by Susan Lewis
The blare of a car horn made him jump and set his pulses racing. He had to pay attention, keep his eyes on the road. But his mind was all over the place. A few minutes ago they’d said goodnight to Shelley and the rest of their friends. Shelley had known something was wrong, but she hadn’t said anything, she wouldn’t in front of Allyson. Curious that, how Shelley could read him in a way Allyson seemed unable to, even after all these years. But Allyson was probably in denial, telling herself if she just ignored it, pretended it wasn’t happening, then it would all just go away. That would be typical of Allyson.
Indicating left he followed her car from Hyde Park Corner into Grosvenor Street and from there down to Victoria. His head started to spin. He could barely see straight, so he pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. If he carried on he’d have an accident and where would that leave Tessa? He couldn’t believe the way his thoughts were going and pressed his hands to his head as though to stop them. But it was true, Tessa needed him in a way Allyson never had, and probably never would. Of course he was mad, he had to be, because only a madman would have leapt so readily on this excuse to leave his wife, an excuse that might not even be based in truth, and even if it was, nothing had been discussed, or thought through, or even given a chance to sink in. Did he really want to have a baby with Tessa? No. All he really wanted was Tessa.
He had to drive on. If he didn’t Allyson would come back to look for him. He wished to God he could just go straight to Tessa. How much easier it would be if the next few hours were already over, if he’d already left. In truth he didn’t really know if he had the courage to do it, wasn’t even entirely sure he was planning to. After all, thinking about it, and longing for it, wasn’t the same as actually doing it. Was nothing like it, in fact, for he’d never felt afraid before, and that was definitely how he was feeling now. He was going to be turning his back on so much, not just Allyson, though God knew that was going to be the most difficult, but on the lives they had created together, the friends they had, the dreams … Oh God … The dreams … How could he tell her that he’d made Tessa pregnant? What was it going to do to her? He couldn’t do it. He just wasn’t going to be able to tell her.
Suddenly he felt as though he was choking. His breath wouldn’t come, his skin was burning, and his mind felt as though it would explode. But it was too late for his conscience to leap to Allyson’s defence now. If it was true that Tessa was pregnant – and maybe even if it wasn’t – then surely it would be kinder to get out of Allyson’s life now before the lies and deceit got any worse.
His eyes closed and as his head fell back he felt himself being swallowed up by emotions he couldn’t even begin to name. In the end he took out his phone and dialled Tessa’s number. She answered on the second ring.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
Her voice was quiet, meek, almost afraid. ‘Are you angry?’ she whispered.
His heart twisted at the fear in her question. ‘No, of course not,’ he said softly. ‘Are you OK? You sound as though you’ve been crying.’
‘A bit,’ she said. ‘I was afraid …’ She tried again, ‘I was afraid of what you might be thinking. Oh, Bob, I’m sorry about the way I told you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just been trying to find the right moment, and then suddenly it just came blurting out and …’ Her voice was choked with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘It’s OK. You had to tell me sometime.’
‘Oh God, I wish you were here. No, I don’t mean that. I don’t ever want to put any pressure on you. I know you love me and I love you too, but I promise you I’ll never tell anyone it’s yours. If you want, I’ll get rid of it.’
‘No! That’s not what I want,’ he said. ‘You know what I want. For us to be together.’
‘You mean that hasn’t changed?’ she said. ‘You still do?’
‘Yes. I still do.’
He stared out at the night, seeing none of the familiar buildings or passing traffic, knowing only the agonizing effort to summon the words that would set in motion the greatest pain and devastation Allyson had ever known. It was hard. So hard. But didn’t his happiness count?
As though sensing his dilemma Tessa said, ‘It’s enough to know you still love me. You don’t have to do anything.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, brushing aside her offer of reprieve. Hard it might be, but he didn’t want to put it off, he just wanted it done. Then suddenly he was saying, ‘I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’m going to talk to her tonight. Then, if you still want me …’ It was a tease that had found its way stiffly, awkwardly, through the numbing gravity of the crisis they were facing.
‘You know I do, silly,’ she said. ‘I’m just worried about Allyson …’
‘Let me worry about Allyson,’ he said. ‘You just worry about you and don’t wait up, I’ll use my key to get in.’
Allyson was already in the bathroom that adjoined their bedroom when she heard Bob letting himself in the front door. Their flat, which took up the entire second floor of one of the beautiful listed buildings of Cheyne Walk, had been a wedding gift from her parents, one of the several properties that had been in her family for at least four generations. It had changed a lot during the years she and Bob had owned it, for they’d put their own stamp on it now, making it very much more stylized and contemporary, though blending perfectly with the traditional. Everything in it they had bought or designed together, even the exotic French and African antiques had been found during long hot summer holidays together, or by going for the thrill of the auction, which Bob was so good at. The flat was such an integral part of who and what they were that it was probably as much a part of the fabric of their marriage as they were themselves.
She could hear him moving around in the bedroom, easily able to picture everything he was doing as he flicked on the light in the alcove that served as his dressing room, and started to undress. She’d set the heating to come on while they were out so the place was warm, and she’d turned the bedside lights down low, to make it seem even more cosy. She’d been tempted to run a bath for him, to help him relax after being told that he wasn’t going to be used for the outside broadcast tomorrow, but it was late and she had to be up early in the morning. But maybe she should have run that bath, for the way his face had drained at the end of the phone call had told her just how upset he was about being passed over again. It seemed to be happening a lot lately, and his confidence, despite outward appearances, was too fragile to take much more rejection.
Still, he had the awards programme to look forward to, and for now, though she was tired and not really in the mood, she dabbed on the expensive perfume he’d given her last birthday, slipped into one of the negligees she knew he particularly liked, and kept the cabinet door firmly closed on her diaphragm. Making love almost always helped him to relax.
When finally she went into the bedroom she was surprised not to find him still getting undressed. He wasn’t even in the room, though his jacket was hanging on the door of the large French armoire where he kept his suits, and his tie had been dropped on the satin- and chintz-draped bed.
Presuming he’d gone to pour them a drink, she pulled on a robe and went to see. The carpet was soft and warm under her feet as she padded out into the hall, where, to her surprise, the only lights burning were those over the hunting prints that lined the oak-panelled walls, prints she’d never been too keen on, though Bob thought they were the dernier cri in good taste. As she walked past the two guest bedrooms and second bathroom she was aware of the unease she’d been trying to keep suppressed all night starting to stir.
‘Bob?’ she called. ‘Bob, where are you?’
She pushed the sitting-room door open, but there was no-one in the moonlit darkness, only the familiar sofas and chairs, and the tall casement windows that overlooked the Embankment with its Victorian lampposts, autumnal trees and quaint wrought-iron benches. Beyond the Embankment’s walls the river Thames flowed in the darkness, moving gen
tly between two of London’s famous bridges. She could see one of them lit up in the distance …
‘What are you doing?’
She spun round.
He was standing behind her, his shirtsleeves rolled up, a glass of whisky in one hand, a brandy for her in the other. She could smell the whisky on his breath, but she couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, though from the way her heart was thudding she probably didn’t want to.
‘There you are,’ she said, taking the drink. ‘I wondered where you were.’
He turned back towards the bedroom. She watched him, fearing that he was going into one of his depressions. Or maybe that was what she wanted to think, because the alternative … She cut the thought off and after checking that the front door was deadlocked, she followed him down the hall.
‘Mummy called earlier,’ she said, closing the bedroom door behind her, and attempting to inject some normalcy into what was starting to feel like a horribly surreal situation. ‘She’s trying to work out the roster for the villa next summer. The one in Sardinia, not France. She wants to know if we want it, and if we do, when and for how long?’ She was pulling back the sheets, climbing into bed.
He was in the bathroom, fiddling about with his shaving gear, but the door was open, so he could hear her – and he still wasn’t undressing.
‘Bob? Did you hear what I said?’ she asked him.
At last he came into the bedroom, but his whole demeanour was making her wish he hadn’t. His hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets, his head was bowed and he was still wearing his clothes. Why was she noticing these things? What difference did it make how long he took to undress? And why was her heart lurching about like this when she had nothing to be afraid of?
‘You choose,’ he said.
Good. That sounded better. ‘OK. Well, I was thinking …’
‘And take Shelley,’ he interrupted. ‘The two of you’ll enjoy spending some time together, out of the office.’
Allyson kept on smiling as her head went curiously to one side, and she forced a laugh past the clogging in her heart. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘Why would I go with Shelley and not with you? She can come, but …’
He sat down on the edge of the bed, on her side, but he wasn’t looking at her. Her heart seemed to be getting more clogged than ever.
‘I won’t be coming,’ he said softly.
She stared at him, knowing exactly what he was saying, yet refusing to hear it. ‘What do you mean?’ she said, feeling her smile start to hurt.
He turned to look at her and her heart felt as though it was tearing in two. So her instincts had been right, the story in the paper was true. But that didn’t explain Phil!
‘You’re Phil, aren’t you?’ she whispered.
He nodded.
‘Oh my God.’ Her hands moved to her mouth. A bolt of desperate denial cleaved through her heart. ‘Oh my God!’ She tried to get up from the bed, but his weight on the sheets was trapping her legs.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d give anything for this not to have happened, but …’
Her chest was heaving. She couldn’t make herself think. This wasn’t happening! The concern in his eyes, the painful regret in his words … ‘Why are you telling me now?’ she suddenly cried. ‘Why didn’t you admit it yesterday, when it was in the paper, when I asked you if it was true!’
He grabbed her fists as she started to hit him, and held them to his chest.
But there was only craziness in her head. Fast irrational thoughts erupting from a disabling panic and anger. She wanted to scream and scream. She wanted to hit him, scratch him, kick him … She wanted to tear out the horrible, lacerating realization that he’d got himself engaged to a child when he was married to her! How could he have done that? What kind of madness was in his head … But no! No! She had to put the brakes on this. She was overreacting, getting herself out of control, when she knew what this was. She knew she could fight it, so she was going to keep calm, and try to be rational. Midlife crises didn’t respond well to hysterics. So, making a superhuman effort to even out her breathing and press down the panic, she said, in a voice that shook with unsteady courage, ‘How long? How long have you been seeing her?’
‘Three months,’ he answered.
Her heart recoiled from his words, but she made herself nod, as though she was talking to a friend. ‘So everyone knew, but me?’ she said.
‘I don’t think so. We’ve been as discreet …’
He stopped as she turned her head away. It was the ‘we’ that had done it, the ‘we’ that had joined him to Tessa, and severed him from her. Oh God no! No! No! No! She was biting her lip, and holding her breath in a furious attempt to stop herself crying, but tears were already streaking down her face, and the brief show of rationale was taking its curtain.
‘I don’t understand how you could have done this,’ she said, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘I just don’t understand.’
‘I’m not sure I do either,’ he responded. ‘It just … Well, I guess it just happened, and it’s something that feels, well, right, I suppose. As though it’s meant to be.’
She looked at him wildly. ‘What are you talking about?’ she cried. ‘You’re forty-five years old! How can it be right? You’re old enough to be her father.’
‘I know. But what we have …’
Rage flung out her next words. ‘What do you mean, what you have? You have nothing except some deluded middle-aged fantasy that you’re the answer to some little tart’s dream!’
‘Don’t talk about her like that.’
‘I’ll talk about her how I like. She’s sleeping with my husband for God’s sake.’
‘That doesn’t make her a tart.’
‘Don’t defend her to me! I’m the one who took her in. I’m the one who …’
‘Allyson, stop!’
‘She’s a tart!’ she screamed. ‘She’s a fucking whore who’s putting it out for every man she meets, and you, you fucking moron, are so damned conceited that you think you’re different. Well, you’re not, because she’s screwing half the men in …’ The breath suddenly left her body, and not even the sting to her face was as great as the shock that he’d actually hit her. She looked at him, unable to believe he’d done it. So stunned, in fact, that she no longer seemed able to connect with anything at all.
He stared back, shaken too by what he’d done, and apparently as stunned. Then dropping his head he said, ‘I wish to God I could take that back.’
Allyson looked away. The slap had deadened her. She was numb, and the deafening sound behind the silence was the slow, devastating explosion of her world. She wanted to reach out her arms, pull it back, enfold it against her and hold it safe. But there was nothing there to touch except her husband, who’d betrayed her, who no longer wanted to be touched by her. Oh God, she wanted this to end. She wanted to walk out of this room and pretend none of it had happened. But she couldn’t, and that was what was making it so much worse. There was no going back. This really was happening and it was going to go on happening. It wouldn’t be over in a day or a week, it wouldn’t even be over in a year. For some people it was never over, which was why she had to fight, had to do everything she could to keep them together and get them through this. He still loved her, she was sure of it, so if the only way she could save their marriage was to go along with this craziness for a while, then she’d have to do it. She could ride this storm, and pull them both through. Except he was the one with all the strength and without him she wouldn’t have any. But no. She just had to remember that a lot of men went through this, and though it would probably prove the biggest test to their marriage they would ever have to face, they would make it. And though he’d just hit her, she knew he was sorry, and maybe if it were anyone else but Tessa she might be able to forgive him. But the fact that he’d actually struck her, that he would raise a hand to her, his own wife, because he was so besotted and obsessed with a nineteen-year-old girl … No! No. She was l
osing it again. She could feel it slipping away, and she must get a grip, try to be rational and not get all consumed and het up with panic and jealousy … She had to try to see this through his eyes … But that was awful too, because Tessa was so young and she could see why he would prefer her … No! No room for self-pity. Oh God! Why didn’t he say something? Why was he just sitting there as though he was waiting for her blessing? What did he expect from her? Why didn’t he just go? But no, she didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stay. So maybe she should talk to him. Try to help him understand that he would get over this, that it wasn’t something he should wreck their marriage for. She had to help him because he couldn’t be thinking straight, and maybe she could show him how to get back on track.
She took a breath to speak, but no words came out. He turned to look at her, and she tried again. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what do you know about her? What’s her background? Do you know, because none of us do.’
She could see the question annoyed him, but she was determined not to back down. ‘Yes you do,’ he said. ‘And please don’t let’s get into the “she’s evil” and “he’s in midlife crisis” spiel, because we both know it’ll be Shelley talking.’
Fury suddenly blasted its way through the calm. ‘Are you suggesting I can’t speak for myself?’ she seethed.
‘No, of course not. I’m just saying …’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
A few seconds ticked by, then getting up he walked into the bathroom and took his robe from the back of the door.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, following him.
He looked down at her and she was suddenly shouting, ‘No Bob! Please! Just stop this. You have to pull yourself together and remember how much we mean to each other. Our marriage is good and strong, you can’t go smashing it up for a passion that’s bound to pass. Darling, it doesn’t even stand a chance of surviving, can’t you see that? No!’ she screamed, as he started to walk past her. ‘No, Bob. Please.’ She was clutching his arm so tightly her nails were breaking his skin, but she didn’t care. She wanted to hurt him, the way he was hurting her.
