The Affair

by Hilary Boyd

  Her phone rang as she was walking home. Her sister, Lynne. The very last person she wanted to speak to right now.

  ‘Connie, it’s me, Lynne,’ she said, never having grasped that her name came up on Connie’s screen. ‘I’ll be there about four, if that’s OK?’

  Connie gulped. She’d entirely forgotten that Lynne was staying the night, en route from Aberystwyth to give a lecture at Southampton University. ‘Great,’ she replied, with a forced enthusiasm she hoped her sister wouldn’t detect. ‘See you later.’

  She was glad Devan would be late: he and Lynne had never got on. Lynne had called Devan ‘Dr God’ in the early days. She thought him too handsome, too pleased with himself. But she’d been dismissing Connie’s choices since they were both small.

  This could not be put down exclusively to sibling rivalry, Connie had always felt, because Lynne was the clever, successful daughter, approved of by both their parents, but particularly by her solemn, hardworking father – a civil servant in the Department for Education. Connie, by contrast, had been the troublemaker, the one who’d caused her father to clutch his brow in despair for her lack of focus on school-work and general dislike of authority and rules. She’d been much closer to her mum, who didn’t care so much about such things.

  Devan had tried, in the early days, to get on with Lynne. But when he saw his efforts were futile, he’d stepped back. ‘She always makes me feel as if I’ve done something wrong. As if I’m not good enough,’ he would complain.

  ‘Join the club,’ Connie had responded.

  But she’d found as she got older that her position towards her sister had softened – especially now both parents were dead. She loved Lynne, and if they kept their exposure to each other sporadic, they got along fine. Tonight, she would keep things simple: open a nice bottle of red wine, cook a tomato and pepper spaghetti – Lynne didn’t eat meat – and get lots of chocolate in. She’d be gone after breakfast.

  ‘God, am I ever glad to be here,’ Lynne said, plonking her overnight bag on the kitchen tiles and letting out a long sigh. ‘Bloody roadworks on the four seven nine, then an accident just before the bridge. It’s taken me almost five hours!’ She was taller than Connie and neurotically thin, her dyed dark-blonde hair cut to her shoulders with a fringe that was too short and neat, giving her face a severe look. They were nothing like each other. Lynne was the spit of their father while Connie, with her auburn hair and fair skin, resembled absolutely no one in her family.

  ‘Where’s Devan?’ Lynne asked, accepting the glass of wine Connie pressed on her.

  ‘With a friend. They’re checking out a car.’

  ‘And getting up to no good, I expect.’ She winked at Connie.

  Connie wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean so she smiled and turned back to skinning the red peppers she’d just scorched under the grill. ‘How’s Roddy?’

  Lynne wriggled on her kitchen chair, adjusting her gold disc pendant on its fine chain and settling the collar of her cream blouse. ‘Happy as a sandboy. Our life is now regulated to the nth degree.’

  Connie frowned.

  Her sister’s voice had dropped to a dull monotone. ‘We shop in the same supermarket on the same day at the same time. We park in the same spot and buy the same food, which we eat in the same rotation each week. We go to the pub on Friday nights for two hours, then get fish and chips on the way home. Roddy has his rugby on Saturday, then there’s church on Sunday, we change the sheets on Monday … We do everything together.’ She stopped, giving a light shrug.

  Connie winced. Not just at the horrendous-sounding schedule of her sister’s life, but at the weariness in Lynne’s voice. Rhodri had been a bull of a man in his youth, a talented tight-head for his local rugby team, a loud, laughing, good-natured person. He still was, to a degree. But his body had gone to seed: he was now seriously overweight and idle since retiring from BT. ‘You’re OK with that?’

  Her sister didn’t reply, her face very still. ‘It is what it is,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d love to get away once in a while. But Roddy doesn’t like the heat, hates being squeezed into plane seats – which I can understand at his size – so we never go anywhere.’ She shot Connie a half-smile. ‘Not like you, gadding about all over Europe.’

  Connie wasn’t sure ‘gadding’ quite described her job, but she let it go. ‘Can’t you go with a friend?’

  Lynne gave a sad laugh. ‘I couldn’t leave Roddy.’

  They’re living Devan’s dream, she thought, with a wry smile. Her sister appeared to be pandering to Roddy’s whim just to keep the peace. Or is it because that’s what Lynne wants to do and is blaming it on him?

  ‘What would happen if you did?’ Connie slid the charred chopped peppers into the saucepan with the sautéed onions and garlic, the tinned tomatoes, then lit the hob, poking a bay leaf beneath the surface and grinding in some black pepper. She would add fresh basil at the last minute.

  Her sister looked as if she were confused by the question. ‘Well …’ she took a sip of wine ‘… it’s not worth the hassle, to be honest. He’d fret and I’d have to cook all the food before I went and freeze it … I’d worry about him. Even me being away tonight was winding him up.’

  Connie was shocked. She laid the wooden spoon on the chopping board and turned to her. ‘That sounds dreadful, Lynne.’

  ‘Does it?’

  Connie thought she detected tears in her sister’s blue eyes. Knowing Lynne would hate it if she went over and put an arm around her, she just said, ‘Don’t give up. You’re too young for that. Find a friend who wants to travel and plan a trip. I’ll help you.’

  Lynne glanced at her, her expression unreadable, but said nothing.

  ‘You might be surprised by how well Roddy copes.’

  Connie dragged out the pasta pot from the bottom of the pan drawer and put it under the tap. Lynne had been so independent, so highly thought of in her professional life – it staggered her that she should be reduced to this.

  ‘I’ve got the vegetable garden,’ she heard her sister say, almost defensively. ‘That takes up a lot of my time. And I’m learning the ukulele – there’s a man in the village who gives classes. I’m pretty crap, but it’s fun.’

  Connie smiled encouragingly and refilled her sister’s glass. She was just opening the fridge to get out the lettuce when the front door banged and Devan appeared. It was clear to Connie that he’d been drinking from his loose expression and the way in which he leaned to starboard, resting his head against the jamb.

  Lynne jumped. ‘Hi, Devan.’

  ‘Lynne … didn’t know you were going to be here.’

  ‘I did tell you,’ Connie objected, but remembered she, too, had forgotten her sister’s visit. ‘I thought you’d be late.’

  Devan shrugged off his jacket and slung it onto a chair, immediately going to the cupboard and bringing out a wine glass. ‘Bill wasn’t interested in the car.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘No, I’m starving. We stopped off at a pub on the way back, but all I had was a packet of pork scratchings.’

  ‘Nice healthy snack,’ Lynne commented drily. She couldn’t help herself when it came to Devan.

  Ignoring her, he sat down heavily at the head of the table and filled his glass. The atmosphere had changed.

  Devan said barely a word over supper, just shovelled spaghetti into his mouth and drank large quantities of Chianti. Connie felt constrained by his brooding presence. Lynne was also wary, her remarks brittle and loaded as Devan’s drunkenness became more acute. Conversation stuttered and finally died out altogether as Connie emptied a carton of fresh pineapple chunks into a bowl and put it, with a slab of local Cheddar, on the table.

  ‘So,’ Devan looked over at Lynne, ‘I suppose Connie’s been filling you in … about her lover.’

  Her sister looked puzzled.

  Connie’s heart jolted. She tried to breathe, daring her cheeks to colour on pain of death, wanting immediately to refute the allegation.
No words would come. Devan was staring at her now.

  ‘No? Go on, then. Tell your sister all about it.’ His tone was almost menacing, although his words were slurred.

  What does he know? Her thoughts were spinning frantically about her brain. The book. Had he realized it wasn’t she who’d ordered it?

  Devan shifted his chair, banging the table leg as he moved his foot, which made the wine in the glasses splash, the cutlery judder. ‘For Christ’s sake, Connie …’ That was all he said as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

  Connie looked at Lynne. Her sister’s eyes widened in question.

  ‘What are you trying to say?’ Connie asked her husband, her chest constricted.

  His arms crossed defiantly across his chest, Devan viewed her through half-open lids. ‘Italy. You’re in love with Italy. You come home all starry-eyed and distracted … like you’ve been with your lover.’

  Connie got up quickly. The threatened flush was on the march, she could feel it. ‘You’re drunk,’ she said curtly, beginning vigorously to scrub out the pasta pan and turning the tap on full as if the noise might hide her shame.

  She heard Lynne say brightly, ‘How lovely for her. I’d take Italy for a lover tomorrow if I had the chance – Roddy or no Roddy.’

  Either her words had stunned Devan into silence, or he’d passed out – Connie didn’t want to turn around and confirm which – but she silently blessed her sister.

  Her husband hadn’t finished, though. ‘Seriously, Lynne. Explain what you would do, if you were me? Should I just sit here like the pathetic cuckold I am and wait for this love affair to run its course?’ He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Or find my own diversion, perhaps.’

  As Connie listened to the exchange behind her, she knew Devan wasn’t – couldn’t be – talking about Jared. But he seemed to be right there, in the Somerset kitchen, and she couldn’t prevent the spike of desire that washed over her at the memory of the cool bricks through her cotton dress, the warmth of Jared’s fingers on her bare thigh. She felt the supper she’d just eaten churning dangerously in her rigid belly as she upended the pan on the draining-board and turned to face them.

  ‘If I were you, Devan,’ Lynne was replying coolly, ‘I’d sod off to bed before I said something even more stupid. And when I woke up tomorrow, I’d wonder why my devoted wife might want to take a lover.’

  Connie felt tears filling her eyes at her sister’s spirited defence. She blinked them quickly away as Devan got to his feet.

  ‘Lucky you’re not me, then,’ he growled, swaying on his feet. Then he lurched towards the door and was gone.

  The kitchen was silent, both women listening to his progress upstairs and the slam of the bathroom door.

  ‘Sorry,’ Connie said.

  Her sister waved her hand, dismissing the apology. But she was eyeing Connie steadily. After another silence, she said, ‘A bit too close to the bone?’

  Connie let out a breath she seemed to have been holding all her life and sagged into a chair, covering her face with her hands. A secret is not a secret if you tell someone … Her mother’s words rang in her ears. But she couldn’t lie to Lynne. Although they weren’t close, her sister had always been able to intuit when Connie wasn’t telling the truth – and always called her on it.

  ‘Someone on one of the tours. He kissed me. Then he turned up by accident in the next place, and we kissed again.’ She spoke as nonchalantly as she could. But Lynne wasn’t fooled.

  ‘Christ, Connie. That’s awful.’

  Connie knew what she’d done was awful, but Jared didn’t seem to fit into real life. He was there, then he wasn’t. The badness was a step removed from tangible guilt. Part of her almost expected her sister to sympathize, after witnessing Devan’s drunken, aggressive behaviour. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It won’t happen again. I won’t see him again, ever.’ She wouldn’t, she was certain of that.

  Lynne was still frowning. ‘What possessed you?’

  Connie couldn’t answer. She didn’t know. But ‘possessed’ she had been. ‘Devan doesn’t know, obviously.’

  ‘Really? I’d never have guessed.’ Lynne grinned mischievously: the first proper smile Connie had seen from her sister all evening.

  Connie smiled back. ‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ she said, and this time Lynne gave herself up to Connie’s grateful hug.

  10

  ‘She’s so uptight, your sister.’

  Lynne had left early, refusing breakfast, just filling her Thermos-mug with hot black coffee for the journey to Southampton. Connie was sad to see her go. There had been a bond between them this time that had not been apparent in a while. She’d sat with a cup of coffee in the morning sunshine after waving Lynne off, but found she was nagged by tormenting thoughts of Jared in the wake of her confession to her sister. She needed action and quickly drained her cup. Opening the creaking door of the potting shed, breathing in the warm, dusty, earth smell she loved, she’d pulled on her gardening gloves and grabbed her secateurs.

  It was nearly eleven when Devan wandered out onto the terrace, clutching a mug of tea, hair dishevelled, still in his pyjama bottoms and a tatty grey T-shirt. He’d clearly just climbed out of bed.

  ‘Because she noticed you were legless?’ Connie didn’t turn, just kept snipping at the bamboo stalks that had made a run for it from the clump at the bottom of the garden, popping up in the back of the rose bed.

  ‘I wasn’t “legless”. If I had a bit too much it was because Lynne was there, disapproving of me every time I breathed.’

  Connie straightened up, bamboo fronds clutched in one hand, brushing her hair out of her eyes with the back of her gardening glove. It was hot and she was sweating from her exertions. She hadn’t slept well and felt nervy and out of control, worried that somehow things had escalated with Jared at the arrival of the book … and her sister knowing.

  Although, she kept telling herself, Jared belonged to Italy, and she wasn’t due for another Italian tour this year. He was hardly going to pitch up in Warsaw. It was just a mad moment. Connie knew she should feel relieved by this certainty, but somehow she did not. ‘Let’s not argue, Devan,’ she said quietly.

  Her husband was staring off down the garden. When his gaze returned to her, she saw a softening in his face that matched her own. He gave her a tired smile. ‘Sorry about last night,’ he said.

  Later that morning, Connie and Devan drove over to Wells to potter round the outdoor market. The stalls were set up in the square outside the Bishop’s Palace, with all manner of goods, from cheese and home-made pies to silver bracelets and wooden ducks. Connie felt awkward with her husband. It seemed such a long time since they had done that sort of thing together, and she wanted it to be fun, for them to find some common ground again. He hadn’t seemed particularly enthusiastic when she’d suggested a day out so she felt the pressure was on her to make it work.

  ‘Lunch?’ she asked brightly, when they’d exhausted the stalls, buying local goat’s cheese, some spicy sausages and a cotton sweater with a train on it for Bash. ‘I need a sit-down.’

  Devan grinned and nodded. ‘The Close?’ It was their favourite restaurant, although they hadn’t been there for over a year now.

  When they arrived the place was empty, a sticker on the streaked plate glass of the window saying it had closed down sometime in April.

  ‘No!’ Connie felt unreasonably disappointed. They stood staring through at the interior, remembering the many lovely meals they had enjoyed there. It had been a romantic spot for them in the past, one they’d chosen for birthdays and anniversaries, the food not fancy, mostly steaks and grilled fish, but beautifully cooked. In her overwrought state it felt like a portent.

  ‘We could get a hog-roast bun from that stall and sit on a bench?’ Devan suggested half-heartedly. ‘Or find a pub …’

  But the joy seemed to have left them. They were two people going through the motions, when really they would have liked just to go home and get on with things separ
ately, reduce the need to avoid topics of conversation that were contentious – Italy, tours, travel of any sort, retirement, her sister, Bill, alcohol consumption. The list was getting ever longer.

  ‘Maybe get a bun, then,’ Connie agreed, and they trailed wearily back to the market. She had wanted to sit opposite Devan in a quiet place, with a good meal and a glass of wine, so she could talk things through with him. But as she walked along the crowded streets, she realized nothing would be solved between them until either she agreed to retire or Devan found something to do that he enjoyed and stopped nagging her about it. And since both scenarios seemed highly unlikely at the moment, there was little point in opening up hostilities again. The best she could hope for was détente. Maybe now Devan was getting out more, his obsession would fade. He might even start investigating the options he’d mentioned, like sailing and the Open University. She could only hope.

  Kraków took Connie’s breath away. And temporarily set her free from both Jared and Devan. It was a busy thirteen-day tour, stopping at Berlin, Kraków, Auschwitz and Warsaw, places she’d never seen before.

  ‘Will you look at that?’ Audrey Mason, from Wisconsin, gasped as the group arrived in the Rynek, Kraków’s huge expanse of market square, clutching Connie’s arm and staring all around in wonder. It was an extraordinary sight, with its elegant medieval townhouses, St Mary’s Basilica to the east, the famous fourteenth-century Cloth Hall.

  Their guide today was Mirek, a tall Pole with a blond crew-cut and light blue eyes. Connie was going on all of the tours. Not only was she longing to explore this amazing city, but she also didn’t want time alone. Thinking only made her anxieties screech round her brain, like cars on a racetrack.