Unfaithful: An unputdownable and absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Natalie Barelli

  It’s when she says, “It’s nice to see you.” He turns bright red. Then he rubs his hand over his chin and I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.

  They are trying to appear relaxed, casual even, as they chat about the art world: have you seen so-and-so’s show, what are you working on at the moment. What would I do if they were still cheating behind my back, I wonder? I don’t know. I’d drag him away, move the family to Martha’s Vineyard and add a moat around our house for good measure. I’d expose her, shame her. I’m not one to shame women when there’s adultery involved, but now that I’m the wronged party, screw it. I’d personally carve the letter ‘A’ on her smooth-as-an-egg forehead.

  Then something completely unexpected happens. A man, good looking, athletic build, nice square jaw, joins us. He puts one arm around Isabelle’s waist and shakes Luis’s hand.

  “Hey, buddy, long time. How are you?”

  “I’m great, Patrick. This is my wife, Anna.”

  I manage to close my jaw and say hello, and my gaze darts from Luis to Isabelle to Patrick. Luis seems to know a lot about Patrick: he asks him about some deep sea diving trip he took last summer, and how their vacation plans are coming along.

  Everything shifts in an instant and suddenly I am sure of nothing. Is it possible that it was never Isabelle? Maybe I had my wires crossed and there really was another woman called Belle who’s been screwing my husband. Have I been so wrong? Do I see desire between every woman and my husband as a matter of course? Am I so insecure that I can’t tell anymore?

  “Hey, you guys want to come over for dinner?” I blurt, interrupting everyone. I suddenly really want to see them together, up close over an evening: Luis and Isabelle, Patrick and Isabelle, Luis and Patrick. I want to know.

  There’s a chorus of, “Oh sure, why not, sounds like fun, when?” and everyone pulls out their phone but it’s harder than it looks because everyone is so very busy.

  “Yeah, sorry, not going to happen until after Christmas for me,” Patrick says, explaining he has to travel to Colorado for a conference and then somewhere else for something else. We all make noises about what busy lives we lead, then Patrick turns to Isabelle. “But you can go.” And we laugh, because we’re not joined at the hip, are we? The way some couples are? Don’t we all hate that when one can’t make it then the other is automatically also out of action?

  “Great! Come next Friday night! It’ll be fun!” I say very brightly. Too brightly. She smiles sweetly and taps the date into her calendar.

  We say goodbye like old friends, she kisses me, one on each cheek. The collar of her coat is tall and folded back over itself. It gapes slightly as she leans to kiss me, and when I pull back I catch a glint of something. Just between the tip her collarbone and the hollow of her throat.

  Two thin diamond baguettes on a gossamer thread of gold.

  Twenty

  After that I had to get as far away from Luis as I could without leaving the market. I didn’t trust myself not to have some kind of breakdown. Just the effort of pretending nothing was wrong as I idly fingered a collection of old tobacco tins was making my chest hurt.

  But he followed me, stood next to me and picked up a green tin, I think. I couldn’t see properly: my vision had become blurry.

  “I didn’t know Isabelle had a boyfriend,” I said. The only mildly good news in this whole screwed-up scenario.

  He made a sound like “Mmm?” and slipped his arm into mine. I pulled away. I had to. I reached for something else on the display table but I didn’t move away this time. I wanted to ask more, like, did they live together and were they engaged to be married, when he said, “Why did you do that?”

  I waited a beat, confused. “You mean, invite her for dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. I don’t know. It just came out.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Why? Is there a problem?”

  “No, there’s no problem. I would have preferred it if you checked with me first, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I see.” Then for some unknown reason other than a deep-seated habitual response, I add, “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It’s no problem. Just saying.”

  I said I had a headache after that and lay on my bed all afternoon, one arm flung over my eyes. I couldn’t stop picturing that necklace around her thin white neck.

  I got up eventually, and I was sitting at my dresser, my face buried in my hands, when Carla came into my room. I didn’t hear her until she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I love you, Mommy.” I raised my head and ran both hands over my eyes before turning to face her.

  “That’s so sweet, baby. Thank you. I love you too, baby girl.” I haven’t called her that in years. I snatched a tissue from the box and blew my nose. “Hay fever. In winter. I really need to get some antihistamines.” She put her arms around me and lay her head on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay, sweetie. Just trying to get rid of this runny nose! Whose turn is it to pick a movie tonight?” I hated myself for letting her see me like this. After she left, I washed my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I tried to see myself the way Isabelle might see me: Old. Boring. Ordinary. Unworthy. But I have children. His children. And I will do anything to protect my family. I sat tall and pulled myself together; I thought of my mother, for some reason. Probably because she would find all this display of emotion weak. I gave myself a pep talk. I held my head high and pushed my shoulders back. I told myself to stop being so pathetic.

  I’ll deal with Isabelle, I told myself in the mirror, close enough for my breath to leave a cloud of mist. I’ll deal with Isabelle. Then I wiped it with my hand and went downstairs to be with my family.

  At work the next day, I’m walking down the corridor, coffee in a styrofoam cup in my hand. I have my sunglasses on because my eyes look red and tired.

  “You look awful, you all right?” June asks. I give a quick shake of my head. I spot Melanie walking towards me with another girl I don’t recognize. When Melanie comes level with me she blows a small bubble of gum and pushes it out with her tongue. “You don’t look very happy, Mrs. S.”

  “I’d be happier if you could submit your test on time, Melanie,” I say to her. “There won’t be another extension. You get that? I’ll fail you if you don’t deliver.” She scoffs as I walk right past and I stop her in her tracks with one hand on her shoulder.

  She jerks back. “Jeez, Okay Mrs S! Keep your pants on!”

  “Hey!” I snap, pointing an angry finger right into her face. “Don’t talk to me like that! Is that clear? I’m not one of your friends! I said, is that clear?”

  The corners of her mouth drop. “Y-yes, I’m sorry.”

  I turn back, walk around the corner and into my office. I drop my bag on my desk and set down my coffee next to it. Some of it has spilled on my fingers and I dig out a crumpled tissue from my pocket to wipe them. Then I drop it on the floor without looking where it lands.

  I sit down heavily. My eyes are burning with the gallons of tears I’ve been holding back all the way here.

  “What’s going on?” June asks. I didn’t hear her come in. I press my fingers into my eyes.

  “I’m scared,” I wail.

  “Why?”

  “I think he’s going to leave me.”

  “What?” She closes the door and sits opposite me. “What happened?”

  I tell her about finding the receipt in Luis’s bag, about my visit to the jeweler. Then I tell her about running into Isabelle at the market. I tell her about Patrick. I describe the scene linearly, frame by frame, all the way to its shocking conclusion. It’s not that I want to relive it so much as I want June to know every little detail, so we can dissect and analyze and go over every moment with a fine-tooth comb until she points a way forward. A solution. A cupcake ending.

  “Up till then, I honestly thought maybe the necklace was for me.”

  She rests her chin in her hands. “Tell me again, how was Luis during th
is whole exchange?”

  I take a moment to find the right word. “Edgy, I think. Ill at ease. He was put out that I invited her. He actually said I should have checked with him first.”

  “Ooh, that’s interesting.”

  “Is it?” I pop the lid off my cup of coffee. “Tell me! Why? What am I missing?”

  “Think about it. You said so yourself, you two have been really good lately, isn’t that right?”

  I take a sip. “And?”

  “Maybe she’s hanging on, maybe he made a mistake and fixed it, broke it off. And now you invite her for dinner?”

  She looks at me sideways and I laugh. “Oops.”

  Then my door opens wide and Geoff appears. He looks at me, then at June. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, isn’t this cozy. Am I interrupting something?” He points to June. “Who are you again? Oh, yeah, my assistant!”

  “Sorry, Geoff,” I say. “I’ll return her in a sec.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “You look upset.”

  I shake my head. “Just tired. Give us a moment, will you?”

  “Sure, sure. Take all the time you need.”

  “Thank you,” June and I say in unison.

  “So, what are you going to do?” she asks, after he’s gone.

  “I don’t know.” My coffee is getting cold by now and I take a bigger gulp. “What do you think I should do?”

  She doesn’t reply, just thinks about it for a moment. “See how dinner goes. You’re still having her over for dinner, right?”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Oh, but you must. This is the only opportunity you’ll have to judge the situation.” She stands up and pats my shoulder. “By the end of it, you’ll know. And if it’s really bad and they’re still together…”

  “Then what?”

  She lifts her shoulders in a half-shrug. “You’ll think of something.”

  Later, on the way back from the tutorial room, I spot Geoff at the end of the hallway leaning against the pale green wall talking to a student. He sees me and raises his arm in my direction. “Anna! Come over here.” When I reach him he puts his hand on my forearm and turns back to the student.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Ivan.” Then he puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me away. “I just want to show you something—it’s for the Forrester lecture. It’ll only take a minute.”

  For some reason we end up standing outside the store cupboard. It’s where we get our stationery supplies, which are kept under lock and key. It’s also a storage room, filled mostly with cardboard archive boxes piled high against one wall. On the opposite wall are metal shelves filled with cleaning supplies. He glances both ways before pulling out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocking the door.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Just wait.” He’s talking to my breasts. He pulls me inside and closes the door. “What are you—?” but he pushes me against the metal shelves and an aerosol can clatters to the floor.

  Oh god.

  “No, sorry, Geoff.” I press my palms against his chest to push him away, give a small embarrassed laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  He presses harder against me. “Come on, Anna,” he growls. “Tell me, what’ve you been doing with June, anyway?” He rubs his groin against me. “You two are always together, whispering to each other like school girls. Then this morning, the two of you were in your office, with the door closed, and you were crying. I saw you. What are the two of you up to, hey?”

  A wave of panic engulfs me. I’m too far from the door to get out easily; he’s too heavy, pressed against me like that. The shelves start to wobble behind me and something cuts into the small of my back.

  “Enough, Geoff! What are you doing?” I push harder, start to shout, but he puts his hand on my face, extended so that his fingers are over my eyes and the palm of his hand is over my mouth. The taste of his skin makes me gag.

  He licks the side of my neck. “What does your husband say? Does he know? About you and June?”

  “Stop!” But my words are muffled. I can’t breathe. My fingers frantically search behind me for something I can use against him but there’s nothing. I wedge my knee between his thighs and he laughs softly, like I’m doing it on purpose, like I’m enjoying this. He moves his hand to hold my chin. Fingers like a vice on either side of my jaw.

  I take a desperate breath.

  “Get off me!” I shout as loudly as I can, my voice shrill with fear, my mouth distorted by his grip. I grab his wrist just as he brings his mouth close to mine. His breath is hot and reeks of stale alcohol.

  “Come on,” he groans into my face. “I know you want to. Don’t tell me you’re just a tease. You’ve been wanting me to do this to you ever since you first laid eyes on me.” He brings his free hand up my skirt, his fingers sliding up my thigh. “How does that feel? Is that nice?”

  His mouth is against mine, hot and wet, making me heave. I let out a wail, twist my head away, then grab his hand and bite it.

  He jerks away suddenly. “Hey! What did you do that for?” He stares at his finger where my teeth have left a reddening crescent. He massages it, an astonished look on his face. “What the hell is wrong with you? That really hurt!”

  I wipe snot off my face with my sleeve. I’m shaking with fury and humiliation. “You’re out of your mind! I’ll report you for this!”

  He jerks his head back, an angry look of scorn and surprise on his face. “You’re a bitch, you know that? You’re just a tease. You’ve been at me like a bitch in heat since forever. And what about Chicago, hey? You played the tease then and I let you get away with it. But you never stopped coming on to me, did you? You want to play it that way again? Then you better watch yourself, Anna. Nothing good happens to women like you.”

  Does he actually believe I ever wanted this? I straighten my skirt, my entire body vibrating with anger while he straightens his clothes. He opens the door and light floods in from the corridor. Students walk past, their heads swinging towards me in unison. A burst of laughter.

  “I won’t let you get away with this,” I say, between my teeth.

  “Oh, really? What are you going to do, Anna? Report me? Who do you think you are? You want to tell them about Chicago? Or shall I? Because there’s bound to be a whole lot of people who saw you get drunk and come on to me like you couldn’t get enough of me. Plenty of people who saw us leave together that night. And I don’t think your behavior was leaving much to the imagination, but hey, your call.” He snorts. “And by the way.” He rests one hand on the door handle. “Mila says you’re avoiding her. That you refuse to talk about how you came up with the solution. What’s that about?” He waits, chin forward, but I don’t reply. I wipe my cheeks with trembling fingers and he shakes his head in disgust, steps into the corridor then changes his mind and turns around again. “And one more thing, you know why you didn’t get the professorship?”

  My chest is rising with every loud breath. I run my trembling fingers through my hair.

  “I never submitted your application to the board. That’s why. I never even nominated you.” He smirks.

  I search his face, looking for the lie, for the joke, for the punch line. I think of all the extra work I did, the many conversations I had with him about the best way to approach my application. All the proposals I devised, wrote and submitted: funding proposals, asset refurbishment proposals, how to attract more young women to study mathematics proposals. All to show I am a team player, a rallier.

  He answers his own question. “I wasn’t going to waste my time. I knew you wouldn’t get it, so I didn’t bother submitting it.”

  “You’re an asshole,” I say, my voice low and shaky.

  He shrugs. “Maybe. And maybe I was wrong. You certainly surprised us all cracking the Pentti-Stone. But maybe I was right. Maybe you’re hiding something. Maybe you’re just a fraud. But hey…” He taps t
he door twice with the palm of his hand. “We’ll find out one way or another, won’t we?”

  Twenty-One

  I’ve washed my hands, my face, rinsed my mouth. Popped mints to fend off the impending nausea. I stare at my own reflection. Did I really bring this upon myself? Was I so taken by his attentions that I misunderstood what was going on? I know you want to. You’ve been at me like a bitch in heat since forever. And a part of me thinks it’s true, that it’s my fault. I sent the wrong signals. Even in the face of such violence I can’t help but think it’s me. Because in the end it’s always me. Even when it’s other people, it’s me.

  I already know I won’t do anything about him. Nothing at all. For all my bluster about my family and what I’m prepared to do for them, I am a coward. I couldn’t bear for Luis to find out about Chicago, and I have no doubt Geoff would make sure he does. For all I know, that’s all Luis needs to run into Isabelle’s arms for good.

  I bring my hand over my eyes, Geoff’s parting words still ringing in my ears: Maybe you’re hiding something. Maybe you’re just a fraud. For a terrifying moment I think he knows, has always known. But I make myself breathe, tell myself he doesn’t know, because if he did, he would have said something by now. Wouldn’t he?

  It’ll keep. That’s what I tell myself as I wipe mascara off my cheeks in the staff bathroom. I can deal with it later. It’s better for everyone if I wait until after the Forrester lecture. My word will have more weight then. I come up with so many ways to rationalize my own cowardice the words stop having any meaning. I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s all okay. I can deal with it. Where’s the rush? He’s not going anywhere.