Babe, really worried about you. Hope everything is OK? X
I press send and try my very best to wait patiently for a reply, but I just can't help myself, so I send another.
J has gone back out for the night, probs won't be home till well after we've gone to bed if you fancy a sleepover? x
Maybe I'm missing something here, because I still can't wrap my head around why you only want to come over when you know for certain that he isn't going to be there.
There's something you can't resist though, something about being in my company, in my house, and although you take your time, you eventually reply, accepting my token of kindness. The power creeps back into my possession once again. For the umpteenth time, I have the upper hand and I'm not afraid to tell a white lie or two to get it. Jacob is not going to be out tonight, he will be at home – our home, mine and his, but it’s time for our little love birds to finally meet. Well overdue, some might even say.
Around 7pm I pick you up from a pub just around the corner from your hotel. I am not late this time; I don't have time to waste any more.
Standing with my back against the driver’s door, I watch as you struggle along the path towards me with your suitcase. I pop my gum exaggeratingly, almost as if it's a chore for me to even be here – I suppose in some way it is. I wonder if you notice any difference in my attitude towards you, perhaps you're wondering why I'm not falling over myself to help you like I normally would have for any friend. The difference being, you're not really my friend and right now, I really can't be bothered to pretend.
You push the release on the boot of my car and heave your oversized case onto your knee that is balancing on the edge of my car. Why do you have such a big case with you? You're only here for a couple of bloody days, it almost seems like you've brought everything but your kitchen sink with you.
'Jeez, Zee, what the hell have you got in there!' I can't help myself, 'You'd think you were here for a month.’
You smile back at me, but there's a disingenuous aura that puzzles me, I feel like I've rumbled something you didn't want me to know about.
I pop my gum some more whilst I think. You flinch each time, I think it's annoying you. Pop, pop, pop, some more. Ahhh, I get it now, you did have something else in mind, didn't you? Some stupid plan to ensure you could stay here for more than the intended few days. I don't know exactly what it was that you believed you had up your sleeve, but your trick isn't going to work here. You will be sent back on that plane come Thursday just like I planned, I promise you that.
On the drive back to the house I tell myself to fill the empty space between us with nonsense. Feeding you little snippets of false information; that Jacob was acting so odd when he arrived home earlier and that we had a little falling out over it. I know exactly what to say to you, I know that you will relish the idea of us arguing, of the distance between us, a crack in our marital bliss. It's almost like I can't stop, I just talk and talk at you. I think I'm doing it so that you don't talk to me, that way I don't need to pretend that I care about anything you have to say.
'I've made the guest bedroom up for you babe, it should be more comfortable than your hotel room.’
You and I both know that my guest bedroom was already made because you would have seen it earlier when you went snooping where you weren't supposed to be. You don't question me on it though, you know better than that.
'I'm going to totally pamper you, babe. I'll run you a nice warm bubble bath when we get back and while you're relaxing, I'll cook us something yummy for dinner.'
I don't ask what you like and what you don't like, because it really doesn't matter – I doubt anyone will be eating a meal tonight.
What a joke your excuse was for leaving earlier. As if, there had been a flood in your hotel. A flood, of all things. Obviously, I phoned your hotel just to double check there wasn't a faulty bathroom somewhere or a burst water pipe and the girl on the phone laughed her head off. No, there had been no flood. I feel the words bubbling in my stomach, swimming up my chest, splashing around my mouth.
'You're so lucky that none of your things were damaged, Zee.'
You nod your head in agreement, for a minute I think you know I'm on to you. I see your brain ticking over, trying to think of something else to say that will convince me that you were telling the truth, but all of a sudden you appear startled. What did I say? Did you see something alarming out of the window? I can't see a thing, the only thing that has changed in the space of a few seconds is the track on my playlist. Is it the song? Why would it be the song?
I don't want to draw your attention to anything whilst I try to work this out, so I mumble on about a new set of traffic lights that have been erected at the end of the street, causing far more of a build-up than there ever was before, but all the time I'm talking to you, I'm still listening. In fact, I'm listening more intently than ever before to a song that I've played time and time again whilst at work or at the gym or even just doing house work.
I think this song means something to you. It's a Fabolous track – can't let you go – not sentimental in any way, in fact it's about a guy cheating on his wife with - oh, I see. It does mean something after all.
I almost feel a little bit sorry for you. Jacob has definitely led you up the garden path with this one, I have no doubt about it. I bet he's told you he would leave me for you if he could, that it's you he wants, that he's addicted to you. That bastard.
I keep my eyes focused on the road ahead with both hands firmly gripped to the wheel, but out of the corner of my eye I catch you swipe at your face as you brush a tear away. I sneak a quick glance in your direction but you've turned your head away from me and are gazing out the window.
I could skip the track and spare you. All it would take is for me to press this little button beside my right hand on the wheel. I could make a joke about hating that fucking song and you would think nothing of it, but I don't. Instead I decide to let it play, let it work its magic on you, let it awaken something deep and painful inside you. Some people might think that I am being cruel. Some people would be right.
We enter my house through the front door this time. Jacob will be sitting in the living room and would see you straight away if I walked you through the back door. It's not time for that just yet.
I grab your hand as soon as we're in and lead you straight up to the guest bathroom where I hand you my own blush pink silk bath gown, then I pull two fluffy, fresh white towels from the cupboard that smell of crisp baby powder fabric softener and inhale their comforting scent deeply. That reminds me, I have left you a little surprise in your room. Nothing big, just a subtle clue, just for fun really. I do hope you notice it, the perfume I mean - the one you use, the one I've been wearing around Jacob for a while now and each time he turns his nose up.
I retrieve my very best and most expensive peony scented bubble bath from the cabinet and notice that the cosmetic scissors I usually keep in a glass jar on the bottom shelf are missing. That’s strange, I think. I definitely haven’t moved them. I make a mental note to have a little hunt for them later when I get the chance.
I leave you to your own devices now and you smile at me fondly as I close over the bathroom door, leaving you to undress in private. I am careful not to close it completely and I stand behind it with baited breath as I watch you undress slowly, exposing a lace underwear set that I bet you bought just for him.
You unclasp your bra and step out of your underwear and begin to wander around my bathroom whilst the bath takes its time to fill, your dirty little fingers dipping into drawers where they don’t belong.
I jump back as you turn to face the door, now realising that it hasn't been closed correctly and for a brief minute I think that you've seen me as you walk towards me, but instead you simply close the door firmly, snubbing the lock and shutting me out.
I skip downstairs, eager to get the wheels in motion for my spectacular dinner party. Jacob, as I expected, is waiting patiently in the living room for h
is meal. He knows we have a house guest, but he doesn't know just how special our guest of honour really is. I smile at him excitedly as I pass him by.
I told my husband to put his feet up and relax whilst I popped out to pick you up from your hotel. I told him that you had asked if you could maybe stay at ours for the night because of the flood, and I couldn’t say no to a friend in need. I also told him that I thought it would be best to wait until dinner was ready for me to introduce you as you've had such a rough day and might be feeling a little tired and shy.
All these new lies I tell, each and every one of them serves a purpose and so I don't feel bad in the slightest. They are a means to an end.
I prepare dinner with the ingredients Jacob had brought home earlier and as the herby sauce boils gently on the stove, I set the table for three. It really is a shame that this meal will go to waste because it smells delicious. I wish I had just shoved a couple of pizzas in the oven now.
Upstairs I hear the creak of a loose floorboard as you pad around the guest room; signalling that you will be down to join us very shortly.
‘Babe, come take a seat at the table, dinner's almost ready’, I tell my husband, and he obeys, like a loyal companion – except he isn’t loyal, is he? This whole thing is a result of just how disloyal he is actually.
He pulls out his chair with a scrape against the marbled floor and takes a seat, waiting patiently for me to serve him his dinner - and of course, for our guest to arrive.
Adrenaline rushes through my body, filling every vain as I lean against the worktop, glass of wine in hand, ready for my party to begin.
I hear you now, pounding down the stairs, it's happening, it's finally happening. I can't believe I've managed to pull this off, Georgia will be so proud of me.
You open the living room door and make your way towards the kitchen. Any minute now you will realise your error, any minute now you will come face to face with your worst nightmare.
You stop just as suddenly as you appear.
‘How was your bath?’ I ask.
You don't speak, your face has drained of colour and your eyes bulge painfully in their sockets. I take a sip of wine allowing you a moment to think of something to say, to realise that you have been caught out, to come up with an apology but you remain firm and rigid, glued to the spot.
'Please, take a seat', I gesture towards the empty chair directly across from my husband.
You make no sudden movements, I see your eyes fleeting over the scene in front of you, trying to work out what you should do. You should have fled there and then; you should have turned on your heels and ran out the way you came but you don't. Foolishly you take slow but sure steps towards the empty chair.
I sneak a look at Jacob as his head swivels to acknowledge your presence. He looks confused, as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing, but he doesn't however appear fearful and I’m intrigued as to why, because he really should be.
I smile and take another sip of my wine before speaking to you once again, 'Zara, are you OK?'
Jacob looks like he has just been slapped with a wet fish. He doesn't understand why I'm calling you Zara, because that's not your name, is it Karly?
I hear my husband exhale deeply and I tilt my head in amusement. Oh my, he thinks that he's still safe. He thinks that I really believe you are a girl named Zara. Surely, he can't think he is going to get away with this. Surely none of you do.
I pour you a glass of wine and sit it down in front of you, only now noticing that you are dressed in nothing but my silky robe. I instinctively take my stance behind Jacob, a primal move, claiming what's mine.
I clear my throat loudly, ‘This is my Husband, Jacob.’
I place my hand on his shoulder at the word my, just in case you needed any more reminders that he is mine – not yours. I expect you to hold your hands up now, admit defeat and apologise profusely for your deceit, but the sound of your broad Glaswegian voice causes the temperature of my blood to rocket when I realise that you have no intention of apologising.
‘Hi' you smile sweetly at my husband. 'I’m sure you’ve heard all about me.’
Chapter 36
I pull my hand sharply from Jacob's shoulder, like it has suddenly caught fire, and I step back into the safety of the cooking area. OK, so this is taking longer than I thought it would. None of them are fessing up or showing any hint of apology for their actions. It appears I am dealing with two people who simply believe that I am incredibly stupid and naïve. This has been their problem all along though, it's what's brought them here.
I pull a ladle from the utensil drawer and begin to pile dinner onto each of our plates as I consider my next move. I could continue to play along for a little while longer I suppose. I could bide my time and make them squirm as I drag out our meal, forcing them to engage in false conversation. One of them is sure to crack, there's just no way the two of them can keep this up for an entire meal.
I realise that if I want to continue down that path, I need to fill the silence in the meantime.
'Oh shoot! You must be wondering what's going on, Zee. I must have got mixed up again. I was just so sure Jacob was heading out for the night.'
I'm not thinking clearly, I scald myself as soon as the words escape my mouth. That was stupid, very stupid. All it would take is for Jacob to question me as to why I would even think that was the case, when I knew fine well, he would be here for dinner.
It's OK though, because your desperate desire to speak to my husband is what saves me.
'It's nice to finally meet you, Jacob.'
I ignore you, focusing my attention on my husband now.
'Are you alright, babe? You've gone a bit pale, haven't you?'
Nothing, I get absolutely nothing back. He's not said one word since you arrived at dinner, and that's because he is a coward. He's never really had the balls to have a proper affair, I realise this now. It was all just showmanship, just something to stroke his fucking ego if nothing else. And now I'm angry again, my restraint flailing. Nah, I can't do it, I can't carry this on any longer. There's no way in hell I can sit there with the two of you making idle chit chat, my stomach wouldn't allow it. I can't watch you look at my husband with a burning arousal. I can't bear to look at his gormless face as he tries to find a way to worm his way out of the mess that he has found himself in. I can't risk this going any further than it already has. The time has come.
My hands tremble as I lift two delicate plates and turn towards my loving husband and my new friend, giggling wildly like a naughty child. The sound of my own laughter is menacing and I almost don't recognise myself. It's a mixture of anticipation, nerves, fury and more – so much more.
I stand at the edge of my beautiful glass table, right in the middle of the two of you, taking one final look at Jacob before peering down at the unnecessary white, creamy pasta resting on my best dinner plates that we received as a wedding present.
What a waste, I think, as I raise the plates shoulder high before launching them from my grip, sending them crashing onto the table leaving a volcanic eruption of sharp shards of broken ceramic and piping hot penne in my wake.
I gently wipe away the sauce that has landed on my t-shirt and turn to face you.
‘Oh, what a shame’ I say calmly. ‘Karly, would you mind helping me clear this mess up?’
Chapter 37
Jacob
Her eyes are wild and dark, not the luminous shade of sapphire that normally shines brightly with love and adoration.
I slowly pick a sharp piece of white ceramic out of my hand and it draws blood. It trickles down my hand and drips onto the floor but making a mess is the least of my worries; we're already in too deep here. My stomach churns; I feel a sickness that I have never experienced before. My mind is racing frantically - how the fuck has this happened? I was careful, I know I was, I never left anything behind; always deleted messages and made sure that I never stored any pictures that were sent. And yet I can’t help thinking that I shoul
d have known better, should have seen the signs. She's been acting strangely for a while now, I chalked it up to hormones or a bust up with her mates but it’s crystal clear to me now that she’s known for a while now – but for how long? I need to fix this, do something – anything - before it escalates further.
‘Babe, I can explain’, I plead as I push out of my chair and rise to my feet.
She doesn’t answer me, she doesn't even shout at me, she just stares at me with so many emotions painted across her beautiful face: disgust, shame, anger.
We very rarely fight, I mean sure we bicker like any couple but nothing serious, nothing like this. She usually always has a comeback, a smart-ass remark to put me in my place, but now is different. Her silence is much worse than anything she could ever say to me, it's frightening and I can't gauge her next move. I think she's waiting on me to do one of two things: hold my hands up and admit blame, or dig myself deeper into this muddy hole.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice Karly, pushing her own chair back and beginning to stand up, but I'm careful not to turn and face her. I need to stay focused on my wife's face.
‘Lauren, babe, whatever you think this is – it's not', I start gently. I need to approach this with the utmost caution. 'There's absolutely nothing going on here, you know there's not. Deep down you know that babe - you do know that, don't you?'
My voice is soft and gentle. I need to make her believe me, make her understand that whatever is going on here is not my fault.
Finally, she speaks. ‘If nothing is going on, then why is she in our house, Jacob?’
The way she says my name, it wounds me. She spat into the air, as if it were poison that she needed to cleanse herself of. I understand that she's angry, of course I do, but she's talking like I'm the one who brought her here. It wasn't me; I didn't do this. I feel my temper start to flare in the pit of my stomach.
The Lies She Told: A wickedly twisted psychological thriller that you cannot put down! Page 21
