The Affair

by Hilary Boyd

  Wandering about the sitting room, turning everything off, she made the decision to have a hot bath in Tessa’s bathroom and sleep in her friend’s bed – she was sure she wouldn’t mind. She hoped Monty might choose to join her, as he often did Tessa, apparently, now Martin was no longer around to object. She felt in need of even the smallest comfort.

  As she went to check the front door again – even though she knew for certain she had locked it tight earlier – her eye caught Jared’s bag, scrunched against the hall wall where she must have trodden on it in her haste to slam the door. She stood eyeing it for a moment, then reached down and picked it up, holding it at arm’s length as if it were a grenade about to detonate. But she was curious.

  The parcel inside the bag was wrapped neatly in blue tissue paper and tied with a silver ribbon. The gift card had only two words written on it: ‘Love, Jared’, then three kisses. Connie’s hand quivered as she gingerly pulled open the paper. What she found inside was a green woolly hat and a pair of brown leather gloves. Not hers. These were new, the labels still attached. But almost identical.

  30

  Connie awoke early on Christmas morning. In a strange bed and an unfamiliar room, having slept the sleep of the dead for a few short hours, her head spun as memories of the previous evening swarmed back into her consciousness. Jared’s present had brought both relief and absolute fury.

  Her sense of relief came from knowing she wasn’t, after all, insane. She was now one hundred per cent certain it had been him on the hill that day. That he had also stolen her hat and gloves from the bookshop, slipped the ravioli into her basket. He had to have been watching the house, to know that she was alone. He must have been constantly watching her …

  The fury came from the way he’d gaslighted her, lying so convincingly at every turn. Because now the deceptions all came back to her: claiming to have overheard Connie’s name in the queue for the Doge’s Palace, his friend with the crumbling palazzo, the supposed meeting in Milan. Then there was Kraków and the night she’d thought she saw him pass by the table where she was having supper with the two Norfolk teachers. He’d said then, too, that it couldn’t have been him: he’d flown in just an hour ago. Not to mention the man who’d lost his car keys at the food fair, stopping to chat to Jill as she changed out of her boots … Fiona Raven’s book launch …

  As she’d stood stock still in the hall the previous night, staring at the green hat and gloves still lying on the tissue paper, the last of the scales now incontrovertibly torn from her eyes, Connie kept asking herself why she hadn’t seen through him, questioned his behaviour, right from the beginning. Lynne and Neil had spelled it out. Just the way he’d turned up on her tours like that, always knew the number of her hotel room, was bizarre, by anyone’s standards.

  I wasn’t looking, she thought. I was enjoying it too much, carried away by the game … until he’d arrived on her patch, where he’d fooled everyone else, too, of course. It confused her. The delusions he had about loving her were obviously acute – and crazy – but presented in such a reasonable way that she’d continued to think he might see sense, if she could only find the right words. But it was as if she were speaking Chinese to an Inuit. He simply didn’t understand. Added to which, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would have such an obsessive crush on her. Especially not at her age.

  She’d eventually hauled herself out of Tessa’s deep Victorian bath last night, dried herself and climbed into her pyjamas. The one person she ached to talk to was Devan. Without him, the hole in her life was bottomless. She’d always turned to him when there was a problem, enjoying his unquestioned support, the effortless back and forth of a marriage, without fully appreciating – till she lost it – how vital, how intrinsic it was to her life. In any other circumstances, she could imagine how they might now sit and dissect Jared’s behaviour. Make sense of it … together.

  She’d reached for her mobile on the bedside table. I will call him, she decided. But as her finger hovered over his contact details, she saw the time on the screen: it was the middle of the night. Devan would be fast asleep, full of delicious samosas and too much champagne, cosy in Caitlin’s comfortable spare bed – where Connie had languished with that horrible chest infection in the summer. On Christmas morning, he’d be woken by little Bash and his cheeky grin, who’d climb in with his grandpa, all sleepy and warm and completely adorable.

  Connie had put her phone down, too tired even to acknowledge the searing ache around her heart.

  Now, she lay listening to the silence. No one was out and about at this time on Christmas Day. Even the persistent traffic hum from the hill had stilled. She wondered what on earth she could do with her day. There was a service at the Unitarian church at eleven. It was a bright morning: perhaps she could walk on the Heath. There was the Finemans’ kind offer of lunch, or the chicken and leek pie if she stayed in. All of which were things she might enjoy. None of which she felt she could. So, she rolled over and gradually fell back into a fitful sleep.

  She was woken by her mobile blasting from the bedside table. Snatching it up, her heart pumping from the shock of being pulled abruptly from sleep, she prayed it was the family. But Neil’s cheerful voice was wishing her a happy Christmas.

  ‘This place is so bloody gorgeous, darling,’ he went on. ‘We’ve done rainforests and turtles on the beach and hanging bridges and howler monkeys … you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Sounds amazing.’ Connie couldn’t help laughing at his childlike enthusiasm.

  After a further excitable exposition of the wonders of Costa Rica, Neil’s voice sobered. ‘How’s it going with you? Do I smell the toxic whiff of Brussels sprouts across the airwaves?’

  ‘Afraid not. Tessa’s up in Scotland with her daughter. It’s just me.’

  She heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘You’re all alone?’

  ‘It’s fine. Tessa’s neighbours have asked me over for lunch. And it’s a lovely day. I’ll do a Heath walk, and there’s a service …’ She thought she sounded admirably convincing as she lied her way through her reply. But Neil wasn’t fooled.

  ‘Hmm. So what are you really doing?’

  She tried to maintain her composure, keeping her tone light. ‘I’m lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, if you must know.’

  ‘Bummer. I wish you were here. We’d cheer you up.’ There was a pause. ‘Any word from the old homestead?’

  ‘Caty tried to call, but I missed her. Ash phoned, bless him. They’re all OK, but clearly still avoiding me like the plague.’

  ‘Cruel.’

  ‘Listen, it’s lovely to hear your voice, Neil, but don’t worry about me. I’m surviving. You and Brooks have a great day. Let’s talk soon.’ She wanted him off the phone. Crying pathetically from three thousand miles away on Christmas morning was not a fair thing to do to a dear friend.

  Neil said a reluctant goodbye and Connie hurled her phone down onto the duvet, the tears that had threatened while they were talking evaporating in a blast of irritation at her own maudlin self-pity. She forced herself out of bed and into a hot shower.

  Washing her hair, rubbing her skin with the ginger and mandarin moisturizer she’d found in the bathroom and dressing in a clean jumper and jeans, she applied a quick smudge of foundation, a smear of lip balm over her dry lips and began to feel more human.

  She went downstairs and made herself a treacly cup of coffee with some scary-looking full-strength Panamanian beans she found in the cupboard. With no real idea as to when she had last eaten, she knew she should make something. But she wasn’t hungry, the thought, even of toast, knotting her stomach. She wondered what she should do now, as she sat at the kitchen table in the silence, hands circling her mug as the buzz of caffeine kicked in.

  The clock, ticking so slowly it seemed like a fortnight between each tock, drew near to one o’clock. She was apprehensive about Melanie making another pitch to get her over for lunch. But the hour passed: no one knocked.

  It was the sun shini
ng in the bright blue winter sky – glimpsed through the window – that finally overrode her lethargy. It would be getting dark in a couple of hours, and then she’d be trapped inside for another long, lonely night with only Monty for company.

  Wrapped in her coat and Tessa’s beret – Jared’s hat and gloves returned to the paper bag for delivery to the charity shop on the hill as soon as it opened again – she set off towards Hampstead Heath.

  The air was sparkling with frost, the Heath crowded, families out taking advantage of the beautiful day. Connie walked quickly, keen to avoid the glances of people she passed on the wide paths round the ponds. She wanted them to think she was on her way to a gathering of some sort, not a lonely woman trying somehow to fill the day. Not that they were thinking about her at all, she was well aware. But she felt self-conscious, nonetheless. A woman surrounded all her life by friends and family, never giving much thought to what it would be like to be one of those who didn’t have her privileges, suddenly cast adrift. I will never take anything for granted again, she promised herself, as she turned onto the path that would lead her home again.

  She was also wary of catching a glimpse of Jared’s face in the Christmas crowd. She could tell herself until she was blue in the face that he’d gone, that he was out of her life, but checking for his presence had become like a tic, a habit of which she was barely conscious. But at least she was out. No panic attacks on the doorstep today. Which was progress. If you’re watching me, she thought defiantly, then good luck to you. You’ll never get what you want.

  What remained of Connie’s day had been spent curled up on the sofa, gazing blankly at the gas flames, the book she’d bought open, but unread, a plate of olives and salami merely nibbled at. It was nearing ten now. Connie had wondered all day if she should try to phone the family. But, although her finger hovered frequently over Caitlin’s number, she never made the call. She didn’t want to be the cause of tension, possibly triggering more rants from Devan that would upset their day. Or face the disappointment of another voicemail and unreturned call. She’d hoped her daughter might ring again, but it was getting late now, and she knew she would be exhausted – Bash no doubt having woken them all at five, or earlier.

  She’d received a text from Tessa, a short call from Lynne, a voicemail from Jill – because she hadn’t picked up when she saw her friend’s name on the screen. Every time, the sound of her phone had made her heart soar with hope – only for it to be instantly dashed. Now, when her mobile rang, she reached for it almost laconically.

  ‘Mum?’ Caitlin’s voice was pitched low.

  Connie, hardly able to believe it was her daughter after nearly three long weeks of praying, gasped her reply. ‘Oh, darling … hello. Hello.’

  ‘Listen, Dad’s next door, so I can’t talk too loudly …’ she paused ‘… but I just wanted to say hi.’ Another pause. ‘We’re all missing you dreadfully. It’s been horrible without you.’

  ‘God, I’m missing you too, darling. I can’t begin to tell you how much.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘How are you? How’s Bash?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s fine, we’re all surviving. It’s been weird, though. Dad’s in bits. Clingy and miserable … Angry, obviously.’ Connie heard her sigh. ‘He sort of assumes I’ll take his side, which is exhausting. I’ll be glad when it’s all over, to be honest.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This is all my fault.’

  ‘Let’s not get into that now, Mum. I’m over it. Family’s too important … I’ve had trouble getting my head around the whole thing, which is why I haven’t rung before … I just didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to hear the details. Which was mean, I know, and I’m sorry.’ Connie heard Caitlin take a deep breath. ‘Anyway, enough’s enough. We have to find a way to get Dad back onside in the new year. I’m not going through another Christmas like this one. Ever.’

  Connie held her breath, overjoyed at her daughter’s words. ‘Do you think he might come round?’

  ‘All I know is that he’s totally lost without you. I mean, what’s he going to do? Be stubborn and stay on his own for the rest of his life because he won’t forgive you one lapse? After God knows how many years of marriage?’

  ‘I really hurt him.’

  Her daughter fell silent. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But you’ve apologized. We have to move on.’ Her tone was tough, unequivocal, as only Caitlin could be.

  ‘I love you so much …’ Connie couldn’t hold her tears a moment longer.

  ‘Love you, too, Mum. Don’t cry … please. You’ll set me off.’

  Connie felt Caitlin’s love threading the silence that followed, like a warm hug. Her heart ached with the joy of it.

  After they’d said their goodbyes – Caitlin promising to be in touch as soon as they were back from Manchester – Connie cradled the phone in her hand, in a daze. Hope, she realized, was the most agonizing thing. It was as if she’d been singeing her skin over a naked flame, hoping to speak to her beloved daughter. Now she felt weak with relief. And suddenly starving hungry.

  The pie was delicious. Connie ate as if she hadn’t for a month. She polished off the olives, the salami, gulped down the remains of the wine. Still not satisfied, she dug out crackers from one of Tessa’s tins and layered them with some Kentish goat’s cheese she found in the fridge. Finally, she sat back, replete.

  It’s going to be all right, she told herself, channelling her daughter’s resolve. But having Caitlin and Ash onside was only half the battle. Facing Devan … She had no illusions on that score. Trust, which she’d always taken so much for granted in their marriage, had been blown out of the water. It might be a long, long time before Jared no longer cast his shadow.

  31

  Holding little Bash in her arms was heaven. Connie closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar smell. But the hug she valued above all others was Caitlin’s. It was fierce and protective, and like a long, cool drink in a burning desert. The two women clung to each other for a full minute.

  She had briefly embraced Ash, too, whose eyes were full of sympathy as he grabbed his leather satchel and left the two of them together. Now they were on the sofa, both clutching mugs of tea, Bash’s small chubby hand resting on Connie’s knee, showing her a wind-up robot he’d got for Christmas and telling her a long and garbled tale about Robot Man’s adventures. She listened with half an ear, stroking his silky hair, her main focus on what her daughter was saying.

  ‘Go on, text him again, Mum. Just say you really, really need to talk now. Me and Ash have been working on him over Christmas.’

  ‘I can try. But you wouldn’t believe the mountain of emails, texts and messages I’ve sent – all to no avail. I’m not sure he even reads them.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m always the one labelled “stubborn” in the family, but your dad takes prizes.’

  Caitlin smiled. ‘Tell me about it. But he’s had time to think.’ Frowning, she added, ‘You guys were the envy of my friends at school, you know. Sam’s dad drank, Amelia’s parents split up horribly, Maddie’s mum worked in Brussels all week … I was almost embarrassed to have such solid parents who didn’t fight and were always around.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Just text him, Mum. Don’t over-think things. It’s Dad you’re talking about. You love each other, remember?’

  Connie could detect a slight note of impatience in Caitlin’s voice. Her parents behaving like teenagers – especially after such an apparently exemplary past – was obviously taking its toll.

  ‘You could do it now,’ Caitlin was suggesting, holding her hand out for Connie’s mug. ‘I’ll make a fresh brew.’

  It was more of an instruction than a suggestion, and she did not argue.

  Caitlin was right. Devan took only an hour to respond to the message she sent this time. I’ll ring this evening, he wrote. Terse, but finally a communication. Connie was both relieved and heart-thumpingly nervous as she showed the text to her daughter.

  ‘You see?’ Caitlin was triumphant and, Connie thought, also very rel
ieved.

  But no amount of reassurance from her daughter made her feel confident about the impending exchange with her husband.

  That evening Connie sat in the Hampstead house, waiting with a mixture of longing and dread. In the end, though, the call was a bit of a damp squib.

  ‘Please, can we meet?’ she asked, after a subdued greeting from her husband. ‘We really need to talk.’ She could hear the pleading in her voice, but she had put it there deliberately. He had to know how much she wanted to see him.

  Devan made her wait for what seemed like a lifetime before he replied. ‘I suppose we should.’

  Connie made no attempt to hide her joy. ‘Great, that’s great. Thank you. Where would be good?’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m coming up to see the family at the weekend,’ he said eventually, sounding as if the words were being pulled from him like teeth.

  Connie bit her lip and took a slow breath. His use of the word ‘family’ was carefully chosen to exclude her, she was well aware. He didn’t know that her daughter had purposely arranged for him to be in London … Don’t react, she warned herself, and used a deliberately lighter tone as she replied.

  ‘We could meet in a café? Or you could come to Tessa’s? She’s not back till Monday, now. It might be a better place to talk.’ Tessa had rung to say she was staying in Scotland another few days. In fact, she sounded to Connie as if she were reluctant to come back at all.

  ‘OK,’ he said eventually. And Connie let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. Whatever transpired between them, anything was better than stalemate.