The Affair

by Hilary Boyd

  She had brought Caitlin to this beach during numerous summers when she was small, brought little Bash once too. They’d both loved the donkey rides, splashing in the shallows, the ice cream melting down the cones and plopping onto the sand. That, she knew, would be another agonizing fallout from what she must say to Devan in the morning. Caitlin was kind, but she was also uncompromising. Connie cringed at the impact her announcement would unleash. Her daughter would never look at her in the same light again.

  It had begun to rain. But her cheeks were wet with tears anyway. The unthinking recklessness of what she had done with Jared was like a knife twisting in her gut.

  By the time Connie got back into the car, she was bone-frozen and soaked. She turned on the engine and waited for the heater to kick in and warm her numb fingers. Catching sight of herself in the rear-view mirror, she almost cried out in fright. Her damp skin was the colour of clay, her hair plastered to her skull, tendrils wrapping her face like seaweed, her normally light grey eyes so dark and crazed she looked almost inhuman.

  For a mad moment she thought she might just keep driving, not go home at all. Escape Devan’s pain – which felt like a real, palpable thing, throbbing in her hands, despite his not yet being aware of it. But there was no escape. She turned the car around and headed for home.

  The house was silent and empty. Riley stirred when she walked into the kitchen, then dropped back to sleep. Connie was relieved Devan was not back – there was no way she could face him tonight, not in the state she was in. She plodded upstairs and ripped off her damp clothes, standing under a hot shower until she felt warm again, at least on the outside. Then she huddled under the duvet in her pyjamas, body scrunched up, mind whirring, agonizingly alert for her husband’s key in the door.

  The next thing she knew, Devan was climbing quietly into bed beside her. She’d been in a deep, numbed sleep and for a second she forgot the situation she was in, automatically turning to snuggle into his arms.

  ‘Good film?’ she muttered sleepily.

  ‘Fantastic,’ he replied, putting his arm round her and drawing her closer.

  Then she woke properly and reality hit. She stiffened, sat up, accidentally knocking her husband’s face with her elbow in her haste. She heard Devan’s exclamation, then words began pouring, uncontrolled, from her mouth in the dark bedroom, as if disgorged from another person’s throat. The sentences were sharp, staccato bursts, fired with unrelenting clarity. There could be no doubt about what she was saying.

  When she had finished there was dead silence. Then the rustle of Devan sitting up, turning on the bedside light. The sudden illumination made her cower and hide her face.

  ‘What did you just say?’ Devan’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  Steeling herself, she turned to him. His dark eyes looked bewildered. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, almost laughing at the gross inadequacy of her words. Her husband was still staring blankly at her. She wondered if he had really grasped what she’d said. But she wasn’t going to repeat it. She waited, hugging her bent knees, her body trembling. She wanted to get up, to move around and dispel the shaking in her limbs. But she felt anchored beside Devan, like a child to an angry parent.

  ‘Christ,’ Devan said, his voice low.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated vainly.

  ‘Wait. Let me get this clear.’ His tone had hardened. ‘You’ve been having an affair with Jed … all summer.’

  She didn’t respond. There was nothing more she could add.

  He wrenched her round to face him. Now, his eyes were blazing. ‘You and Jed had sex? You fucked him?’

  Devan seldom used that word. Connie winced to hear it on his lips.

  ‘Why? Why would you do something like that?’

  He was gripping her arms, his head inches from hers. She tried not to flinch, tried to be steady in face of his fury.

  ‘Tell me, Connie. For God’s sake, tell me.’ He shook her, a short, sharp jerk like she’d give a wet sheet. She was limp in his grasp.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Nothing I can say excuses what happened.’

  His grip slackened, but his voice was as cold as steel. ‘I want to know why. Tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t … Our marriage was in a mess … but I honestly never intended it to happen.’ She knew she sounded weak and unconvincing.

  He sneered, letting his hands fall. ‘He was just so irresistible?’

  ‘I can’t explain, Devan.’

  Her husband jumped out of bed and stood in his T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, glaring down at her with a stunned look on his face. She saw tears in his eyes. He put up a hand and wiped them away with his fingers. ‘Maybe things weren’t so great between us but God, Connie, I don’t understand how you could go that far.’

  She couldn’t repeat ‘sorry’ again, so she gritted her teeth and stayed silent.

  Devan began to pace, shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘So fucking him in some Italian hotel room wasn’t enough? You had to install him in our village, let me become friends with him? All these weeks … Jesus!’ He swung away from her, shoulders slumped.

  Connie jumped out of bed. ‘No, Devan. No, it’s not like that.’ She was desperate to make him understand. ‘I finished it in Scotland. Told him I never wanted to see him again. I thought he’d accepted that.’ She swallowed her own tears. ‘But then he arrived in the village, completely and utterly off his own bat.’ She realized, as she spoke, how improbable it sounded.

  ‘Right.’ He gave a harsh, cynical snort. ‘Seriously, Connie? And I’m supposed to believe that? More like you thought you’d have your cake and eat it. Slip round the corner for a fuck whenever the fancy took you.’

  ‘I promise you, we are absolutely not having sex any more,’ she said wearily. ‘The only time I’ve seen him alone was to beg him to leave. But I told you, he’s deluded … a stalker.’

  Devan’s face sank into his hands and there was a painful silence in the bedroom. Connie tried to catch her breath.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she heard him mutter. Then his head shot up. ‘Who else knows?’

  She hesitated. Why humiliate him further? But there’d been enough deception. ‘Jed told Brooks when he was drunk.’

  ‘Neil and Brooks. Who else?’ he demanded.

  ‘Lynne.’

  Devan threw back his head and let out a harsh snort. ‘Ooh, I bet she just loved that. Me, getting my comeuppance at last.’

  ‘Actually, she was shocked. And disapproving.’

  Devan raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Who else?’

  ‘No one.’ Which Connie hoped was the truth.

  He gave a shaky sigh, began to pace at the bottom of the bed, arms firmly crossed, head bent. She had no idea what would happen next. She felt oddly helpless, her life suspended. All she seemed to have done was swap one man’s power over her for another’s. She was finally free from Jared’s threat of exposure, but now it was in Devan’s hands as to whether or not their marriage survived. He could just walk away. Was she relieved she’d told him? She’d finally expunged her tormenting secret, certainly. But her husband’s pain was excruciating. As she watched the dying embers of her marriage, she felt nothing but overwhelming regret. She wanted to tell Devan how much she loved him. But she knew he would laugh in her face.

  Devan’s expression was blank with devastation, his mouth set in a grim line. She waited for the next barrage, her body rigid. But he said nothing, just began to get dressed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, suddenly fearful that he might be intending to confront Jared. Her husband was not a violent man. As far as she knew, he had never raised a fist to anyone. But these were exceptional circumstances: he might do something he’d later regret.

  Devan didn’t reply, just bent to tie the laces on his trainers.

  ‘Devan?’

  ‘I don’t know where I’m going,’ he said, his voice hoarse and breaking. ‘I don’t know
what the hell I’m doing any more.’

  She raced to block his path to the door, putting her hands on his chest. ‘Please, don’t go. We have to talk, sort something out.’

  ‘Worried I might be going to beat up your creepy toy-boy?’ His eyes were contemptuous as he pushed her aside and was gone.

  25

  It was the longest night of Connie’s life. Devan had taken the car, but she had no idea where he’d gone. She sat in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea, wrapped in a thick cardigan and a scarf, but still numb with cold. She was desperate to talk to someone – Neil? Lynne? – and let out the misery that was choking her. But it was two in the morning. She cried softly to herself, on and on until there were no more tears, and then she finally dragged herself up to bed. But she knew she wouldn’t sleep, and she did not.

  Around six thirty, she heard the purr of the kettle, the clink of china, the slam of a cupboard door. She struggled from her bed, aching in every limb, and went downstairs, her heart pitching raggedly in her chest. Devan was sitting at the kitchen table, fingers looped through the handle of his coffee mug, staring vacantly into space. His face was gaunt and pale, dark smudges beneath his eyes. Riley rested his tan muzzle on his thigh, as if sensing his distress, Devan’s free hand absentmindedly stroking his wiry coat. Both looked up as Connie came into the room. Riley wagged his tail but did not leave Devan’s side. Her husband’s stare barely changed.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, not knowing what else to say to break the heavy silence.

  ‘Nowhere.’

  She went over to the cupboard and took out a mug for herself, poured coffee from the cafetière on the table. Then she sat down opposite him. She longed to reach out, to touch his hand, but she didn’t dare. It was still dark outside, only the first faint glimmer of dawn in the sky. The kitchen felt close, the air stagnant. Connie wanted to open a window, but she didn’t move.

  His eyes were on her. ‘Tell me about the sex,’ he said, a brittle edge to his voice.

  ‘Devan …’

  He sat up straighter. ‘Don’t evade the question again, Connie. I need to know what was so bloody special that you’d go to these lengths – break up a lifelong marriage, humiliate me, destroy –’ He gulped noisily and didn’t finish the sentence.

  She inwardly recoiled. ‘I’m not going to,’ she said flatly.

  He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘I see. That good, eh?’

  To her horror, she found herself blushing. Hot, shameful waves of guilt pulsing across her cheeks. But her eyes seemed glued to Devan’s. Looking into them, he could surely see her naked body, Jared’s, too, hear her cries, feel the sweat, the lust, the tangled sheets, like the playing out of a tawdry porn movie.

  He jumped to his feet. ‘Christ, Connie. You make me sick.’ Picking up his coffee mug, he hurled it at the wall – on which was hanging a framed photograph of them both, kissing in front of the extraordinary façade of Gaudí’s Sagrada Família in Barcelona. She remembered asking a couple of backpacking Japanese teenagers to take the picture. The mug shattered. Coffee sprayed on the white walls. The photograph wobbled but was unharmed.

  Devan was breathing hard. He looked as shocked by what he had done as Connie did. Neither spoke as they regarded the mess.

  He turned tearful eyes to meet hers.

  ‘I rang Neil last night.’

  She waited.

  ‘He said not to be too harsh on you. It was just a stupid mistake – a low point in our marriage and you were vulnerable.’ He gave a sardonic laugh, then levelled his gaze at her. ‘Are you in love with him?’ His tone grated on her strung-out nerves.

  Connie shook her head firmly. Love has never come into it, she thought. Obsession, yes. Intense, inexplicable lust, definitely. But never love – not for either of them, she had been sure, until that night she’d collapsed and, blinded by fever, reached out to Jared … incomprehensibly altering the story for him.

  Yet, in Devan’s eyes, falling in love might be a more plausible excuse for her unfaithfulness. Casual carnal lust seemed almost obscene at her age. Although maybe her age had made her more susceptible. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I was never in love with Jared. Not for a single minute.’

  Her husband’s raised eyebrow told Connie he didn’t believe her. But she stared him down.

  ‘Doesn’t change much,’ he said sullenly, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘God. My wife and my new friend …’ He held his linked hands to the back of his head and pulled his head down, letting out an anguished moan. ‘Go away, Connie,’ he said, with weary bitterness. ‘Just go away. I can’t stand the sight of you.’

  Connie’s phone, left on the table last night, suddenly pinged with a text. Devan snatched it up. ‘Oh dear. Our beloved daughter.’ He thrust it at her with a look of cruel self-satisfaction. ‘Over to you.’ Up at six thirty with Bash most days, and knowing her mother rose early, Caitlin often touched base in the mornings.

  She took it but resisted checking the message. If it had been urgent, her daughter would have called. There was nothing she could say to her at this moment, anyway. Her daughter would hate her from now on. Let Devan be the one to break the good news. But both of them seemed rooted to the spot at the stark reminder of the family they loved.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, blinking her dry, scratchy eyes, which had finally run out of tears. But she knew, as she asked the question, what she had to do. It was unimaginable, remaining under the same roof with Devan. Feeling guilty all over again every time she looked into his face, upon which his agonizing hurt and reproach would be writ large for the foreseeable future.

  He was hunched over, arms crossed, standing there like a statue. He had not answered her question.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘It’s not going to work, me being here.’

  His head shot up and, with a spark of ludicrous hope, she thought he might be going to ask her to stay. But he nodded, his eyes blank. ‘I think that’d be for the best.’

  Devan didn’t say any more, just pushed past her and left the room.

  Connie packed a case. She was scarcely aware of what she was doing. Questions were screeching about her brain, like seagulls fighting over a dropped sandwich.

  Where can I go? Neil and Brooks would always take her in. But Neil had his mother for a pre-Christmas week, as he and Brooks were flying to Costa Rica for the holidays. Anyway, it was too close to both Jared and home. Lynne might let her stay for a few nights. But Connie knew it would cause her sister too much stress, disrupting Roddy’s routine with an uninvited guest. Jill and Bill? Bill was Devan’s best friend. Caitlin … She couldn’t think about her daughter.

  Glancing absentmindedly at the pile of neatly folded clothes in the two sections of her wheelie-case, she pushed it aside and slumped onto the bed. Devan had taken Riley out, slamming the front door as if he were shutting it on their marriage. The silence was like a judge on his high bench, pointing a condemnatory finger at Connie, making crystal clear the price she must now pay. Which seemed painfully high.

  Was she really packing a bag to leave behind her life and everyone who meant anything to her? She felt helpless. She refused to believe this would be the end of her marriage – surely that wasn’t possible – but she knew now was not the time to fight for it. Devan needed space and she would give it to him. Although all she wanted to do was shove the suitcase onto the floor and climb into bed, go to sleep and pretend none of the events of the last twelve hours – the last seven months, indeed – had ever taken place. Wake to find everything the same as before that first treacherous kiss.

  Flopping back on the duvet, she closed her eyes. Where is Jared? She’d told him she planned to tell Devan, but she might well have changed her mind, for all he knew. What will he do when he finds out his cover is blown? She shuddered at what a confrontation with her husband might look like. He can’t know where I’ve gone. Then she gave a sad laugh. She didn’t know where she was going either. Or for how long.

  Exh
austed, Connie slept, lying on her back and waking to a wrenching cramp in her stomach. Glancing at the bedside clock, she realized she’d been asleep for nearly an hour. Rain was pounding the windows and the bedroom was chilly. She dragged herself to her feet in a daze and reluctantly zipped her case shut.

  I’ll drive to a hotel for the night, somewhere I can rest, take stock. Then she remembered, with a jolt, that they had only the one car. Her trusty, rusting Fiat 500 had died a death two years before and they hadn’t bothered to replace it, as her current job meant she didn’t need to drive to an office every day. She could hardly add to Devan’s indignities by leaving him stranded in the village, with only an hourly bus for transport. She reached for her mobile, hidden in the folds of the duvet, then put it down again, thought for another couple of minutes, finally lifting it and punching in a number.

  ‘What’s happening, darling?’ Neil’s voice was full of concern. ‘Devan was off his head last night.’

  ‘He still is,’ she said grimly. ‘Listen, could you drive me to Weston?’ Connie was surprised at how matter-of-fact she sounded.

  ‘Weston? Why? Where are you going?’ Neil asked.

  ‘London,’ she said. ‘I can’t ask Devan.’

  ‘Where are you going to in London?’

  ‘Umm, a friend.’

  There was silence. ‘A friend? Which friend, Connie?’ Pause. ‘I don’t like the sound of this. Where are you really going? You’re not running off with him, are you?’

  Connie gave a tired snort. ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘I just need to get away from here, Neil. I don’t have a car, so I thought I’d be better somewhere I don’t need one.’

  ‘So, who’s the friend?’ he repeated stubbornly.

  ‘Tessa. Not sure you know her. We were at school together. She lives in Hampstead.’ The name sprang to Connie’s lips almost involuntarily under the pressure of Neil’s questioning. She’d barely spoken to her friend in the last ten years, beyond a sporadic exchange of emails. But Tessa’s husband, Martin, had died in March and she’d gone to his funeral. Tessa had been in touch since, begged Connie to come and stay, saying how much she hated the empty house. For all Connie knew, of course, she was currently visiting her daughter in Hawaii, or had a houseful of other strays.