A Wild Affair: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  “So what?” she frowned.

  “So I thought you'd gone to get something. Something to do with what I should do.”

  “Like what?” Helen asked curiously.

  “I don't know!” I threw my hands up in despair. “I asked you what I should do and you left the room. I just assumed that the two were related.”

  “Oh, I see.” Helen smiled. “Yeah, they were.”

  “So?”

  “It's a surprise.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What kind of surprise?”

  “A good one,” she reassured me.

  I frowned. Her eyes were glinting slightly. And then my heart sank. “You called Ivana, didn't you?” I asked in alarm. “Tell me you didn't. Promise me …”

  “Cup of tea?” Helen asked suddenly, her voice going up an octave. “Cup of tea, or glass of wine, or …”

  “How long have I got?”

  She looked at me for a moment, as though trying to make up her mind whether to admit the truth or not, then relented. “A good half an hour.”

  I sighed. “Fine. If Ivana's coming, I'm calling Giles. And you can get me a glass of wine. Make it a big one.”

  Helen, it turned out, hadn't just invited Ivana; she'd also invited Sean, Ivana's husband, and Mick, a guy from work who appeared to be there for no reason. I assumed Helen had a crush on him and this seemed as good an excuse as any to invite him over. “Mick worked on a show about relationships,” she said seriously when she introduced him, all the time refusing to meet my eye. “So I thought he'd be a good person to have around.”

  “Relationships?” I asked him, politely.

  He smiled sheepishly. “The end of relationships, actually. Women steamrolling their husbands' cars, that sort of thing.”

  “Ooh!” Giles said, looking very excited, then he caught my expression and bit his lip.

  “He'll be a mine of information if you decide to go down that route,” Helen said, thrusting a glass of wine into his hand.

  “If woman know how to manage men, she never lose him in first place,” Ivana said.

  “Right. Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said tightly. I'd come to Helen's flat for an escape, not to be put on display like some kind of strange animal. “And look, actually, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think I need this. All of you being here, I mean. I just … I just need some time, that's all. To think.”

  “To think?” Ivana asked.

  I nodded my head.

  “Max is boom-boom with this other woman?” she demanded. “Like I said?”

  I reddened. “I don't know. I mean, I know that he … I saw them … But I don't know …”

  “He was at her house,” Giles said authoritatively. “I was there.” He turned around and took my hand. “Not that that necessarily means anything,” he said reassuringly. “Not necessarily …”

  “He was at hir house. I am thinking boom-boom,” Ivana said dismissively “Now we have question. You want him beck, or you want revenge?”

  I frowned. I hadn't really thought of it like that, but she actually had a point. Did I want to fight for Max, or did I want to get out while I still could?

  “I don't know,” I said quietly. “I mean, I want him back. Of course I do. I love him. But I want the Max back who didn't … who wouldn't lie to me. The Max I trusted.”

  “Max is men,” Ivana said dismissively. “Is not good to trust men. Is good to menege men. Is good to control them.”

  She rolled her r's and shot Sean a look that suggested she knew exactly how to control him; he grinned back with dopey eyes.

  “But I don't want to control him,” I said crossly. “I want a relationship of equals, a relationship based on friendship, one that …”

  “Is based on true love,” Giles said dreamily.

  “Thet is where you go wrong,” Ivana cut in. “Is never equel. Is always one in control, one not. One has whip, the other bends …”

  “Okay,” Helen said hurriedly, looking over at Mick, who was staring at Ivana, his eyes wide. “Thanks for that, Ivana. But let's stay focused, shall we? We need a plan.”

  “A plen?” Ivana's eyes narrowed. “What sort of plen?”

  “A plan to get Max back. Or, you know, make him sorry for cheating.”

  “To get their love back on track,” Giles corrected her. “As their wedding planner, I know that they are passionate, romantic people and we need to nurture that passion and romance.”

  “Well I'm Jess's best friend and I know that the last thing she needs is someone cheating on her and lying,” Helen said pointedly.

  My phone rang suddenly; I looked at it and started when I saw Max's name flashing.

  “Is him?” Ivana asked. I nodded. “You no answer,” she said, taking the phone from me and putting it on the side of her chair. “You let him sweat, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed, reluctantly. I had a strange pain in my stomach. A pain that felt like something had been ripped out of it. It was longing, I realized. I missed Max already, missed him so badly it actually hurt.

  “You should sleep with his best friend,” Sean said suddenly. “Make him understand what it feels like. Who's his best friend?”

  I shot him a frosty look. “I'm not sleeping with anyone,” I said tersely.

  Sean shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “He could be right,” Helen said. “I mean, you don't have to sleep with him. Just flirt with him, whoever he is.”

  “Max's best friend is Anthony,” I said flatly. “Was, anyway.”

  “Ah.” Everyone digested this for a few minutes.

  “Anyway,” I sighed, “I don't have all the facts yet. Surely I should at least hear Max's side of the story?” I was looking at my phone, which was now buzzing with a voice mail.

  Helen shook her head. “Ivana's right. You can't talk to him until you know your plan of action. Otherwise you could make a mistake.”

  “Yes,” Giles said seriously. “The next few hours are going to be critical. You can't afford to make any mistakes at this juncture.”

  “What kind of mistake?” I asked, staring at my phone longingly. Maybe Max had an explanation, I found myself thinking. Maybe if I listened to the message … Then I sighed. I was deluding myself. There was no explanation apart from the one I couldn't bring myself to face.

  “Mistek like you listen to him, he mek up story, you believe, you forgive, you get merried, and then, boom, it happen again,” Ivana cut in.

  “I'm not marrying Max,” I said, quietly, trying not to look at Giles. “Not now. Not if he …” I couldn't bring myself to say it; it still felt utterly unreal. But I knew that I meant it. If Max was having an affair, we would never be married. I'd never had terribly high standards for myself when it came to romance—I'd never expected anything, to be honest, and had been reconciled to a life alone. But infidelity, a marriage that was a sham? That I wouldn't accept. Not in a million years.

  “So we're talking revenge?” Mick asked, his eyes finally moving away from Ivana and her tremendous cleavage. “Right, well, off the top of my head that could mean keying his car, taking out an ad in a newspaper advertising his small manhood, setting up a fake website brandishing him a loser, um …” He frowned in concentration. “We've had sleeping with the best friend, haven't we?”

  Sean nodded.

  “What about selling his identity? One lady did that to her husband, gave away his passport and everything. Few months later, he's arrested for fraud!”

  I looked at him incredulously. “I don't want Max arrested.”

  He shrugged defensively. “He didn't go to prison or anything. They cleared it all up, realized it wasn't him. But it gave him a shock. I thought you wanted revenge.”

  “No,” I said, folding my arms crossly.

  “But it was either take him back or get revenge and you've ruled out taking him back, so …”

  “No!” I said, again, standing up. “No, it wasn't. I said I wouldn't take him back if he'd had an affair, that's all. I d
on't want revenge. I want … I want …” I looked around the room wildly. “I want this all to go away. All of it!”

  I wiped away my tears and sat down again. More appeared at my eyes and I covered my face with my hands. And then the sobbing started, gently at first, but soon it wasn't gentle in the slightest. My whole body was heaving. My hands were wet with snot.

  “What about money?” Ivana said suddenly.

  I looked at her vaguely. “What money?”

  “Your money,” she said impatiently. “You hef it?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Where you hef it?”

  “In our account.”

  “Your account?”

  “Our joint account,” I said wearily. The joint account had been Max's account initially—he said we should put all our earnings in one account and share it equally. But the trouble was, he earned about five times what I did so it didn't feel exactly fair. So I put the money I'd allowed myself from Grace's inheritance into the account, too. Max had tried to stop me, told me to put it somewhere safe, in a savings account, but I refused. I wanted things to be fair, wanted us to be on the same level.

  Fair. Pah. So much for that.

  “Ah.” Ivana clicked her tongue.

  “Ah what?”

  “Mebe this time it is him merry you for money. I think better to move money to your own account.”

  “God, I hadn't even thought of that,” Helen said worriedly. “Jess, Ivana's right. You need to have that money in your own account. You really do.”

  “Max is not interested in my money,” I said indignantly. “Other women, apparently, yes. My money, no. He's got enough of his own.”

  “Then he no mind if you move it,” Ivana said triumphantly. She caught my expression and shrugged. “You hef to think of self here. And if you cannot, then we will. We your friends, yes?”

  “Friends?” I spoke too quickly and just caught Ivana's slightly hurt expression before she looked away. “Comrades, perhaps,” she said drily. “Whatever.”

  “No, no, I … you're right,” I said. “You are my friend. And … thank you for thinking of me.”

  “Whatever.” Ivana waved me away, looking intently at her nails.

  “Do it now,” Helen said. She pulled out her laptop.

  Reluctantly, I opened up the laptop and switched it on, then made my way to my bank's website.

  “I'm only doing this because it's the sensible thing to do,” I said as I clicked and double-clicked. “Max wouldn't touch my money. He's not like that.”

  “You think he no boom-boom with woman, but he do,” Ivana said, folding her arms. “With men, never know what they like.” She eyed Sean meaningfully and he rolled his eyes.

  “I guess,” I sighed, opening up our joint account. It felt wrong, felt like I was doing something terrible. But then Max had done something terrible. I was just protecting my assets. Ivana was right in a way—maybe I didn't know Max that well after all. I scanned the account sadly—joint supermarket shopping, a down payment on the wedding venue.

  So many hopes, so many dreams. Was I really ready to accept that they may never come true? “Actually,” I said, hesitantly, “I'm not sure about this. I'm …”

  But I didn't finish my sentence. As I scrolled through the account I saw something that made my heart thud angrily in my chest, that made indignation rise up my throat like bile. A payment to Esther Short. I did a double take, refreshed the screen, but I wasn't imagining it. One thousand pounds into her account two days ago. Quickly I reviewed the previous weeks—sure enough, for the past month there had been regular payments into her account—£2,000 here, £3,000 there.

  “What?” Helen demanded, noticing my white face, my wide eyes. “What is it?”

  “He's paying her,” I gasped. “He's giving her our money.”

  “No!” Helen's hand shot to her mouth. “No, he can't be.” She dropped down to the floor and swiveled the laptop around. Then she put her arm around me. “Oh God, Jess. I'm really sorry. What a total bastard.”

  “Oh my word,” Giles said, looking shell-shocked. “Oh my dizzy aunt. Oh, I'd never have believed it …”

  “Well, you'd better believe it,” I said tightly. “I guess I'm a fool for trusting him.”

  Quickly, I transferred all my money into my old bank account, the one I hadn't quite got around to closing, then closed the laptop and looked at Helen fiercely. “I think we should go out,” I said. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

  “Sure,” Helen said. “Sure, whatever you want.”

  “You want fabulous ones,” Giles said seriously.

  “I want,” I said, feeling numb with anger, “to wear high heels. And I want to get drunk. And I want to do it right now.”

  Chapter 7

  TO MY IMMENSE DISAPPOINTMENT, Giles didn't come out with us for a drink. He said it was because he had important work to do, but I suspected it was because he was so shaken up by the turn of events. Giles had been living and breathing our wedding for months and now he looked physically pained by the idea that it wasn't going to be happening anymore.

  We chose a bar that was absolutely heaving. I say “we,” but I actually mean Helen. We passed a couple of places that looked quiet and empty enough for us to sit down, but Helen walked straight past them. And actually, I didn't mind. Usually I'd have protested, would have sighed and refused to go into any establishment that had bouncers at the door and only served cocktails and whose clientele appeared to be a mixture of city bankers and footballers' wives or financiers' girlfriends. You know the sort. But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted to be somewhere where the music pounded so loudly you couldn't think. I wanted to be surrounded by people who didn't give a damn about relationships, whose only concerns were to see and be seen. And to hopefully get noticed by the bartender before closing time.

  “Cocktail?” Helen asked merrily once we'd somehow muscled our way through the massive crowds to a far corner of the bar.

  “Sure,” I said. “Something strong.”

  “You heard the girl,” Helen said, winking at Mick who took his cue and, having checked what Ivana and Sean wanted, began his journey to the bar. Helen slipped after him, explaining that he would need someone to help carry the drinks. Ivana, meanwhile, was attempting to take off one of her three-inch heels to inspect her foot. She noticed me looking at her and shot me a defiant look.

  “I hef blister,” she shouted over the music blaring out from speakers situated about a foot from her head. “I nid new shoes for work later.”

  I nodded in what I hoped was a sympathetic way. But I didn't feel particularly sympathetic. You have a blister? I wanted to ask, incredulously. You think that's bad? Try finding out that the man you loved, the man you were going to marry, isn't who you thought he was at all. Try seeing how much that hurts.

  Instead, I waited patiently for Mick to come back with the drinks, then downed mine at once. Helen raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said. “So it's going to be that sort of evening, is it?”

  I regarded her blankly. “I don't know what you mean,” I said. “So who wants another drink?”

  No one did; Ivana looked tempted, but her glass was still full, so after pausing briefly she shook her head.

  “Just me, then,” I said, and headed for the middle of the bar. It took me about ten minutes to squirm my way through the heaving mass of people, but with a few sharp elbows and strategically placed heels, I got there in the end.

  It was only when the bartender looked at me expectantly that I realized I had no idea what I'd been drinking. I knew it was a cocktail, but this was a cocktail bar so that wasn't exactly going to narrow it down much.

  “She'll have a Bloody Mary,” a voice said suddenly, and I turned. “That's what you always used to drink,” a friendly face said. “So Jess, what brings you to Slamming?”

  It was Hugh. Hugh Barter. I looked at him blankly. “Slamming?”

  “The bar?” he said, grinning. “It's the name of the bar.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, right. I … I didn't know. And actually, I can get my own drink, thanks,” I said, turning away.

  “Too late,” Hugh said as my Bloody Mary arrived. I took it cautiously and opened my purse.

  “Don't even think about it,” Hugh said, holding up his hand. “It's on me.”

  “Really?” I stared at him suspiciously. “Why? What do you want?”

  “Nothing!” Hugh frowned. “Have I done something to upset you?”

  I took a sip.

  “Not you,” I relented eventually.

  “Someone else? Damn 'em, I say,” Hugh said cheerfully.

  I managed a “hmmm,” then waited for him to excuse himself. He didn't.

  “Since I'm not in trouble with you”—he smiled—“can I say that you're looking utterly gorgeous tonight? I love what you're wearing. You certainly never wore anything like that when I was at Milton Advertising.”

  I looked down—I was wearing a top of Helen's that was rather more low-cut than I'd quite realized when I'd pulled it on in a mad rush. “Oh, right,” I said, blushing slightly. “Yes, well, it's not mine.”

  “Should be,” Hugh said, making my blush deepen.

  “So how are things?” I said quickly. “I mean, generally speaking?”

  “They're fine. Generally speaking,” Hugh replied. His eyes were twinkling. He was laughing at me. I was feeling very warm. Too warm. I took another sip of my drink, and then another for good measure.

  “Well, that's good,” I said brightly. “Anyway, look, thank you for the drink. Very much. But I'd better get back to my friends.”

  “Of course.” Hugh smiled. “Where are they?”

  I looked around. Ivana and Sean were heading to the door, Ivana doing a strange bouncy walk that I deduced meant that she had decided not to put her shoe back on over her blister. How she was going to get home like that, I had no idea.

  “They're … there.” I pointed to the end of the bar where Helen and Mick were standing, talking intently to each other. As I watched, her hand moved up to his neck and she threw her head back with laughter; the next second, his arms were around her and they were kissing. The kind of kissing where coming up for air seemed unlikely.