by Daniel Hurst
No wonder the poor woman had such a good time.
It’s probably the first time she’s been out all year.
I cross through the square, passing a man dressed as a circus clown as I go. I presume he has been out here performing for the crowds tonight, but he won’t be getting any money from me. I hate clowns.
They’re creepy.
Checking the time on the large clock that overlooks the square, I see that it is ten past eight. The night is still young. That is why I’m on my way to meet my flatmate for a drink in Farringdon. She is out tonight with a few people from her office, but I sometimes tag along with them, because they are a fun crowd and are more than happy to have one more join the party.
I could have asked Megan if she wanted to come, but she said she had to get back home. Apparently, it will take her an hour and a half, which seems crazy to me, but only because I am spoilt by living in the city. I’m used to having an Underground station on every street corner, hopping on and off the tube as if it is my chauffeur ferrying me around the city. I can’t imagine having to spend so long on a train just to get home, and the thought of having to end a night out early for fear of missing the last train out of the city is terrifying. I can stay out for as long as I want to tonight, aware that there are night tubes, buses and taxis to get me back to Camden quickly enough. Megan doesn’t have that luxury, which is a shame, but that is what happens when you live so far away from where all the action is.
I expect that I will one day grow up and move out of London, if not through choice then by necessity. House prices in this city are outrageous, which explains why so many people live so far outside of it. But I’m still young, only twenty-seven, so I have no plans to settle down in the suburbs yet.
I don’t want to end up like Megan.
I see the lights of the Underground station ahead and quicken my pace, not wanting to sober up too much before I get to the next bar. It’s a work night, but so what?
You have to enjoy life too.
But just before I can enter the station and rush down the stairs to catch the next train, I feel a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.
Turning around, I see the man behind me.
I have no idea who he is or why he has just stopped me.
All I know is that he isn’t smiling.
28
MEGAN
I make it onto my train just in time before the doors close behind me. Taking a seat, I allow my breathing to return to its normal pace; my heart rate elevated after running down the platform to catch this service before it left.
There is another train in twenty minutes if I had missed it, but I didn’t want to have to wait around at the station. That would have been cutting it fine for getting back and showering before Craig arrives home.
As it is, I feel the train lurch forward and see the platform start to move by outside my window and I relax, safe in the knowledge that I am going to make it back to Sunningdale with time to spare. I just wish I’d had time to buy a bottle of water for the journey into the countryside.
I had more wine than I should have done with Sally, losing count of how many glasses I did have in amongst all the different orders we made in that bar. I’m not drunk, but I’m beyond tipsy. I’m somewhere in that happy stage where one more drink would have been too much, but one less would have left me disappointed. While I would certainly not be safe to drive a car right now, I think I am just about below the limit of being able to pass myself off as sober to Craig when he walks into our bedroom later tonight.
It was fun, but it’s nothing a shower, a bit of toothpaste and a glass of water can’t conceal.
Sinking back into the seat a little more, I stare out of the window at the city passing me by and smile at the memory of the drinks I shared with Sally. I had forgotten how good it feels to have some girly time. Sharing a bottle of wine with my husband is nice but it just isn’t the same as sharing one with someone of the same sex. There are specific topics of conversation that only come up when women are alone together. While I love Craig, I can hardly have long chats with him about reality television and celebrity crushes.
Oh god, will Sally think that I’m cringeworthy for asking her who she prefers out of Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman? She only met with me to discuss the job after all, yet there I was blabbing away about my hopes, my dreams, my loves and my losses and which series of Love Island I thought was the best one so far.
I just couldn’t help it. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about those kind of things. Craig doesn’t watch Love Island. He probably thinks it’s a real place somewhere in the Caribbean. But Sally knows. She knows all about it, just like she knows how annoying it can be trying to find a handbag to match a green dress or how exciting it is when you get an email to say your order has been dispatched.
If I’m honest, I didn’t want the night to end. I could have stayed out until the early hours of the morning, drinking, chatting and laughing with Sally, maybe even ending up on a dancefloor in some club somewhere. Just because I haven’t been to a nightclub in years, it doesn’t mean that I’m too old to get inside one.
Alas, I had to cut the night short, aware that I had a long journey ahead of me. It’s alright for Sally; she lives in London, so she never has to worry about what train to catch or being left stranded miles away from home if she misses it.
And she never has to worry about lying to her partner.
A wave of guilt washes over my fuzzy brain when I think about the fact that Craig has no idea I have been out tonight. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling I get when I remember that Sally told me I had been offered the job at Papier Projects.
I had not been expecting that.
I’m not supposed to be on this train right now, just like I wasn’t supposed to attend that interview, or meet with Sally for a drink, or do any of the things I have done today. I should have been at home because that’s what Craig thinks I am doing. He has no idea that I lied to him about the job. He has no idea that I have continued to pursue my application even after I told him I would leave it.
And now he has no idea that I have a job.
I haven’t officially said yes to Sally yet, even though she did her best to get me to say it while we were at the table tonight. I told her that I needed to discuss it with my husband before I could commit to anything, because I do.
I need to discuss it with the man who knows absolutely nothing about what I have been doing today.
But I know that I want to take the job. I want to make this journey back and forth on the train each day. I want to make new friends.
And I want to see Sally again.
I asked her if she would like to meet up for another drink in a couple of weeks and she said yes, which eased some of my anxiety about possibly coming off as too desperate during the night. I can tell from what she has said to me about herself that she has none of the issues I have. She has an important job where she is needed and valued, as well as a good group of friends and a healthy social life. Her flat in Camden also sounds nice, even if she is occasionally woken up by drunk men singing outside on the street.
Is it foolish to take a job just so I can see her more, as well as maybe meet other people just like her? Is it silly to give up a life of lazy luxury to go through the grind of a nine to five so that I can meet up with another woman now and again and chat about Love Island?
Maybe it is. I’m sure Craig will see it that way. But he isn’t me. Only I can decide what is best for me. And that is what I will tell him.
The only question is, how do I do it without him getting mad?
29
CRAIG
I’m driving far too fast, considering how dark it is and how narrow these country lanes are. But I don’t care. I’ve had a bad day, and I’m in a foul mood. Instead of exercise, banter and a pint, I’ve been following my wife all over London because she has gone behind my back and lied to me.
“I won’t go to the interview, babe.”
“I’ll just stay at home.”
Lies. All of it. But nothing gets past me, which is fortunate because it means I can put a stop to it before it gets out of control. Megan might think she is clever, waiting for me at home right now in her pyjamas after using mouthwash to cover up the evidence of the bottles of wine she has drunk, but she is far from clever. I am the real brains in this relationship, and I am the one with the great plan, not her. Whatever little life she is imagining for herself at this moment in time does not exist.
The only life she has is the one that I allow her to live.
I managed to catch up with Sally. She was a pleasant woman, and I can see why Megan seemed to have such a good time in that wine bar with her. But I don’t have time for pleasantries. I only have time for action. That is why I have made sure that Sally is now out of the picture. Megan will never be seeing her again, nor will she be starting this new job that she has been offered. If my wife felt her life was restricted before then she has no idea what is coming next. She will soon long for the days when she was able to roll out of bed when she wanted and go downstairs for a lazy day on the sofa with the television and the laptop.
Those times that she thought were so boring and lonely will soon look like the happiest times of her life.
She’s such a silly girl. She should know better. She should know what’s best for her. Do as I say and never lie to me. Why does she have to make it more complicated than that?
She doesn’t make it easy for me, so now I need to make it easy for myself. If Megan is locked away, then she won’t be able to do anything like this again, and I won’t have to resort to doing the things I have done this evening. Instead, I can get back to enjoying my life. Playing squash, drinking beer and using my phone to look at something other than Megan’s damn location every five minutes.
It will be bliss, although not so much for Megan.
30
MEGAN
I was going to tell Craig about my job offer as soon as he got in. I had been planning on keeping the interview and the drinks a secret, but I was going to tell him that I had received a phone call and been offered the job. It would have only been bending the truth slightly.
I had been offered a job.
He didn’t need to know exactly how I had been offered it.
But then he had walked through our bedroom door in a foul mood, grumbling something about a bad day at work and having to work late instead of going to play squash with his colleague. That explains why he came home in his suit and not his gym clothes. It also explains why he is in the shower now instead of having had one at the squash club. It’s not often he comes back home so grumpy, but it does happen on occasion, and I know the best thing to do when he is like this is to let him stew.
He will calm down eventually, maybe tonight before we roll over on our pillows but if not then definitely by the morning. He never stays mad for long. But if he has had a bad day then I should probably hold off on telling him about my news, especially when it has the potential to irritate him even more.
On the bright side, he has paid me so little attention since he came in that I don’t have to worry about him suspecting that I have been out drinking tonight. I have brushed my teeth several times as well as gargled on half a bottle of mouthwash, but there was still always a chance that he noticed my cheeks were a little flush or got a whiff of wine. As it is, I’m confident that my little jaunt into London today has gone undetected.
Now there is just the matter of broaching the subject of my new job with him.
It seems silly that I am so nervous about sharing what would generally be considered good news. Getting told the words “You’re hired” is not usually cause for concern. But not all relationships are the same as mine and my husbands. He dotes on me and loves the fact that he gets to work so hard so that I don’t have to lift a finger. He doesn’t want me to work because he wants me to enjoy my life and he thinks that I can do that better at home instead of sitting at a desk for forty hours a week.
But the sad fact is that I can’t.
It’s not much fun having money to burn when you have no one to spend it with. I’m hardly going to go on holiday on my own, so I have no choice but to wait for the three or four weeks a year when Craig takes his annual leave, and I get to go and see somewhere a bit more exotic than the green fields that surround our house in all directions. There’s also the loneliness factor, which doesn’t get any easier just because I don’t have to commute every day.
If anything, it makes it worse.
I need to tell him about the job, and I need to explain it in a way that doesn’t make it sound like I’m ungrateful for the life he has given me.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’ll leave him be.
I can still hear the water washing over him in the shower, and I feel bad that it has gone ten and he is only just able to start to unwind. Deciding to do something more useful for him than lie in bed and wait for him to join me, I pull back the duvet and go to pick up the shirt and trousers he discarded when he came in. He is usually much more careful with his work clothes, hanging up his shirts or at least folding them neatly before they go in the wash, to reduce the number of creases that get into them after they have been removed. While it is me that does the ironing anyway, I appreciate that he makes an effort to try to reduce the difficulty of my task. But he hasn’t been so careful tonight, which I can forgive him because he has had a long day in the office.
Scooping up the white shirt, along with the navy trousers and the black socks nearby, I carry them downstairs to put them with the rest of the clothes that I am planning on running through the washing machine in the morning. That’s one thing about not having to go to work every day. It gives you plenty of time to keep on top of the chores.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see Craig’s black shoes lying in the hallway, hastily removed and left untidily in the middle of the floor.
He really is in a bad mood.
Brushing them to the side with my feet so that they are no longer a trip hazard, I continue towards the kitchen. Turning on the light, I locate the basket of dirty laundry on the kitchen counter directly above the washing machine and go to put the items on top before going straight back up to bed. But as I do, I accidentally drop Craig’s shirt to the floor and it’s only when I pick it up again that I notice the drops of crimson on one of the sleeves.
Examining it more closely, I initially presume that it is ink from a red pen. But then I dab it with my finger and see that it is still wet.
Rubbing it between my fingers, I notice that it doesn’t smear and stain like ink would do on skin.
It spreads and absorbs.
Like blood.
31
CRAIG
I can’t sleep. My mind is buzzing after the day I have had. As if it wasn’t hard enough being the General Manager of a bank, and dealing with all the stresses and strains that come with that, then I have my marriage to my wife to keep me up at night. I’ve spent a long time figuring out the best course of action to take with Megan, not just today, but during our entire relationship. But now isn’t the time for thinking. It’s time for action.
She lied to me, which means that she has to face the consequences.
There were many reasons why I picked this particular house to be the one we spent our married life in. There were boring reasons like affordability and the good chance it had of increasing in market value during our stay. And there were the fun reasons like how nice the bathroom was or how big a barbeque I could fit on the spacious decking in the back garden. But mainly I bought this house for one reason and one reason only.
Because it is an easy place to hide my wife away from the world without anybody knowing about it.
I always knew this day would come. It’s taken three years, but it’s finally here. My wife is sleeping softly beside me right now, drifting off surprisingl
y quickly for her, or at least it would be surprising if I didn’t already know that she had consumed more than her fair share of alcohol tonight. She might wake up feeling a little groggy and hungover, but that’s the least of her worries. Tomorrow is the day when it all starts going downhill for her. Tomorrow is the day when she will begin to wonder what has gone wrong. But tomorrow is also the last day that I will allow her to have her freedom.
By the time I get into this bed tomorrow night, I will be alone.
And I will sleep like a baby.
32
MEGAN
Oh god, I have a hangover. There was me thinking that I’d gotten off lightly after my boozy night in London. Think again. My head is banging, and my throat is as dry as the Sahara. But I don’t have the chance to feel too sorry for myself today because Craig is still here.
For some reason, he hasn’t gone to work today.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him as I roll over on my pillow, looking over at his side of the bed through bleary eyes. The clock on my mobile phone just told me it is 09:14, which means Craig should be sitting at his desk in London right now. Instead, he is sitting beside me in the bed.
I have no idea why.
“No,” he replies curtly. “Everything is not okay.”
“What’s happened?” I say, pushing myself up in the mattress so I am more on his level. My head is still pounding, and my voice is in desperate need of some lubrication, but I’m not worried about trying to cover anything up at this moment in time.
I’m more worried about what is going on with Craig.
“There’s been a power cut overnight. My phone stopped charging, which means the battery died and my alarm didn’t go off to wake me.”
