors.”

  Ryan elbows Avery and there’s more laughter before my husband lifts the microphone to his mouth. “Maggie, apparently this doofus you married wants to renew his vows with you, so we’re hosting a celebration for you next week, the biggest shindig this town has ever seen.”

  I’m furious Avery hasn’t asked me if it’s okay we host a party for Ryan and Maggie but I can’t say anything now, not after his public declaration of love. The announcement is obviously a surprise for Maggie too but she appears pleased, her peach matte lips curving into a shy smile.

  “Go give your wife a smooch,” Avery
says, bumping Ryan with his hip.

  I hear applause as Avery sweeps me into his arms and plants a resounding kiss on my lips. When he releases me, I see two things that capture my attention.

  Claire and Dane are storming out.

  Elly is standing stock-still, oblivious to the broken wine glass in her hand, the stem snapped clean in two.

  Thirty-Six

  Claire

  “I need to get this, it’s urgent,” I say, my cell vibrating in the pocket of my black satin jacket. It’ll be the test results.

  Avery’s paternity test, that is. My husband refuses to take one.

  “Can’t you leave work alone for one frigging night?” He scowls as he follows me to the foyer.

  “This is important.” I glare at him, waiting until he steps away a few feet before checking the text from Ron.

  I’m stunned as I read it. Because the primary theory I have regarding Jodi’s murder has been blown to pieces.

  Avery isn’t the father of Jodi’s baby.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He’s by my side in an instant, the solicitous husband once again and nothing like the madman who’d flung his beer bottle against the bathroom mirror when I’d asked him to take a paternity test.

  I can’t be around him anymore without seeing his rage, twice now. He explained the rationale behind his explosions. He’s worried because mood instability and depression can be the first signs of Huntington’s, so I pretend to forgive him.

  But our marriage is in trouble and we both know it. His lies have ruined everything. And with Avery’s paternity test coming back negative, if he’s not the father of Jodi’s baby, who is?

  Dane can father a child.

  Dane can’t risk bringing a child into this world.

  What is he capable of if he accidentally got a woman pregnant?

  “We need to get out of here.” Fear makes my voice rise as I slip my cell back into my pocket. “I can’t sit through one of Ris’s interminable parties while Jodi’s case is unsolved.”