by Jane Fallon
Jules gives me a smile. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. This often happens. It’s a big step.’ She passes me a folded tissue that she produces from somewhere. I blow my nose, nodding as if to agree, but really she has no idea. It’s loss that’s making me cry. For the moment that this should have been.
By the time Lydia arrives bearing wine, I’m frazzled, wondering if we’ve done the right thing. I clearly underestimated the height of the wagging tail because I’m a mug and a glass down, Igor obliviously stomping through the mess he’d made and me having visions of having to rush him to the vet on day one with a bleeding paw. I daren’t take my eyes off him for a second. When I go upstairs to have a shower he follows me and, when I come out, he’s asleep on the bed, passed out like a hyperactive toddler at the end of a long day at nursery.
‘Stair gate’, I write in Notes on my phone. And then I add ‘× 2’. And then I delete it again because he’d probably just step over them like a minor inconvenience. A pebble in the road.
When Lydia rings the doorbell I’m there in seconds before she can press it again, just like when the twins were babies and my main concern – after keeping them alive – was keeping them asleep.
‘Shh,’ I say dramatically, giving her a hug.
Lydia looks round. ‘What?’
‘Don’t wake the dog.’
She hands me the bottle and follows me into the hall, unravelling her scarf as we go. Lydia is always cold – I put it down to her being so thin – and on a day like today it looks as if it hurts. Her nose glows red against her pale skin, eyes rimmed with crimson.
‘It’s freezing out there,’ she says, unravelling layer after layer. ‘Where is he, by the way?’ Static pulls her hair up on end as she peels off her woolly hat. She smooths it down.
‘Igor? Upstairs. I need to let him sleep, I’m knackered.’
We wander down to the kitchen. She piles her things on a chair. ‘Won’t he be up all night if he sleeps now?’
‘He’s a dog, not a baby. Do you want to sit by the radiator?’ I pull out the chair nearest to the warmth and she flops into it gratefully.
‘I definitely want to see him before I go. I brought him a toy,’ she says, reaching into her bag and producing a tiny rubber bone that he’ll probably swallow accidentally in three seconds.
I pour a large glass of the red she brought and hand it to her. ‘Oh, you will. He’s hard to miss.’
We chat about nothing much, filling each other in on our week, although there’s a lot of detail I have to omit from mine.
‘Oh, I forgot …’ I say, casually, once we’ve exhausted that topic. ‘Nick mentioned that someone he works with is a friend of yours …’ I wait to see if she bites.
She takes a sip of her wine. ‘Oh. Well, I do know someone who works at Diamond Leisure. I didn’t realize she knew Nick though …’
She’s lying, obviously. ‘I’ve forgotten what he said her name is …?’
‘Emma,’ she says quickly. No offer of a surname. How many Emmas can there be? Lots, I imagine. It hits me suddenly that there’s no reason to think she works at the London office. She could be at any one of the regional sites. They employ hundreds of people. Thousands even.
‘How do you know her?’
‘She’s a friend of a friend. What’s that?’
As luck would have it, Igor has chosen this moment to wake up and go into a frenzied panic, presumably not knowing where he is. Either that or my house has just been struck by a meteor. The building rumbles and he appears at the foot of the stairs. Does a perfect double take when he sees Lydia.
‘It’s OK, Igor. Come here.’ I tap the arm of my chair and he comes over and slumps beside me. I stroke his ears.
‘He’s … well, I mean, he’s gorgeous but he’s huge …’
‘I told you.’
‘Yes, but I thought you meant like a big dog, not an average-sized horse.’ She holds a hand out and lets him sniff it. Tickles him under his chin. ‘What a sweetheart.’
‘God, I hope we’ve done the right thing …’
I top up our glasses. Lydia is being deliberately cagey about her mole so I have to move to Plan B.
‘Something funny happened this week. I don’t know if I should tell you but I really need some advice.’
Obviously no one can resist a lead-in like that. Lydia has never been a salacious gossip though. I’ve consciously steered away from those kinds of people. I know how much it hurts to be on the other end. To be the one that all the other girls whispered about. Made up stories about. My mum used to tell me it was because I was too pretty, that they were jealous. God love her. I wasn’t (not even slightly) and they weren’t. I was just different enough – due to my height, my big feet, my clumsy limbs – to give them a target. And that’s all some people need. Because the bigger the gang you join in pursuit of a common enemy, the less likely you are to be singled out yourself. Lyds is too frustrating for a tattletale to confide in. She always questions the source. Tries to look at all other angles. Leaves no room for reasonable doubt. Of course, I realize now, she will have cross-examined Emma. She must 100 per cent believe that her intel is reliable or she would have dismissed the story altogether. She would never have felt the need to confide in Patricia.
I tell her what I saw. Anne Marie in the school car park. I don’t embellish, I just give her the bare facts. She sits back in her chair, legs crossed. ‘Cousin?’
‘When did you last rub foreheads with your cousin?’ Too late I remember how tiny her family is. Basically just the one aunt at this point.
‘I don’t have any cousins. But some people are very close to them. Old friend?’
‘Maybe.’ Igor sighs and leans his head on my leg.
‘He likes you,’ Lydia says, smiling. ‘Maybe I should get a pet.’
‘You should. I just know there was more to it. The way they looked at each other. Something. Should I say anything?’
‘To her?’
‘Or Harry. I don’t know.’
‘God. No. What if you’re mistaken?’
I need to approach this carefully. ‘What if I found out I was definitely right? How could we all hang out together as if nothing was wrong? I wouldn’t be able to look at her. And what if I couldn’t stop thinking about it and then I let something slip? It’s a nightmare.’
‘They’ve got kids, George. You can’t just blunder in there. Maybe she is having an affair but Harry’s OK with it so long as no one else knows? Or they have an open marriage but they know you wouldn’t approve so they keep it to themselves?’
‘Anne Marie and Harry? No way. We’ve talked about all this kind of stuff over the years. I know. Same as you know me and Nick would never be OK with something like that.’
Is it my imagination or does she look just the tiniest bit uncomfortable?
She’s quiet for a moment. ‘But would you want me to tell you? If I found out something about Nick?’
‘Yes!’ I almost shout it. ‘Yes. I would. Of course I would.’
We sit there for what seems like an age. I don’t want to break the silence because I feel as if she’s on the verge of saying it and I don’t want to ruin the moment. I steady my gaze on her, slow my breathing.
Suddenly she flicks a glance at the oversized vintage railway-station clock on the wall. ‘Shit, is that the time? I need to call an Uber. I’ve got an early start …’
And just like that the chance is gone.
CHAPTER 12
Nick and I lie at the edges of the bed like two sentries guarding the beast in the middle. Our resolve not to let Igor into the bedroom lasted less than ten minutes, the pitiful howling from the kitchen both heartbreaking and terrifying in equal measure. I could imagine one of our neighbours calling the police: ‘There’s a wolf on the loose in Primrose Hill.’ Now he’s sleeping like a baby with a very noisy sinus condition. I’m not going to lie, I like it. Nick came home tipsy and a bit amorous. He shoved his kit in the washing machine and turned it on so I have no idea whether it really was s
weaty, whether he had indeed been playing squash. He’d definitely had a shower though.
‘Lyds was saying she knows someone who works with you. Emma something,’ I said as he made himself a snack of peanut butter on toast. I thought I’d strike while the iron was pissed. Catch him off guard. I watched him for a reaction. Did the idea of my best friend having a spy in his camp make him nervous? It was impossible to tell.
He shrugged. Twisted the lid back on to the peanut butter, missing the thread so it went round and round without catching. Tonight the comedy drunk act wasn’t endearing, it was grating. ‘Emma who?’
‘I don’t know. Do you know any Emmas?’
He handed me the jar as if it was a puzzle he was never going to solve. ‘Not that I can think of. What department’s she in?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does she look like?’
‘No idea. You either know an Emma or you don’t,’ I snapped.
Now I can’t sleep. My mind is whirring with frustration. All I want is a straight answer, whatever that answer is. Let me know the worst and I can find a way to deal with it. I slide out of bed, trying not to wake either of my sleeping companions, but Igor senses my movement immediately and throws himself off to follow me. Nick sleeps blissfully on, one arm thrown above his head, lips parted. I grab the throw from the foot of the bed and wrap it around me, carefully closing the bedroom door as I go. Down in the basement I make myself a cup of tea and take it and my phone to the soft cream sofa. Igor flops on to his bed and starts snoring almost immediately, his sweet face resting on his paws. Lydia is right, he likes me. I feel a rush of maternal affection and tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.
Once I’ve cried myself out I open up Twitter. Patricia needs to up her game. There’s a message from Lydia from earlier. Heart pounding, I open it up.
I’ve just seen Georgia. Honestly, Patricia, I can’t bear it. I’m finding it so hard!! And I think she suspects her husband is up to no good now too. She kept bringing the conversation round to people having affairs. Do you think she knows I know something???
I check the time it was sent. Twenty-five past eleven. So much for Lydia rushing home because she needed an early night. My theory that she’s avoiding bumping into Nick gains weight. I know she won’t be up now and neither would Patricia so I resist answering.
In the morning when I wake up before it’s light – still on the kitchen sofa, shivering under the thin throw – I send the response I’ve spent half the night composing.
Poor Georgia. The not knowing is the worst. Especially if you suspect. You feel as if everyone is laughing at you behind your back. All I wanted was for someone to be straight with me, however bad the news.
And then I drag my big coat on over my pyjamas, pull on my warmest boots, stuff my pockets with poo bags and take Igor out for a walk to the top of the hill.
‘Don’t forget it’s Anne Marie and Harry tonight,’ Nick says when I get back. If he thinks it’s odd that I’ve already been out he doesn’t say so.
‘Wait … when did we arrange that?’ The last thing I want at the moment is to be in a room with the two of them.
‘A few days ago. I told you.’ He offers Igor a bit of his toast and he scarfs it down greedily.
‘We shouldn’t feed him crap,’ I say huffily.
‘Look at the size of him, he’s hardly going to get fat.’
‘I was hoping for a quiet weekend. What with Igor and everything. Shouldn’t we just let him settle in?’
‘They want to meet him. It’ll be fine. It’s too late to cancel them now anyway.’
‘Can’t we say I’m ill or something? I don’t know … food poisoning?’
He looks at me with concern. ‘Do you really want to? Wouldn’t I just have them over anyway if that were the case?’ He’s right. It’s happened before when one of us has been genuinely unwell. The others have still met up and popped in and out to visit the patient.
‘Something catching then.’
He kisses the top of my head. ‘You’ll enjoy it once they’re here. And if you still don’t feel like it you can feign illness then and hide in the bedroom, how’s that?’
I shrug. ‘It doesn’t feel as if I have a choice.’
‘It’s Harry and Anne Marie,’ he says, heading for the stairs. ‘It’s not as if we have to be on our best behaviour.’
I’m so sorry, Patricia! It sounds like your husband was a dick!!!
I’m in the bath. Igor sits in the corner of the room, staring at me. It’s unsettling to say the least.
I think that’s a fair assessment. He had an affair with his assistant. Always one to go for the cliché. When I think about all those times I spoke to her on the phone. The humiliation was the worst thing. If I’d known at least I could have spared myself that.
Come on, Lydia. Bite. Put me out of my misery.
I follow my message up with another without waiting for a reply.
Is that what Georgia’s husband is doing?
I sit there for an age, waiting for her to respond. Igor comes over and puts his paws on the side of the bath, thinks about getting in.
‘No. Sit.’
He sits.
‘Good boy.’
It is someone he works with (I didn’t tell you that!!!!). Not his assistant though. Don’t think G knows her.
So the mistress is a colleague too. At least I now have one fact. I can’t think of anything to say so I leave it for now. Concentrate on getting through the evening.
The first thing I notice about Anne Marie is that she’s glowing. Not in a ‘might be pregnant’ way. More ‘getting a lot of action’. It’s the middle of winter. No one glows in the middle of winter. It’s against the natural order of things. It makes me angry. Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing? What she’s risking?
‘You look really well,’ I say as she hugs me hello. She’s almost as tall as me but the naturally bony version. She smells as she always does of Diptyque. Something floral but not girly. Green and heady rather than pink and fluffy.
‘Really?’ She produces a bottle of white from somewhere. Harry has already followed Nick down to the kitchen. ‘I don’t know why.’
I look her dead in the eye. She looks away.
‘I came to meet you from school the other day.’ I don’t know why I say it. It just comes out. It’s as if, if I can understand why she is doing what I think she’s doing, it’ll give me an insight into Nick.
I don’t imagine it: she flushes. ‘Oh. Which day? I must have missed you.’
‘I saw you,’ I say, although I try to keep my voice light. Just a statement, not an accusation. ‘But it looked as if you were busy. You were talking to someone in the car park.’
‘You should have come over,’ she says, recovering her composure. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘You didn’t look like you wanted to be interrupted. Is he another teacher?’
She clears her throat. ‘Could have been anyone. What day did you say it was?’ We’re interrupted by Nick and Harry on their way to the living room, glasses in hand. A white for me, a red for Anne Marie. If they detect the slightly frosty atmosphere they don’t show it.
‘He’s amazing,’ Harry says. ‘The dog.’ Right on cue Igor lopes up from the kitchen after them. Anne Marie makes a show of making a fuss of him, but I know she’s feeling rattled. She wants to know what I know.
‘Did you order yet?’ Nick says as he hands me my drink.
‘No. Could you?’
‘Sure.’ They go on through and I hear him rattling around in the drawer where the takeout menus are stuffed in a pile. We try to patronize one of the local restaurants whenever we can. Whichever one they choose they’ll know exactly what Anne Marie and I would want to order.
‘About our age. Tall. Beard. Glasses,’ I say once I’m sure they’re out of earshot. ‘I’m not having a go. But if I picked up on it then anyone could have.’
She nods. Closes her eyes briefly. ‘Moment of ma
dness. Please don’t say anything.’
‘I won’t. I wouldn’t.’
‘I’ll tell you all about it. Him. But not tonight.’
‘I think Nick might be seeing someone,’ I say quietly. Her face gives away that this is definitely news to her.
‘What? No way. How do you …?’
I shrug sadly. ‘Not now.’
I watch her and Harry as we eat. On the surface they’re the same as ever, but I feel as if I can see it’s a bit forced on her part. A show for my benefit, maybe. Is she seeing the same when she looks at me and Nick now? I wonder. Do the cracks show once you know they’re there?
The evening feels flat, and we’re all ready to call it a night by half ten. Nick suggests that we walk them back, at least part of the way, so Igor can do his business before bed. I feel as if Harry is the only one of us who still thinks everything is the way it’s always been. He clowns around, letting himself be dragged along by the dog, mimicking being on a sled. He seems oblivious to the tensions around him and I’m thankful for that at least.
‘Anne Marie was quiet. Is she OK?’ Nick says once we’ve turned back. Without saying anything we’ve walked past our turning and up over the hill. It’s completely deserted. Eerie in the frosty lamplight. London laid out in front of us like a jewelled banquet.
‘Just tired, I think.’
‘I couldn’t do her job. Can you imagine?’
‘Mmm,’ is all I can come up with.
He slips on a patch of ice. ‘Oh, I have to go to the Inverness site on Monday. Check out the new clubhouse. I told you they’ve been building a new one …’
First I’ve heard of it but then it’s not exactly hot news, so I might not have taken it in. ‘Right.’
‘I’ll stay over. Come back in the morning.’
Ah. My heart splinters. ‘I’m freezing. Let’s go back.’
CHAPTER 13
Nick does indeed have a plane ticket to Inverness, so that part at least is true. He prints it off as we get ready for bed on Sunday night, and leaves it lying on the hall table along with his passport. I stare at it, wondering who else is doing the same. Who is checking her legs for stray hairs and packing her skimpiest underwear. Maybe she’s bought something new for the occasion. Hit up Victoria’s Secret. Trussed herself up like a sweaty turkey in the name of sex. Their first whole night together. I imagine it’s a big deal. I think about slipping something of mine in his overnight bag. Something personal that will pop out when he unpacks, reminding him what he’s risking losing, pricking at her conscience if she has one. But I can’t think of anything poignant enough. A pair of my old M & S knickers won’t really deliver the message I want to send.
