by Hilary Boyd
Devan looked both strange and endlessly familiar as he stood on the doorstep at Tessa’s house. He was thinner, Connie thought, and seemed older than she remembered, his eyes wary as he greeted her. They didn’t kiss or touch each other in any way, just nodded their hellos. He brushed past her as she held open the door and waited silently in the hall.
‘Give me your coat,’ Connie said, her heart going out to him because he seemed so lost.
She had bought another pie from the deli for lunch, serving it with potatoes and buttered cabbage – Devan loved cabbage – and a good bottle of red wine. The pie was warming, the potatoes boiling, but it would be another fifteen minutes before the meal was ready. Her body was strung tight with nerves – she needed a drink to ease the awkwardness. She waved the Rioja at Devan, her eyebrows raised in question. He nodded his assent and she brought out two glasses, pouring for them both.
‘Let’s sit by the fire,’ she said, taking the armchair and leaving Devan the sofa. ‘That’s Monty, by the way. Just push him over. I’ve been looking after him for Tessa and we’ve become firm friends.’ She heard herself being bright and polite and swallowed any more niceties.
He sat down with a heavy sigh, cradling his glass in one hand, not looking at her as he stroked Monty absentmindedly, nudging him onto the other cushion.
Feeling on the back foot, the one who had sinned and therefore had no agency over the proceedings, Connie waited for her husband to speak. But he just sat there, staring into the fire. ‘Devan?’ she said, already overwrought by the encounter she’d been dreading and dying for in equal measure for three days now. She steadied her breath. ‘I’ve really missed you,’ she said quietly.
He looked up, his expression not as hostile as she’d feared. For a moment he didn’t reply, just stared at her. Then he said, equally softly, ‘I’ve missed you too.’
Connie wanted to cry. She hadn’t expected that. She’d been bracing herself for something altogether more bitter and reproachful. A flood of apologies sat on the tip of her tongue but she held back, knowing the pointlessness of just repeating what she’d said so often before.
‘I’ve been trying to work out if I deserved it.’ Devan spoke into the silence. ‘I know things weren’t great between us these last two years. But was there something else, further back? Something I did that you never mentioned?’
‘Of course not,’ she said quickly, surprised he should ask.
‘So … if not, why did you think it was OK to behave in that way … destroy all we had together, so carelessly?’ His frown was bewildered. ‘It was just a bad patch, Connie. Most marriages have them at some point.’
She couldn’t look at him. His reasoning, although not the whole story, was painfully valid.
‘Please tell me,’ he went on, when she didn’t immediately answer. ‘I need to understand.’
Connie sighed. Then, selecting her words warily, she did her best. ‘Why does anyone have an affair, Devan? I can’t explain without sounding like I’m excusing my actions, which I’m not. But, as you said, we were in a mess at the time. I suppose I felt detached from you, upset at how you were treating me … and flattered that someone else found me attractive.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘Those tours are like a bubble, not real life.’ She stopped. If she told him the real truth, told him how intensely she had desired Jared, she would hurt him beyond repair.
‘You know …’ Devan seemed to be thinking out loud ‘… I almost get how you could be lured into bed once. Almost. A drunken night, a foreign hotel room, some creep coming on strong, flattering you. And, if so, I need never have known.’ He put his glass down and got up, walking towards the fireplace where he leaned on the mantelpiece with both hands, staring down into the flames. Then he turned to her again. ‘But more than once, Connie?’ His eyes were black with distress as he threw his hands into the air. ‘I feel like the biggest fool on the planet. Dr Mac, the highly respected village doctor for three decades, just a pathetic cuckold.’ He appeared to shiver at the thought.
‘Nobody thinks you’re a fool, Devan. Anyway, it’s none of their business.’ She sounded more sanguine than she felt about the village gossip mill. And his sceptical glance showed he wasn’t taken in. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she could say that would change things for him. His next words, delivered in a dull monotone, made it perfectly clear.
‘You still haven’t told me about the sex.’
‘Don’t,’ she said, lowering her face from his anguished gaze.
But, like a dog with a bone, he wasn’t about to let it go. Standing uncertainly now, his palms rubbing up and down the sides of his jeans, he looked like a small boy. ‘Please, Connie. I need to know … I can’t move on … It’s driving me mad.’
Her face was already flushed from the wine, so any blush would barely have shown. But she did not blush. Being reminded of those nights now was like watching a movie starring another woman. She was no longer remotely aroused by the memory. She sighed.
He waited dumbly, crossing his arms as if bracing himself for the blow.
‘OK, if you insist.’ She hesitated, cringing with reluctance. But however badly it turned out, she had to carry on or the question would keep being regurgitated, like kippers for breakfast. ‘It was … exciting, I admit. It was secret. You and I hadn’t made love for years. He made me feel sexy again.’ Her sentences were bald. There was no hint in her voice of the trembling desire that had existed between her and her lover.
Devan’s face remained shuttered and still. As if he were expecting more. As if what she’d said was not painful enough. Her answer was, indeed, unsatisfactory, merely stating the obvious. He must already have worked this out for himself, she thought. And any further revelations were out of the question. She wished she knew how to help him, wished she could soothe his painful obsession somehow. But she was as much of a novice as he when it came to mending such a dire betrayal of trust.
Before he had a chance to insist on more, she continued, ‘Jared’s still stalking me. I know you don’t believe I had nothing to do with him appearing in the village, but he’s followed me here too. Or found me, I don’t know which. He stole my hat and gloves, sneaked ravioli into my shopping, dropped by on Christmas Eve …’ Connie hadn’t meant to tell him about Jared’s visit, fearing that it would only inflame things further. The words just slipped out in her desperation to divert him from the issue of sex.
Devan was clearly confused. ‘Ravioli? What are you talking about, Connie? Wait … you say he’s been here? In this house?’ His eyes widened. ‘You let him in?’
‘No, of course not.’ Noting the instant suspicion in his eyes, she gave a brief account of what had happened.
‘Christ, why did you indulge him, even on the doorstep?’ he said, when she’d finished. ‘It’s like you feel sorry for the creep.’ His voice was dull with anger. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t called the police. The bastard should be fucking arrested.’
Connie was aware of a hissing coming from the kitchen and got up. The potatoes were boiling over, the starchy water pooling around the burners. She turned the heat down. Looking at Devan, she said, ‘And say what? That someone I know is hanging about, buying me gloves and ravioli?’
‘He doesn’t have to do those things stalkers usually do – like constant messaging or damaging property or violence – with the new stalking laws. Believe me, Connie, I’ve checked it out. Even just following someone, watching them, if they do it persistently and you don’t like it, is against the law and could end in a fine or a jail sentence, certainly a restraining order.’ He frowned at her. ‘Why won’t you do anything to stop him?’
She hesitated, wondering if Devan was right. ‘It’s not that I’m dragging my feet. It’s just … well, I’d feel idiotic trying to explain to the police. What he does is so nebulous, so hard to pin down. He moves in near us, but everyone likes him, welcomes him. You like him. Where’s the proof that he’s stalking? He might have just liked our village – plenty d
o. There are no texts or anything concrete. The ravioli could be interpreted in lots of ways. You know how plausible, how polite Jared is … and so far he hasn’t harmed me … not physically, anyway. Although he seemed pretty crazy the other night.’
Devan was back on the sofa. He looked at her with sudden concern. ‘Thank God you didn’t let him in,’ he said.
She nodded, grateful for the sign that he still cared about her safety. The atmosphere between them had changed. They were, temporarily at least, on the same side.
‘Where is he now?’
‘I’ve no idea. And I have no idea how he found me here. His godmother lives on the other side of the Heath, but unless he just happened to spot me … I don’t know, Devan, he’s like a phantom. Comes and goes at will. And every time I talk to him, I fool myself that this time I’ve found a way to convince him.’
Devan frowned. ‘You think he might be out there right now, watching you?’
‘No … Well, I don’t know. Maybe …’ As she spoke she felt the accumulative tension from Jared’s relentless, sinister presence hit her, like a truck. Clutching the bottle from which she’d been about to fill Devan’s glass, she began to cry. The sobs were savage, choking her. She gasped for breath, the wine sloshing dangerously.
Devan was on his feet in an instant, prising the bottle from her clenched fist and pulling her instinctively into a strong embrace. She had the chance to catch his familiar scent, feel his arms around her for a painfully lovely second. But the moment was over all too soon and she felt him pull back, as if he’d touched an electric fence. Despair returned. It would have been better if he’d never hugged me at all, she thought. The tantalizing moment of closeness made the rift between them seem all the more unbearable.
During a muted, often silent lunch, they talked about the family, about Christmas. Even the nightmare of recent politics seemed preferable to talking any more about the problem of Jared – to which there was no obvious solution – or opening up about how they were both really feeling. Connie was dying to ask, ‘Where do we go from here? Can you ever forgive me?’ But she didn’t dare, in case his answers were not the ones she wanted to hear. He’s here, she kept telling herself. At least he’s here.
It was getting dark outside, the pie had been eaten, the wine and coffee drunk. She felt exhausted – it would be a relief when her husband left. The pressure of his wretchedness was wearing her down and she had no idea how to alleviate it. Although the day, on the whole, had been so much better than she’d feared.
Devan got up from the table. He looked drained, too. But his manner was edgy suddenly as he stood there, blinking hard, his hands so deep in the pockets of his cords it was as if he wanted to thrust his fists through the cotton.
‘I’d better get going,’ he muttered, then hesitated. His gaze, when he brought it to focus on her, was unreadable. ‘I only came here today because Caty persuaded me to – for the sake of the family. For me, personally, I didn’t know how I could face you.’ He breathed in deeply. ‘But as soon as I saw you, I realized how much I’ve missed you. And that makes me absolutely bloody, fucking furious.’ She watched him snatch a breath, her own heart hammering at his attack. ‘Because I don’t know how to get past all this. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again.’ His voice was heavy with devastation. ‘My beautiful Connie in someone else’s arms … It breaks my heart.’ He took a gasping sob.
Trembling, she got up. Devan was angrily brushing tears from his cheeks with his palms. ‘Devan, please …’ she said softly.
He glared at her, but the light of fury was fading now and she saw only a weary sadness in his eyes. Emboldened, she walked round the table before she’d had time to consider the possible consequences and circled him in her arms. Devan did not respond at first, just stood there, like the solid, unyielding trunk of a tree. He began to cry softly, his head gradually sinking to her shoulder, his arms slowly wrapping round her body. They stood there, two exhausted and traumatized people, clinging together for what seemed like a lifetime. She didn’t feel safe or comforted, though, as she always had in Devan’s embrace. It was as if they represented to each other the upturned hull of a shipwrecked boat – a slim chance of survival. If I let him go, she thought, we might both drown.
‘I hate feeling like this … so much,’ he said, when he finally lifted his head.
‘I hate it too. These have been the worst weeks of my life.’
She waited for a sneering riposte. But Devan merely nodded as they gradually loosened their grip on each other.
Seeing him to the door, watching him slowly buttoning his coat, she held her breath in the hope that he would say something about seeing her again. At the last minute, he turned to her: ‘We can talk on the phone?’
She nodded, gave him a smile. He frowned, then his face cleared and he smiled back. It was a drained smile, but their eyes met. It was the connection she’d been longing for. A kiss or a hug was more than she could expect, but his smile was enough for now.
As soon as the door was closed and locked behind him, Connie flopped down on the sofa and took great gulping breaths, as if for the first time since Devan’s arrival. She felt battered, but there had been some progress, she thought. Worn out, she fell into a numb, bone-weary sleep. It was two sharp beeps of an incoming text that woke her a couple of hours later. Not, as she hoped, from her husband. But Caitlin’s message was almost as good: Seems like things went well with Dad. He’s looking so much better! Talk when he’s gone home tomorrow xxx
32
‘I’m going to miss you,’ Tessa said, as Connie dragged her wheelie-case up the stairs from her bedroom into the hall. ‘You know you’re welcome any time. For a weekend or if you need a bolthole again.’
Connie gave a wry smile. ‘My life’s so bloody bonkers, these days – anything’s possible.’ She hugged her friend tight. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Tess. You’ve been my absolute saviour. I genuinely don’t know where I’d be now without your incredibly generous hospitality.’
Tessa brushed off Connie’s thanks. ‘You did me a huge favour too. I was so dreading the first Christmas without Martin, and your being here in the run-up was the perfect diversion.’
‘Nothing like the McCabe soap opera …’
Tessa’s face fell. ‘Are you and Devan going to be all right?’
Connie shrugged. ‘We’ve been talking a lot. Sometimes it seems almost like old times, and we begin to relax with each other. Then other times, one of us says something, or remembers something, and it’s like the temperature drops by ten degrees. We fall apart.’
Tessa gave her another hug. ‘Well, stick in there. It’ll be worth it in the long run.’
Connie knew she was right. But the effort she and Devan had to make to get back on track seemed sometimes insurmountable. There was a long road ahead on which she knew she would have to tiptoe round her husband’s hurt without a fuss. It was Connie who was on the back foot, and she accepted that. She had apologized so many times it was becoming almost comical. The apologies were heartfelt, but they appeared to be having no effect. Devan seemed to be waiting for her to say something in particular that would finally expunge his anguish. But she knew there was only one thing that might eventually do that: time.
Then one day in mid-January, two weeks after they’d begun talking, Devan had thrown something out, almost casually, at the end of his nightly phone call. ‘You can’t stay at Tessa’s for ever, presumably?’
Connie had known immediately what he was really asking. It was a balancing act, though. She didn’t want to push him. Or seem needy. Part of her was extremely anxious at the thought of going home, having to walk on eggshells, the imbalance his constant hurt would bring to their relationship. There would be village gossip to contend with, as well. But she longed with every bone in her body to be home again. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘She says I can stay as long as I like, but she’s just being kind.’
There was silence. Connie waited.
‘I�
��m thinking of coming up at the weekend,’ Devan said, with the same studied nonchalance. ‘If you think it’s a good idea, I could pick you up on the way back?’
After a moment’s hesitation, Connie said, ‘I’d like that.’
And there it was. No drama. Nothing really said. Nothing conceded. Just a tentative invitation to start again. She found, as she clicked off from Devan’s call, that a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Whatever the problems to come, Devan had shown her that he still loved her. That, despite all that had happened, he wanted her back.
Riley would not leave her side. His frenzied barking and leaping and tail wagging had been the best reception she could have wished for. It broke the ice between her and Devan too – the car journey home being a polite, mostly silent affair – and made them both laugh harder than the situation merited. A welcome release of tension. Connie felt an almost euphoric surge of hope as she rubbed her hand over Riley’s coat. Home, she thought. I’m home at last.
They got fish and chips for supper. Devan lit a candle and placed it on the kitchen table. He produced a bottle of Prosecco from the fridge. There was a general air of quiet excitement between them as they ate. Connie wanted to know all the local gossip and Devan obliged, exaggerating his stories to make her laugh. His smile was the most charming, his blue eyes, as they rested on her, the most beguiling. All of it felt right … but also excruciating to Connie, in that she couldn’t trust how long the current mood would last.
Where will I sleep? she wondered, as she took another gulp of wine. Will we have sex? The notion, which in the past would have been so welcome, seemed like a huge hurdle to leap right now, knowing the images that currently plagued Devan’s mind. Fuelled by the alcohol, however, she was in the mood to push through, ignore Jared’s shade, and make love to her husband tonight, sleep in his arms. If they didn’t do it now, maybe they never would.
As time wore on, tired as she was, she avoided being the one to suggest they go up. But the evening began to lose its sparkle and eventually they fell silent, both, she imagined, faced with the same dilemma.
