by John Marrs
As the Five Boroughs Children’s Choir sang ‘Silent Night’, I glided up the mauve carpet towards a white iron altar in Central Park.
The heavenly Vera Wang wedding dress Selena had chosen for me fitted perfectly. My bridesmaids – Emily and my granddaughter Olivia – reached the minister before I joined them, clinging to my boys’ arms for dear life. The fairy lights wrapped around the plinth bounced off a light dusting of snow on the ground, then I greeted my husband-to-be and his two best men, my new stepsons.
And as I faced the love of my life I’d waited so long to find and sobbed ‘I do’, it was impossible to feel the freezing December temperatures when I glowed so warm inside.
Today, 7.05 p.m.
She’d howled in anger, tried to gain his sympathy and reluctantly appealed to his better nature, but nothing worked. He had yet to offer a single explanation for his sudden departure.
But the mood in the room, and specifically his, had shifted. When he spoke of James, he sounded wracked with remorse. And there was more to it than being reminded of the family he’d left, or a promise to the dead.
She needed to change her tack if she was going to get her answers.
‘Why now?’ she coaxed calmly. ‘You said time was running out? Is it because we’re getting older?’
His eyes surveyed the room. He looked forwards and sideways but not directly at her. He absent-mindedly chewed the inside of his cheek until he penetrated the skin.
She couldn’t decide if he was choosing to ignore the question or if he’d heard something completely different altogether. He’d become unreadable.
‘What do you have to put right with me, Simon?’ she said, like she was talking to a frightened child. ‘What do you need me to know?’
He looked like she’d woken him from a bad dream, and that he’d been further confused by unfamiliar surroundings. He was ageing before her eyes and it alarmed her.
She broke off from analysing him to ask herself why she was feeling concern for a man who hadn’t given a damn about her. But that was her nature. And he was pained.
Regardless of learning about Paula’s brutal killing, she no longer feared him. Even the hatred had lessened slightly. Now she felt pity for the obviously troubled soul before her. She’d wondered during their conversation if sometimes he was even listening to what she was saying, because his expression would switch from engaged to blank in a heartbeat. His vacancy reminded her of someone else, and her mind raced through a lifetime of mugshots, trying to recall who it was.
He tasted the blood trickling from the bite mark inside his cheek. He clenched his fists once again. He knew his eyes had glazed over and his brain was sluggish, but there was nothing he could do but wait until it passed, like it always did. He dug his fingernails into his palms, hoping it might let him focus on what he needed to say.
He’d dipped in and out of her recollections of her second wedding and now was finding it difficult to respond. His words were caught up in a swirling current and the faster he swam, the more they collided.
‘My brain feels like Swiss cheese,’ he’d told Dr Salvatore. His physician had warned him it was one of the symptoms. A year he had lived like this, blaming his altered state of mind on grief, stress and remorse before the truth was revealed. God had had one last plan for him. He could run away from everyone else in the world, but not himself.
‘You have Alzheimer’s!’ she gasped, startling both of them.
Suddenly it made sense to her. She’d witnessed the same behaviour with Margaret, her old mentor at Fabien’s and Selena’s mum. Margaret’s husband had brought her back to England from Spain and placed her in a nursing home after she’d been diagnosed. Catherine had visited her many times, and when Margaret was less blurred, she chatted in minute detail about her past. It was as if she needed to get it all off her chest while she was still able to.
And Simon had been doing the same.
The resigned look he offered said more than his muddled sentences could. Soon their shared memories would only belong to her.
‘Why did you leave, Simon?’ she asked softly.
He stared at her while he chose the right words and tried to put them in the correct order.
‘I saw you with him,’ he replied. ‘I know what you did.’
It was her turn to embrace confusion. ‘Who?’
‘Dougie. My best friend. You had an affair with my best friend.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SIMON
Northampton, twenty-eight years earlier
14 March, 11.15 p.m.
The stylus lurched backwards and forwards like a ball in a roulette wheel, until it settled into a groove it could work with.
Baishali and Paula had twice bumped into the record player as they stood back to back, imitating the girls from ABBA. ‘Knowing Me, Knowing You’ blasted out from speakers mounted on wall brackets, and a circle of people formed around them as they recreated the band’s iconic routine.
But I paid them little attention, as I was fixated by my wife and Dougie dancing together in the corner of the living room.
By early evening, the party she’d thrown to celebrate my thirtieth birthday was in full swing. Our friends and neighbours had marched up the path like worker ants, carrying cheap French wine and trays of cling film–wrapped sandwiches.
Neither she nor Dougie were aware of anyone else’s presence. They faced each other, his hands on her hips and her arms draped around his neck, as she swayed drunkenly to the music.
Dougie had spent more time of late offloading his woes onto her than onto me. And in all honesty, I’d found it arduous listening to the complaints of a man who’d been deserted by his marital punchbag, so Catherine’s willing ear came as a relief.
But I hadn’t thought twice about their growing closeness until tonight. Despite the many distractions, neither of them lost eye contact – not when the song skipped, when the ABBA tribute act disbanded, nor when an excited Oscar began bursting balloons with his claws.
You’re reading too much into it, I rationalised, fiddling nervously with the new cufflinks she’d bought me. They’re friends. So I dismissed my insecurities and headed into the garden for a cigarette. When I gave it more thought, I knew all I’d witnessed were two pals sharing a boozy dance.
‘Happy birthday, mate!’ shouted my inebriated business partner, throwing his arm around my shoulder.
‘Cheers,’ I replied, and held my pint out in front of me to toast the occasion.
‘Baishali would never throw a party like this for me,’ Steven said. ‘She’d be terrified of what the house would look like afterwards. You’ve got a good girl there.’
‘I know,’ I said, smiling. ‘I have.’
He was right. I’d been a fool for having doubted her, even for a minute. I would go back inside to find her, give her a cuddle and thank her for her efforts. And I’d apologise for having put my work before her in recent months. I’d lost my sense of fun and spontaneity, and I knew it had created distance between us. I’d been selfish for ignoring it.
I stubbed my cigarette out on the path and went inside, but the corner of the room they’d dominated was vacant. My eyes combed the living room but Catherine was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the dining room and the kitchen before going back through the patio doors, into the garden and towards Roger.
‘Is Kitty out here?’ I asked.
‘No, mate,’ slurred Roger. ‘Do you want another beer?’
I shook my head, but as I turned to go back into the house, I was drawn to our bedroom window. I looked up to see the shadow of two figures behind the curtain before the lights went out.
I remained there for a moment, temporarily paralysed.
CATHERINE
14 March, 11.15 p.m.
I enjoyed spending time with Dougie. I understood why women fancied him. He was broad-shouldered and ruggedly handsome; he knew how to dress well and he was a great listener. If I were single, he’d probably have caught my eye.
&n
bsp; And as Simon threw all his attention into setting up his business, and Dougie adjusted to his single life after Beth walked out on him, we’d both found ourselves in the same lonely boat together.
The children took up most of my time, but Dougie had nothing to take his mind off her. I hated to think of him rattling around his house without her. So he came to ours on weeknights for dinner with the kids and me. They adored their Uncle D because he chased them around the house pretending to be a monster from the Ghostbusters film and gave them the attention their father used to give.
After I’d packed them off to bed, Dougie and I might sit in the garden or around the kitchen table, unscrew a bottle of wine and wait for Simon to come home and join us. Invariably, we’d chat for a couple of hours – he’d complain about his directionless life and I’d moan about my lack of a husband. He’d always defend Simon, though, reminding me his long hours were a means to an end. I knew he was right, but occasionally I needed someone else to turn on the light at the end of our tunnel.
Despite our many conversations about Beth, Dougie never really explained why she’d left. Instead, he danced around the subject, making it clear he wasn’t ready to confide all in me just yet. I wondered if he’d told Simon, because my husband hadn’t said anything either.
‘Was there someone else?’ I’d asked him a week earlier, opening a second bottle of Lambrusco.
‘No, Beth would never do that,’ he replied.
‘I didn’t mean her.’
‘I’d never have an affair,’ he said, a little put out I’d suggested such a thing.
‘You don’t need to have an affair to want someone else.’
He knew what I was getting at. I don’t know why, but something in me wanted to hear him admit it was my husband he wanted. But instead I changed the subject to Simon’s impending birthday party.
We’d both begged him to take a Saturday night off for a knees-up – he’d have nothing to do but turn up to his own living room. But even that, he did reluctantly.
Making food for the buffet, blowing up balloons, organising a babysitter and rearranging the furniture by myself meant that by the time the party was in full flow, I was shattered – and drunk as a skunk by nine o’clock. But despite all my efforts to encourage Simon to let his hair down, his eighty-hour working weeks meant he found it hard to unwind. I playfully pulled at his arm to dance, but he yanked it away and chose another pint of beer instead of me.
Sod you, I thought and grabbed the next best thing, Dougie, to stamp my dance card.
I wrapped my arms around Dougie’s neck to stop myself from slumping to the floor, and he propped me up around my waist. As we danced, his thoughts and eyes were fixated on me.
‘You’re in love with Simon, aren’t you?’ I blurted out so suddenly, I even let out a surprised gasp. Then I held my breath as I waited for his denial.
But Dougie’s expression didn’t change. And for the next few moments, we just swayed, holding each other’s gaze. Without needing to put it into words, I told him I didn’t mind, and I read gratitude in his eyes.
‘Come with me and we’ll talk properly,’ he finally whispered.
Northampton, today
7.25 p.m.
She remained silent as she mulled over how to proceed.
He’d brought up her mistakes and stupid decisions she had long chosen to forget. She had no idea he’d seen her with Dougie in the bedroom. Of all the reasons he could have chosen to walk away from her, she’d never thought that to be the one.
She cleared her throat. ‘You think I had an affair with Dougie?’
He nodded and tapped his head. ‘I may have this thing growing inside me now, erasing my memories, but I know what I saw and I know what I heard.’
She looked towards her feet and brushed her hand through her hair. Her face felt flushed and her bottom lip quivered. Going up the stairs with Dougie was still the second biggest regret of her life. She was ashamed of what had happened between them and she never thought she’d have to talk about it with anyone, let alone her husband.
Then she shot him a look of absolute contempt.
‘You stupid man,’ she growled. ‘You stupid fucking man.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SIMON
Northampton, twenty-seven years earlier
14 March, 11.25 p.m.
I took two stairs at a time but I still couldn’t climb them fast enough. The higher I reached, the steeper they became, and by the time I reached the top, I was nauseous. I had wanted to be wrong and for the people behind the door to be two neighbours getting a thrill from having sex in someone else’s house.
I placed my hand on the bedroom doorknob and began to turn it. Inside came the stifled noise of two bodies colliding that did not belong together. I recognised the sounds of Catherine’s muffled groans the moment I heard them.
I stopped, removed my hand from the doorknob and the world fell silent. I clenched my stomach as a dozen invisible fists punched me over and over again. I didn’t need to open the door to know what was happening. All I’d accomplish would be to solidify a mental picture that would etch itself into my brain forever. So I left her and Dougie alone to continue my ruin.
I suppressed my tears and crept back downstairs, weaving my way through our friends, then snuck out through the front door and down the darkened lane towards the woods. I bulldozed my way through bushes and bracken before the moon’s glow illuminated a clearing. I threw myself on a fallen tree trunk, buried my head in my hands and wept.
She was the one who knew the most about me. She’d accepted all my insecurities and knew how important faithfulness was to me. She was the only one who understood how much emphasis I placed on honesty. It was her who’d encouraged me to believe not everyone was like my mother.
But she’d lied. It was all lies. She’d made the ultimate betrayal – and with Dougie, of all people.
I wracked my brain to work out how long I could have been oblivious to their poisoned coupling. Had it been weeks, months or even years? I thought back to the many occasions I’d returned home late to find him in the company of my family. My family. Not his. And tonight they’d decided to rub their relationship in my face, under my roof and in my bedroom.
How could I have been so mistaken about him? Everything I had presumed to know about Dougie had been a figment of my own imagination. The kiss he’d given me as a lad had been a foolish, one-off impulse. The covert glances he’d thrown at us over the years had nothing to do with unrequited feelings towards me – they’d all been directed at Catherine.
His willingness to cross such a sacred boundary horrified me. His desire for what was mine had more than likely directed his anger towards Beth. She and I were collateral damage in a war we were unaware we’d been fighting.
CATHERINE
14 March, 11.20 p.m.
We squeezed past everyone as I followed Dougie upstairs and into the bedroom. I closed the door and sat on the bed.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,’ I began. ‘It’s the wine talking. I just wanted you to know that I understand and I’m fine with it.’
‘You’ve always known though, haven’t you?’ he asked, his forehead furrowed.
‘Yes, ever since school. It doesn’t matter though, because Simon’s lucky to have both of us who care about him so much.’
Dougie smiled and looked to the floor. Suddenly his face fell. ‘Yes, he’s really lucky to have someone like you, isn’t he, Catherine?’ His sarcastic tone took me by surprise. ‘Is that why you invite me over – so you can rub my nose in it? So you can keep showing me that you won?’
‘What? No! No . . .’ I stuttered. ‘Don’t be silly. I like spending time with you. We all do.’
‘Don’t bullshit me – I’m your charity case,’ he shouted. ‘You do it to feel better about yourself. I listen to you complain about how little time Simon spends with you, while you sit in your perfect house with your perfect children as your perfect husband works all t
he hours God sends to keep his perfect little princess happy. Except you’re not perfect, are you?’
I’d never heard Dougie speak to anyone like this and it made me nervous.
‘And despite everything you have, still you moan,’ he added. ‘But what do I have, Catherine? What do I have? Nothing. And whose fault is that?’
‘You can’t blame me for Beth leaving!’
‘I’m not talking about that stupid bitch. You know who I mean. You took away the only good thing I had in my life.’
‘What? Dougie, this is silly,’ I reasoned. ‘Simon never wanted you as anything more than a friend!’
‘And what makes you think you’re better for him than me?’
‘Because he chose me over you!’
Dougie said nothing and the room went quiet. I wanted to leave, and leave quickly. I didn’t know the man Dougie had become. He wasn’t my friend anymore. He was a stranger with a temper I didn’t like.
He glared at me with utter distaste as I stood up and moved towards the door, but he blocked my path with his arm. My pulse raced and I swallowed hard.
‘I haven’t finished,’ he growled. ‘What’s so special about you then, eh? What exactly does he see in you? ’Cos I’m fucked if I can see it.’
‘What’s got into you?’ I replied, trying to stop my voice from cracking.
‘You have. You get under my skin and you make it crawl. You deliberately hurt people, then you sit back and enjoy watching them suffer. You think you know everything about everybody, but you don’t. You make me sick.’
‘You’re drunk and talking rubbish. Now get out of my way.’
I tried in vain to push him to one side, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he grabbed my wrists and pulled his face close to mine.
‘You aren’t going anywhere, sweetheart,’ he spat.
Before I could struggle, he turned me around, twisted my arm behind my back and marched me towards the bed. I opened my mouth to scream for help but, before I could make a sound, he clamped his hand over it. Then he shoved me face down onto the bed. Instinctively I twisted and sank my teeth into his hand but he retaliated by punching the back of my head, dazing me. He gripped my hair and pressed my face into the bed. I kicked my legs but they wouldn’t budge under the weight of his body.
