by Lucy Diamond
He shook his head, a strange uncertainty in his eyes. ‘Josie, it’s not Lisa,’ he said slowly, as if he was speaking to a child. ‘That was just a stupid mistake. It’s—’
Josie nearly fell off her chair. ‘What?’ she cried, her voice rising in shock. She couldn’t keep up with this. ‘What? So you had an affair with Lisa – but now you’re leaving me for someone else?’
She could hardly take it in. Finding out about Lisa was a sucker punch on its own. That had all but knocked her to the floor. But now – this? There was more?
Words were coming out of Pete’s mouth. Spilling out, as if he couldn’t control them. Awful words. Terrible words that she’d never expected to hear him saying. Not ‘Till death do us part’ after all.
Stale.
No sex drive.
Outgrown one another.
Boring.
Then came even worse.
‘She makes me feel alive.’ Wham! A knife in the back.
‘She makes me laugh.’ Thud! A kick in the guts.
‘She makes me feel like a teenager …’
‘When you were a teenager, you were as miserable as sin,’ Josie reminded him waspishly. There were only so many clichés she could take. She buried her head in her hands. Go on, say it, she wanted to scream. She makes me come twenty times a night. She makes me horny as hell. She makes me hard just by cocking her little finger …
‘You know what I mean,’ he said helplessly.
‘No, I don’t fucking know what you mean,’ she shouted, remembering too late the boys asleep upstairs. ‘You’re thirty-five, Pete. You’re not supposed to feel like a teenager any more. Remember?’
She was weeping, though she couldn’t remember starting to cry. She dashed the tears away, almost surprised to feel the wetness sliding down her cheeks. Don’t cry, don’t cry, she told herself fiercely. Don’t let him see you cry.
‘You’re meant to feel like a grown man,’ she went on, staring at him, this person she’d loved for so long. He suddenly looked like a stranger with his blue T-shirt and guilty eyes. ‘You’re meant to feel like a married man. A dad! And now you’re telling me that you went off with Lisa, and this other slag …’
‘She’s not a slag,’ he said wretchedly. ‘She’s … I love her.’
Josie thought of the Baby Gap bag still sitting in the bottom of her wardrobe, full of its cheery pinkness and promise. That was the worst blow of all, straight to her belly, her softest, most vulnerable part. ‘But what about Rose?’ she said, her voice breaking on the name. ‘What about—?’
‘There is no Rose!’ he shouted. ‘She doesn’t exist – and I’m sick of you going on about it! Can’t you see, that’s what’s driving me away, you being so …’
He didn’t finish his sentence, he held off from the adjective at the last moment, leaving the unspoken accusation hanging between them.
Josie felt as if she’d been slapped. She felt winded, out of breath. There was a long, horrible silence.
‘But … you can’t love her,’ she said, in the end. ‘This other woman. You’re supposed to love me.’
She looked up at him, but he said nothing. He turned away.
‘I …’ she began. ‘You … You can’t just leave like that,’ she said. She felt as if she were floundering through an awful dream. ‘You can’t just go. What about the boys? What about me? What about our marriage, our home, everything?’
The words were coming out wrong, half choked, half spat. She was crying harder, almost unable to speak.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Josie, I’m really sorry.’
‘Well, that’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ she sobbed. ‘That makes everything just fine, if you’re sorry!’ She put her arms around herself, holding each elbow tightly as if it was the only thing that would stop her falling to pieces. ‘How many others have there been?’ she asked, not daring to look at his expression. ‘Two? Three? Ten?’
‘Josie …’ he said pleadingly, but she was on a roll.
‘Go on! Tell me. Twenty? And who’s the latest one, anyway? Hey – I’ve guessed it, it must be Nell. Are you doing the rounds of all my friends? Is it Emma? Harriet? Joanne from number twenty-three?’
He was shaking his head. ‘Don’t be silly, of course it’s not them,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, don’t be silly? It didn’t stop you with Lisa, did it?’ she roared. Suddenly, she hated him. She absolutely hated him. He had betrayed her, humiliated her. She could hardly bear to look at his lying face.
‘I told you, Lisa was nothing. Honestly. It was just a stupid mistake and I’ve always regretted it.’ He gazed at her beseechingly, and for a second – just for a single second – she actually felt sorry for him. He genuinely seemed to mean it. Then he ruined everything all over again. ‘She’s called Sabine,’ he said haltingly.
‘Sabine? Sabine? What sort of name is that?’ Josie shrieked, sympathy out of the window. ‘Is she French?’ she demanded. ‘Is she?’ Please don’t let her be French, she thought despairingly. That sexy accent, chic wardrobe, adventurous sex romps, all that va-va-bloody-voom … Josie knew Sabine would win hands down if she were French. How could she, Josie, with her British pear shape, ever compete with la belle Sabine and her je-ne-sais-quoi, her ‘Oh, encore, monsieur!’?
‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s not French.’
‘Well, where did you meet her? How old is she? What does she look like?’ she asked. The sobs were giving way to a sneer. She wanted to know everything about her, everything – yet at the same time there was a part of her that wanted to know nothing, just needed to cover her ears and run away.
‘I met her at a conference,’ he said, his voice a sigh. A sigh of what? Sorrow? Nostalgia? Lust? ‘She’s thirty. And she looks …’ He shook his head. ‘Actually, I don’t think that’s important.’
‘Why? Too scared to say that she’s sexier than me? Better-looking than me?’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘Better in bed than me?’
‘Josie …’ he said, putting a hand on her arm.
She threw it off, rounding on him. ‘Did you ever think about our sons, while you were shagging her? Our boys? What about them? What am I going to tell them?’ Her voice wobbled and broke as she thought about their earnest pink faces, the lack of comprehension. What words can you use to four-year-old boys who think their dad is the all-time superhero of the universe to tell them that, in actual fact, he’s nothing but an out-and-out …
‘Tosser,’ she said, fresh tears springing to her eyes. ‘You shit. You’ve wrecked everything, you and your stupid dick. Had to go and conquer something else, didn’t you, had to go and—?’ She stopped again, hands over her face, weeping uncontrollably.
‘Maybe it’s best if I just go,’ Pete said. ‘We can talk about it when you’ve calmed down.’
The coward! ‘What, so that’s it?’ she asked incredulously. ‘It’s all over – easy as that?’
He stood up awkwardly, not sure what to do with his hands. They stretched out in her direction as if to comfort her, but then he snatched them back, as if that was beyond his remit now. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘But …’
‘You’re not bloody sorry,’ Josie spat. ‘If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be saying all these things, walking out on me, while upstairs our sons – our sons – are asleep.’ Her voice was shaking; the thought of the boys made her feel furious. How could he do it to them?
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, like a cracked record. Josie imagined him using the same calm tones when he fired people, or told them he was making them redundant. Sorry – but not that sorry. Sorry, but I’ll have forgotten your name after fifteen minutes. Sorry, but I’ve been shagging your mate, and now I’m leaving you for another woman. ‘I never wanted to hurt you, or the boys.’
‘Too late for that,’ Josie snivelled. Tears streamed down her face, snot too, but she didn’t care. ‘Too bloody late for that, mate. You just did! You just have!’
‘I’ll call you,’ he said. ‘I kno
w it’s a shock. We can talk about everything when you’ve had time to think.’ He took a cautious step towards the door, as if worried she was going to rugby-tackle him if he tried to escape. ‘I’ll just grab a few things then go.’
Josie sank down in the chair as he went upstairs. Go after him, beg him not to leave, a voice urged in her head. Maybe if she calmed down, stopped swearing at him and calling him names for two minutes, she could talk him into staying. Promise him whatever he wanted – more sex, more fun, less moaning, less ‘I’m too tired’ – anything. Anything. Just send Sabine packing – and stay. Please.
Yet it was as if she couldn’t move. While she knew that she should be up there with him, pointing out all the great things about their marriage, all the reasons why he should stay rather than slink off to foxy Sabine, she just couldn’t do it, didn’t have the energy. Not when she knew she’d just be humiliated all over again with his rejection.
Minutes later, Josie heard his Audi rumble to a start, saw his headlights beam through the curtains at her, watched them swing away across the wall and then disappear. She shook uncontrollably. This is not happening, she told herself. This is not my life. My life is safe and certain. I’m the smug cow, the happily married one, remember? Bad things like this don’t happen to me. They don’t. They just can’t!
Her heart was thudding painfully. Her throat was dry. It was all a mistake. He’d made a mistake. She forced herself to stop crying, then picked up the phone and, calm as you like, ordered Thai for two. Yellow chicken curry for Pete, his favourite. Pad thai for herself. A couple of crab cakes with chilli dipping sauce too, please. Oh yes, and don’t forget the prawn crackers. How long would that be? Forty minutes? Lovely. Thank you!
She opened a bottle of wine and poured a large glass. The wine was greenish-yellow, expensive. No doubt from one of Pete’s internet wine clubs. The wine glass had been a wedding present from – who was it again? Her Auntie Jackie?
She drained it in one go. Who cared? What did it matter now?
She poured herself another, quickly. He’d be back soon, she told herself. He’d come back and take her in his arms and say …
What would he say?
I can’t believe I nearly walked out and lost you, Josie Bell, the best thing that ever happened to me.
It was madness to think I could leave you. Sheer madness!
Sabine means nothing to me. You are my life, Josie. You and the kids.
I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?
And Josie? She would cry with happiness. She would sob through that blue T-shirt of his, and say, It’s OK, baby. You’re back now. Curry’s on the way. Would you like a glass of wine?
And they would sit down and watch telly and he would check the sports news on Teletext every time there was an ad break, and she would start on the ironing pile. And they would go to bed, their king-size sleigh bed, which had been a joint wedding present from about fifteen of their friends, and they would hold each other all night, and he would say, I’m so sorry, Josie. Do you think we can forget this ever happened?
And she would close her eyes and breathe in his scent and say, Yes, my love. As long as you promise never, ever to do that again.
And he would say …
Josie jumped out of her reverie at the gentle knocking at the door. She knew it! He’d come back!
‘That’s fifteen-fifty, please. Enjoy your meal.’
It only ever took Josie a couple of glasses of wine to get giggly. Pete used to find that endearing, she knew. Sweet little wifey has such a low tolerance, bless her, aren’t women amusing?
She’d already downed two large glasses by the time the Thai delivery boy dropped off her fragrant, steaming food. ‘Keep the change,’ she told him earnestly, pressing a twenty into his hand. ‘Treat yourself. Do something nice. Seize the day.’
He was backing away with the money, not interested, not making eye contact, despite Josie’s best efforts. ‘Thank you. Enjoy your meal,’ he repeated.
Josie sorted herself out a plateful of food and another glass of wine, then put the lids back on the takeaway containers for Pete. She was sure he’d be back soon. He absolutely would be.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and splashed into the wine as the doubts swam up in her next breath. No, he wouldn’t. She knew already that he wouldn’t. He’d left her. Nobody walked out on their wife and children on a whim, did they?
Face it, Josie. He’s left you. He’s gone. Had enough of boring wifey. Off to the new sex kitten now.
She picked up the foil containers and moved towards the bin with them. Stupid cow, ordering so much food. Living in a dream world, like that conversation with Pete hadn’t just happened. Wise up! This lot would all get thrown away. What a waste!
She flipped up the lid with her foot and held the food over the bin, but at the last moment couldn’t quite bring herself to let go. She turned around and put them back on the worktop. Just in case. He still might come home. He really might. He had to come back sometime, didn’t he? It wasn’t like she was never going to see him again.
I am pretending that everything is going to be all right, she said to herself miserably, because everything has gone so wrong.
The smell of curry was making her feel sick. How had she ever imagined that she’d be able to eat? Was she mad?
She grabbed her wine and left the food to cool stickily on its plate as she marched into the living room. Suddenly she wanted to question Lisa. She wanted to know. The conversation with Pete already seemed like a blur. He’d moved so fast on to Sabine – slaggy Sabine! – and wanting to get out of the house that he hadn’t said much about Lisa, only that it had been a mistake. But when had the mistake been, and how long had it gone on for? Had it started before they were married? After? Recently?
She wrenched the phone from its base, and punched in Lisa’s number. Bile rose in her throat as she thought back to Lisa standing in her kitchen just that morning, telling her that Pete must have put the photo in Josie’s bag, and that was how it had ended up under her bed. Ha! She’d probably had a good old laugh about that piece of quick thinking since Josie had left. Smart move, Lise. Wormed your way out of that one nicely with your quickfire legal brain, didn’t you?
And all the while the photo had been Lisa’s. She’d propped it by her bedside, no doubt, when the affair was on, gazing into it every morning and night when Pete was in his own bed with Josie.
God. The thought made her feel sick.
‘Hello?’ Lisa said.
Josie squeezed her eyes shut for a second. She could just imagine Lisa in her slouchy Sunday cashmere, curled up in an armchair in that luxurious front room of hers, mohair cushion under her bum, pile of work on her lap … ‘It’s Josie,’ she said, in a strangled-sounding voice.
‘Hi, Josie,’ Lisa chirped. ‘Everything all right?’
‘I got your message,’ Josie replied, in as casual a way as she could manage. ‘You said to call?’
‘Oh! Oh yes,’ Lisa said. The brightness slipped from her voice momentarily. ‘Um … It was nothing really, just to see if you’d had a good trip back and to say thanks for coming.’
Josie pressed her lips together. For a few seconds she couldn’t speak. Then the rage powered up inside her and she opened her mouth and said, ‘Don’t lie. I know who your message was really for.’
There was a pause. ‘What … what do you mean?’ Lisa asked carefully. Ever the legal bloody eagle.
Josie shook her head at the question. What do you mean, indeed. Nice try at deflection, Lise. Not happening this time, though. ‘I think you know exactly what I mean,’ she spat. ‘I knew you were lying about the photo this morning. I knew it! And now I know the truth. Pete’s told me all about it. Everything.’
‘Oh God,’ Lisa said, a tremor in her voice. ‘Oh, Josie, I’m so—’
‘Leave it out,’ Josie snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear it. You backstabbing cow. You were supposed to be my friend!’
She slammed
the phone down with a crash. Her throat was suddenly tight, as if she was going to choke.
The phone started ringing, but she ignored it. Lisa, no doubt, to grovel and kiss her arse. No chance. She was so sacked as a friend! How could she have been so coldblooded?
The answerphone kicked in. ‘You have reached Pete, Josie, Toby and Sam …’ her own voice said, and Josie switched it off before it could go any further. No messages, thanks, Lisa. Save it for someone who cares. The deceitful bitch! She’d stood there in her kitchen telling those bare-faced lies about that wretched photo! The lying, sneaky, conniving slut! She and Pete deserved each other. She was well shot of both of them!
Josie sat down on the sofa, the adrenalin subsiding as quickly as it had rushed through her. Oh God. Was this actually happening? Had she really just made that call?
She shivered as her eyes fell upon a framed photo on the mantelpiece. There they were, Josie, Pete and the boys, in the perfect Happy Families pose, arms around each other on a Cornish beach, sun low in the sky behind them. They were tanned and freckled, in shorts and T-shirts, smiling and holding one another. We Are Family!
Not any more. Not now. So much for her plans of them all going off on adventures together! The nuclear family had just gone into meltdown. How on earth would she tell the boys? It would break Sam’s heart. And Toby, how would he feel about his number-one alpha-male role model abandoning him?
Josie started to cry again. And Rose, she thought. Darling Rose. Now I’m never going to see you. Never going to hold you. Never going to dress you in candyfloss pink …
She stumbled upstairs, tears dripping off her chin. She opened the wardrobe and there it was, her bag full of hope. She could hardly bear to look at it.
Josie pulled out the pink dungarees and held them to her face until her tears soaked through the material. Then she bent double with the pain, and howled.
Two hours later, she lay on the bed, still fully dressed, listening to the silence. It was ten-thirty, and she knew that the rest of the street would be brushing their teeth and getting under the bedcovers like good little residents, all ready for their eight hours’ kip. By rights, Josie should have been lying here in her sexy undies, waiting for Pete to finish in the bathroom and come in and find her, watching for that smile on his face as he realized that for once she was up for it. Wa-hey! Impregnation coming up!
