‘So, you and Olivia. Childhood sweethearts? Love at first sight?’
Geoffrey couldn’t do what he was doing if he thought about Olivia. Ruth mistook his lack of response as an invitation to carry on.
‘She can do no wrong in Martin’s book. Even when I told him she had sneaked off to the pavilion with that gorgeous French chap, Martin refused to believe there was anything going on between them.’
‘There wasn’t. And that was a rotten thing to do, by the way.’
Ruth didn’t so much shrug, as move one shoulder up and forward as if to dismiss his opinion as irrelevant. ‘Not the point. Martin thinks she’s beyond reproach. So’ – she struggled for the correct adjective – ‘nice. Always so eager to please. So annoyingly fair.’
Geoffrey didn’t need to be reminded of his wife’s many virtues, nor of the magnitude of his betrayal. Ruth had tried to fuck things up for Olivia and here he was, fucking Ruth. The very least he could do was defend his wife, albeit half-heartedly. ‘She’s a good person.’ He noted the wine bottles, the full ashtray, the discarded clothing and naked adulterers. ‘Better than I deserve, I think it’s true to say.’
All this talk of Olivia had drowned Geoffrey’s libido in guilt and highlighted Ruth’s many character flaws. Time to steer her in a different direction. ‘How did you and Martin meet?’
Ruth poured two glasses of wine and lit a cigarette for them to share. She took the first drag. ‘He nearly ran me over on the towpath along the Cam. Bicycle clips on his suit trousers – can you imagine?’
‘Actually, yes. Bicycle clips seem very Martin. And what’s with the zany socks? Is he trying to make some sort of weird fashion statement?’
She sipped some wine and fixed Geoffrey with a cool stare. ‘If I can’t speak ill of your wife, you can’t speak ill of my husband. Agreed?’
Loyalty. He didn’t see that coming. ‘Agreed.’
Geoffrey took a few puffs of the cigarette and handed it to Ruth. He would have to drive back to the Rectory later so shouldn’t really drink any more, but being in Ruth’s company made him irresponsible and reckless. He poured another glass of wine.
‘There is something I’m curious about.’
‘Oh?’
‘Does Martin know about your’ – he trod carefully, not wanting to draw attention to her promiscuity – ‘dalliances?’
She shifted so that she was lying on her side across the foot of the bed, propped up on one elbow, scrutinising him. It seemed like she was trying to decide whether or not to answer the question.
‘He looks the other way,’ she said.
Geoffrey had doubts about pursuing this line of questioning but was intrigued as to what possessed a man to turn a blind eye to his wife fucking other men. ‘I couldn’t do it.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you could. I daresay you’d beat the living daylights out of any man who sniffed round your precious Olivia.’
‘I daresay I would. Is that what you want Martin to do?’
Ruth smiled, but in a mocking way. ‘How perceptive.’
She rolled on to her back, hands clasped behind her head. Her breasts lolled to either side, nipples rose-pink and hard. From that angle he could see stretch marks, as though a snail had slithered over her belly, leaving a thin trail of silvery slime. He would have found it off-putting if all this talk of sex and beatings hadn’t got his blood pumping again. He felt himself stir beneath the crumpled sheet, but Ruth hadn’t finished answering his question.
‘The first time was a sort of test to see if he had any backbone. He’s always so passive – on his best behaviour. I wanted him to be angry. Enraged.’
‘And was he?’
A sigh of disappointment. ‘No. He’s too docile, too Christian.’ She sat up and took a sip of wine. ‘I do my best to provoke him but he will insist on forgiving me.’
‘And speaking of which,’ said Geoffrey, sipping from his wine glass too, ‘I’m dreading seeing Olivia at rugby training tomorrow. She knows I called you – left a message on my mobile asking why. I haven’t worked out what I’m going to tell her yet.’
Ruth had no opinion on the subject. She got up and went to the bathroom. Wonderful posture. Shoulders back, breasts lifted and pushed forward. Her hips had a subtle but definite swing and her hair, fine though it was, looked attractively tousled and messy.
It was years since he had been so infatuated with a woman. The way she talked about Martin always being on his best behaviour really struck a chord. That was how Geoffrey felt. His whole life had been about meeting other people’s expectations, trying to do the right thing, even if he failed or if it wasn’t the right thing for him. And where had it got him? His affair with Ruth was the first time in his entire life he had ever deliberately been bad. He had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed and was in no doubt his day of reckoning would come, but until that day, it felt fucking amazing.
*
Freddie Burton hit the ground hard and rolled. He held his shoulder, his face contorted with pain. Edward was still on his feet, the ball in his possession. They had collided at pace but Freddie, being the smaller of the two, had come off worse. Geoffrey blew the whistle to stop play and jogged over to them. Freddie’s moans were interspersed with a rich variety of swear words. He muttered them under his breath, but just loud enough for Geoffrey to hear. ‘Fuck’ appeared to be his profanity of choice, with ‘bloody bastard’ a close second. Geoffrey was sure he hadn’t used that sort of language at Freddie’s age – certainly not in the company of adults. How times had changed.
He offered his hand but Freddie turned away and pushed himself up on his good arm. Edward’s tackle had been on the aggressive side but it was rugby, for God’s sake – get over it. After two weeks off the team, Edward was fired up and fierce. Geoffrey blew the whistle for them to play on. Freddie hissed something in his direction and hobbled to the centre of the pitch.
In Geoffrey’s peripheral vision a groundsman was raking leaves. He wore one of those oversized woollen hats that looked like a tea cosy. Difficult to be sure from that distance but Geoffrey supposed it must be young Tom. He looked so menial, the sort of lad you see collecting rubbish in the park or digging holes in the road. It tarnished Geoffrey’s view of Ruth as a free spirit – brought her flaws and faults into sharp focus. What the hell had she been thinking? She was pushing forty, for Christ sakes. A mother of two. Yes, he was aware of the double standard – older man, younger woman, perfectly acceptable – but still. Seeing the scruffy teenager forced Geoffrey to confront the shocking extent of Ruth’s carnality.
His heart leaped into his throat. A leaflet the university doctor had given him along with the news he had chlamydia, all of a sudden was frighteningly relevant. ‘Be Sure To Be Safe – Be Sure To Wear A Condom.’ A couple kissing on top of a pyramid and below them, all their previous sexual partners.
Geoffrey hadn’t thought to wear a condom. Christ, what diseases could the grungy youth have passed on to Ruth, and Ruth to Geoffrey? He would have to get himself tested, although not with the family GP. Geoffrey tried for a deep breath but his heart took up all the space in his chest and throat. A vision of sitting in one of those awful STD clinics flashed across his mind. He’d seen them on Channel 5, populated by perverts and prostitutes. Had it stung when he peed this morning? No – he would have remembered if it had stung.
Angry shouts brought his attention back to the pitch. He hadn’t seen the tackle that put Edward on the ground and a self-satisfied smirk to Freddie Burton’s face. Edward’s face had a muddy bootprint on one side. Geoffrey didn’t have the patience for this. Deaf to protests that they still had ten minutes to go, he sent the whole lot of them off to the showers and walked with them in case Edward and Freddie started something.
In an effort to try to banish thoughts of clinics and diseases he struck up a conversation with Edward – told him how good it was to have him back on the team and to take no notice of Freddie Burton. Geoffrey was tempted to bring up the subject
of name-calling, casually of course. He wanted Edward to reassure him that there was nothing more to it, no specific incident that had prompted it, but school broke up at the end of next week – he’d take him fishing or on one of their day-long hikes in the Brecons and they’d talk properly then.
As they rounded the corner he spotted Olivia coming towards him. He felt sure the minor explosion in his chest was a heart attack. Or guilt. He had a prepared script but now she was in front of him, looking tired but achingly pretty, it vanished from his head. Why did he always forget how pretty she was? The pictures on his phone didn’t capture the smoothness of her skin, the flecks of green and gold in her eyes. Each time he saw her it hit him all over again. His heart lurched with love and fear. If she found out about Ruth, he would lose her.
Olivia managed a smile, but he knew it was more for the boys’ benefit than his. When she asked Edward what had happened to his face he told her not to make a fuss. The boys carried on into the building, leaving Geoffrey and Olivia alone.
‘So you’re alive then?’ she said.
‘Yes, sorry. I called a few times but could never get hold of you.’
He didn’t mention that he’d timed his calls knowing she wouldn’t answer: early morning when she was busy with the boarders; after lunch, when she’d be listening to the little ones read; early evening when she was busy with the boarders again.
‘We can’t talk here,’ she said, looking around. ‘The staffroom should be empty, more or less.’
He walked alongside her, his heart a machine gun in his chest, about to discover how good a liar he was.
The staffroom had a comfy, shabby homeliness that reminded him of the snug at the Rectory. Olivia made coffee in silence and handed him a mug. They sat down in a far corner where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
‘Why have you been avoiding me?’
No preamble – straight to the point. He half expected her to see his infidelity, visible and obvious, like a stain on his skin.
‘I haven’t.’
Her gaze was steady and searching. However hard he tried not to, he had to look away.
‘We haven’t spoken in a week. A week, Geoffrey. What the hell is that about?’
He shifted in his chair. ‘We had that row about Edward.’ He shrugged. ‘I was cross, upset, I don’t know.’
‘Why did you call Ruth Rutherford?’
‘What?’
‘You called her on Saturday evening. GP 007 flashed up on her phone. I assume that was you.’
He affected an air of vague recollection. ‘Oh, that. Yeah, I fixed a tap in the kitchen and thought I left my wallet there.’
‘And you swapped phone numbers?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Why?’
‘Umm, she said there might be some more odd jobs – she’d let me know.’
‘Odd jobs? You? The school has a caretaker for odd jobs.’
Geoffrey rearranged his expression to one of bemusement. ‘Maybe he’s busy. It’s not a big deal. I was just trying to help out.’
‘And the text?’
‘What text?’
‘The one I found in Ruth’s phone. Can’t wait. What was it you couldn’t wait for?’
Fuck. How did she know about that? Think, think. ‘Training.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Edward’s first time back on the team since his ban. Ruth asked if I was looking forward to it – to training. Can’t wait was how I replied.’
Olivia did that long, intense stare thing again. Wait a minute – could he get the upper hand here? ‘What were you doing with Ruth’s phone?’
Olivia blinked a few times in quick succession. ‘Doesn’t matter. What does matter is all those calls between the two of you. I counted seven.’
Jesus. He’d told Ruth to delete everything, and that was before he realised Olivia would go all Miss Marple on him. Then a brainwave. ‘Look, I’ve been worried about Edward. At this rate there’s no way he’ll get a scholarship and we don’t have the money for school fees. I’ve been talking to Ruth about it, you know, if there’s anything we can do to improve his chances.’
Geoffrey thought he sounded pretty convincing but Olivia’s expression was one of deep scepticism.
‘And is there?’
‘Maybe. She’s going to talk to Martin.’
The muscles in her face relaxed – not much, but just enough for Geoffrey to hope that the worst of the interrogation was over. Would it be pushing things to feign indignation, maybe demand an apology? Perhaps. He reached for her hand but she pulled it away.
‘I have another question,’ she said, although her tone was less probing than before. ‘A long time ago you told me you were a terrible liar and hopeless at keeping secrets. Do you remember?’
In his bedsit, reeling from the news she was pregnant. She’d asked why he had to tell his parents if he didn’t want to. ‘I remember.’
She studied him for an uncomfortably long time. ‘Is it still true?’
That she needed to pose the question suggested she already suspected the answer. A brave man would have owned up, asked for forgiveness and taken his punishment. Geoffrey wasn’t that man.
The door swung open and the plump dark-haired woman from match tea blustered in, humming ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’. When she saw them she came to an abrupt stop and made a ‘what’s going on here?’ face. The same face she had made when she had walked in on him and Ruth.
‘Olivia. Mr Parry. How nice to see you both. Usually it’s one or the other.’
‘Hello, Lisa,’ said Olivia, her voice flat.
Right then. Inquisition over as far as Geoffrey was concerned. He stood up and said he needed to check on the boys; make sure they were behaving themselves in the changing room. Olivia walked him to the door, Geoffrey unsure whether she believed his version of events or not. Her demeanour was non-committal, as though she hadn’t made up her mind. What if she didn’t believe him – if she saw him for the dirty liar that he was? Maybe she could forgive a one-off affair – an isolated blemish on an otherwise blameless track record of fidelity – but not an affair with Ruth Rutherford. Olivia, who hated no one, hated Ruth. Perhaps hate was too strong but dislike wasn’t strong enough. And not without reason. Ruth had been a total bitch to Olivia over the whole Hugo, young Tom thing. Geoffrey was sleeping with the enemy. The possibility of losing Olivia was terrifyingly real. He wanted to hold her but Lisa was watching and it didn’t feel right. He told Olivia he would call her later, a promise greeted with a resigned nod – no smile. Geoffrey strode along the corridor with a new-found sense of purpose. The spell cast by Ruth had been broken and he knew exactly what he had to do.
*
That haunting ‘Snowman’ song played on the car radio. In happier times it had made Geoffrey feel all warm and nostalgic: memories of Edward ripping the wrapping paper off his haul of Christmas presents, long dog walks over snowy fields, evenings in front of a roaring fire, Olivia snuggled next to him. Now the song made him unbearably sad. He listened anyway – punishment for his steadily accruing sins. Catholics could own up in the anonymity of the confessional and have their sins absolved. Geoffrey had to carry his sins around, a dead weight of guilt and gutlessness.
The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced Olivia knew he was lying and had been offering him a way out. Confession, penance, absolution.
He closed his eyes and listened to the song. The boy’s voice was beautiful. Unbroken. Sadness pressed against Geoffrey’s chest; a dense, dull pressure. He let his head fall back against the cream leather headrest and waited for it to pass.
A newsreader reminded him there were other problems in the world – war, famine, parents murdering their children – that were infinitely worse than his own. Geoffrey stared out into the darkness and waited.
Ruth was late. She’d said there was no point paying for a hotel room when they only had an hour. The spot she’d suggested was roughly equidistant and reassuringly remote: a track off a lan
e off a road. Her directions were too precise for her not to have been there before. And this was what Geoffrey had risked his marriage for.
It was no excuse, of course, but Ruth’s interest had flattered him: made him feel manly and potent and the way he used to be before it all went to shit. He had never set out to be unfaithful – creating false profiles on internet dating sites or hanging out in bars looking for women. Ruth had seduced him and he was easy prey. Three months without sex can do that to a man.
The glare of headlights filled the car. Ruth parked her old BMW and tottered over the icy ground.
‘Fucking freezing out there,’ she said, getting in next to him.
She wore a grey tea-cosy hat similar to that of the groundsman, except hers had a large, crocheted flower on one side. The tip of her nose was red and shiny with the cold, her lips a bluish purpley-pink. Once she had pulled off her mittens – a grown woman wearing mittens? – she fiddled with the radio until she found something ‘a bit more cheery’. It wasn’t until she had undone her coat and unwrapped her scarf that she noticed he wasn’t exactly chipper.
‘Everything all right?’
Her tone was clipped and a tad irritated. It would have felt good to unburden himself, tell her all the reasons why everything was most certainly not all right, but she wouldn’t have been interested. She ran her hand along his leg, moving slowly from knee to groin. He took a long breath.
‘I saw Olivia today.’
Ruth’s hand continued its trajectory, kneading his quads as it went.
‘She knows something’s going on.’
Ruth had reached his balls and gave them a playful squeeze.
An Unsuitable Marriage Page 19
