by Freya North
Mark's dilemma lasted seconds. Spy and perhaps suffer? Or ignore and forever wonder? Ten minutes plus triple rinsing was time enough but there wasn't a moment to lose. He scrolled through to the envelope icon. His thumb hovered. Stop singing, Alice. I can't read your text messages with that racket going on.
fancy a fuck?
Another.
u know u want it
Another.
can i c u?
Another.
fuck u! come on! i go 2nite …
Gutted, winded and blown apart, Mark was crippled by a searing pain in his stomach. He wanted to ask himself what it all meant but he knew not even he could be naive enough to expect an innocent explanation. No matter how much he loved Alice, no matter how much he'd love to give her the benefit of his confounded doubt, the meaning of it all was clear as muck. He couldn't even read between the lines – the nature of text messaging presenting stark facts in black and white. There wasn't the space for purple prose, just a tiny screen filled with fancy a fuck?
My wife.
My wife is having an affair.
My wife has been sleeping with someone else.
Who is Paul B?
How dare he call them ‘tits’.
Mark was devastated. Over and above the scorch of pain and the nausea of disbelief was the horror of feeling a total fool – the quintessential cuckold of a piss-taking young wife conducting her affairs via the puerile medium of text messaging.
I could never be a Paul B. I'm too old-fashioned. Too stupidly gallant and respectful. Those are the qualities I thought she loved most about me. It appears they mean the least. What an idiot. And one thing I have to ask myself – which plunges the final twist to the dagger thrust – is why has she kept not one of my messages?
He could hear Alice rinsing out the special hair treatment for the second time.
Foolish girl – does she not realize I'd love her were she to wash her hair with Fairy Liquid? Or is it foolish me for even deigning to think she maintains her beauty and sets her standards for me, rather than Paul B? Standards? What sodding standards?
He could hear Alice releasing the bath water.
And I haven't even read the messages she sends.
Mark knew Alice was seconds from appearing. She was the last person he wanted to see. Quickly, he put the phone back on the floor, under his scrunched shirt.
No doubt it'll stay there. Alice is blind to dirty washing. It's always me tidying away. When has she ever cleared up after the mess she makes?
‘Mark set up the DVD for us,’ Alice told Thea who'd arrived just as Alice finished a lengthy, meticulous blow-dry.
‘Your hair looks amazing,’ Thea remarked, holding up swathes of it as if admiring skeins of silk.
‘I used some new product we were sent to trial,’ Alice said. ‘I pinched one for you too. Hang on. Here you go. Now, white or red wine? Look! Mark's even left out the corkscrew so we don't have to go on our usual hunt.’
‘Good old Mark,’ Thea said fondly, opting for Sancerre and reaching for glasses while Alice uncorked the bottle. ‘How are things? How are things with Mark?’
‘It's all going to be fine,’ Alice evangelized though she busied herself with opening Kettle Chips to hide the slash of guilt, the scorch of pain traversing her face. ‘It's going OK, Thea. Things are better – I feel much more balanced.’
‘Good for you,’ said Thea, ‘good for you, Alice – I'm fucked.’
Alice hugged her sympathetically. ‘What are you going to do?’ she whispered, holding her tightly. ‘Are you any closer knowing?’
‘No. I don't know. But I could move into rented accommodation for a while,’ Thea said, her flat intonation suggesting she'd learnt the sentence by rote to quote while inwardly she had yet to figure out the manifold ramifications behind it.
‘Where? How?’ Alice asked, wondering whether Thea would be better off moving in with her for a while.
‘One of my clients is an estate agent,’ Thea said. ‘I asked him earlier today to help. He's found me a place in a mansion block in Highgate already. I'm going to see it tomorrow. It's not available for another couple of weeks though. Can I perhaps stay here in the interim?’
‘Of course you can,’ Alice said, ‘but Saul?’ Had Thea come to her ultimate decision? Already? Unaided? ‘I mean – have you told him? About rented accommodation at the very least? Have you spoken to him, have you talked at all?’
Thea's gaze dropped, her brow creased and she bit her lip. ‘Haven't told him yet,’ she mumbled. ‘Actually, I haven't seen him for days. I keep fobbing him off. I keep putting it off. I don't know what to do.’
Alice wondered whether now was the time to tell Thea that Saul now knew that she knew. No. It wasn't a good idea. ‘But –?’
‘What am I going to do?’ Thea forces a whisper crackled by the imminence of tears. ‘Everything was sorted and now it's all a mess. And now it's gone. All gone. My immediate future, my long-term future. I'm scared.’
Alice racks her brains for something wise to say. Thea beats her to it.
‘Even if I manage to forgive, even if I get my head round the theory that men can totally divorce sex and emotion, even if I truly believe that I am absolutely the love of his life – I will never, never be rid of this suspicion and hurt,’ Thea says, ‘and my own principles that hold it's wrong. It's not nice. Good guys don't.’ She pauses and she and Alice scour each other's faces, their expressions mirroring turmoil.
Alice watches Thea's face crease with despair. And suddenly she is looking at Thea aged fourteen years old. Almost twenty years later, her eyes are filled with the same dreadful fear, exquisite sorrow and terrible bewilderment as they had been when her father had left home. It makes Alice shudder and be thankful not to be Thea. Just as she had been at the age of fourteen. Just as she had been grateful that her father was nothing like Thea's. At fourteen, she'd rushed home from school and flung herself in his arms, held him tight, felt so lucky that she had him for her father. And now, aged thirty-three, Alice desperately wants Mark to be home soon from the golf show, so she can hold him and rejoice that he is nothing like Saul.
Alice thought it might well be a good idea to inform Thea that Saul knew she knew – it might just facilitate Thea to come to a conclusion. ‘Saul was in for a meeting yesterday,’ she began.
‘I went to a brothel today,’ Thea butted in because it was actually far easier to discuss than her relationship.
Alice was suddenly incapable of any sound, let alone speech itself. All she could manage was a silent, gaping jaw-drop of prodigious proportions. Thea couldn't help but giggle at her dumbstruck expression. It was perhaps the first time she'd been the one to shock the other into silence. In fact, it was probably the first time she'd actually done anything categorically shocking. Alice took a gulp of wine. ‘Where? Thea!’ she managed to gasp. ‘What the fuck were you doing there? Thea!’
‘I went to confront the enemy,’ Thea said, ‘so I went to that brothel just near the Being Well. I needed to face my fear. I destroy my enemy when I make him my friend.’
‘Who?’
‘Abraham Lincoln.’
‘What are you on about, Thea – you're inspired by the founding father of the United States to take yourself into a brothel in Marylebone and befriend the prozzies? Are you crazy?’ Alice was desperate for details yet wondered what on earth she was about to hear.
Thea looked a little sheepish. ‘Not crazy – I just needed proof that this never had anything to do with me.’
‘And?’
‘It was the best thing to have done,’ Thea proclaimed. ‘It was horrendous and surreal but in retrospect, I have a sense of peace now.’
‘Jesus, Thea!’ Alice couldn't disguise the admiration in her voice though she worried it was inappropriate. ‘Why didn't you tell me! Why didn't you phone! What was it like?’
Suddenly, Thea looked back on her visit as a veritable expedition, an adventure. She'd been in a brothel, for heaven's sake! Sh
e'd sat on a bed and held hands with a hooker! Surely she was the only person she knew to have done anything like that. Apart from Saul, of course. And perhaps half the men she knew, if statistics were true. ‘I've seen a couple of the girls around,’ she told Alice, ‘you know, buying chocolate, posting letters – just like me.’ She didn't want to tell Alice about the Shipping Forecast, about Kiki greeting Saul. She didn't want to force herself to see how blind love had clouded her view of reality for so long.
‘Christ!’ Alice marvelled. Sod watching Ocean's Eleven on DVD as planned.
‘Today, I caught sight of one of them and I don't know, I just went a little mad,’ Thea admitted sadly. ‘I wanted to insult her. I wanted to hate her, I wanted to blame her, I wanted it all to be her fault. But I couldn't and I didn't – because it isn't. Now I see how she doesn't go out soliciting men. Their predilection is not her fault, not her responsibility, not of her creation.’
‘Who is she?’ Alice gasped, wanting to forsake the academics in favour of specifics. ‘What's she like? How old? What's her name? What does she look like? What did you ask her? What did she tell you? Oh my God, did you see any of the clients?’
‘She's young – I didn't ask how young because I didn't expect her to answer truthfully,’ Thea said. ‘She's called Kiki but I don't expect that's her real name. She says she's from a forest.’
‘A forest?’ Alice exclaimed, imagining Little Red Riding Hood in a crotchless basque under her scarlet cape.
‘That's what she told me – that her family still live in the forest and she assists them financially. Her take is that a man's sexual needs are distinct from his emotional allegiance and need never impinge on his commitment as a husband.’
‘Right,’ Alice said, thinking that's as may be but I couldn't cope with it.
‘I asked her if she was a sex maniac,’ Thea said.
‘You didn't!’
‘I asked her if she hated men.’
‘You didn't!’
‘I asked her if she hated women.’
‘You didn't!’
‘She held my hand.’
‘She didn't!’
‘I asked her if she enjoyed her work.’
‘Does she? What did she say?’
After a week or so of comforting her friend, sharing her pain, letting her cry but feeling powerless to really help, Alice rejoiced in the apparent return of Thea's initiative and strength. After a fortnight of not really knowing how to advise Thea, of being unable to hearten or soothe her, it transpired that the answer lay in a tour of a brothel.
‘The strangest thing is that actually I liked her,’ Thea concluded, half an hour later. ‘She's sweet and kind. She's nothing like the stereotype.’
‘God, you're gracious,’ Alice marvelled.
‘You know, they used to call prostitutes “erring sisters”. And actually, I did feel a sense of kinship – I don't know – collusion? She's not my enemy, she's a girl,’ Thea shrugged, ‘doing a job there's a demand for.’
‘God, I think you're brave and amazing,’ Alice said with great tenderness and pride. ‘I wonder where this forest is?’
‘I don't know,’ Thea said. ‘She's oriental so I suppose it's in Thailand or somewhere.’
Alice nodded. Then she stared at Thea. Though she sucked in her lips, she was helpless to prevent an almighty snort of laughter. She bit her bottom lip hard but she knew she was moments away from an uncontrollable fit of giggles.
‘What?’ Thea asked, confusion making her eyebrows stutter.
‘Thea,’ Alice squeaked, ‘the forest?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think she might have been saying “Far East”?’
Thea frowned. Then she groaned. Then she covered her face with her hands while Alice pronounced ‘forest’ again and again in a mish-mash Malaysian accent. Soon enough, Thea tried it. Far East. Far East, of course!
‘Oh God,’ Thea didn't know whether to laugh or cringe, ‘oh God. What a day. I'm going mad.’
‘Oh God, what a day,’ Mark said to himself as he walked around the golf expo aimlessly and with no interest. It seemed the most sensible place to go, in the circumstances. He didn't want to pace around and around the block. He wasn't in the habit of sitting by himself in bars, let alone drowning his sorrows. So he meandered through the stalls and stands with Paul B's text messages leaping out at him wherever he looked. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he repeated as a whispered chant, ‘there must be an explanation.’
Alice wouldn't do that to me. Alice wouldn't do that to me. Alice wouldn't do that to me.
‘Mark! Hullo, mate.’
Mark looked up and saw Saul. ‘Saul,’ Mark shook his hand, ‘I didn't realize you were coming. Were we meant to meet?’
‘I only decided at the last minute,’ Saul assured him. ‘I had nothing else planned. And it's sort of en route to Thea's – I'm going to pop by later and see if I can help with the packing.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Mark, ‘she's at ours, having a chick-flick comfort-food evening with Alice.’
While Saul was struck by the fact that Thea had lied to him about how she was spending her evening, Mark suddenly wondered if Thea knew Paul B. And if Thea knew, then did Saul too?
‘Seen anything you fancy?’ Saul asked.
‘Fancy?’ Mark barked with a deep frown.
Saul regarded him quizzically. ‘New balls?’
‘New balls?’ Mark snorted with derision. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed the corners of his eyes.
‘Are you OK, Mark?’ Saul asked. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fuck knows,’ Mark replied hoarsely. Saul reeled from the response. He'd never heard Mark swear, he'd never known him to be anything but composed and always all right. He was thoroughly taken aback.
‘Come on, buddy,’ Saul said with a hand on Mark's neck, ‘let's get a drink.’
Saul didn't think spirits were Mark's thing yet he watched as he downed two neat vodkas in as many gulps. ‘I think Alice is having an affair,’ Mark announced, his voice rasping from the scorch of alcohol.
Saul was startled. ‘Alice?’
‘You see her,’ Mark said, ‘what do you think?’
‘She's never given me any reason to think she's having an affair,’ Saul declared. She hadn't. Nor had Thea.
‘Look, I don't want you to feel compromised,’ Mark said, ‘but has Thea mentioned anything to you?’
‘Not a sausage,’ said Saul, attempting to discredit Mark's suspicion by making light of it. ‘And she tells me everything.’
Does she, Saul? Are you sure about that?
Mark sunk his head into his hands. ‘I don't know,’ he said, ‘I don't know.’
‘What do you know, exactly?’ Saul probed.
‘She can be pretty moody,’ Mark said.
‘Yes, but all women can be,’ Saul pointed out. ‘Alice is naturally slightly highly strung,’ Saul countered. ‘The fact that she's spirited makes her attractive.’
‘She can be a flirt,’ Mark stated. ‘I've known her for years, remember.’
‘There's flirting,’ Saul reasoned, ‘and there's putting your money where your mouth is.’
There speaks an expert. Except you don't flirt, do you, Saul, you don't really have to. Your girls are a sure thing. We know where you put your money and we don't really want to know where you put your mouth.
‘I swear to you, Mark,’ Saul said, placing both hands flat on the table for emphasis, ‘I've never seen even a hint of anything untoward – and I've been around her at work and play, remember.’
Mark nodded but Saul could see he remained unconvinced. ‘I found something,’ Mark said darkly. ‘Her phone. I found a text message from someone called Paul B.’ Saul could only listen – the image of Mark covertly burglarizing his wife's telephone was so atypical as to be frankly disturbing. ‘Who's Paul B?’
‘Paul B?’ Saul thought hard. ‘Honestly, Mark, I have no idea. There's no Paul B on the mags that I know. I've never hea
rd Thea mention such a person. Look, can I ask what the message said?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said Mark with cutting lightness, ‘the usual – fancy a fuck, great tits, when can I see you.’
Saul was stunned. And a private part of him wanted to phone Alice immediately and accuse her of hypocrisy of the highest degree, declare her misdemeanour a crime far worse than his.
‘What drove you to read them?’ Saul asked. ‘Have you been going through a bad patch?’
‘Not really. I mean, I'm used to her blowing hot and cold – she always has done and I've loved her for years. As you say, she can fly off the handle and she can be moody. It was a bit rocky a few months ago but actually, recently, it's been quite nice and even.’
‘I'm sure there's an innocent explanation,’ said Saul, though he wasn't so sure and was keen to know more.
‘I mean, we've been through much stickier periods – when I've been abroad a lot or working crazy hours,’ Mark continued, ‘but I've cut down a lot on the travelling – and I'm delegating more now I have a wider team.’
‘I'm sure it's not what you think,’ Saul said, because though he'd now quite like to doubt Alice, he liked Mark and felt he didn't deserve this angst, however unfounded.
‘Do I turn a blind eye?’ Mark said, asking himself more than Saul. ‘Even if evidence to the contrary is staring me in the face?’
‘You know what,’ said Saul, ‘it's far easier to flirt in emails and texts than face to face. Maybe it's some bloke at the printers or in distribution that Alice keeps sweet. I'm sure it's harmless.’
‘How do I find out?’
Saul was stuck. ‘I don't think you should go looking for answers unless you can ask the questions directly,’ he said after much thought. ‘Can you ask her to her face? Will her trust be undermined that you've been searching through her things?’
‘I don't know,’ Mark shook his head, ‘I just don't know what to think or what to do.’
‘Listen,’ Saul said, ‘it's not as if the messages said “great fuck” or “thanks for showing me your boobs”. There's no real evidence, Mark. You work with numbers, Alice works with words. I assure you our industry is full of boozing, flirting reprobates – and that's the blokes!’
