Two Wrongs

by Rebecca Reid

  Only her body had slept with Max, she told herself. Her mind had been completely faithful to her husband. It wasn’t as if she had wanted to do it. There had been no choice. Men like Max had got away with whatever they wanted to do for centuries. But now she wanted to make it up to Rav, to make him see that she loved him, and to try a fresh start.

  The first day back at school after the summer holidays was always an inset day. Some of the other teachers complained about them. They were all about meetings and organization, piles of paperwork and red tape. But Chloe liked them. She liked going back to school when it had been resting for the summer, waiting and silent, ready to be filled with people and noise. When she was at school herself, she had always loved the moments when she had an excuse to leave a lesson, to go to the loo or take a message to another teacher, where she could wander the quiet corridors, knowing that the building was bursting with people but that she couldn’t see any of them. Then a bell would ring and the corridors would explode with teenagers, pushing, laughing, shoving. Her own school was very different to the one she taught at now. It had been a bog-standard comprehensive where she had been summarily ignored by the teachers because she didn’t make trouble and didn’t need much help. Her school now was quite the opposite. Prestigious. Ordered. Filled with girls who knew they were smart, knew they had potential for brilliance and intended to realize it. They loved Chloe’s drama lessons because they were a chance to try different things, experiment, step outside of themselves.

  It had been Rav who had talked her into taking the job. She’d been teaching at an underfunded school which was on its knees, a forty-five-minute bike ride away. One day, two years after she had qualified, a child had spat at her and she’d come home in floods of tears. Rav had run her a bath, poured her a glass of wine and made a little speech. ‘I’m going to say the thing that I know you don’t want to hear,’ he had told her. ‘Go private. Don’t do it for you. Don’t do it for the longer holidays or the better pay. Do it for me. I need you to be here in the evenings, not marking until midnight. I need you to have weekends and proper holidays, and a sense of humour.’

  Of course, she had felt like a failure. Because, to an extent, she was a failure. Her old boss had made that very clear when she handed in her notice, with a sideways comment about how he was sick of losing his staff to the ‘other side’. But she had to admit, every day when she walked the ten minutes to school and taught a small class of girls who adored her and hung on her every word, she felt grateful to Rav for pretending that it was him who needed her to change jobs.

  ‘Right, that’s just about everything. Thank you for today. We’re looking forward to tomorrow – let’s make this a brilliant term.’ No one had been listening to the deputy head, who seemed to think that motivational speaking was part of her job description, but by her tone it was clear that they were free to go. Chloe pulled her jumper on, picked up her handbag and took a look at her phone. A message from Rav flashed up.

  ‘When will you be home?’

  He was back, then. She had pretended that she wanted to go and pick him up from the airport, that the inset day had prevented her from seeing him and that she was upset about it. But, in reality, she had never really understood the idea of driving all the way to the airport to pick someone up, rather than them just getting a cab.

  She looked at the message again. The bluntness of it surprised her – he was a chirpy texter usually, and he always put at least three kisses. She typed her reply with one hand. ‘In about half an hour. Everything okay? Xx.’

  There were three dots to indicate that Rav was typing, but no message came. She tried to smooth the feeling that was starting to twist in her gut. Something about this didn’t feel right.

  She picked up various books from her desk, said the goodbyes she needed to say, then walked home more quickly than usual, her new shoes clicking on the pavement. She always bought new shoes at the start of term, as if she were a child who had outgrown her previous pair over the summer holidays.

  From the moment she opened the front door to their building Chloe knew something was off. It smelled different. Sounded different. Felt different. The internal door to the flat wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even closed. There was a millimetre of light coming between the door frame and the door.

  ‘Hello?’ she called before she stepped over the threshold. Every single nerve ending in her body was writhing, telling her that something was wrong, that she shouldn’t go inside. ‘Hello?’

  Footsteps on the fake wooden floorboards. Standing in the kitchen, a glass of wine in his hands, shirtsleeves pushed up his perfect forearms, was Max.

  25

  Then

  Max was tight-lipped about everything to do with the party, and it was driving Zadie completely mad. Every time she came up with an idea – a game they should play, a cocktail she wanted to make – he told her that it was all under control, that he had it covered and that, for once, he wanted her to be a guest, not a host. Chloe could tell that Zadie was trying to be gracious, that she knew it was Max’s birthday and that therefore it should be entirely up to him how things were handled. But parties were how Zadie showed her love to people, and every time Max told her he didn’t want her to be involved she seemed to move a little further away from him. Chloe wanted to tell him to include Zadie, to let her in on the secret. But he seemed to so enjoy being the only person who had planned this party, and a little part of her was frightened that if she were to tell him off he might take back the invitation she was so proud to have received.

  At last, the Saturday morning arrived. Chloe stood outside Archer Crescent with a small suitcase, pulling her coat around her. The spring sunshine looked far warmer than it was. She took out her phone, checking to see whether she was going to be treated to another guilt-inducing voicemail from her mother, asking why she never rang.

  ‘Bang goes my theory.’

  Chloe looked up. Of course, it was Rav. ‘Theory?’

  ‘I’d been telling myself that you’d almost certainly lost your phone, and that was why you’d gone silent on me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m joking. You don’t need to apologize.’

  ‘I am sorry, though. Things have been—’

  ‘Yes, with me, too.’

  ‘Still, this should be fun.’

  ‘Knowing Max, it’ll be something quite extraordinary.’

  Rav was right. A couple of sleek silver people-carriers arrived on the dot of eleven o’clock. The group – Chloe and Rav, Max and Zadie, the deputy rugby captain and his girlfriend, five of Max’s best friends from school and their girlfriends. The drive took a couple of hours, but before Chloe could finish reading Heart of Darkness, which she was supposed to be discussing in her tutorial on Tuesday, they had pulled up at a beautiful twisty-turny house.

  Like children, they grabbed their bags from the car and ran inside, scattering and looking for bedrooms. Luckily, each door had a name on it, so there were no fights to be had. Chloe ran down the corridor, following Zadie and looking for her name. Just as she was starting to panic that she had been forgotten, that she didn’t have a room and that perhaps her inclusion was one enormous mistake, she spotted another door, which led up a spiral staircase to the eaves of the house. She went up and found her room. It was long and light with huge windows at either end and ceilings which sloped to the floor on each side. It somehow felt like a ship’s cabin. On the bed was a typed-up itinerary.

  One o’clock: lunch. Three o’clock: hot tub. Six o’clock: cocktails. Eight o’clock: dinner. Midnight: games.

  Lunch passed in an easy blur of getting to know the various girlfriends, pale pink rosé and delicious food served by a team of caterers so unobtrusive they were almost invisible. Chloe had been a waitress all the way through school. Every Friday night and Saturday lunch time she had donned her white shirt, black trousers and neat bun, and worked for her mother’s friend’s catering company. She would pass canapés, dodge questions from elderly guests
who mistook her for the host’s daughter and leave the kitchen cleaner than it had been when she arrived. But she’d never catered a party like this. She watched one of the teenage girls – far chicer than she had ever been, in tight black jeans and an even tighter black T-shirt, as she topped up the glasses. She looked about sixteen. Would she wonder about them when she was at school on Monday? The group of madly wealthy guests, only a few years older than she was, enjoying a weekend of being waited on hand and foot. She probably thought they did this all the time, that this was their normal life.

  Max’s best mate from school regaled the group with stories – the misery of being cold for months on end and their resentment of the teachers, who, seemingly, hated children. Chloe laughed until her stomach hurt at a story of Max parking his first car in the headmaster’s office. The only person who didn’t seem to be having quite as much fun as everyone else was Zadie. She was laughing in all the right places, and clearly trying her best. But Chloe realized that Zadie only ever really shone in a big crowd. This group was too small, too tight knit. She couldn’t thrive here.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rav softly, from her left side. Had Max purposely seated them next to each other? She remembered his warning. Zadie doesn’t like to share her toys.

  ‘I’m having fun,’ she answered honestly. ‘Just worried about Zadie.’

  ‘Don’t worry about her, she’s fine. She’s got to get used to the idea that it’s not all about her this weekend.’

  Chloe wanted to defend Zadie, to tell Rav that Zadie wasn’t selfish and that her problem wasn’t sharing the limelight. But everyone else was telling stories, laughing, interrupting each other, and somehow that seemed more tempting than trying to convince Rav that Zadie was really a good person.

  The warm water of the hot tub seemed to unfurl knots in Chloe’s back. She’d been nervous about getting in. Earlier, when someone called up the stairs to tell Chloe that it was hot-tub time, she had thought about pretending to be asleep, or busy, so she wouldn’t have to join in. But that would be ridiculous. Like Rav had said, this was Max’s birthday. He’d planned this, he’d laid it all on for them. It was their job to have fun – to join in. So she had dutifully put on her bikini, a plain black one she’d bought from New Look in anticipation of today. When she had looked at herself in the mirror she wished that she had thought to put on fake tan – though it might have washed off in the hot tub and that probably would have been worse than being pale. She’d attacked her bikini line the night before, cutting herself twice with a cheap yellow razor panic-purchased from the Boots in town. Not that anyone was going to really be looking. She took a deep breath. It would be fine. She stepped gingerly into the water and noticed that both Max’s and Rav’s eyes were on her. That didn’t mean anything, she told herself. It was just that she was standing up, that was all. They weren’t looking at her – not really.

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’ asked Wilbur, one of Max’s schoolfriends. ‘They’re missing out.’

  ‘Zadie said she’d be down in a bit,’ said Max, lying back. ‘Not sure about the others, but I’m finding it hard to worry about anything right now.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the others in the hot tub – Wilbur’s girlfriend, another friend of Max’s and his particular interchangeable blonde girlfriend – and they fell into a comfortable silence, the noise of the bubbles filling the air. Chloe stared up at the clear blue sky, watching a plane trail along. When she was little her mother had told her that there were rips in the sky and that planes were stitching them up, that the vapour trails left behind were actually darns. She couldn’t remember where the story had come from. Probably her mother attempting to convince her that having darns in your clothes was a nice thing, not something to be embarrassed about. Her memory was punctured by a great roar from everyone else. She turned her head to see Zadie standing by the back door, completely naked. She was even thinner than she had been the night she had stayed in their shared bedroom. Her breasts were still impressive, further adding to Chloe’s questions about whether or not they were real, but her ribs looked like a xylophone and there was an astonishing gap between her legs. She picked a graceful path from the house to the hot tub and slid into the warm water.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Max, who seemed somewhere between irritated and amused.

  ‘I’m enjoying the hot tub, obviously.’

  ‘You’re naked.’

  ‘Aren’t the rest of you?’

  Everyone shook their heads.

  ‘And there was me thinking this was a party. At least take your top off, Chloe.’

  Chloe looked down at her chest and said nothing. Zadie giggled and reached for the string at the back of her bikini top. She caught it and pulled. Chloe grabbed the front and clamped her hands to her chest, gasping. Zadie laughed. The other girls in the hot tub half laughed, but Max’s face was stony. ‘Zadie, stop it.’

  ‘I’m just playing!’ She pulled at the bikini top again. There was a ripping noise as one of the straps came away from the rest of the bikini. Chloe tried to smile. It was only cheap; it wasn’t a big deal. Zadie looked horrified.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ She held the strap in her hand. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ smiled Chloe, frantically making sure she was covered up. ‘Just … can you grab my towel? Please?’

  Zadie kept repeating how sorry she was. Chloe sort of wished she was less sorry, so that she could vent her frustration. But Zadie was so abject in her apologies that saying anything other than ‘It doesn’t matter, it’s not a big deal’ felt unreasonable. So she reassured Zadie over and over again. Zadie didn’t seem quite herself. She was unfocused, unable to follow the thread of the conversation. It was as if there were music playing that made it too loud for her to hear much, but she was the only one who could hear it.

  Later, Zadie decided to stay at home rather than going for a walk. So Chloe stayed with her. She watched the others tramp off, wearing the wellies provided by whoever owned the beautiful house. Their figures grew smaller from her bedroom window as they walked away and she felt a surprising pang of jealousy. If she weren’t here with Zadie, she could be with them. Getting to know them. Making them into proper friends, instead of people she had merely spent a weekend with. Zadie was lying on the bed, playing with her phone.

  ‘Who are you texting?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘You can’t text no one.’

  ‘I’m not texting anyone. I’m playing a game.’

  It was a lie, unquestionably. But Chloe didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. ‘Why don’t you have a nap before everyone gets back? So you can be on sparkly form later.’

  ‘I’m not tired.’

  ‘You seem a bit …’ What was the right way to tell Zadie that she seemed weird? ‘Not yourself.’

  ‘I don’t feel like myself,’ she said, her head lolling on the pillow. ‘I feel heavy. And strange.’

  Chloe’s hackles went up. ‘Did you take something?’

  Zadie shook her head, but seemed to regret it immediately. ‘No, no.’

  ‘You know you really can’t do that tonight? It’s Max’s birthday. We have to make him the centre of attention.’

  Zadie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t want to be the centre of attention. Why do you always say that?’

  ‘I’ve never said that.’

  ‘Fine. Not you, everyone else then. They all keep saying that. I don’t want to be. I just want to have a nice time like everyone else. But you’re having a go at me.’

  Chloe got up. ‘I’m going to go and read my book.’

  ‘Oh, great, leave me on my own, just like everybody else does.’

  ‘Who else? Max just went for a walk.’

  Zadie turned over and faced away from Chloe. Chloe took it as a sign of dismissal and trailed back to her room. She sat on her stairs for a while, meaning to go and get her book but unable to stir herself. It was the first real argument she and Zadie had eve
r had, and she didn’t like it. What if Zadie didn’t forgive her? Her first thought was for the loss of her friendship, but quickly afterwards came another: would Zadie take everything away? Would she be left without parties, without friends, without a home from home? Would she still be able to move in with them next year? Her thoughts came thick and fast, swelling in her brain and turning her throat to acid. They were only interrupted when she heard a creak on the floorboards below. Most of the group had gone on the walk. Who was it? She pushed the door open a fragment, looking to see. Had Max come back to see Zadie? She hoped not. She didn’t want them to fight. But it wasn’t Max. It was Rav. Standing on the landing.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, stepping down the stairs. ‘You didn’t go for a walk?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, no. I wanted to stay here.’

  ‘Why?’

  He smiled. ‘I had hopes of catching you alone.’

  An hour or so later they were lying in the half-light, somewhere between sleeping and waking. The house was starting to come to life again. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, her limbs weighted with sleep and pleasure.

  ‘About six, I think.’

  The words woke her fully. ‘Fuck. I need to go down. I said I’d have a drink with Zadie before we went downstairs.’

  ‘Doesn’t it irritate you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Doing everything her way, all the time. She’s a bit of a brat.’

  If she could have foreseen the sentence Rav had said, Chloe would have assumed it would anger her. That she would defend her friend. But to her own shock, a little part of her, a nasty little part, liked hearing Rav speak like that about Zadie.

  ‘You think she’s selfish?’ she asked quietly, as if she was worried someone might overhear her.