The Codes of Love

by Hannah Persaud

  ‘Enough is enough.’

  ‘What will you do about the allegations?’

  ‘I’ll do what you’ll never do. I’ll do the right thing.’

  She locks the door behind him and turning, leans her back against it. The armpits of her shirt stick to her skin and though she showered this morning she can smell herself, sweat and the odour of desire. She runs the shower on cold and winces as she steps under the water. She scrubs every inch of her skin and does not allow herself to flinch as the sponge crosses the bruise on her thigh. She scrapes her hair back into a ponytail and does not look in the mirror as she dresses. Back at her desk she types furiously and without pause, 4,000 words of explanation and fact and no room for any gaps.

  By the time Ryan gets home she has pulled herself together. They’re going out, though it’s the last thing that she feels like doing. She needs to speak to Adeline. She needs to know what happened that evening in Dulwich; for all she knows Leo could have something on her that could count against her. She sends her a message suggesting they meet up sometime soon.

  The restaurant is crowded and they raise their voices to be heard. On her left sits Georgia, and opposite sits Phil. On her right is poor scorned Martha (as Georgia insists on calling her), and across from her is Ryan. In between Ryan and Phil is Rupert, whom Emily hasn’t met before, though she suspects that he is here for Martha’s benefit. They decided on tapas for this evening. Ordering is proving challenging.

  ‘I can’t eat anything with seafood, meat or oil,’ Georgia is telling the waitress, who is waiting patiently.

  ‘Well, that’ll be tricky ma’am, with our menu, though you could go for the asparagus, we could switch the oil for butter and serve it with a salad?’

  ‘I didn’t come to a restaurant to graze on guinea-pig food, good Lord …’ Georgia ensures that everybody is now paying attention. ‘There must be something besides flesh and grease …’ The waitress shuffles her feet, twisting her pen between her fingers.

  ‘Georgia, how about the stuffed peppers dear, they might be okay?’ Phil speaks lightly but frown lines dig trenches into his forehead.

  ‘How about I take everyone else’s orders and then come back to you, give you some time to think?’ the waitress says. Georgia sighs.

  ‘If you must, dear, but please convey to your chef that they really should cater for a wider palate.’

  Martha nudges Emily with her elbow and winks.

  ‘I’ll have the chorizo, the prawns and the butter beans, please,’ Martha says to the waitress, who smiles gratefully. Across the table Rupert grins at her.

  ‘A woman after my own heart,’ he says. To the waitress, ‘I’ll have the same as this lovely lady, thank you.’ Martha blushes. Apparently her confidence has taken a beating since her husband left her for the nanny, according to Georgia, who is the fount of knowledge on all things divorce. Emily’s not so sure, though. Martha’s lost weight, changed her style and looks happier than she has ever seen her. Divorce suits some people and Martha is one of them. Emily hopes that she doesn’t go for Rupert, with his lecherous smile and plump, swollen lips.

  ‘So, what do you think of the referendum?’ Phil asks, diverting attention away from Georgia, who is still interrogating the waitress on all the options that are not on the menu.

  ‘Bloody foolish of Cameron, if you ask me,’ Ryan says, pouring a glass of wine.

  ‘Arrogant, all right,’ Rupert adds, smirking. ‘Tory confidence. A safe gamble though, we’ll never vote to leave.

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Ryan says, smiling at Emily across the table, ‘Emily here thinks that it’s risky, to dangle a carrot over such a monumental decision.’

  Emily nods. ‘Too much choice can be dangerous. It’d be suicide for the economy, not to mention the potential fallout across Europe.’

  ‘Beautiful and smart,’ Rupert says, clapping a chubby hand on Ryan’s shoulder, ‘You are a lucky man.’ Ryan glances apologetically at Emily.

  ‘Did you see Sam Cam’s dress when he was interviewed afterwards?’ Georgia rejoins their conversation. ‘Shocker, honestly. You think with all the stylists she must have they could have chosen something a little more flattering.’

  ‘I doubt that her outfit was the first thing on her mind at the time, dear,’ Phil swigs from his glass and asks Rupert to pass the bottle.

  ‘Still, She’s supposed to be representing the nation; she should take her responsibilities more seriously. We have a public image to maintain.’ Georgia takes a tiny mirror from her bag and puts on more lipstick. ‘Don’t you agree, Emily?’

  ‘Hardly representing the nation,’ Phil mutters. There’s another three, maybe four hours of their company. Emily wants to hang herself. They’re so dull. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Ryan’s benefit and he didn’t talk to her in the taxi but spent the whole time on his phone, scheduling next weeks’ appointments. Emily turns to Georgia and puts on her sweetest smile.

  ‘Not really, Georgia. I think that if your husband has just made potentially the biggest mistake of his life, the last thing you’d be thinking of would be which colour best suits your eyes.’ Georgia straightens in her seat and, placing her elbows on the table, clasps Emily’s hands.

  ‘Sweetheart, I think you’re being a little melodramatic, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t actually,’ Emily says. Georgia leans in and lowers her voice.

  ‘Is everything okay? You seem a little tetchy.’

  ‘Everything is fine,’ Emily says loudly, as the men start a conversation about golf. ‘Or as fine as it can be when England is heading straight towards ruin.’

  ‘That’s a little extreme,’ Phil says, attempting a smile. ‘We’ll no more leave the EU than Ryan would leave you. Isn’t that right, Ryan?’

  ‘Yes, no – I mean, sorry, what am I being asked here?’ Ryan puts his phone back in his pocket.

  ‘It’s just my opinion,’ Emily says, as she sees their food arriving. ‘No one has to share it.’ She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and checks it under the table. She replies to Adeline. Great, let’s plan soon. Having a horrible night X.

  Dinner over and Rupert suggests a trip to his members’ club. Emily has committed herself to enduring the evening to make sure that Martha does not leave with Rupert. They walk from the restaurant to the club and Emily lets her coat swing open, enjoying the fresh air. Ryan catches up with Emily, leaving the others behind.

  ‘Is everything okay with you?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m just tired,’ Emily says. Ryan stops on the pavement and pulls her towards him, his hand on her lower back.

  ‘I know this is hard work for you, but try and have fun, please?’ As he pulls her closer she feels him pause. She looks up and sees him looking over her shoulder.

  ‘What?’ she says. He shakes his head.

  ‘I thought I saw someone,’ he says. He rubs his eyes. ‘Must be going senile.’

  The club is underground and semi-lit, catering for its clientele, wrinkles and paunches blending into sand-coloured walls beneath soft lighting. Rupert gyrates on the dance floor and Emily grabs Martha’s hand.

  ‘Come on, let’s do some shots.’ At the bar they perch on stools and watch while the tequilas are poured. They lick their fingers and run salt around the edge of their thumb and forefinger.

  ‘How are you really?’ Emily asks.

  ‘I’m great. So much happier. It got so tiring, waiting for Greg to leave me.’

  ‘You knew all along?’ Emily says. Martha tosses back a second tequila.

  ‘People always know. Deep down. It was exhausting pretending to be normal. Hoping that I was wrong.’ Turning on her stool, she faces Emily so that their knees touch. ‘Are you okay? I mean, you and Ryan?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Emily looks over her shoulder to where Rupert and Phil are now can-canning around the room.

  ‘It’s just, you seem … I don’t know, slightly on edge. Different.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Emily smiles. �
�He’s working hard and there’s a lot going on with my work. But we’re solid.’ Slowly but surely she is losing him. There’s someone else, she’s sure.

  Ryan lunges across the dance floor, placing a sweaty kiss on Emily’s forehead.

  ‘A dance with your old husband?’

  ‘I’m happy watching,’ Emily says, patting his arm. ‘Go have fun.’

  Three shots later and the room is spinning. The toilets are down a hallway lit by mirror balls. Emily misses the last stair on the staircase and twists her ankle. Bending down to rub it, she notices a man leaving the ladies’ toilets, rubbing his nose.

  ‘Phil?’ she says, holding her ankle as he approaches.

  ‘Emily, are you okay?’ He offers a hand and she stands, levelling herself. Behind him a woman emerges from the ladies, smoothing her hair with her hand, looking a little worse for wear. As she draws beside them, she smiles knowingly at Phil, adjusting her glittery vest strap, which has slipped below the top of her gold bra. Emily catches Phil’s eye and he pats her arm.

  ‘Must be getting back. Georgia will be looking for me.’ Emily nods and watches him as he disappears down the hallway, catching up with the woman as they reach the stairs.

  Emily adjusts her clothes and hits the flush button. She washes her hands in the sink and dries them with a scented towel from the basket. She pumps vanilla-scented cream from the dispenser and massages it into her hands. The door swings open, almost knocking her over.

  ‘Adeline?’ She is wearing a backless dress and high heels and more make-up than the last time they met. ‘I barely recognised you. What are you doing here?’ Emily says. Adeline leans forward and embraces Emily in a hug. Emily feels her eyes prick with tears.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Adeline says, pulling away. She presses her thumb against Emily’s cheek and catches a tear.

  ‘I’m just drunk and emotional. I’m not always like this, you know,’ Emily says. ‘God. You must think I’m an alcoholic.’

  Adeline laughs. ‘I’m not one to judge.’

  ‘You look amazing,’ Emily tells her. It’s true. Since she last saw her Adeline seems to have grown in stature and it’s not just the heels.

  ‘I’ve been working out,’ Adeline winks. ‘You should join me. How about that bike ride we talked about?’ Emily nods.

  ‘That’d be great,’ Emily says. ‘I should get back upstairs or they’ll be sending a search party.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘See you there?’

  Things have gone from bad to worse on the dance floor and Georgia and Ryan are dancing, their shoes discarded at the bar. Phil sips a scotch at a table behind the DJ. Emily orders a mojito at the bar and sits beside him.

  ‘It isn’t what you think,’ he says, staring fixedly at the table. Emily remembers the woman with the gold bra.

  ‘It never is,’ she replies, stirring ice with her finger. She scans the room and sees Adeline in conversation at the bar. Phil starts to say something else and Emily stands before he can continue.

  ‘Back in a minute,’ she says.

  ‘Emily, I need your opinion on something.’ Martha appears beside her with a smirk on her face. ‘What do you think of Rupert?’ Emily glances at the bar again, realising that it is Ryan that Adeline is in conversation with.

  ‘He’s a sleaze,’ she says dismissively. Martha looks disappointed.

  ‘Really? I thought he seemed fun. Emily, are you listening?’ A thought has occurred to Emily: what if Adeline is telling Ryan what happened that night in Dulwich? What if Adeline knows something about the hours that Emily can’t remember? ‘What’s up with you today?’ Martha is saying. Emily looks at her.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I think you can do far better than that lecherous toad. It’s just my opinion, of course.’ Emily walks away, leaving an open-mouthed Martha.

  ‘Hey,’ Emily says to Adeline at the bar. Ryan looks uncomfortable. ‘Everything okay?’ Emily asks.

  ‘Yes, fine. Ada was just telling me about the rumour that this place is shutting down. Such a shame.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ Adeline says, ‘they’re reinventing it for a younger clientele. It’s where the money is, apparently.’ Emily examines Ryan’s face for a hint of anything wrong, but his smile is back in place.

  ‘Drink, darling?’ Ryan asks Emily. She nods, putting her glass on the counter. ‘Ada?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Three Rusty Nails coming up.’

  Georgia drags Ryan back to the dance floor.

  ‘So what are you doing here?’ Emily asks Adeline.

  ‘I’m with him,’ Adeline nods at a tall swarthy man currently embroiled in some kind of tango with a woman half his age, her bare thigh tucked between his legs. Emily laughs.

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘In the loosest sense of the word,’ Adeline replies. ‘He’s a fuck buddy really. It’s good to see you, though. Seriously, let’s get together soon, okay?’ She reaches out and pushes Emily’s hair behind her ear. ‘You can tell me what those tears were about too.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ Ryan is back beside them. He gives Adeline a funny look. ‘We should go,’ he says to Emily. As Emily walks towards the exit, Georgia grabs Emily’s elbow.

  ‘Be careful,’ she says, and nods towards Adeline, who is still standing at the bar. ‘She’s trouble.’

  Emily laughs. ‘You mean Adeline? Don’t worry, she’s the best company I’ve had all night.’

  It’s late and Emily is tired. She turns off her bedside lamp. Ryan turns towards her.

  ‘Did you have a good time? You seemed a little off …’

  ‘You didn’t have to be so rude to Adeline,’ Emily says. ‘You were so abrupt.’

  ‘It was late and we had to go, that’s all.’

  ‘It was my first interesting conversation of the evening and you had to ruin it,’ Emily says.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Ryan says. ‘I wasn’t rude.’

  ‘We’re so middle-aged. I hate our friends,’ she replies.

  ‘Speak for yourself – I’m happy. You used to be too.’

  ‘It feels like a long time ago,’ she says. She waits for him to reply, but there is only the sound of his breathing. She remembers a time when he would never have gone to sleep on an argument. She closes her eyes and falls asleep thinking of Adeline.

  Rules of an open marriage #13:

  Always put family first

  Wales, Monday 18 July, 2016

  Ryan’s head hurts; his ankle too. The front door is open and sunlight streams in. Outside Ada is sunbathing. He’s remembered that he needs to get sign-off on his most recent drawings for a property in Cornwall he’s taken on. He may need to do some work while he’s here. With fears of the market drying up in the wake of Brexit, he can’t afford to be lethargic. He grabs a walking pole from beside the door. Turning right, he makes his way slowly up to the ridge.

  In the distance the estuary shimmers. Leaning back on his elbow on the grass, he scans his inbox; nothing from the client, a smattering of mails from companies he should unsubscribe from, an email from Sam with a link to a car he’s seen – optimistic as always. He’s about to put his phone back in his pocket when he notices a missed call. Emily. It’s unlike her to call while he’s away. Since their holiday they’ve barely spoken. She is set in stony silence and anything they say will lead to an argument anyway. His phone rings.

  ‘Emily, is everything okay? I was just about to – no, I was, I literally just … Reception isn’t …’ She’s talking too fast and tripping over her words and he feels his chest tighten.

  ‘What do you mean gone? Since when?’ Tom has gone missing.

  ‘I saw him yesterday evening but his bed hasn’t been slept in.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ he says.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Don’t you dare …’ He listens with minimum interruption and hears her anger drain into despair. There was a time when they’d have been together for this, his hand on her back. He wonders fleetingly what she was d
oing to not notice the absence of her son, then realises that he doesn’t really care.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ he says eventually. ‘He’s my son too.’ After she hangs up he rubs his forehead and pushes his fingertips into his eyes until he sees floating specks. Shit. Tom has always been tiptoeing on the edge of danger, while Sam is even and grounded. Tom’s the one who smokes too much weed, drinks until he’s sick. In his most soul-searching moments Ryan has wondered what impact their relationship has had on Tom. They’ve made sure the boys don’t know about their arrangement, but Tom lives his life as if it’s running out and there’s something unnervingly familiar about his hedonism.

  Back down by the cottage Ada has turned onto her back and put her towel over her face. Her breasts gleam white in the sun. He scans the field but no one’s there. He clears his throat as he crosses the field awkwardly, dragging his bad ankle. She doesn’t move and when he reaches her he realises she is sleeping, her lips parted slightly and a thin line of sweat pooling in her clavicle. A heatwave in Wales, a day for languishing.

  ‘Ada,’ he says, then louder, ‘Ada?’ She shifts slightly and he says her name again. She lifts one arm and pulls the towel back from her forehead, squinting against the sun.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something’s come up. I need to go home.’ She sits upright and the sudden movement makes him jump, and now she pulls on her bikini top, pressing her flesh into the small triangles that are too small to contain her breasts. She stands, holding the towel in front of her torso with a modesty he can only assume is fake.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ she says. ‘We only just got here.’

  ‘It’s Tom: he’s gone missing, hasn’t been seen since last night. It’s probably nothing but …’ He limps after her as she makes her way back to the cottage, pausing at the door that she has slammed in his face.