Date Night (ARC)

by Samantha Hayes

  Libby thought about this. ‘It’s a possibility, I suppose. Anyway, you can talk, with all the extra hours you’ve put in lately.’ She nudged him playfully with her foot.

  It was true. Sean had been on call a lot these last few months, and had been asked to cover extra clinic shifts too. Though it was hardly his fault that they’d had several junior vets come and go recently and, with another partner recuperating after an operation, it had been every man on deck. And woman, Libby thought, knowing the practice wasn’t an all-male environment. Her heart skipped again.

  Sean studied the wine menu and ordered a bottle of Rioja he knew Libby loved, plus some focaccia and olives to share while they decided what to eat. A few minutes later they were ripping into the rosemary-and-garlic-infused bread and sipping on plummy wine. Libby felt a warm glow winding through her veins.

  ‘I’m so glad you suggested this,’ she said, licking her finger. ‘You know, after everything…’ She hesitated, not even wanting to say the word.

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about, you know, Lib,’ Sean replied. ‘I love you. And just so you know, tonight isn’t me trying to cover up my guilt. There isn’t any. I just wanted to spend time with my beautiful wife. So let’s not mention the you-know-what.’

  They both laughed then, with Libby changing the subject and recounting a story Alice had told at playgroup about a ‘you-know-what’, Libby said, trying not to spray out her wine. ‘Mrs Ludlow said it was her duty to inform me about Alice’s “inappropriate vocabulary”.’ Libby covered her mouth, trying not to spray out food. ‘You should have seen her face when I told her that I was certain Alice would have used the correct term, penis, rather than a euphemism.’ Libby shuddered with laughter, biting her lip. ‘But don’t worry, I convinced her that it was entirely innocent, that you’re a vet and Alice asks questions about animals’ anatomy.’

  For the next ten minutes the pair laughed and chatted, with one story or anecdote leading to another. Their hands joined across the table and it seemed like they’d not talked properly in ages. The waitress came and took their orders – a seafood platter to share for starters, followed by lamb shanks with celeriac for Sean and mushroom and truffle risotto for Libby – and then their conversation kicked off again, ranging from booking a holiday for next Easter, to Christmas plans as well as Sean offering up ideas on how Libby could promote All Things Nice.

  ‘I definitely think you should ask Sasha for more hours. She could probably do with the extra money,’ Sean said, cracking open a lobster claw. He dunked it in a garlic sauce and popped the pinky-white meat in his mouth.

  ‘Do you think I ought to check in at home, make sure everything’s OK?’

  Sean shrugged, shaking his head. ‘No need. She’ll call us if there’s anything wrong.’

  ‘She just seemed a bit… quiet earlier.’ Libby pulled her phone from her bag. ‘And the phone signal’s patchy here.’

  ‘Voicemail comes through eventually,’ Sean replied. ‘Anyway, I’m on Wi-Fi so she can always WhatsApp me. She’s not stupid.’

  Libby paused. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise she had your number.’ She set her phone down on the table and took a prawn from the seafood platter, picking it open. ‘That’s good,’ she added, knowing that, indeed, Sasha wasn’t stupid. Far from it, in fact. There was something about the girl that was beyond her years, the way she confidently dealt with her dinner clients without being intrusive. And she oozed common sense, having helped Libby out of a couple of culinary scrapes in the past.

  ‘Was that you or me?’ she said a few moments later, wiping her fingers before turning over her phone. She’d heard a buzz, felt the vibration in her wrist through the table. But there were no notifications on her screen.

  ‘Relax,’ Sean said, squeezing her hand. He briefly checked his phone, his eyes lingering on the screen for a second or two, before putting it in his top pocket. ‘You worry too much.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Libby agreed, resolving to get on with enjoying the evening. It might be another couple of months before they’d be able to go out alone again.

  It was only when Libby saw what must have been the fifth alert on Sean’s phone – his lit-up screen clearly visible through the cotton fabric of his shirt – that she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  ‘Are you going to reply to your girlfriend’s texts or what?’ she said, instantly regretting it when she saw the look on Sean’s face. ‘God, I… I’m so sorry,’ she said, staring down at the table. She took another gulp of wine – she was on her third glass now – downing the remainder in one. She poured more for both of them. ‘It’s just that I can see your phone’s going off and you’re not checking it. What if it’s Sasha?’

  ‘Libby…’ Sean said, retrieving his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, thumbed it a couple of times before putting it inside his jacket pocket on the back of the chair. His jaw tensed and his fingers knotted as he took a couple of deep breaths, his eyes filled with what looked, to Libby, like panic. ‘Will you just let this go, OK? I can take it because I love you, but you’re doing bad things to yourself, obsessing over everything I do. I can see it… and I know it’s all because of that damned note.’

  Libby stayed silent, digging her fingernails into her palms under the table. She’d always sworn she wouldn’t be that woman – insecure, needy, mistrustful.

  ‘Will you please believe me that the only women in my life are you and Alice, OK?’ He grabbed both of her hands then, squeezing her fingers before twiddling her wedding band and engagement ring. He brought her left hand to his mouth and kissed them. ‘I gave you these for a reason, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Libby said, feeling about three inches tall. ‘And anyway, there is another woman in your life.’ She suppressed the smile.

  ‘Who?’ Sean said, peeling a large prawn.

  ‘Your mother, of course,’ she replied with a laugh, muffled only by Sean popping the prawn between her lips.

  Nine

  Ten minutes later, Sean’s phone rang.

  Libby stared at him, a forkful of risotto halfway to her mouth. Sean stared back, his blue eyes seeming to turn icy grey, and the colour draining from his cheeks.

  After a few moments, the phone finally stopped buzzing.

  ‘Who was that?’ Libby said, dropping her fork down on the dish with a clatter. It bounced off the plate and onto the floor. She left it there, swiping the spilt rice off her dress.

  Sean said nothing.

  ‘Go on, call her back, will you? In fact, give me your phone and I’ll call whoever-she-is back. How about that?’ Libby half stood up to retrieve the fork but the waitress got there first, swapping it with a clean one. Libby ignored her. ‘In fact, why don’t you invite her to join us for dinner? She might as well be here, seeing as she’s taken up most of your attention tonight anyway.’ She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands briefly, hating what the note had done to her, to them. But she couldn’t help how she felt.

  ‘Libby, stop…’ Sean’s voice was on the cusp of anger and sadness – angry that his wife was causing a scene, her voice raised while he kept his low, other diners looking their way; and sad that it had come to this – their romantic evening together ruined by Libby’s jealousy.

  ‘I’ll stop when you stop,’ she said, changing to a terse whisper as she eyed the people staring at her, some of whom she knew. There was even one of her clients sitting on the other side of the dining room, though she didn’t think he’d heard.

  ‘I’m going to the gents,’ Sean said, folding his napkin and placing it on the table. Libby couldn’t help noticing the tremor in his hand as he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. ‘Perhaps you’ll have cooled down when I get back.’

  She said nothing, watching as he strode off to the toilets. ‘Christ,’ she said under her breath, hanging her head again. She took a few more large sips of wine before pouring another glass. They were already over halfway through a second bottle. What the hell was she thinking, losing it like tha
t?

  She fiddled with her nails under the table as she waited for Sean to come back, hating that she was seeing a side of herself that she thought she’d moved on from since her split with David – the man who had sucked her in, literally making her believe she was going mad with his lies and deceit. She tried to convince herself that what she was feeling now was a product of how much she adored her husband, brought about entirely by the note, rather than old emotions resurfacing.

  But the note had substance. The note was real. And someone had taken the trouble to write it and leave it on her car. How could she let it go? She needed more than a meal out and being snapped at by Sean to make her feel OK about this.

  Libby watched as Sean came back to the table and sat down, brushing his mop of sandy hair from his forehead. Libby turned away, unable to look at him for fear of melting into an apology. She loved him so much, it was killing her to feel like this. She felt something warm on her hand. Sean’s fingers clasping hers.

  ‘Libby…’

  She faced him, desperately wanting to clutch his fingers back. But she didn’t. She just stared at him with a blank expression. ‘Sean,’ she said slowly. ‘Is there another woman? Look me in the eye and tell me the truth.’

  He stared back, not taking his eyes off her as he took a sip of wine. Libby thought she felt a tiny tremor in his hand.

  ‘No,’ he said after a few moments’ pause, as if he were measuring the depth of her madness for thinking such a thing. ‘There isn’t.’ He sipped more wine as Libby pulled her hand away.

  ‘Then who were all those calls from? And the texts?’ She stared at him but he remained silent. ‘Fine. Will you show me your phone?’

  Sean shrugged and took it from his pocket, handing it over. When Libby looked at the missed calls list, there were no recent numbers showing as incoming. The last call he’d made was to the vet’s practice earlier that afternoon, with a couple of calls coming in from her around the same time.

  ‘You’ve deleted them,’ she said, switching to his texts. The last messages were from his mother earlier that day, so she didn’t bother to look. ‘And you’ve deleted whoever texted you too,’ she said, unable to find anything received in the last hour. WhatsApp was the same, with only a couple of mates messaging him in the last few days.

  ‘I didn’t delete anything, for Christ’s sake, Libby.’

  ‘Then why isn’t that call showing on your list? And all those texts?’

  Sean shrugged. ‘I have no idea. The only thing I have any idea about right now is your paranoia. And it’s not attractive, frankly. If it makes any difference, it was my mother phoning me, though I don’t see why I should have to justify that or be made to feel guilty.’

  Libby checked herself as she felt another, bigger, outburst brewing. ‘You’re sweating,’ she said quietly, the calmness of her voice terrifying her more than her welling anger. ‘And shaking,’ she added, seeing his hand as it rested on the table.

  ‘So would you be if you were getting the third degree,’ he said, trying to add a laugh but failing. He threw down his knife and fork. ‘You know what, Libby? I’ve tried to make this OK. I’ve tried to reassure you but I can’t do any more than I already have and—’

  ‘But if it was just your mother calling, then why didn’t you answer?’ Libby persisted.

  ‘You know what she’s like, Lib. I didn’t want to be chatting to her now and spoiling our evening, but that backfired, didn’t it? I called her back from the toilet. She said she felt bad she couldn’t look after Alice tonight and was checking that we’d found a sitter. She wished us a lovely time. Satisfied?’

  Libby watched as Sean’s jaw tensed. It still didn’t explain the unlogged call or lack of messages on his phone.

  ‘You know what she’s like as well as I do, love,’ he added. ‘Always checking up on me.’

  Indeed, Libby did know what Marion was like. While she tolerated her mother-in-law’s involvement in their family life, sometimes it felt stifling – not simply interfering as such, but something deeper than that. As if she had a burning need to know everything, be involved in every aspect of their lives – especially Sean’s. ‘So your mother really is the other woman?’ she said, spitting out the last couple of words.

  ‘As ever,’ Sean said, cutting up some lamb, chewing it slowly, a smile spreading.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Libby said after a moment.

  That was all it took. Sean stood up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it on and swiping his phone from the table. He stared at Libby for what seemed like an age before turning to go. ‘Enjoy the rest of your meal,’ he said, briefly turning back. ‘I’ve had enough.’ And he strode out of the dining area towards the bar, the limp he’d always had suddenly becoming more pronounced. Libby knew that when he was stressed his right knee gave him trouble.

  She desperately wanted to call out, tell him to wait, to come back, but she didn’t. Instead, when he was out of sight, she swigged down the last of her wine, pushed her plate aside and slowly slipped on her coat, trying to ignore the stares of the other diners as she tracked the same path between the tables that Sean had taken. There was no sign of him in the pub lounge so she went to the bar to settle the bill.

  ‘Everything all right with your meal, Libby?’ Mick, the landlord, asked, looking concerned.

  ‘It was lovely, thanks,’ she replied. ‘Sean’s not feeling a hundred per cent so we thought we’d head home. Food was delicious though,’ she added, even though she wanted to be sick. ‘Can I settle up?’ She held out her card.

  ‘Machine’s not working, I’m afraid,’ he replied. ‘But don’t worry—’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Libby said, glancing at the bill. She pulled out some notes from her purse – from the money Sean had given her earlier – and handed them over. Thankfully, she had just enough, including a tip.

  Outside, the parking area was dark, with only one street light on the lane. But the glow from the pub windows allowed her to scan around and finally spot Sean standing over by some cars, his back to her, his phone pressed to his ear. Slowly she approached him, trying not to let the gravel crunch beneath her feet. But as she drew up, he turned, immediately ending the call and slipping his phone into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Taxi’s on its way,’ he said. ‘And that’s who I was calling, before you grill me.’

  ‘Sean…’ Libby reached out and touched his arm. He flinched. ‘I can’t believe the night has ended this way. How did some random idiot playing a joke get us in this mess?’ She wished he’d look at her, but he didn’t. And she couldn’t know for sure that the note was a prank.

  ‘Because you don’t believe me, that’s why,’ he said sourly as she came around to stand in front of him. She was shivering, though not from the cold.

  ‘I don’t know what to believe any more,’ Libby said. ‘If it were the other way around…’ She hesitated, trying to imagine the situation in reverse. ‘Will you have a thought for how I feel, Sean? It’s unsettling.’

  Sean stared out into the night before walking a few paces out of the car park and onto the village lane, looking each way for signs of the taxi. Libby came up to his side.

  ‘You know what I don’t like about this?’ Sean suddenly said, turning to face her. Beyond his shoulder in the distance, Libby saw the cones of car headlights approaching.

  She shook her head slowly, staring up at him.

  ‘It smacks too much of Natalie.’

  ‘You think she wrote the note?’ Libby said, without thinking or realising what he meant. It was a possibility, she supposed.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Sean said. ‘I mean your behaviour. I didn’t think you had it in you, Libby, but frankly it’s…’ He paused as the taxi drew up beside them, the passenger window lowering and the driver peering out at them. ‘Frankly it’s too much like her,’ he added, opening the car door. When Libby just stood there, her mouth hanging open, Sean got in.

  Natalie… she thought, her heart t
humping. Sean’s first wife. The woman who had caused him nothing but grief and heartache during their marriage and now continued to do so, using their teenage son, Dan, as a pawn.

  Libby got into the car and, once they were out of the village, away from the lights, she allowed the tears to pour down her face.

  Ten

  Now

  This cell is slightly different to the last one. Mainly because the blanket is blue rather than grey, and the plastic mattress looks more worn, dirty at one end, narrower. As the officer accompanies me inside, I look at up him, imploring him with my eyes to make him see sense, to let me go, for him to tell me there’s been a terrible mistake. But he doesn’t. He just instructs me to sit and wait and that I’ll be interviewed in due course. ‘The duty solicitor will be along soon,’ he says in a voice that betrays weariness; it’s probably the end of his shift. He just wants to go home. And so do I.

  When the custody sergeant had asked for my next of kin’s number, I gave him Sean’s, explaining he was a vet and might be in surgery or out on a call, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, when he put it in the system, he asked for another number, so I reluctantly gave him Fran’s mobile as a backup. I didn’t want to worry Marion. Then he’d pressed on through a checklist of things he had to do before they could lock me up. I was searched and photographed, swabbed and fingerprinted, and they took everything out of my pockets – which consisted of a tissue, my house keys, and the sweets I took off Alice last night when she refused to clean her teeth. Now my jeans are hanging low on my waist because they took my belt too.

  The door bangs closed behind me. I’m shaking. Standing alone in the middle of the small cell, the black lens of the camera above watching me, scrutinising my fear, tuning in to my thoughts. I’m too scared to even cry. Slowly, as though my legs aren’t my own, I take a few steps towards the bunk. I need to sit. To lie. That, or I’ll pass out. I wonder if they’ve called Sean, if he’s on his way here now, going to give them hell at the custody desk and insist they release me, let me go. Sean will sort everything out, I tell myself. He always does.