The Affair

by Hilary Boyd

  Now that she was beginning to feel free of his hovering presence, she realized what a toll it had taken on her. She’d always been optimistic, equable, someone who enjoyed life to the full. Jared had reduced her to a neurotic mess. She cried easily now, her tears always close to the surface, and felt fragile, fearful in a way she never had before. As if she’d lost a layer of skin.

  Morocco had been good, but now she wanted nothing more than to hole up at home with Devan and Riley, stay in the safe confines of the village with a few close friends. Physically, she was always tired, these days, often the victim of headaches and sleepless nights. Jared had made her feel young at first. Now, because of him, she felt so much older than her years.

  The house was lovely and warm when they arrived home. Jill had been in to turn the heating on. She’d left milk in the fridge with a shepherd’s pie from a local home-made range and a bag of salad. The note on the kitchen table said, ‘Welcome home. Brunch at ours in the morning? We’re keeping Riley for ever, btw! xxx’

  Connie laughed. ‘Sounds like that dog’s been on a charm offensive.’

  Devan yawned. ‘Let’s get the pie in and have a glass of wine. I’m starving.’ It was a long time since breakfast at the hotel, the sandwiches on offer on the plane spectacularly unappealing after the delicious food they’d been enjoying in Marrakech.

  They ate mostly in a companionable silence, both tired from the journey. Connie kept glancing at her husband, checking his demeanour to see if, now they were home and in surroundings that might spark a bitter memory, he would continue to be relaxed. But she couldn’t detect any sign of tension in his tanned face, so far. In fact, she thought he looked better than he had for a long, long time.

  Coming out of the bathroom later, toothbrush in hand, Devan said, ‘Did you hear that?’

  Connie frowned. ‘No – what?’

  ‘I thought I heard a thump.’ He pointed his toothbrush to the ceiling, above which was the attic, used exclusively for storage and accessed by drop-down steps from the landing ceiling.

  ‘It’ll be the wind. The window up there’s always been loose and it’s blowing a bloody gale outside,’ Connie said, as she got into bed.

  He shrugged, went back into the bathroom. When he slid in beside her a few minutes later, he was looking preoccupied. ‘Maybe we’ve got mice,’ he said. ‘I’ll go up and check in the morning.’

  They lay together, Devan tucking his length into Connie’s curled body, his arm across her shoulders. He dropped a kiss on the side of her head. ‘That was a great holiday, Con,’ he said.

  She turned her face to his. ‘It really was.’ She snuggled into her soft, familiar pillow, wrapping the duvet cosily round her neck, aware of the comforting warmth of Devan’s body. She sank into sleep with a deep sense of contentment, gratitude for her husband, and her life.

  Something nudged Connie from sleep. Blinking, she saw the clock display read 1:34. She rolled over onto her back and peered into the semi-darkness of the room, wondering what had woken her. Then she froze, her every fibre buzzing, instantly on high alert. She could just make out a figure, looming in the shadows at the end of the bed. She gave a loud gasp, lurching upright, the duvet clutched to herself in alarm.

  Paralysed with fear, she managed to reach out a hand and violently shake her husband, her eyes still fixed on the dark intruder, who said nothing, just stood there, stock still.

  Devan shifted, mumbled, ‘What?’

  She shook him again. ‘Wake up, for Christ’s sake.’

  This time he heard her. He turned over and jumped when he, too, caught sight of the shadowy form, cursing as he fumbled for the bedside lamp.

  Jared blinked in the light. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.

  Her husband leaped out of bed. ‘What the fuck?’ His body rigid with tension, he hovered, fixing Jared with a wary stare, but clearly not sure what to do next. Glancing at Connie, he discreetly patted his hand down by his side as if to say, ‘Tread carefully.’ It occurred to her that he thought Jared might be armed.

  ‘I needed to be here.’ Jared spoke again. ‘I hope you understand, Connie.’ He was dressed in jeans and a navy polo-neck sweater, but his normally smoothed-back hair was flopping over his face and he clearly hadn’t shaved in a while. He was kneading his fingers together in front of him.

  Connie was trembling so much she could barely get the words out, but she spoke as calmly as possible. ‘What are you doing, Jared?’

  Devan began to edge round the bed, his eyes fixed firmly on the intruder. She watched, hardly breathing. The air in the room seemed to vibrate. ‘Don’t …’ she whispered to her husband, terrified that Jared might pull out a knife.

  As Devan got closer, Jared held up his hands to fend him off, backing against the door.

  ‘Please, I’m not going to harm you,’ he said, twisting his palms to and fro in the air, as if to prove he didn’t have a weapon. ‘I just …’ He stopped and seemed disoriented for a moment. Looking pleadingly at Connie, he said, ‘Can we talk?’

  Devan, ignoring his request, pushed him aside and reached for the door. But it was firmly locked. ‘Where’s the key?’ Devan demanded.

  Jared shrugged, blinked. ‘Do you know how important you are to me? Both of you. You’ve been so kind –’

  Her husband cursed and swung round, shouting, ‘Ring the police!’ When she didn’t immediately move, he added, ‘Now, Connie!’

  Hardly daring to tear her eyes from the two men, she scrabbled blindly for her mobile on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. She lunged frantically across the bed for Devan’s, forgetting in her panic that he always left his charging in the kitchen overnight. There was no landline in the bedroom any more. ‘My phone’s not here,’ she said, her voice shrill in the silent room. It had been, she was sure, when she went to bed. She always kept it by her in case Caitlin ever needed them in the middle of the night.

  ‘I took it,’ Jared said simply. ‘I don’t want the police.’

  His words were beginning to slur oddly and Devan eyed him closely. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  Jared shook his head, his gaze on Connie again, yearning and desperate. ‘I thought we meant something to each other, Connie. You and I, we were a team, weren’t we? I thought … I thought …’ He shook his head as if to clear it and began to move towards the bed. But Devan put a hand firmly on his chest and pushed him roughly back against the door. ‘Stay where you are,’ he barked, as he ran his hands down Jared’s body, searching his pockets for the door key or a mobile – and obviously finding nothing.

  Jared passively allowed Devan to rummage, but his eyes never left Connie’s face. ‘I thought you felt the same … that connection.’ He shot her the facsimile of a flirtatious smile, a pale imitation of the charming one with which he had wooed her back in the Italian lakes. ‘It was special, no? You and me … Remember that night …’

  Connie froze. No, she begged silently. Please, no.

  Devan had taken him by the shoulders and was looking intently into his eyes. ‘Christ, you stupid bastard … You’ve taken something, haven’t you?’

  Jared didn’t reply, just stared blankly at him, eyelids flickering.

  ‘What is it? What the fuck have you taken?’ Devan shouted, face inches from Jared’s, shaking him so his body thudded back and forth against the solid oak door.

  Jared just closed his eyes. Devan gave him a final shake, then let him go with a frustrated curse. Jared hovered for a moment, then slid slowly down the wall until he was slumped, half sitting, head lolling to one side.

  Devan began wildly rattling the door handle. Connie was up now, pulling on the jeans and sweater she’d worn on the plane. She went over to the two men, looking down at Jared as he lay collapsed on the floor. ‘You think it’s an overdose?’

  ‘Fucking door. Can’t get any purchase on it,’ Devan said, banging it violently with the flat of his hands in frustration. Then he growled, ‘Yes, he’s taken something. Though God knows what.’

>   Connie bent and laid a hand on Jared’s shoulder. At her touch, he seemed to come to, focusing his gaze on her again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry to put you in this position,’ he repeated grabbing her hand. ‘I just can’t live without you, Connie.’

  She was shaking and speechless as she tried to wrench her hand away. But his grip was like a vice.

  ‘I want to die … with you.’ Tears filled his turquoise eyes – eyes she had found so beguiling in those moments that now seemed from another world. ‘Will you let me? Will you stay with me, Connie?’ He slid further to the side. ‘Don’t get help. Please … no help …’

  Connie looked across at Devan, who had given up on the door and was staring at Jared, breathing heavily, an unreadable expression on his face

  ‘OK,’ her husband said, giving a cool shrug. ‘If that’s what you want. You’ve caused enough fucking trouble.’ He turned away.

  Connie was stunned. ‘For Christ’s sake, Devan. We have to do something. We can’t just sit here and watch him die.’

  Her husband flopped down onto the bed, the back he presented to the room rigid. ‘What the hell else can we do? He’s trapped us in here … And it’s what he wants. He just said so.’

  Quickly stepping over the recumbent body, she hurried round the bed and stood looking down on Devan’s dark head. ‘Stop it. Don’t talk like that. You’re a doctor, for heaven’s sake – there must be something you can do.’

  Devan glared up at her. ‘There’s nothing, Con. And why the fuck should I care, anyway? This creep has ruined our lives.’

  For a split second, she allowed herself the thought. Finally, to be free. No longer having to look over her shoulder or place sinister significance in the most trivial things. To be able to rest in the knowledge that Jared would no longer haunt her every waking thought. She took a faltering breath. Laying her hands on Devan’s shoulder, she shook him till he lifted his bowed head. ‘We have at least to try to help him,’ she said, with quiet strength.

  After a second, Devan seemed to come to, his anger morphing into a dazed frown. ‘How can we? Like I said, the bastard’s locked us in, removed all means of communication.’ He glanced around the room, shaking his head. ‘We could stand at the window and shout, I suppose. But on a night like this, who would hear? There’s only Mrs Browne next door and she’s stone deaf.’

  It was true. The house on the other side was a holiday let and empty at this time of year. The Methodist hall and a small car park were across the street. Stacy, on the corner, was the closest and he was completely out of earshot.

  Connie looked desperately at Jared. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be having trouble breathing, his chest heaving ominously.

  ‘He has to stay awake,’ she heard Devan muttering, almost to himself. He got up, taking Connie by the shoulders, his gaze intense. ‘But he needs professional help. Nothing will make any difference in the long run, unless we get him to hospital … right now.’

  They stared at each other helplessly, panic and shock mirrored in their eyes. ‘OK,’ Devan decided. ‘You try to rouse him. I’m going to climb out of the window. It’s our only chance.’ He strode over to the window and ripped back the curtains. They were on the first floor, and the paned sash window of the old house was small, stiff in the frame – they rarely opened it more than a foot. Outside, it was a drop of around fifteen feet to the ground.

  ‘No,’ Connie cried out. ‘You’ll never fit through.’ It was also true that she couldn’t face being left alone with Jared, maybe watching as he gave up his hold on life. Devan was much better qualified, anyway. ‘I’ll go. You deal with him.’ She went over and pushed her husband out of the way.

  He hesitated for a second. ‘Are you sure?’

  She didn’t reply. She was terrified, but also driven as she twisted the lock and yanked open the window. Cold wind rushed in, a welcome breath of air after the heavy, fraught atmosphere in the room. She knelt on the windowsill and put one leg gingerly out into the night, squeezing her body through the gap, hanging on for dear life to the sill.

  ‘Take my hands,’ she heard Devan say. ‘I can lower you.’

  Balancing half in, half out, and loath to let go of the sill, she managed, nonetheless, to grab one of her husband’s outstretched hands, then, after a moment, the other. She took a deep breath as she slipped her other leg outside. Her bare feet scrabbled at the wet brick as she hung there, clinging to Devan’s strong grip as he leaned out, lowering her slowly towards the ground. She looked down. There was a ledge above the sitting-room window, but it was just out of reach and too narrow to hold her weight anyway. Paralysed, she cowered as rain lashed cold on her back, the wind blowing her hair across her face so she couldn’t see. Jump, she urged herself. Jump – it’s not far. But she couldn’t.

  Devan’s voice cut through the storm, steady and reassuring. ‘It’s OK, Connie, you can do it.’ She felt her hands – soaked with rain – sliding in his, her grip weakening. There was no choice: the strain on her arm sockets was unbearable. Her fingers finally broke free and she fell.

  The impact knocked the breath out of her. Pain shot through her right ankle as she tried to stand, but she was in one piece and inhaled a huge breath of relief. ‘I’m OK,’ she shouted up.

  Devan waved. ‘Hurry,’ he yelled back, and his head disappeared.

  In their haste, they hadn’t discussed the next step. She tried to think. She didn’t have her keys, but maybe she could break a pane in the kitchen door? But it was bolted top and bottom. Oblivious to the pain shooting up her leg, she hobbled as quickly as she could along the wet pavement to the pub. Even if Stacy and Nicole were asleep, their two Alsatians would bark for Britain – that was their job.

  Connie shouted the publican’s name over and over, pounding on the heavy, varnished oak. Almost immediately she heard the dogs barking, scrabbling frantically on the other side. She held her breath. ‘Please,’ she begged out loud, ‘please, Stacy, wake up.’

  After what seemed like an eternity, she detected the sound of someone thumping down the stairs. Then Stacy’s voice bellowed from the other side of the door, ‘Who is it? What do you want?’

  ‘It’s me, Connie!’ she shouted back, her voice sounding feeble, blown away on the wind. But Stacy heard. Her body shook with relief at the sound of the bolts being drawn back. Then her friend, in what must have been Nicole’s pink towelling dressing gown, was speaking her name, dragging her inside.

  ‘Fucking hell, Connie,’ he said, as she gave him a brief, garbled account of what had happened. He ran behind the bar and she watched, shivering and almost unable to stand, as he lifted the receiver and dialled 999.

  34

  The police arrived first, assuring her the ambulance was right behind. Connie quickly led them round to the kitchen door, where PC Ben Thurlow, swinging a heavy red-metal cylinder, forced the frame, the glass in some of the panes shattering as the wood buckled and gave way. Stamping heedlessly over the shards in their boots, they ran ahead. Stacy, without a word, swiftly picked up Connie – still barefoot: in her haste to rescue Jared she’d forgotten her shoes – and carried her over the broken glass, setting her down safely in the hall.

  They found the bedroom key, her phone and what must have been Jared’s on the landing carpet. They were only inches from the door, but out of reach to anyone inside. Connie noticed the metal steps leading from the loft were hanging down. It wasn’t mice. She shivered at the thought he’d been up there all the time they’d been arriving home, having supper, unpacking, getting ready for bed.

  She watched, breathless, as Yvonne Youngs – a sergeant and the one in charge – fiddled with the key in the lock. Come on, come on, Connie whispered silently as the seconds ticked by. Then at last the policewoman was asking them to stand back as she pushed the door ajar.

  The room was still in half-darkness. Devan was by the window, clutching Jared round the waist, one of his arms pulled tight around his neck. ‘Stay with me, Jared, stay with me …’ he was
intoning to the semi-conscious, lolling head, as Jared’s feet dragged uselessly across the carpet.

  Connie rushed over to help Devan, but Ben was quicker.

  ‘Let me, sir.’ The policeman tried to take Jared from Devan’s arms.

  But Devan clung on, kept walking. ‘I’m OK,’ he insisted. ‘Take his other arm.’ He glanced round briefly at Sergeant Youngs. ‘Where’s the bloody ambulance?’ he demanded, before turning his attention back to Jared. ‘Come on! Wake up, Jared! For God’s sake, wake up.’

  Yvonne made a call to chivvy the emergency services. Connie watched and waited, shivering, on the other side of the bed, while they continued to walk Jared’s dead weight slowly back and forth across the room, her nerves strung to breaking point as she listened out for the sound of the ambulance. It was probably only a matter of minutes before the green-uniformed paramedics clumped up the stairs and blasted, businesslike, into the crowded room, relieving Devan and Ben of their burden – although it seemed like a lifetime to her.

  Devan had his arm around her shoulders as they stood in the corner of the crowded room watching the scene playing out in front of them. ‘He’s going to be OK, isn’t he?’ she whispered to him.

  But the look he gave her was bleak. He didn’t answer.

  ‘Can’t find a pulse,’ she heard one of the paramedics mutter a moment later, as they prepared to bundle Jared onto the stretcher.

  The next minutes passed in a blur for Connie. Nobody panicked. Nobody shouted. There was just a controlled frenzy around the body on the floor. Yvonne tried to make them leave the room, but neither she nor Devan would budge.

  This is all my fault. Responsibility lay on her shoulders like a ten-ton weight. She thought back to that first fatal kiss. I should have stopped it right there, she thought. He was vulnerable … and I chose not to see it. She felt tears of exhaustion behind her eyes. If he dies, I will never forgive myself.