Uurgh.
The moment passes. The people board the train. I release my grip on the wall. My hands are cold.
It's a ten minute walk home. It starts to rain.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Beth
Hickey threads his furry body through my legs, purring maniacally and almost tripping me over as I step into the hall of my home. I reach for the light switch and pull off my dripping wet coat as I shut the door behind me. The scent of home welcomes me. I push it away. It can’t soothe me now.
I hang up my coat, leave my bag at the foot of the stairs and then wonder what to do. I don't want to stay long but it seems silly to have come all this way for a couple of minutes. I put the kettle on and pull up a stool from the breakfast bar.
I rest, my head in my hands. Oh, I am tired. Even the prospect of seeing Joel at the Luminaire and afterwards doesn't lift my energy levels much. I still ache from the car accident. I feel Joel sending me warm thoughts, another gentle hug.
My moment of calm is shattered when I hear a key turn in the front door.
Richard.
I have an overwhelming, childish desire to hide. The lock rattles, the handle turns and the front door opens.
He looks different, striding towards me. Angry. Hard faced. "Why haven't you returned my calls!" he yells, his arms waving about angrily. Ah, I understand, he is drunk.
He throws his keys down on the worktop, growls theatrically and hits his own head with his fist.
His behaviour is making me nervous. "I don't know what to say - "
The back of his hand strikes my shoulder; the blow is hard and knocks me off the stool. I topple but grab the worktop and manage to stand, immediately stepping back in shock. "What are you doing? How dare you - "
He simply stands, staring, his face red and puffy. He is visibly shaking. He says nothing.
I know I have to do something but I don't know how serious this situation is. Will he leave me alone while I pack a bag? Would he leave the house if I asked him to? Should I, God forbid, grab a knife from the drawer, or scream out? Joel’s voice yells the answer in my head:
"RUN!"
I dash across the room, shoving past him, the front door in sight ahead –
He calls out, "Beth! Come back, we need to talk - "
I turn to face him, suddenly wanting to stand my ground. This is my house, after all. "What is there to say?" I demand. "You’re drunk and you just HIT me for God's sake. You just hit your wife!"
"With provocation!" He explodes, "You! You have been shagging around for weeks, Beth. I knew what you were doing, I knew you never went to the gym. I knew something was wrong in Vegas. I don't know what is going on or why but I know you are a LIAR. A cheating, lying whore!"
Gulp.
"RUN BETH - FOR GOD'S SAKE, RUN!" Shouts Joel from inside my head.
Instead I square up to him, "Get. Out. Now."
He is incensed. I can smell the whisky. "I could have any woman I want. But I chose you, Beth. I loved you…”
"Did you want Selina?” The words have escaped before I can stop them.
Nervous at his reaction, I step aside so there is nothing stopping him from leaving.
He stares at me. "What do you mean?" The question hangs in the air.
I don't know what to say to that. It kind of takes the wind out of my sails. I sit down on the stairs and dig around in my bag. I unzip the compartment in the inside lining and retrieve the photo of Etienne and the letter. I hand them both the Richard.
He reads the letter. Looks at the photo.
"Richard, I loved you when we met. I loved you when we married. I didn't stop loving you - I am confused at why you didn’t tell me about Etienne. You lied to me."
"Don’t you dare throw this… this BULLSHIT into the mix now. You’re just deflecting the attention from what you’ve been doing, Beth. You’ve not come near me since Vegas and you’ve been lying to me, sneaking around with someone else.”
I pause as I try to collect my thoughts.
“Well you keep staying at Nick’s. Tell me Richard, have you been getting your own back, up in town?"
He puts his hands up in front of his mouth. He looks like he's going to be sick, or perhaps he's trying to stop himself from answering that one.
We are frozen for a few seconds, the tension palpable.
"Are you having an affair?" He counters with.
I am about to say No, then I realise that would be a lie too far. "I wasn't." I say. "But I think I am now."
He looks shocked at my honesty. "I visited the gym each day, to see if you were there. I was going to come with you, I thought it was something we could do together you know but you weren't there... and each morning you lied about where you were going. And so each morning I got angrier and angrier.”
“And Etienne? Is he your son?”
“Selina says he is. I hadn’t wanted to see a photo before. But yes, I can say for sure now that he looks like he’s my son.”
I suddenly feel very sorry for him. I reach out towards him. "It's OK," I whisper. "It will all be OK, I promise."
He pushes my hand away. "It won’t be OK, Beth. You are having an affair. I am not going to be able to get past that. I thought I was going mad, you see. I needed to be sure. So I'd looked through your things. I'd found the envelope that said 'Nat West' and I knew it wasn’t for Nat West. Why would it not have an address and not have been sent? I just ripped it open. I don't know what I thought I was going to find. Then there it was. The letter from some man."
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't say anything to me about the letter when we were in Vegas. You lied."
I nod.
"Who are you seeing?" He says in a small voice. "Was he really in Las Vegas on our honeymoon?"
God I wish I knew how to answer that one.
"Yes." I say. "Yes he was. But I didn't see him. Nothing happened."
"I can't believe you lied to me. On our honeymoon."
I have nothing to say to defend myself. There is no excuse good enough. I did wrong. Richard did wrong too but that doesn’t excuse my behaviour.
I check my watch. It is nine o’clock. The Luminaire will be open until the early hours of the morning. I hear Joel in my head telling me to just get a cab back and he will pay when I arrive. I think that sounds like a plan.
Richard follows me round the house as I re-pack my bag, this time with my choice of clothes, underwear and make-up. I stuff it all in, anyhow. I hope there's an iron in the hotel. Richard asks me to stay and talk, it’s like the fight has gone out of him. I tell him I can’t. I add that I have to work and that this assignment is important to me.
I change into a black dress and my black boots. I grab a purple shrug and finish off the outfit with a studded belt.
Then, while Richard washes up the cups, I apply my makeup and scrunch up my hair for the messy look I'm after. To a casual observer it's a deceitfully domestic scene.
I book my cab for a quarter to ten. While I wait for it to arrive, I search the house for Hickey. I find her on the spare bed and pick her up. I walk back down the stairs. Richard is stood in the doorway, looking disappointed.
“You look nice,” He says, almost like an accusation.
"Are you staying here tonight? I ask. Hickey purrs.
"I can’t. Going back to Nick’s. There are too many memories to be here without you right now.” He pauses. Looks up. “Unless you think you might stay?” He looks handsome; and tired, like I feel. It's been a mad few days. “If you don’t go back to him now, if you don’t see him again, maybe… I could try?”
"I'm sorry, Richard." I say. "I think we’ve both proved we are safer apart right now."
"I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier,” he adds. "I won’t lay another hand on you, I swear.”
"It's not going to work," I interject. "You tried to hit me, I’m having a fling with someone else, and you lied about Etienne.”
The words hang in the air.
He has
one more go. I admire him for that. "You’re my wife," he says, stubbornly.
"And I care about you,” I add. But I am going away for a few days. This is something I have to do."
I throw my bag over my shoulder and look out of the hall window in time to see a taxi's headlights round the bend. I pick up my keys. I shoo Hickey and Richard out of the house ahead of me. It’s cold outside.
As I turn to deadlock the door behind me, a thought crosses my mind that I might never come back to this house. It's a crazy idea without foundation. Of course, life will return to something approaching normal once Joel has gone. I lived here alone pre-Richard, it won’t be so strange really.
Having said that, I have packed my memory stick, laptop and my passport. Just in case I need options.
As the taxi pulls away, I see Richard – sat on the front lawn – his head in his hands. For a second I think I should stop the taxi, go back to comfort him. Then I remember him striking me and hear Joel in my head, telling me to come back to him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Beth
The taxi pulls up outside the Luminaire on Kilburn Park Road. I notice it has been raining here. The pavement is gloss black, coloured by reflected light. The meter settles at £73.
It was worth it, I couldn't have got the train back up to town; I am too bloody knackered.
Despite crying my eyes out and then nearly falling asleep on the journey, I am now wide awake, looking out of the window nervously. I scan the crowd that's spilled out on the pavement. Is he there?
I stifle a squeal - Yes!
I am thrilled to see him step forward, looking anxiously to see if it's me. Fingers pulling at his hair and impatience in his stride. Then he is reaching into his pocket for his wallet, his mouth open like he's about to ask a question but he doesn’t need to speak. I know he’s relieved that I am here, back in his sight line. Our eyes lock. My heart does some sort of a backflip.
Despite the danger of being seen or photographed with me in public, he throws open the taxi door, I leap out and am immediately encircled by his arms. He strokes my hair. He smells fantastic.
Finally I step away so he can pay the driver. I feel like skipping.
We are about to link arms but then think better of it. Proximity tempts us but our guilt prevails. In hushed tones I tell him what happened with Richard as we climb the stairs to the club, which sits above a lively pub called The Kilburn. He looks suitably concerned but glad for my wellbeing, glad to have me back with him.
The Luminaire is a small club, so small that you are either directly in front of the stage or behind it; in fact you have to walk behind the stage to get to the toilets, which are next to the dressing room. It is very dark with mood lighting and two low studded leather sofas at one end.
The audience isn’t fawning over Joel like you'd expect, he barely warrants a glance. Then I realise why. They are pretty much all famous in here. I see members of bands occupying key positions on the iPods of most of my friends. It's odd to see them in one place; it kind of strips away their individual 'specialness'. They become ordered by an unwritten hierarchy in a situation like this. I mean, the bassists are less well known than the singers. And ordinarily, though the management might seem less important, it becomes obvious in this setting that they are the puppet masters. The talent looks spooked and unconfident, or swaggeringly arrogant by way of overcompensating.
"Who's playing tonight?" I ask Joel, touching his shoulder and enjoying that the noise level requires me to get really close for us to be able to hear each other. "It's a jam night," he explains, we all just get up and do whatever we feel like doing. It's cool."
We push through the crowd to the bar and he orders two beers. I catch a loaded look from a beautiful blonde girl standing about five feet away. She is tall and voluptuous and her smile is bewitching. She is looking at me curiously as if she is trying to decide whether I am with Joel or not. Me-ow, I think. Her hair is all tumbling locks and bounce and shine. Because she’s worth it.
‘Beautiful girl’ sees me return her gaze and laughs theatrically, tossing her glossy mane over her shoulder dismissively and turning away. She has the attention of the room and I'm guessing she is used to that feeling. I bet they are extensions. Probably got cut off some poor Russian woman.
"Do you know that girl?" I ask Joel. He follows my eyes to where she stands, amid an adoring crowd of hangers-on.
As Joel’s eyes alight on her, I am assaulted by a barrage of imagery.
Oh.
Yes he has had intimate knowledge of her. As now, do I.
Immediately I know that she has excellent taste in underwear, a tattoo of a flower on her right buttock, not an ounce of cellulite and a penchant for being spanked. He knows that I know. He looks ashamed and quite rightly so. His eyes downcast, his lips almost pouting like a boy whose stash of dirty magazines has been found by his mother.
"Who is she?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Just an actress," he answers.
We sip beer, a weight hanging between our minds.
"She is a very good actress and I fell for her act; hook, line and sinker." He sounds quite bitter about it.
"Was this before or after you married Georgia?" I goad, already knowing the answer but wanting him to admit it in the conventional sense.
Oooh - I hit a raw nerve there. I feel him smarting. "I was very, very drunk Beth and it didn't mean a thing. I don't know if you think that makes it better, or worse. But I hardly remember it."
He remembers enough to give me quite a mental show, I think.
He looks me in the eye. "I’m not proud, if that's what you think. I don't drink so much now."
And no, I can tell he is not proud. He thinks she played him and that he was an idiot to go along with it. And he was. But I am disturbed by my reaction to this. After all, I have to be pretty two-faced to take issue with his behaviour with her. What am I doing that's so much more honourable?
I realise my reaction - one of disgust - is not really anything to do with her, or him.
It's the realisation that the real problem is me.
You see, if I were Joel’s wife, I would be far more hurt to know he had cheated with someone who he loved, someone with whom he had - and will always have - an emotional connection.
No, I think, looking at the perfect actress. What she did was careless. What I've done - what I am doing - is far more subversive. I take a gulp of the beer that is placed in front of me.
"I know. You and me both." He says simply, then he takes a sip too.
We wander over to where the rest of the band is sat. I say hi. They say hi back. A couple of girls are hanging around a little too close; groupies perhaps, they certainly look like they could be.
They look intrigued by me. One of them is stroking Marti's face. Eew, how could she? He looks over at me and winks like the cat that got the cream. "Where's hubby?" He mouths, lifting empty hands in mock surprise.
I give him my most insincere smile.
We turn to see as an artistic looking guy take to the stage with nothing more than a guitar and a microphone. He introduces himself and starts to play. We all watch for a while. The crowd builds up around us until Joel and I are hidden completely.
I get an overwhelming urge to hold Joel’s hand. I know I shouldn't. It's silly really; I just want to touch him. While I consider this, his hand finds mine. This telepathy thing is so cool. We smile at each other knowingly; almost smugly.
Again a pang of guilt for my husband, for Joel’s his wife and child. I wish I could just switch off my conscience for a few days...
I down my beer and decide that, to push my brain away with alcohol requires something stronger. I pull him through the crowd to the bar. We set our empty glasses down triumphantly.
We look to each other. "Tequila!"
The more we drink, the better the music gets. More musicians join the guy on stage and it all goes a bit 'world music' for a while, with some samba rhythms and Cuban beats. I
savour every moment of this evening. I dance like I am possessed by Latin spirits, which in a way, I am.
As the club night draws to a close, I reflect that it's been an amazing 36 hours. But I am all too aware that the sand timer is running out on me. On us.
We are both kind of sozzled. Giggling and tripping over, hanging off each other.
Tomorrow, when I look back with the clarity of a thumping hangover, will I come to regret that we danced together with such wild abandon? That when we left the club, he gave me a piggyback in the rain 'cos my feet hurt? That we were seen later in the hotel lobby, stumbling into the lift together, him holding my shoes, as we laughed uncontrollably?
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