‘He was always so professional, so focused,’ she says. ‘But these things happen all the time without reason. How’s your sex life?’ Emily blushes. ‘Don’t be coy.’ Usual café talk for Emily is school runs and coffee, occasional small-scale gossip. ‘Well, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ Adeline says, ‘I just thought …’ She laughs disarmingly. ‘I always go straight for the jugular, sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Emily says.
‘Okay?’
‘Comfortable. Nice.’ Emily cringes inside.
‘Passionate!’ Adeline laughs.
‘You know what it’s like …’ Emily says, and instantly regrets it.
‘I’m not sure I do,’ Adeline says. ‘People assume that all marriages are created equal, but they’re not. What “comfortable” means for you might be a tempest for someone else.’ In spite of herself, Emily laughs. A tempest indeed.
‘We’ve always had different needs,’ Emily continues. ‘That’s why it’s so surprising, his affair I mean. The sex was always more important to me than it was to him.’
‘It’ll probably fizzle out. These things usually do,’ Adeline says, dipping her finger in the cream from the rim of her cup.
‘Spoken from experience?’ Emily raises an eyebrow.
‘Everything fizzles out for me eventually,’ Adeline says, and Emily feels inexplicably sad. ‘Look, should we scrap the coffee and go and get a real drink instead?’ Emily nods and pulls her wallet out with a shaky hand, dropping a note onto the table.
In the darkened bar the awkwardness dissipates and Emily sinks into a leather sofa. Adeline sits opposite on the other side of the table and Emily has to strain to hear her.
‘What are you going to do?’ Adeline asks. Emily scans the room, a handful of people scattered in corners. Nobody she recognises.
‘Wait it out, I think. Nothing else I can do, really. Unless I leave him.’
‘Is that an option?’
‘No. I owe him this.’
‘Owe him?’ Adeline pushes her chair back and walks around the table. She sits next to Emily on the sofa where her bare knee brushes against Emily’s jeans.
‘It’s a hard institution, marriage, so I’ve heard,’ Adeline says. ‘Don’t beat yourself up.’
‘I just wish I knew who it was,’ Emily says.
‘Why?’ Adeline asks. ‘Does it matter?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Does it matter who it is? Surely the issue is the act itself?’
‘Maybe you’re right …’
‘I mean, you don’t seem exactly spotless yourself.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know, with Leo,’ Adeline says. Emily decides to come clean.
‘Look, the truth is I can’t remember a thing about that night after leaving the pub, apart from swimming and being really cold. So I really don’t know what happened with Leo. I’m worried I—’
‘I warned you not to go with him, but you wouldn’t listen and off you went into the pavilion, leaving me waiting on the bench with whatsisname,’ Adeline says. Emily reminds herself that it’s dark in here and that no one can see.
‘That’s not what happened,’ Emily says uncertainly. ‘You saved me from hypothermia, remember?’
‘That’s an interesting way of putting it.’ Adeline laughs and the people at the next table turn around. ‘It was freezing, though,’ she adds, ‘so you got that part right. Do you really not remember? I came over to help but it was clear that you wanted some time alone with him, so I made myself scarce until you re-emerged, quite warmed up.’ Her smile is wicked. ‘You regaled me with a detailed account of the whole experience on the walk home, the roughness of the wood against your back, the release after all the months of resistance.’
‘Resistance?’ Jesus Christ. Emily wants to dispute this as nonsense. Adeline could have got it wrong – they were all off their heads – but how would she know about the waiting?
‘You know – you trying to do the right thing for so long and then …’ With Emily unable to respond, Adeline continues. ‘Nothing illegal about it, though, he’s a grown man. That’s what you kept saying.’
She shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have met with Adeline, should have stayed at home wrapped in her secrets.
‘He was a student, wasn’t he?’ Adeline says. Emily is beyond hearing, her breathing threatening to implode her chest. She thinks of Leo referring to that night. The song and dance she may have unwittingly performed. All the texts and emails that he’s sent since. Her insistent denial.
‘I think you got the wrong end of the stick,’ Emily says in a small, quiet voice quite unlike her own.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. I didn’t breathe a word of it to Ryan when he gave me a lift home the next morning. Your secret’s safe with me.’
There’s a flash of lightning outside the bar and a crack of thunder whips the road. Within seconds the bar fills with pedestrians seeking solace from the rain that has come from a cloudless sky and now lashes against the windows. The room fills with body heat and laughter.
‘Crikey, it’s Armageddon,’ Adeline says, standing and reaching for her wallet. ‘Another drink?’ They drink and it dilutes what’s been acknowledged. If she drinks enough perhaps these hours can be lost too.
‘Look, I wanted to ask you something,’ Adeline says. ‘Why don’t you call me Ada like everyone else? I don’t mind.’
‘I like Adeline,’ Emily says, shaking her head. ‘I don’t want to be like everyone else.’ Adeline leans over and brushes her fingers against Emily’s cheek.
It’s close to 8 p.m. by the time they stumble out onto the pavement, and Emily’s discomfort has diminished in direct correlation to the increasing quantity of alcohol that she’s consumed. They’ve tilted the world back on its axis. The rain has stopped and steam rises from the pavements, forming transient clouds. Adeline links arms with Emily, insisting that they stop for one more drink before heading home, despite the fact that it’s clearly a bad idea.
The boutique bar she picks is small and intimate, tucked up an alleyway between a closed dry cleaners and a newsagent.
‘Come on,’ Adeline says, slipping her arm out of Emily’s and grabbing her hand.
‘Where are the toilets?’ Emily whispers.
‘I’ll show you,’ Adeline says. She leads her up some narrow stairs at the back of the bar and into a darkened corridor lined with William Morris wallpaper. Flecks of gold reflect the dim lights. ‘This was quite something back in the day,’ Adeline tells her, pushing open a double door, ‘Some people say it was a brothel.’ Emily stumbles into a room the size of her bedroom, off which several doors lead. In the corner is an armchair and a dresser, and along the far side of the room a long narrow shelf runs beneath a mirrored wall, lined with perfumes and potions.
‘Very fancy,’ Emily smiles. ‘It’s a Tardis. How do you know this place?’ She peers at herself in the mirror. It could be the lighting, but she doesn’t look too bad, considering.
‘I’m doing some work here,’ Adeline says. Emily goes into the nearest cubicle, from which she can hear Adeline humming to herself. She is tying her hair back in the mirror when Emily re-emerges. She washes her hands and dries them with a paper towel, then uncaps one of the lotions and pours it into her palm. It feels expensive and silky smooth. Emily rubs some into her neck and turns to find Adeline beside her, head bent close to hers.
‘Smells lush,’ she says, winking. ‘Come on, there’s something else I want to show you.’ Turning left out of the bathroom, Adeline leads the way up yet more stairs to the top floor. Emily had presumed that there would be apartments up here, but there’s no sign of residents or segregation, just another long narrow corridor of doors.
‘Are we going to get in trouble?’ Emily says, giggling.
‘I do hope so,’ Adeline says, testing one of the door handles, then inserting a key, a triumphant smile on her face. Inside the room there is an old-fa
shioned double bed and a sink in one corner. Adeline walks to the sash window and tugs it roughly. Emily hears the street noise flooding in. Emily peers out into the street below. She turns to find Adeline locking the door and laughs nervously.
‘Are you kidnapping me?’ Adeline walks across the room to Emily and takes her hands in hers. And now Emily is sure that Adeline knew exactly what she was doing in the changing room.
‘I just thought you deserved to have some fun for a change, it’s not fair that Ryan gets to have it all …’
‘Adeline, I don’t—’
‘Shhh.’ Adeline’s lips are on hers and Emily kisses her back. She feels Adeline’s tongue touching hers, delicate and probing. She feels the thrill of anticipation. She pulls away.
‘I’m not … I mean, I don’t,’ she says. It’s been more than twenty years since she was with Charlotte. The only time she’s been with a woman. She can’t do this. The years of inexperience are a hurdle she’s not equipped to jump.
‘Don’t do what?’ Adeline says, putting a hand around Emily’s wrist and pulling her closer.
‘This, with women.’
‘Even better,’ Adeline says, pulling her towards the bed.
‘What if someone comes up?’ Emily says. ‘We shouldn’t be here.’
‘So many excuses, so little time,’ Adeline pats the bed and Emily sits beside her. Adeline pushes Emily back and lies beside her, pushing her hair back from her face. Adeline runs her finger down Emily’s neck. Emily wishes she hadn’t had so much to drink. It’s not that she doesn’t feel desire but – Adeline slips her hand into the top of Emily’s shirt and beneath her bra, and despite her reservations Emily’s nipples harden. She thinks of Charlotte all those years ago. Adeline reaches with her spare hand for Emily’s, and places it underneath her own top, against her stomach. Emily feels insecure. She is acutely aware of her own body: the scars from her caesareans; her breasts, which, though small, are no longer firm.
Adeline is unbuttoning her shirt and now her lips are on Emily’s breasts, her tongue tracing their outline. Emily flexes her fingers against Adeline’s stomach and moves her hand up, finding her breasts. She’s forgotten how beautiful a woman is to touch. She pushes her back onto the bed and pulls up her shirt, feeling Adeline’s nipples harden against her tongue. Her skin tastes sweet, like honey. Her lips circle Adeline’s breasts and explore their fullness, so different from her own. Adeline breathes faster and she pushes Emily onto her back. She reaches for Emily’s hand and holding it, slips it down inside the top of her shorts, which she has undone. It’s a language that doesn’t require words. Adeline wriggles out of her shorts and tugs down Emily’s jeans, finding the side of her underwear and pushing it aside. She slips a finger inside Emily, then two. Emily tenses up, her hand still against Adeline’s underwear. Adeline grabs her hand.
‘Like this,’ she guides her and then Emily’s fingers are inside Adeline and though Emily wants to do this and she can feel Adeline wet against her fingers, she can’t find the rhythm, can’t feel it either. She pulls back, trying to push away Adeline’s hand from her body, pulling her fingers away from Adeline.
‘I can’t,’ she says to Adeline, feeling shame flood to her face, ‘I’m sorry’.
‘You can,’ Adeline says, and kisses her gently on her lips, her fingers still inside Emily. ‘I know you can. We can try something different if you’d like,’ she says, moving down Emily’s body and kissing the inside of her thigh.
‘Not here, not like this,’ Emily says, twisting her body away. Adeline’s fingers are pushing deeper now, and Emily feels panic rising. ‘Stop it,’ she tells Adeline, reaching down for her wrist and pushing it away with her foot. Adeline catches Emily’s ankle with her other hand and Emily freezes, aware of her vulnerability and the fact that she is dry now and the friction of Adeline’s fingers is starting to rub. Adeline laughs and lets go of her ankle, withdrawing her fingers slowly, rubbing her thumb over Emily’s clitoris as she does so.
‘I’m sorry,’ Emily says, dressing in shaky silence while Adeline watches her. She wishes that they had just had their drink in the bar downstairs as planned and both gone home.
‘You wanted me, I could feel it,’ Adeline says, pulling on her shorts. ‘I think you’re scared.’ The lamplight from outside the windows catches the definition in her legs, casting dark lines along her hamstrings, and shadows across the smooth sweep of her stomach. Adeline walks to Emily and puts her arms around her, running her hands down her lower back. ‘Admit that you want me,’ she says, kissing Emily’s neck, and for a moment Emily is torn. She imagines the freedom of it, the start of something new, the release of the tension that is splitting her in two. She shakes her head and turns away. It wouldn’t be the start of something but the continuation of something that she’s spent too long trying to forget. She thinks of the time she’s spent becoming strong and how even now she can feel the raw nerve that Charlotte exposed in her, her vulnerability too close to the skin. She’d like to inhabit Adeline’s freedom, but she can’t. So much for balancing things and clearing the air. They walk downstairs and skip the nightcap, parting ways on the pavement with an air kiss.
The next day Leo phones again. Her mobile this time. She speaks to him in the garden because for once the house is busy, Sam and Tom arguing incessantly and Ryan rallying for some peace.
‘Did you think about what I said the other day?’ Leo’s voice is calm and measured and in control.
‘Leo, the answer is yes.’ She used to be a risk-taker, she used to be brave. She doesn’t like the insecure version of herself that she’s recently discovered. She’s taking back control of something at least, and if she slept with him in the park already it’s not such a big deal. Plus she’ll do anything to clear up the mess at work, and Leo’s promised to withdraw his allegations if she does this. She’s well aware that she’s breaking her and Ryan’s long-standing agreement about repeat performances, but hell, he’s breaking it too. She dismisses the thought that what she’s about to do is paramount to prostitution, her name cleared in exchange for her body. The floodgates have been opened. There is a long pause and for a second she worries that she’s being recorded. ‘Leo?’
‘Good. I’m glad,’ he says finally. ‘You won’t regret it.’
She tells him that the rules are this. That it will be arranged by her, at her choice of location, time and date. That there will be no further contact after the event; this is a one-off arrangement. He will drop all allegations and make a formal apology to the dean, citing a crush as the reason for his perseverance. This is as much an experiment as anything else, and whatever they take from it, they take alone. They’ll meet this evening, for it happens to be free for them both. ‘Out two evenings in a row,’ Ryan comments as she leaves the house.
She checks into the hotel she has chosen, close enough to be convenient, far enough away from home. At the arranged time of 8 p.m. she meets him in the bar. He offers her a mojito, but she turns it down in favour of a gin and tonic. ‘It’ll make you maudlin,’ he tells her. ‘Not a chance,’ she replies. At precisely the time they agreed, 9 p.m. – not late enough for the alcohol consumed to dull their senses, but enough time for their drinks to seep into their veins, they make their way to the thirteenth floor, where she opens the door to room 133 and they enter. ‘In Japan the hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor,’ he comments, ‘they just skip it, twelve to fourteen, just like that.’ ‘We’re invisible,’ she replies, ‘at least somewhere.’
Inside the room, she locks the door and they turn off their phones. She secretly checks for hidden cameras, though she knows this is paranoid behaviour and there’s no way that he could have known which room they were coming to. She insists they shower separately, and she spends extra time applying moisturising cream and cleansing herself with baby wipes. It’s just one evening.
Showered and warm from the steam, she sits on the bed and he faces her, standing. Light flickers from a candle on the windowsill. With one simple moveme
nt he pushes her back onto the bed and unravels the dressing-gown cord from around her waist. She feels a surge of power; she owns this; she knows how it works. There is none of the awkwardness that she felt with Adeline. She is at ease and in control. It is the antithesis of the previous evening, and even before he enters her, she knows that she needed this affirmation.
She’d been worried that he’d be too keen and ruin it, but the reality couldn’t be further from the truth. He is slow and considerate and she rises to meet him, equal. She thinks of Adeline as she does. Afterwards, when they lie together, he rests his hand upon her hipbone and, despite her insistence that they should sleep, she finds herself aroused again by his body, disproving Schopenhauer’s theory beyond a shadow of doubt.
Rules of an open marriage #17:
Remember that fights are about feelings, not facts
Wales, Wednesday 20 July 2016
Ada climbs into bed during the night. The chill of her wakes him and she smells of earth and bracken. He cradles her gently, a wild thing prone to flight. Any thoughts he had of leaving are gone along with the policemen.
Early morning and she’s still there, left arm flung sideways and palm upturned; hair strewn across her face. The shutter bangs on its hinges and rain heaves itself through the open window, a thin line of water trickling its way to the stairs.
She stirs in her sleep, unfurling. He pulls her closer and feels the warmth of her. Bending to brush his lips against her cheek, he tastes the salt of yesterday on her skin and smells the forest in her hair.
‘Where did you go?’ he asks her, and she shakes her head. He pulls her closer as if he can become her. He wants to see what she saw. He could not get any closer if he unzipped her skin and pushed his desperate face against her bleeding heart. It is not enough and never will be. The realisation is hollow. He lies back against his pillow and she turns, hair tumbling across his chest. The room is charcoal grey.
The Codes of Love Page 17
