The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  “No, nothing like that. He just had these moods and I never knew what to expect. He’d ignore me. Blank me. He could go on for weeks, acting normal with everyone else, but not speaking to me at all.”

  “I’d never noticed,” said Oliver. “How often would that happen?”

  “It wasn’t often at the beginning. He could go months when everything was great. When he was moody then, I could get past it. But it’s been more and more often. For the last few years I’ve been living on my nerves, worrying about when it would happen again. Do you remember the Christmas before last? He didn’t speak to me for the whole of the holiday period.”

  Oliver frowned. “I was at your house for New Year’s for drinks that year, wasn’t I? Josh was there, too. Everything seemed normal.”

  “Tom hadn’t spoken to me for five days at that point. He used to behave normally while other people were around, but if you watched carefully you’d see he never spoke directly to me. He’d be quiet if I spoke, but never reply. Even Josh didn’t always notice. Tom only started talking to me again because I went to work at Sheridan’s after Christmas and he wanted to know where I was going each day.” I laughed at the memory, though it hadn’t been funny at all. “The curiosity near enough killed him.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know. It didn’t have to be anything I did. It could be something I didn’t do. Something I didn’t know I was meant to do. He was always careful not to let anyone else know, though. And I was so stupid. I went along with it.” I stretched my arms behind my back, trying to get rid of the tension. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “But why didn’t you leave before?”

  That question really irritated me, but it confused me, too. I didn’t know why I hadn’t left. It’s so hard to leave a marriage, to walk away from everything. It’s like leaving your family. I knew I was weak, knew I hadn’t had the courage to leave, to take that leap into the unknown. And I was always broke, too. I’d known that if I’d left I’d struggle to manage financially. I had a sick feeling that I’d only managed it this time because I had Harry to go to. I wished I was stronger, wished I was the sort of person who could just think, I’ve had enough and end it. “I kept hoping it would get better, I suppose. And then I reached a tipping point a while ago and knew I had to leave.”

  “What happened?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t going to answer that. “I just knew I couldn’t live like that anymore.” I sat quietly for a while. “Then I met someone. Someone special.” A familiar flare of anger shot through me. “Or so I thought. It turned out he wasn’t special at all.”

  Oliver sat back, staring at me. “You were seeing someone else?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing came of it.”

  I wasn’t going to tell him about my affair with Harry. That was private, something I held to myself even now, when I was in bed in the dark. No matter what had happened between Harry and me, nobody could take that time away from me. And I knew that wherever Harry was, whatever he was up to now, it would be the same for him.

  CHAPTER 21

  Ruby

  On Monday morning I got up early and drove to Sarah’s house to put my letter to Harry through her door before she left for work.

  She lived on a quiet street a couple of miles from my flat. As I approached her house I could see it was in darkness with the curtains drawn, and, like her neighbors, it seemed that she and her family were still sleeping. As quietly as I could I pushed the envelope through her letterbox and slid away in the early-morning mist back to my car.

  I started to drive toward my flat, but when I turned on the radio and heard the six o’clock news bulletin, I thought of Harry and what he’d said to me one day.

  “I wake every morning just before the alarm at six thirty,” he’d said. “Isn’t it odd how that happens? Every single day I wonder what’s woken me. And I lie there and my mind seems to scan through everything that might have happened. Was it my phone? Someone at the door? A car engine starting? And then, always, within a second or two, my alarm will go off. And that happens no matter what time it’s set for.”

  “Is it an alarm clock?” I’d asked. “Does it make a slight sound, just before it rings?”

  “No, it’s my phone. Hold on, though, let’s check.”

  And he set his alarm for a minute’s time and we sat in silence, the two of us, leaning forward to listen, to check whether we could hear something, a sign that the alarm was going to go off. And then when it did, with a blast of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” I shrieked and jumped.

  That evening I’d set my own alarm for the same time the next morning and I’d woken a few seconds beforehand, just as he did, and lay there in the soft darkness of my bed, with Tom lying beside me, still in a deep sleep. I thought of Harry in his own bed, lying next to Emma. I wondered whether they were lying close together, whether his arm had snaked around her waist in the night, or her legs were entangled with his. I turned to look at Tom, at his dark wavy hair, tousled on the pillow. He was lying as far from me as he could, and I’d been clinging to the edge of our bed in my sleep.

  I’d felt a familiar stab of jealousy, deep inside, and wished I wasn’t here in this bed with Tom. I wished I was anywhere else. I’d known Harry for only a few weeks at that point and already I longed to go in to work. On Saturdays and Sundays I found the time dragged, and when Tom suggested a long weekend away, I turned it down. I didn’t want to be alone with him. I needed the distractions of everyday life to cope with living with the wrong man.

  * * *

  • • •

  Now it was as though I was operating on automatic pilot as I drove down Sarah’s street and took a left turn, knowing that this would eventually take me to Harry’s house. I was last here the day after he was meant to leave home, when I still thought he’d come to me.

  I sat in my car a few doors down from his house, on the other side of the street. The curtains were closed and the house was dark. His car was parked at the front, next to Emma’s red Mini, and I knew he was home, back from his holiday from real life.

  And then dead-on six thirty, just as he’d told me, the light went on in one of the bedrooms and then another light lit up a small window at the side of the house. For a second my heart leaped, thinking that he and Emma were in separate bedrooms, but I realized the smaller room was a bathroom. Then the hall light went on and I knew he’d gone downstairs to make coffee. I could picture him there, waiting for it to brew.

  I sat and watched for several minutes, my heart beating fast. Then the light went off in the bathroom. When the curtains in the living room at the front of the house were drawn back, I ducked down in my seat, though I knew I couldn’t be seen. My eyes were fixed on their house.

  As the minutes passed, the bedroom light was turned off and I saw a blond woman at the window, drawing the curtains back. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew who she was. I’d seen her on enough Instagram posts. She didn’t look up and down the street. Why should she? When his car lights flashed, dead-on seven o’clock, I turned the key in my car’s ignition. I needed to get away, fast.

  I got as far as the corner and stopped the car. I couldn’t resist taking one last look.

  There on the step was Harry, his back to the street, completely unaware of me. His wife, Emma, stood in the doorway. He was wearing a suit; she was still in a robe.

  As I watched from a safe distance, I saw him reach out and cup her face, then kiss her. Her arms came up around his neck and they stayed like that, their bodies close, for a few moments.

  I put my foot on the accelerator and drove slowly away, but by the time I reached the end of the road, the impression of that tender embrace was emblazoned on my mind.

  CHAPTER 22

  Emma

  Of course I knew Harry was carrying on with Ruby. Of course I did. What, do you think I’m nuts?
<
br />   It had been obvious for ages. He would come home with a little pink glow on his face and a skip in his step, and for a while he suffered from that well-known disease that affects adulterers: mentionitis.

  Every time he opened his mouth he’d tell me something about Ruby. That she was so clever. So funny. They’d been laughing all day. Great, just what you want to hear. She was married, he told me, and I shut him up a few times by asking him questions about her husband, a guy called Tom who worked in Sales. He sounded as bad as his clown of a wife, to be honest, but Harry was never interested in talking about him. Once, I asked whether he wanted to invite Ruby and Tom to our house for dinner. I thought I’d like to see what I was up against. He refused so quickly that I became even more suspicious.

  At first I treated it as a bit of a crush. I remembered feeling like that when I was in school; there was always someone I’d had my eye on. I found my old school diaries when my parents moved from our family home into a bungalow, and quite honestly, it was as though I was permanently in heat during my teenage years. So after twenty years together, I wasn’t that surprised that Harry had had his head turned a bit. I put it down to the stress we’d been under, running two businesses and trying to get pregnant. I never thought he’d actually have an affair, though.

  And then I missed the biggest signal of all. It was a rookie error on my part and I’ve been kicking myself for it ever since. You see, he just stopped talking about her. Her name was never spoken; it was as though she’d been spirited away and he’d had his memory wiped. And I fell for it. I almost forgot about her.

  I should have known.

  * * *

  • • •

  One Friday night in May, Harry came home from work later than usual. I’d already showered and changed into a dress and heels; we were going out for dinner that night. I went out into the hallway when I heard his car draw up outside.

  “Hi,” I said when he came into the house. And it was so odd. He smiled at me but he looked different, somehow. His smile was just too polite and he didn’t quite meet my eyes. Now, we’ve been together through thick and thin, but he’s never done that before. Immediately I was on high alert.

  He dumped his bag down on the hall table. “Hi.”

  “Did you remember we’re going out with Annie and Patrick tonight?”

  “Yeah, sorry I’m late.”

  Still odd. Still no eye contact. My skin started to prickle. I went up to him and kissed him on his cheek. He stood still to let me, not responding with a return kiss. With a jolt I remembered his crush on Ruby and realized that that fear had never really gone away. I quickly glanced at his face for signs of lipstick, took an inward breath to detect a hint of perfume. There was nothing; this did confuse me, I admit. I have a pretty good scent both for perfume and for danger—or I thought I had—and I could have sworn there’d be something there. But no, all I could smell were the traces of his cologne from that morning, and his shirt was still crisp and uncreased.

  He pulled away from me. “I’d better get a shower.”

  I followed him upstairs, telling him about my day and noting he wasn’t saying much about his own. I knew he had something on his mind. Something that I wouldn’t want to hear.

  He waited until he was in the shower before he told me.

  “Oh, by the way,” he said.

  I steeled myself. Something was coming. Whenever someone tells you something you really don’t want to hear, they do it with their face covered, either in the shower, while taking off a sweater, or in the pitch-dark of a bedroom. It’s Psychology 101, isn’t it?

  So, he said, “By the way, you know that trip to Paris?”

  “No.” I knew perfectly well which one he meant. It was the following weekend. He’d put it on the kitchen calendar. Now I wondered whether this would be our own personal Armageddon. I felt my body, taut and wired, and didn’t know whether I wanted to run away or to fight. “Which trip is that?”

  “It’s in a few days’ time.” From the careful way he spoke, I realized he knew exactly how many days it was. He probably had a little calendar he ticked off every day, like a child’s Advent calendar, though with a bigger incentive than a sliver of chocolate. “A week from today, I think. There’s a conference and I’m going to see about getting some French suppliers on board. We’re giving a presentation, too. Remember?”

  My throat was dry but I forced myself to act normally. “Oh, I remember now,” I said. “That sounds interesting. Paris should be fun, too. Will you meet Ben there?” Ben was a friend of ours from university; he’d been living in Paris since we all left Manchester almost twenty years ago. “It would be good for you to meet up.”

  The pause was three seconds; I counted.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “There’ll be a few of us going so I probably won’t have time.”

  If I could have pointed a torch beam in his eyes to get the truth out of him just then, I would have. “Oh? Who’s going?”

  “Nobody interesting.” He reeled off the names of a few of the younger guys who I knew would be off looking for a bar as soon as they landed. I waited. Here it came. “And Ruby’s coming. We need someone to help with the presentation.” Another pause. “We won’t see much of her, though. She’ll be off sightseeing as soon as she gets the chance.”

  “That sounds like fun!” I said, in dutiful-wife mode. “You’ll have a great time.”

  He switched off the shower and grabbed a towel. When he spoke, his voice was light with relief. “Oh, it won’t be fun,” he said. “You know that sort of thing; it can get boring at times. I’ll book into a hotel with a gym, I think. It’ll give me something to do in the evenings.”

  Somehow I didn’t think he was going to be at a loss for something to do. I waited until he was back in the bedroom, flushed with heat and duplicity, before I said, “Oh well, why don’t I come with you? I’d love a weekend in Paris.”

  He almost fell over himself to tell me that no, actually, that wasn’t a good idea. “Well, you can come if you like,” he said, “but I won’t be able to spend any time with you. I’ll be in meetings all the time. Why don’t we go together, later in the year? We could stay for a week and meet up with Ben. Perhaps take a trip to Versailles while we’re there—what do you think?”

  I wanted to ask him why he needed a hotel with a gym if he was going to be so damn busy. “I don’t mind,” I said. “I can go to the galleries and do some shopping.”

  He turned his back and towel-dried his hair so that I couldn’t see his expression. “Well . . .” he said, “it would be nice if you came. Only if you’re sure, though.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The next day, my dreams of scuppering his adventures came to an end as I received a call from my business partner, Annie, telling me that she needed to take some time off work because her mother had fallen and broken her leg. I would have to work flat out over the next week so that our project was delivered on time. While I commiserated with her, part of me wanted to kick her mother’s other leg because I knew that had been my chance to put a stop to Harry’s shenanigans.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” Harry said when I told him. “It’s just a work trip. I’ll be too busy to spend any time with you.”

  And when he returned from Paris on Sunday evening, he certainly looked exhausted.

  But then, so was I.

  CHAPTER 23

  Emma

  Harry was flying out to Paris on the eight P.M. flight, which meant he had to be at the airport at six. All week I’d been trying to get bits of information from him. I learned that the other guys would be there from Thursday night as there were people there they needed to speak to. Ruby would be traveling with him, because—oh, who knows, he gave some convoluted reason about her having to be at work on Friday to take minutes at a meeting.

  That Friday he was up earlier than usual and spent more ti
me in the shower. Getting himself Ruby-ready, I suspected, but a huge part of me hoped like crazy that I had the wrong end of the stick. He hadn’t mentioned her for a while, and only then when I asked him a direct question. He wasn’t a good liar, but he was consistent.

  “You’re pretty quiet this morning,” I said as he drank coffee in the kitchen.

  He looked at me, startled. He seemed so preoccupied I think he’d forgotten I was there. “I am? I’m just thinking about the meeting we’re having this morning about the new selection of snacks we’re planning. I’m anticipating problems with Production.”

  “I thought you hadn’t made a final decision about them. Wasn’t that what you were going to Paris for?”

  He was like a rabbit caught in the headlights. “I am. Yes. That’s what the meeting’s about.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to have the meeting after you’d been there?”

  Now he was back to his old self. “Emma, don’t tell me what to do at work, will you?”

  “No, but it’s just . . .”

  “Stop it. I know what I’m doing.” He must have seen my face fall. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just preoccupied with it all at the moment.”

  “That’s okay. Your flight’s at eight, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The others went yesterday?”

  He nodded.

  “So it’s just you and Ruby going tonight?”

  His face became still and his eyes flickered away from mine. “Yes, I think so,” he said. “But I’m not sure whether we’re flying together. I’ll have to check her flight time.”

  I think that was the first time Harry had ever told me a direct lie. Though how would I know? But this was a lie; I knew it.

  * * *