Swan Song

by Tom Butler

  ‘Ask her when you get home,’ she challenged him. ‘Let her deny it. She may try to but it was her alright. Whether you believe me or not, that bitch of a wife of yours ended up at our flat, in our bed. I’ve told you already Daniel’s admitted to it. That’s why I’m here now spreading a little happiness?’

  It was a callous and cynical thing to say. But she was trading in harsh facts, almost reaping enjoyment from the destructive mayhem she was causing and certainly not bothering about sparing the feelings of others who might be impacted upon on later. Like family, friends and above all else children. Why, she thought, should she be the only one made to suffer? Michael needed to know how she felt. How gut wrenching it was to find out the only person you had ever loved had been unfaithful. Guilty of the age-old crime of infidelity. It was something she had felt impelled to do. The reason for all the covert calls she had made to track him down so that he might share the dilemma she had faced and act accordingly.

  He was standing looking down on her with deep contempt. How dare she say such things? What right did she have to inflict on him such lies?

  ‘I think it best you left, Miss Gibson. I’ve had enough of this. I simply won’t listen any more. I’d like you to go,’ he demanded, gesticulating towards the door.

  ‘Please leave and don’t disturb me again,’ he went on. ‘You’ve had your say, and I do have a business to run. Enough is enough, Miss Gibson.’

  She rose swiftly, smoothing her skirt as she did so, feeling satisfyingly glad it was over.

  ‘As you wish,’ she shrugged contently. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr Swan. Give my regards to Mrs Swan.’

  She swept past him without a backward glance fully aware of the implications and turmoil she was about to leave behind.

  Even if Michael Swan was the sort who might never broach the subject for fear of losing his wife and mother of his children, he knew what Natasha Gibson knew. Or at least her version of events. Now it was up to him to choose his course of action. His beautiful little world of contentment had been rocked to its foundations. Michael’s angel might no longer be the brightest thing in the sky. She had in all probability been tarnished. And worse still, she may have been found out. Without doubt, he had a need to know the truth. Nothing else mattered.

  ******

  Chapter Six

  He was shaking inside. The children would, he felt sure, give him their usual greeting as would his wife, but he sat in the driveway, part of him not wanting to move.

  Noah had heard the car arrive, and when there was no tell-tale rattle of keys or shouts of joy from Mary, he looked out from his bedroom window. It was probable his father was talking on the phone or maybe just studying some figures after another busy day selling old barns and dilapidated cow sheds.

  Noah craned his neck to see, but it was no good. He waited. Much longer than he ever expected to do. Then predictably, Mary shouted, backed up by James who had followed her into the hallway, and at last, Noah heard his father come in. He stood on the landing, and when the others had given their father some space, he fairly ran down and said ‘Hi Dad’ the way he always did.

  There was the usual conversation relating to schoolwork interrupted by his mother offering her usual welcoming hug to the man of the house.

  ‘I was bringing in the washing, and I had the radio on,’ she said, apologetically.

  The hug wasn’t like the one she got yesterday, and she noticed he looked tired.

  ‘Did Harold do a disappearing act again, and leave it all to you?’ she asked.

  Harold Briers was the more energetic of the two partners who started up the firm over thirty years ago, but he was partial to a game of golf and often went AWOL. Solomon Randall, on the other hand, enjoyed holidays, and he was away on one of many he would take each year to satisfy a wife whose middle name could so easily have been ‘Travel’. The Randall’s were in Thailand; this being their second week of three, and more than likely, they would be away again in a few weeks’ time. Poor Michael was restricted to the statuary five weeks’ annual holiday, but at least, the partner’s weren’t so mean not to let him keep quite flexible hours which meant he could attend school functions and help out Angelica if she needed to do extra shifts that impacted on the school runs.

  ‘I need a shower,’ he told her, as he did most days at this time.

  ‘The children have eaten already. I’ve done us pork casserole. Twenty minutes okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  He could barely look at her, and the shaking inside had not really abated. If anything, it was worse. He took a look at himself in the hall mirror and saw what Natasha Gibson had seen after she had told him her bizarre tale. Disbelief mainly but also an awful resignation that what she was saying might just be true. He had no idea how he was going to broach the subject, no formulated plan in his head. A shower could only help. It would cleanse him and perhaps calm him too, so that he could think straight and approach it from the best angle. But approach it he must. The mere thought turned his stomach.

  He was not one for lingering long in any shower, but for once, he felt impelled to stay there though he was not foolish enough to think the relentless hot water would wash his troubles away. It was somehow consoling, making him think about what Angelica and he had achieved and about the children. Those wonderful kids. So special to him. Mary, his little princess, James, so thoughtful and imaginative. Noah, temperamental but so much like him when he was ten, going on eleven. And then he thought about his wife again, and whether, if what Natasha had said was true, he could ever understand why it had happened and forgive her. Carry on as a family and try to forget it. Finish off what they had started and watch the children grow into people with a real zest for life and accomplishment.

  Then he thought about himself and his part in it. If it really was true. Whether his unsociable side had emerged once too often and made him seem less warm and unloving. If she had felt rejected by him at times and her attention had wandered. They had made love only two days ago and did so once or twice a week on average. She had never once complained, and he always tried to make her feel like it was their first time. He wanted his angel to always feel special.

  As the water cascaded over him and he really felt it time to shut it off, his knees buckled a little at the thought of what was to come. He wanted to stay where he was and never have to look into Angelica’s eyes and ask her about Daniel Sutton. But it had to be done; there would be no escaping the inevitable.

  They ate dinner at the kitchen table whilst the children played. Angelica reported on Mary’s progress at school and confirmed that James had reported an older boy for bullying him last week, ironically a boy in Noah’s class.

  They both agreed it best to try and keep Noah out of it as he sometimes flared up quickly and had a tendency to be over aggressive. It was normal parental stuff and nothing to get too involved with or worried over. It was rare for a family to have three pupils at the same school at the same time, but the Swan’s had a close relationship with the Head Teacher, and she wished all her intake were as good and committed as they were.

  They sat as a family only briefly before a sleepy Mary yawned a couple of times and folded herself into her father’s arms. James pretended he wasn’t as tired as his sister which wasn’t true, and Noah scanned the menu on the TV remote in the hope there was something on he’d be allowed to stay up and watch. There wasn’t, but he still tried.

  ‘Just ten minutes more,’ his father said, not even consulting Angelica who was now in charge of getting the others to bed.

  Noah pulled an all too familiar face and complained. ‘Ten minutes? Is that all? I wanted to watch—’

  ‘Noah,’ his father stopped him. ‘You can read in your room if you like.’

  ‘So unfair,’ Noah moaned predictably, the remote control hurled a few feet on to a sofa from the chair where he was perched.

  ‘Or you could go straight to your room now, young man,’ his father countered. Noah sulked for a few seconds bef
ore co-operating fully with one eye on the mantle-piece clock.

  Michael then swapped with his wife, reading very little of Mary’s current favourite story to her before she nodded off and then practically talking James to sleep.

  Suddenly, he was starting to wish he’d let Noah stay up till midnight, that the longer he could postpone tackling Angelica, the better. That would have been worse, however. He should really get it over with and hear her side of things. Maybe even be prepared to belief her that nothing in fact had gone on, and Natasha Gibson had jumped to a wrong conclusion due to nothing more than sheer frustration. She was young and perhaps unaccepting that her boyfriend had found another woman attractive. And a considerably older woman too. Why should he be so shocked that men looked at his wife in that way. The way he had himself looked at her all those years ago. What harm was done by looking and admiring from afar. And what would it matter if it was more than that but had stopped at the flirting stage.

  When inevitably came the time for Noah to go up, he kissed both parents and went off without so much as a murmur though it had crossed his mind to be deliberately heavy footed on the stairs to demonstrate his annoyance. This left Angelica and Michael on their own and the latter fighting for words to introduce Natasha Gibson and more importantly her ex-boyfriend into any resultant conversation. Then he was given a stay of execution by her mobile phone sounding off with Angelica now engaged by a close neighbour calling with questions relating to a school project.

  At near to nine thirty on a Tuesday evening with all his children in bed, Michael used the mute button on the TV remote and coughed to get his wife’s attention. She threw him a smile from across the room which he felt in no mood to return.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked him.

  He was far from okay. The shaking was back. It was time.

  Talking slower than usual he said, ‘I had a visit from someone today at the office; her name was Natasha, Natasha Gibson. She told me a very interesting story.’

  At first, the name meant nothing to Angelica. It was just a name.

  ‘A new client?’ she asked naïvely.

  He grimaced. ‘Not exactly. The story she told me was about you.’

  ‘Me? Why would she—’

  A sudden fear, reflected in her eyes, stopped her from finishing her question. It was a name from the past but no one she had ever met. Her heart sank.

  He carried on. ‘A while back you did a sketch of a young man you said was a willing subject. Somebody you met at one of those adult education art classes, remember?’

  She was shaking from within; neither of them were remotely composed.

  ‘What was the guy’s name? Come on, Angelica, help me, you know I have a terrible memory.’

  He added sarcasm to the mystery and waited.

  ‘Darling, what’s this about?’ she asked.

  He held off from saying anything at first and when he did speak, he prolonged the agony.

  ‘This Natasha was very pretty in an odd sort of way but nothing like you,’ he meandered. ‘Quite a bit younger and student looking. When I first saw her, I thought to myself she wasn’t the usual type we get in, and I was right because this was nothing to do with property although she did mention an apartment she once shared with this boyfriend of hers, or ex-boyfriend to be more accurate,’ Michael rambled on.

  He was sitting in ‘his’ armchair set at a forty-five-degree angle to the sofa where she sat with legs and feet tucked under her body. It might have appeared a relaxed pose, but in reality, she was full of unease and was now wondering how much he knew and where this was leading to. She was almost too afraid to ask.

  ‘Michael, I don’t understand,’ she said, shuffling her body so that it became more upright.

  His rambling continued as though it was part of a script he had learnt and was trying out for the first time.

  ’I was hoping, no, praying that this rather sad looking girl had made a terrible mistake, and everything she told me should have been for someone else’s ears not mine. That she had gotten her wires crossed and had come knocking on the wrong door.

  ‘Michael, please. You’re not making much sense.’

  Her body was taunt, and her eyes held back tears. She was then startled by him as he got up unexpectedly and paced in front of her. She unfolded her legs and sat up straight.

  Though conscious that Noah was still awake upstairs, he couldn’t help but raise his voice. It felt like a natural progression.

  ‘Tell me what she told me was nonsense, tell me you had nothing to do with her and this boyfriend splitting up. Tell me the truth, Angelica. Did you do more than just sketch the guy? I need to know.’

  He couldn’t even bring himself to say the name of the interloper and neither could she.

  ‘Michael, you know I love you,’ she replied. The words hung in the air between them. He had stopped pacing but couldn’t look at her even though there was only two feet separating them.

  She knew there was no going back now. She shook uncontrollably.

  ‘You and the children mean the world to me. If I was foolish, I’m sorry, but I would never do anything deliberate to hurt you.’

  He had his answer. The one he had dreaded. He wanted to lash out at her and scream, but well respected family men didn’t do things like that, and he managed to suppress the urge. But a scream came from deep inside him, and he felt for sure he was going to be sick.

  Angelica was standing now, her shaking hands clasped tightly together like in anticipation of a despairing prayer.

  ‘Michael, please hear me out. It wasn’t anything, it didn’t mean anything.’

  He thought immediately of the movies and of TV soaps. They said that all the time. A casual fling never meant anything. It could be swept under the carpet, and life just went on. Why should this be anything different just because it was happening to him.

  She prised her hands apart and reached out, her fingers catching his arm as he swayed from side to side.

  ‘My Angel, you are my angel. How could you?’ he fought back tears.

  ‘Michael, it was a huge mistake, something even now I can’t explain. Please say you’ll sit down with me, and at least let me try to convince you that I never wanted to hurt anyone. It was a silly, stupid, impulsive thing that will haunt me the rest of my life. A life I want with you and the children. I will do anything I can to put it right between us. I hate myself for what I did.’

  To him it sounded like more well written lines from a TV drama. Things like this didn’t happen off screen. Not here, not now.

  He could see that she was crying, and he knew her well enough to know she meant everything she said. But history couldn’t be changed like a script could be rewritten. His angel had lay with another man, and whatever had gone through her mind at the time couldn’t be explained away as a mistake or sheer stupidity. He needed his angel to be faithful, to honour him and their wonderful children. He felt that she had wantonly and inexplicably plunged a dagger through his heart for no good reason. He felt betrayed.

  They did no more talking even after they knew Noah was asleep. Michael went for a walk, and when it got to over an hour, Angelica tried phoning him, but he had left his mobile in his jacket pocket hung in a wardrobe. Two hours, then three passed. Michael found places he did not know existed and just kept walking, sometimes stopping to take a lungful of air to stave off the sickness making his stomach heave.

  All kind of things travelled through his head. He thought about the day he married his perfect angel, the birth of his children, the joy on his face for all four events. Then he thought about what he had done wrong and blamed himself for his wife’s infidelity.

  His mother had once told him it was a big risk marrying a pretty girl quite a bit younger than him. She liked Angelica, but why her son got hooked up with the talkative, carefree and artistic American girl with model looks she never quite knew. It couldn’t simply be looks alone, she thought, it had to be deeper than that. And so it proved in time, and thou
gh now stricken with bad health, Megan Swan at least doted on the grandchildren and knew she could go to her grave fulfilled.

  Dealing with adversity wasn’t one of Michael’s attributes. Whenever the heat in the kitchen got too much for him in the past, he would move on, but strangely, though his bosses Messrs Randall and Briers took liberties with him, he had never earned so much money or felt so important. Semi-rural life and a general slower pace suited him, and only last week he had told Bev, the office administrator and clerical genius, that Thurston was hopefully his home for a very long time to come.

  He was more than adequate at his job; the recession hadn’t caused too much hardship for a generally thriving company, and turnover compared to the last few financial years was up. There was a pay review due, and Michael knew Harold valued his contribution highly. Solomon too said positive things about him which was praise indeed coming from a man who was blundering through life with a failing memory and demonstrative wife. Michael even thought they might consider making him a partner in the business when after all he did run the estate agency side of it practically single-handed.

  He had almost reached the lights that lit up the A47 when he decided to turn back and return home. The children needed him, he thought. He might even take them to school later and get to the office late as his first valuation wasn’t booked in until eleven. His wife had let everyone down, and it was as if she was now surplus to requirements in his mind which was a preposterous notion. Did infidelity make someone a bad mother or make them care less for their dependants? Of course, not. But her despicable and inexplicable behaviour would bring repercussions. She had built an impregnable wall that could mean only one thing. Michael Swan’s vision of the future in sleepy Thurston was no longer viable. Angelica had destroyed it. He was angry and hurt and the pace at which he walked reflected that. But not even he knew what words he might say to her or whether he had the patience to listen if he remained speechless.