The Affair

by Hilary Boyd

  ‘What …?’ Some part of her brain told her he shouldn’t be there, but she was so pleased that he was. She untangled her hand from the duvet and took his free one, comforted by the feel of his fingers closing round hers.

  ‘You rang me.’

  She considered this information through the haze, then said, ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t have done that.’

  A small smile crossed his face. ‘I’ve called a doctor.’

  The word ‘doctor’ rang alarm bells. She struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, banging her head on the padded headboard as she did so, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  Jared laid the flannel on the bedside table. ‘You really gave me a scare,’ he said. ‘You were incoherent on the phone. Couldn’t even tell me where you were.’ He stroked her damp hair back from her forehead. ‘I was getting to the stage where I thought I’d have to call the police, but suddenly you said the hotel name as clear as a bell.’ He let out a long breath. ‘Lucky I wasn’t out of the country.’

  She nodded, although her head throbbed so much she wished he would be quiet.

  ‘Reception came up and opened the door for me when I explained that I thought you were ill.’

  She was aware of a loud knock on the door. Jared rose from the bed to answer it and a man appeared, dark stubble on his chin, rumpled and middle-aged, carrying a doctor’s bag.

  ‘You’re her husband?’ the man asked Jared, in an accent Connie could not place. She saw Jared nod, but was too dazed to correct him.

  ‘What time is it?’ she suddenly wanted to know. Something was odd about all this, her brain still not really comprehending how she’d got to be fully dressed in a hotel bed, with Jared and a strange doctor in attendance.

  ‘Three in the morning,’ the doctor replied patiently.

  When Connie woke next, early-morning light was streaming through the uncurtained hotel window. Where the hell am I? she asked herself. She was no longer fully dressed but had on her night T-shirt. Jared was lying asleep beside her in his blue cotton shirt and boxers. The sleep must have done her some good, because her mind seemed clearer as she blinked in the bright sunlight, although her head was heavy when she tried to lift it from the pillow, and she began coughing as soon as she moved.

  The cough subsided, leaving her breathless. She lay there, attempting to piece together the events of the previous night. The bath, her icy body, the panic, the doctor … Jared. Did I call him? She had no memory of it, but how else could he have been present in her room? Realizing she needed to pee, she gingerly pulled herself upright, swung her legs over the mattress and tried to stand. She felt dizzy and weak, though, and sat there, waiting for it to pass.

  ‘Morning.’ Jared’s voice was sleepy.

  Connie turned. Her feelings were mixed as she looked down at his crumpled form. Gratitude for her rescue was overlaid by the knowledge that he really shouldn’t be there. Why didn’t I ring Devan or Caty? she asked herself, bewildered.

  He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face with both hands. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not as bad as last night.’

  Jared yawned and got out of bed, coming round to her side and standing over her, placing his hands on either side of her head and gently raising her face until she was looking at him. ‘You scared me to death, Connie.’ He bent and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  ‘Don’t, Jared. Please.’ She twisted her head free of his hands. ‘Listen, you were amazing last night. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t turned up …’ He was still standing there, and she eventually glanced up. His face was expressionless so she had no idea what he was thinking. ‘I shouldn’t have called you. It was wrong after what we agreed in Scotland. I’m so sorry.’ She saw a muscle flicker in his cheek, and then he smiled, the sun illuminating his turquoise eyes like precious stones. She found herself staring into them, then collected herself and dropped her gaze.

  ‘I’m just glad I could help,’ he said, moving away to stand by the window, looking out across the London skyline.

  Connie really needed to get to the bathroom. She tried again to stand. It was better this time, there was no dizziness, but her legs were soft as butter. She didn’t want to ask for Jared’s help, after what she’d just said. But he was by her side in an instant. He held out his arm and she leaned on it gratefully as they made their way across the room.

  She was shocked as she peered at her image in the dimly lit mirror. Her skin was grey, eyes bloodshot and bruised, hair lank. She was sure she smelt, too, after all that feverish sweating, but she didn’t feel strong enough to brave the shower. I look about ninety, she thought, embarrassed that Jared should see her like that.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, he was dressed and sitting on the side of the bed, lacing his trainers. ‘You should ring your husband,’ he said.

  Connie nodded, pushing away the thought that she should have called him hours ago.

  ‘I’ll ask at Reception for an extension to the room. They’ll be OK with it when I explain. And you should take another dose of antibiotics. It’s every four hours … eight, twelve, four, eight.’ His tone was businesslike as he rose to his feet and went to collect his jacket from the chair.

  She felt a sudden tension. ‘Jared?’

  He turned, his hand groping in his pocket, perhaps for his keys and his mobile. The look he returned was empty. She stepped towards him, but he made no move to embrace her. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and was horrified to see his beautiful eyes swimming with tears. She wanted to pull him into her arms, but knew she couldn’t. Jared was wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand.

  ‘Oh, Connie,’ he said softly. ‘I honestly thought you were dead.’

  Taken aback, she put a hand on his arm, just lightly, although she was aching to comfort him properly. But even in her feverish state, she held back. Their gaze met. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  For a moment neither spoke. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to shake himself. A second later he’d yanked open the door and was gone.

  17

  ‘I’m going to ring Dr Wright,’ Caitlin said, as she tucked Connie into the spare-room bed in their Shoreditch flat, which was in a converted warehouse, with huge casement windows, high ceilings, exposed brick, and a roof terrace where she had installed terracotta pots of all sizes, filled with herbs and other plants.

  ‘I’ve seen a doctor,’ Connie protested. ‘I’ve got the drugs.’

  Caitlin looked worried. ‘He was probably from some dodgy out-of-hours service the hotel uses. He’d have just thrown you the first pills that came to hand so he could get back to bed.’

  ‘He seemed to know what he was doing,’ Connie said, although her memories of his brief visit were sketchy. ‘He said it might be a virus, but he didn’t know. He gave me antibiotics just in case, because the cough was so bad.’ When her daughter still did not look reassured, she went on, ‘If it’s a virus, we can only let it run its course.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Caitlin sat on the bed. ‘I still think we should get her to check you out.’

  Connie, who just wanted to sleep, replied, ‘There’s really no need. I feel much better, sweetheart. I think I was just exhausted from holding it together on the tour.’

  Caitlin nodded slowly. ‘You should have called me, Mum. I could have fetched you.’

  ‘I knew Ash was in Paris this week.’ Although the thought had not occurred to her last night.

  ‘Yes, but I could have bundled Bash into the car. How on earth did you get a doctor, anyway?’

  ‘I can’t remember much. I was so out of it …’ Which is true, she thought, before she added the lie. ‘I must have phoned Reception and they sent one.’

  Her daughter got up. ‘Right, well, what can I get you? Tea, maybe … Are you hungry?’ She checked her watch. ‘Dad said he’d be here around three. But I think you should stay tonight at least – as long as you want, Mum.’ She gave Connie a sympathetic smile. ‘It must have b
een so scary, being ill and alone in an unfamiliar hotel room.’

  ‘I think I was too far gone to mind,’ Connie replied, although she remembered the relief she’d felt, seeing Jared’s face.

  ‘Tea?’ Caitlin repeated.

  ‘Maybe just water for now. I think I’ll sleep.’

  When Caitlin had set a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table and gone to fetch Bash from nursery, Connie rolled over on the clean, smooth pillow and closed her eyes. But she found she couldn’t sleep. Jared’s face kept coming back to her. He had been so frightened for her.

  Never before had he shown Connie any signs of what she meant to him. He’d come and gone in such a casual way – his past, his emotional life, pretty much a closed book. Once, in Warsaw, she’d mentioned to him that her mother had died recently, and asked about his parents. He’d looked away. ‘Nothing special,’ he’d said. She could feel the sudden tension, but she persevered, ‘Are they still alive?’

  There had been a long pause. ‘My mother was a single parent, I was an only child … She … she had problems.’ Connie had waited for him to say more, but it was a long time before he added, ‘Dinah is the closest thing to family I have now.’ The challenging look in his eyes dared her to ask any more, and she dropped the subject, not wanting to upset him.

  So, all they really had between them was breath-taking sex and a passionate love of all things Italian. With no future to consider, there seemed to be less requirement to delve into the past, to discover the ins and outs of a childhood, a career path, a family history. For Connie, such knowledge would only have meshed her and Jared more closely. And the truth was that she’d been drawing back from day one. Unsuccessfully, of course – because she was too weak to resist – but knowing too much, getting too close, would just have made things more painful to untangle.

  What did he expect from me? she wondered now. He’d always known she was firmly married – although she had to admit her actions didn’t exactly back that up. She remembered the allusion Dinah had made to a past relationship of Jared’s – which had obviously gone wrong. But when Connie had tentatively asked him about Charlotte, the night they were in Warsaw, he’d been vague.

  ‘We had a misunderstanding,’ he’d said.

  ‘What sort of misunderstanding?’ Connie had asked, although she could see he was uncomfortable talking about anything personal, as usual.

  He’d shrugged. ‘We just didn’t want the same thing. Dinah got all excited – she’s so dying to see me “settle down”,’ he held up his fingers to put ironic quote marks round the words, ‘but Charlotte had other ideas.’ For a split second his eyes darkened. Then he deftly changed the subject. Connie was none the wiser about what had really gone on.

  Lying there now, she worried that Jared’s tears – his anxiety for her safety – implied he felt something more significant for her than just sexual attraction: an emotional tie that she’d not previously been aware of. The thought was disturbing.

  When Devan arrived, Connie was sitting up, nursing a cup of tea and some Marmite toast she had little interest in eating. She’d slept for at least two hours, her cough bothering her at intervals, only properly waking because her grandson was standing by the bed, gently patting her face.

  ‘Nana,’ he said, in a stage whisper, ‘Nana, wake up.’

  Caitlin was immediately at the door. ‘I told you not to disturb her, Bash.’

  Bash shot his mother a triumphant look. ‘It’s OK, Nana’s eyes are open.’

  Devan barely said hello to Connie before going straight into professional mode. He’d even brought his bag of tricks, and pulled out his stethoscope. He listened to her chest, took her pulse and blood pressure, examined her throat, palpated the glands in her neck and finally pressed the sensor of the thermometer into her ear. Then he sat on the bed, his face a mask of worry, and began firing questions at her, leaving no time between each in which to respond.

  ‘Christ, Connie, your chest sounds like a skip full of gravel. How long have you had this? When did the cough get so bad? Did you have any fever before last night?’ He looked around the room. ‘Where are the antibiotics the doctor gave you?’

  Connie, dizzy with the onslaught, did her best to reassure him. ‘It’s just a bug, Devan. I’m on trains and with people all day long, it’s not surprising I occasionally pick something up.’ She was waiting for some barbed comment about the dangers and unsuitability of this sort of work for someone of her advanced age. But, mercifully, he held off.

  He took her hand. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night. You realize collapsing alone in a hotel room could have had quite serious consequences?’

  ‘Yes, but, please, don’t fuss.’ She spoke weakly, just wanting him to leave her alone.

  ‘I’m not fussing,’ he objected.

  ‘OK, but you can see I’m better now. In fact, I think I’ll get up and have a shower. I must pong to high heaven.’ She didn’t really want a shower – even the thought of standing upright seemed like a challenge too far. But she wanted her husband to stop looking so worried.

  ‘Caty says we can stay and I think we ought to, for tonight, at least.’ Devan got up. ‘I’m not sure I can face that drive again today. And you certainly shouldn’t.’

  That evening, after Devan had helped her wash and tidy herself, she was settled on the large sofa in the sitting room, wrapped in her daughter’s fleecy dressing gown and hiking socks and covered with a soft wool throw. She was still shivery, despite the August temperature outside being in the mid-twenties.

  Even Bash looked worried at this strange version of his grandmother – usually bright and laughing and energetic – and snuggled quietly into her side as they watched a kids’ animation show about a squirrel club, while across the room Caitlin and Devan prepared supper. She was aware of them whispering to each other and occasionally casting glances in her direction but felt too tired to challenge them.

  Neither, when she was eventually handed a bowl of minestrone, could she eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. The soup, although beautifully prepared, tasted rusty and made her want to retch. She needed desperately to go back to bed, but the fussing she knew this would provoke made her hang on till she was practically incapable of getting there.

  They stayed with Caitlin for another three days, Connie giving in to her family’s kind ministrations. Then Devan carefully drove her home. It was such a relief to be in her own bed. Devan had insisted on a visit from Caitlin’s doctor, who had changed her antibiotics to stronger ones because she feared pneumonia. But the chest X-ray, which Dr Wright arranged, was clear of any nasties. ‘I’m fine,’ she kept repeating. But no one, including herself, really believed her.

  Over the next few days Connie slept as much as the cough would allow, but was dismayed not to feel significantly better. When she was awake, she tried to block Jared from her thoughts. But she knew something had changed for him the night he’d rescued her, something significant. She just wasn’t sure what. It was as if, by asking for his help, she’d opened up feelings in him that previously had not existed. Because, despite not remembering, she definitely had called him, according to her work phone records where she’d stored his number after his first text in Desenzano. How she wished, now, that she hadn’t.

  ‘Heavens, Con, you look like shit,’ Neil announced cheerfully, when he dropped round a week after they’d got home. Connie was up for short periods of the day now but was still exhausted and frequently racked by coughing spasms. It felt like a sprightly demon was trapped in her chest, trampling about and ripping painfully at the lining of her lungs. She thought if she could only cough it up, she would be OK, but it point-blank refused to be expelled.

  Now Neil hugged her. ‘And you’re skin and bone.’ He drew away to look her up and down, a worried frown on his face. ‘What the hell have you been doing to yourself?’

  Connie placed the teapot on the kitchen table and turned to take the milk from the fridge. ‘It’s just a stupid bug, but I can’
t seem to shake it off. It’s been nearly two weeks now, and I don’t seem to be improving much at all.’ She felt her chin wobble and tears form in her eyes. Swallowing hard, she tried to fight off the tears, but faced with her friend’s anxious blue eyes, she felt suddenly helpless.

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Neil was by her side and embracing her again. He felt warm and strong and she leaned against him for a moment before collecting herself and pulling away to blow her nose and pick out some mugs from the rack by the stove.

  ‘You know what they say about lungs, don’t you?’ Neil said, when they were seated with their tea. Not waiting for her to reply, he went on seriously, ‘Louise Hay, she claims lung problems are associated with grief.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘What are you grieving for, Connie?’

  Taken aback, she tried to smile. ‘Don’t know what you’re on about. Why would I be grieving?’

  Neil shrugged. ‘I’m still not getting the whole story.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You should know by now, you can’t keep secrets from Uncle Neil. Not for ever, anyway.’

  Connie didn’t know what to say. But before she had a chance to offer yet another denial, he threw up his hands in horror. ‘You don’t think you got this lurgy because of our swim, do you? It was bloody freezing that morning.’

  She laughed, on safer ground now. ‘Of course not. Cold swims are supposed to boost your immune system.’ She took a sip of tea, which, like everything else these days, tasted rancid and bitter. ‘It’ll be something I picked up from the trains.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Neil was eyeing her. ‘So you’re not going to tell me?’

  She heard the front door open. ‘Nothing to tell,’ she said softly, before rising to get her husband a cup for his tea.

  Later, when she was alone, she thought about what Neil had said. Am I grieving? Sex with anyone, even Jared, was the last thing currently on her mind, but she was forced to acknowledge that it was a loss. She had gone to a place with him where she’d never been before. Knowing she would never go there again was a grief she was not allowed, but that did not make it any less real.