The Delusionist

by Rachel Mathias

  I sent Harry pictures of my food and my friends, to show him, in case he was worried, that I was indeed dining out with a motley crew of female pals. He called me a couple of times during the meal, which surprised me, but I didn’t pick up or check voicemail until I got home. With the backlog of messages it took me a while to piece together what had been going on, but it turned out that Neil and Cass had had a row and the police had been called. Harry had brought Neil to his house and gone off to see a friend called Nicky. I’d heard about Nicky. “My best female friend” he had said, in the same breath as mentioning she was an ex hooker and heroin addict.

  Jealousy knocked on the door of my heart and left, unwelcome, and then, just as I was falling asleep, the phone rang. I pressed answer, but didn’t speak, because I realised I was listening to Harry talking to Nicky. The words were brutal, disjointed. I held my breath as the conversation played out.

  Him: I’m in love with her

  Her: Bollocks, you just think you are.

  Him: No, listen to me Nicky. I am in love with her, whether you like it or not.

  Her: I don’t care what you fucking think You’re out of your mind. You’re drunk.

  Him: I’m not drunk.

  Her: She sounds like a loser

  Him: You think so, yeah? You’re saying the girl I love is a loser?

  Her: She sounds like a fucking loser to me.

  Him: Nic…. Look

  Her: What?

  There was the clink of bottle against glass before she spoke again

  Her: You’ve drunk all my fucking booze.

  Him: Nic, she’s on the phone

  Her: She’s what?

  Him: She’s on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?

  There was a silence, and I imagined her horrified face, a mix of incomprehension and humiliation as he handed her the phone. There was a whispered “What the fuck?” and then she was there, bright and clear, and I still hadn’t spoken a word. On the phone to me, Nicky’s voice went from cockney to Roedean, from rude to charming, from drunk and slurred to the measured sobriety of a kale smoothie sipping yoga teacher, and I thought to myself – what a skill to have. She has the chameleon act down to a t.

  I don’t know what we spoke about. The only message that got through to me was that this was a man who would stand up for me, for us, and would throw to the lions anyone who dared stand in our way.

  I didn’t dwell on why he stayed that night at Nicky’s house on the sofa, why he didn’t get an Uber home, having got one to go there. In my world, I was learning to trust, to live without detailed explanations and to accept shades of grey.

  Chapter 12

  Smitten

  We spent the following evening at my house, with Jess and her boyfriend Jason. Harry and I shared with them the unique achievement of having defied all odds by meeting The One on Tinder and Jess and I beamed with mutual smugness as the boys got on like a house on fire. We stepped outside for a cigarette and I asked her what she thought of my Harry, who was standing at the cooker frying up some chillies and garlic. It really was the picture of domestic bliss.

  “He says he loves me.” I said.

  “That’s okay. That’s good, isn't it?”

  “I’m just not sure I feel that way. I don’t know if I can.”

  She took a drag of her cigarette and paused for a moment as she observed him adding chopped onions to the pan.

  “You can let yourself love him.”

  I let the words sink in, imagining I would feel instantly flooded with emotion, but there was nothing. I wondered if I had been disappointed so many times that now there was a stone where my heart should be.

  “I still don’t know, Jess. I’m a bit on edge.”

  “There’s such a flow between you two,” she observed. “He has such clean energy, such a good heart.”

  Harry dished up a concoction without a name that tasted delicious, but after a bit of alcohol most things do. We chatted till after midnight, Harry talking about the app he was developing and the deadlines that were coming up. He seemed to tense visibly as Jason asked about some of the detail.

  “Tell me more about the app. How does it work on the technical front?” Then, “What kind of ongoing support do you need? Sounds pretty expensive to run, or is it free with the season ticket and the club takes the hit? I mean that makes sense, seeing as they benefit too.”

  Harry poured himself another drink. “The thing is, we’re still testing what we’ve got, and everything will depend on the meeting with the FA. What they decide could send the whole development in one of many directions.”

  “I’d love to see the design. I’ve worked on a few apps like this before.”

  “Ah, you just want to steal my secrets,” joked Harry, slapping Jason on the shoulder with a convivial guffaw. “Well I’ll show you when it’s all in the bag. Until then… “ He patted the side of his nose and poured more wine into Jason’s glass.

  “Cheers.”We clinked glasses.

  It was nearly one when they left. Jess gave Harry a long hug that seemed to disconcert him slightly. “I’m not used to hugs” he said afterwards, and I thought about his broken home childhood and wanted to fix him.

  While I was working the next day, he went to meet Jason at Jess’ café – a new venture she had named Roses, after her most treasured rose quartz bracelet that Jason had given her, He and Jess were moving to Surrey soon, and Harry had generously offered his house as a jumping off point for viewings if they wanted to stay there for a weekend before he moved out. Sharing is caring, and we were all like some kind of extended happy family. He came back full of beans, or full of something, because he should have been much more hungover.

  “I like Jason. He’s a good bloke.”

  “I’m glad. They're good friends of mine.”

  Harry loved my friends as much as they loved him, and when Harry started hanging around a bit more, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I’m still not sure how that happened, when it started, and what the agreement was, but he was just there a lot, his underwear was in the washing basket and there were a couple of shirts hanging in the cupboard. Maya came by one evening on her way home from Waitrose, free coffee and newspaper in hand, and gave Harry the once over. He teased her for walking a mile for news that was a day old and caffeine that would keep her up all night. She teased him back for doing the washing up “I see Rach has got you where she wants you…” and I relaxed. He fitted into my life like water.

  My children seemed to accept the new arrival in our home without protest, but then protesting wasn’t their style. When Josh arrived back from camp to find my new boyfriend in the car with me waiting outside school, he showed no reaction at all, and if he was surprised to find him still in our house two days later, I never knew. I didn’t ask how he or Sadie felt about any of it, and I am ashamed to say I didn’t even try to explain in any detail, but presented the new relationship as a fait accompli.

  It was easy enough for me to do. At fifteen and sixteen, Josh and Sadie spent most of their time holed up in their rooms watching who knew what on Netflix and YouTube, and communicating with the outside world via Instagram and Snapchat. Occasionally they would convene in the kitchen to get each others’ views on exactly which filter they should use on a particular photograph, lining up the alternatives which I couldn’t tell apart. They worked on this digital showreel with the dedication of Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel, and it was impossible to tell if they even noticed my existence, let alone that of a new man in our midst.

  Sadie was charming, welcoming, funny, showing a level of maturity beyond her sixteen years. During the later years of my marriage to Adam, and throughout the five years since our separation, she had learnt to present a public face which betrayed none of the pain underneath, and that was what she showed to Harry, for as long as she could.

  It was Maddie who pointed it out, when Harry was at work, or somewhere. I never knew exactly where he went, and I didn’t always ask, because
he would frown and want to know why I wanted to know. Maddie called to see how things were. I said everything was wonderful. I told her about our upcoming trip to Spain, about Harry renting the Dorset house again for me in August, how I was the luckiest woman alive. Then she asked about the children.

  “Have you asked them what they think of him?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Do you think you should say something, I mean, just see where they are with it?”

  “I should, I suppose.”

  “I think it would be good if you could have the conversation, just to let them know you’re still there, you still care, you know.”

  “They know I love them.” I felt myself tense up, the way you do if you feel someone question your fundamental role in life.

  “Not necessarily. Not always. Children need reassurance. They don’t like change. They can see new arrivals as a threat.”

  “I feel bad now. It kind of feels too late.”

  “How too late?”

  “I don’t know – it just feels like he’s already got his feet under the table.”

  We let those words hang in the air between us. I brushed away a flicker of uncertainty.

  The next day, as if by some strange kink of fate, Harry announced that he might not be able to see me for a few days. He needed to go to the office, not just to pick up his Mercedes that was languishing in the underground car park, but to make things happen, get his team to realise that apps don’t build themselves, that there was a deadline to meet, and that the new football season was only a few months away. He’d be letting them know in no uncertain terms that if Seatseller wasn’t in place then, and on the smartphones of all season ticket holders in the country, there would be hell to pay. I imagined that being on the receiving end of Harry’s wrath would be an ordeal you wouldn’t want to repeat. There was a fierce look in his eye I hadn’t seen before. I wanted to temper it. I tried suggesting he take a more diplomatic approach, but he turned to me with disbelief verging on fury.

  “These guys need kicking. I can’t afford to get this wrong. You don’t understand what happens if we are one day late.”

  “I do understand,” I ventured, “but I just think you need to focus on getting the best out of them, don’t you?”

  “You don’t want to see me when I get mad babe. And you gotta trust me, remember? I know what I’m doing.” His last few words slowed to a crawl, as if I was too stupid to understand.

  The week that followed brought back a sense of normality and belonging I hadn’t realised was missing in my tiny family. We played cards, watched TV together and l laughed at YouTube videos of dogs and cats not getting along. I ferried Sadie to and from rehearsals, Josh to swimming club, and we ate sausages and burgers for dinner. I tidied their rooms, filled the dishwasher three times a day and somehow managed to teach a few students in between.

  An evening with Maddie, Maya and Jess brought home to me just how much things had changed, and how quickly. We walked up the hill to the pub and sat outside under the heaters, as various acquaintances passed by, said hello, asked after the children, told me about theirs. That night was an oasis, a stopping point where everything could have changed, a fork in the road, a chance to escape, which I didn’t take.

  “Chris texted me today.” Maddie announced, out of the blue.

  “Not again!” Maya was half laughing, half sighing. “Why does everyone else have men texting them all the time while I’m stuck with one that doesn’t even look at me?”

  “You don’t have to be stuck with him” Jess pointed out. “Don’t forget I was once where you are, and now Jason and I, we’re…” she tailed off, biting her lip suddenly.

  “You’re what?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you. I mean, we haven’t told the kids.”

  “We promise not to tell your kids,” I said, prodding her, “go on…”

  “I think we know what she’s not saying, don’t we?” Maddie grinned around the table, herding us together with her bright smile that may have hidden a thousand tears. I wouldn’t have thought that if Maya hadn’t mentioned it, but now she seemed suddenly vulnerable.

  “I think, congratulations….” I raised my glass.

  “Thank you,” said Jess, suddenly more coy teenager than a forty something divorcee.

  “I’m happy for you,” I said. When I said it, it sounded odd. I mean, why wouldn’t I be happy for her? But I’m not always happy for couples if I’m truly honest. I have clicked Like on their Facebook posts and their anniversary photos with clichéd Hallmark captions. But they are raising the bar, challenging me to be as blissed out as they are, and I panic because I’m never going to manage it. Then there are the couples I don’t even know, holding hands in the street, kissing at the station, wandering into cafés on a Sunday morning, tousled and hungry after a night of passionate love-making. I make up stories about Cassandra who inhabits a world I don’t belong in and will never be part of. Thankfully, some of the less lucky ones find themselves alone again on the outside with me. We say we are safe here, but we are all secretly dreaming of having another chance.

  Maddie was full of questions for Jess, not just about when and where this wedding would be, but more importantly, how were all the children, from both sides of the relationship, going to feel about it, did his ex know yet, and how was she likely to take the news. Maddie was always thinking about the feelings of those who weren’t in the frame. If she was looking at a photograph of a group of happy couples, she’d be wondering if the photographer felt left out. But Jess met all her concerns with calm reassurance, and we were satisfied that on this occasion, a much-maligned dating app had against all odds delivered a true-life romance with a happy ending.

  “So, Maya, like I said,” Jess put her hand on Maya’s arm and stroked it as she spoke, which Maya would have found incredibly awkward, but didn’t let on. “You don’t have to be with Simon forever. Your life isn’t over yet. You’re gorgeous and intelligent and you need to be with someone who appreciates you for everything that you are.”

  Maya and I exchanged glances. We had been through this so many times, but it was always worth another shot. Maya listed the reasons she couldn’t leave – her reasons, not watertight but hers nonetheless. I turned to Jess.

  “I just think things have to reach rock bottom for those two. They haven’t yet. It’s still bearable, and Maya would feel too guilty.”

  “And more to the point, she can see the mess we make of our lives and probably thinks she’s better off staying with him,” Maddie added. That was true enough. Maddie’s personal life was enough to make anyone take shelter in a convent and take a vow of silence.

  “So who is this Chris? Remind me,” asked Maya again, shaking her gin and tonic to bring us to attention with the jangle of ice bells. “I mean, I know you’re head over heels in love, but what’s his story?”

  Maddie’s face erupted in a grin.

  “A friend of Rachel’s from college, and I’m totally and utterly smitten.” She spoke the last words slowly and with emphasis, drawing us in with her absolutes.

  “Ooh, I’d like to be smitten,” said Maya. “Remind me how it feels?”

  “We met at a party. We couldn’t take our eyes off each other. I think he feels the same, in fact I know he does. It was one of those moments…”

  “And he’s married,” I added.

  “Yes, that’s the problem,” admitted Maddie, almost downcast for a split second.

  “Tricky. I see.” Maya and I exchanged glances.

  “It doesn’t have to be a problem, of course.” I had a feeling Jess would say that. She saw opportunities in everything, in everyone. She believed in relationships as training grounds for self-development, and would never rule something out on grounds of boundaries put in place many years ago by naïve lovers.

  “He’s been with her what? Twenty-five years? They might have grown apart in that time. They might not be right for each other anymore. Who knows? She might be unhappy with him
and want him to leave.”

  “Absolutely” agreed Maya. “I wish Simon would take the hint and do that.”

  Jess gave her a look and she laughed. “Okay, I know. I take it back.”

  We let Maddie wax lyrical about love for a while. Then my phone beeped and I took the opportunity to glance at the message under the table. It was an answer to my text from earlier, asking how he was getting on with the whip-cracking.

  What do you mean, babe? I’m at work here. It’s going to be a long night.

  I hesitated before replying. Placate, placate.

  I’m sure you’re doing a great job. Thinking of you xx

  Where are you?

  I hesitated again before texting back that I was at home, in bed. Then I was on my feet, in a hurry to leave, make it all true, keep him happy. I left the girls at the bar ordering one for the road muttered an excuse about the kids and slipped away.

  Something was wrong, but I put it down to my insecurity, to my being unused to this. I didn’t know how to behave, how far to be me, how far to be what he wanted me to be. But then I didn’t really know what that was either.

  All I did know was that actually being apart from Harry was torture. I was forever wondering where he was, who with, what he was doing. He was stressed when we spoke on the phone the next day, didn’t seem to want to give me the answers I wanted, just supplied information I didn’t really need. There had been a crisis at work, a malfunction in the coding which had led to his father, the rags to riches super-engineer, having to fly over from Spain to take the reins. Harry was reluctant to go cap in hand to the man who had failed so dismally as a father, but they agreed on a percentage shareholding that he would receive for responding to the SOS and throwing his team of experts into the mix. The deadline for delivering his final presentation to the FA was only days away and an issue like this could sent the whole project spiralling into disaster.