The Closer You Get
Page 11
• • •
I worked hard all day but I couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. Why was I just lying down and taking this? I was his wife and I didn’t want to lose him. I looked up at the clock. It was nearly four. Time to act. I would go to Paris, too. If I did that, nothing could happen between Harry and Ruby. I knew I’d feel a fool, gate-crashing their little party, but what was the alternative?
I took my laptop from the office; I would work in the hotel room. I drove home and quickly packed an overnight bag. Minutes later I was in my car, heading toward Manchester airport.
I hurried from the car park to the terminal building. The check-in line was pretty long and I stood against a wall, away from the crowd, waiting for Harry to arrive. I didn’t want to buy a ticket until I was certain he was definitely taking that flight. I knew he wouldn’t have arrived before me; he was never early for anything.
I waited and waited, scouring the crowds for Harry. I didn’t want to send him a message, I wanted to surprise him. Deep down I knew he’d be shocked, rather than surprised, but I’d gone past caring about that. The line at the check-in grew shorter. I looked at my watch impatiently. It was now after seven o’clock, prime time for traffic problems around Manchester. He needed to get a move on. I took my passport and credit card out of my bag, realizing I should get a ticket now rather than wait for Harry to turn up. If he only just got there on time I might be too late to buy one. I went over to the ticket office and stood in the short queue there. The woman in front of me had emptied her handbag onto the desk in an effort to find her passport and I turned away, exasperated.
Then I saw him. He sauntered through the departures concourse carrying his bag as though he had all the time in the world. He looked much more relaxed than I would be if I was arriving that late for a flight. He reached the stand for Air France and stood at the back of the queue. I thought he must be taking a different flight from Ruby’s and my heart lifted with relief. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing his forearms. They were tanned and muscular and even at that distance made me weak at the knees. His hair was tousled and when his face broke out into a huge grin I felt myself respond. I smiled back and was just about to wave, when I realized he wasn’t smiling at me. He hadn’t even seen me.
Just when I’d taken a few steps toward him a woman brushed past me, darting through the crowds. She was tall and slender, with dark brown hair and that pink complexion that blushes easily. She was blushing now and laughing, too. She went up behind Harry and did that thing where you tap on one shoulder but stand on the other side. He swung one way and didn’t see anyone, then turned the other way and saw her. His face lit up in a huge smile. He reached out and put his arms around her, hugging her so hard he almost lifted her from the ground.
And still I was persuading myself, well, okay, they are friends and he’s hugging her. He can have a female friend, right? I can be a cool wife. I took another step toward him. But then he cupped her face in his hands and gave her the sweetest, most gentle kiss on her mouth. She was wearing a little silk vest and blue jeans and as she raised her arms to wrap them around his neck, I saw her back, pale and soft, and watched his hands slide around her waist, under her vest, to stroke her skin. A woman nudged Harry to indicate the queue was moving on. He and Ruby blushed and I saw them apologize. He took Ruby’s passport from her and opened it. I saw him smile and say something to her, then she reached up to whisper in his ear. He kissed her hair and pulled her to him.
I couldn’t take my eyes from them.
They were called up to the desk and one by one they showed their passports, had their bags weighed, and were given boarding passes. They turned away from the desk and I saw her touch his arm and ask him something. He pointed down the concourse to the security exit and, hand in hand, they walked off toward it.
My face was stinging as though I’d been slapped. I took out my phone and called Harry. I had no idea what I would say to him. It rang three times. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at it. I was about fifty yards behind him, now, following them. The ringing stopped. He’d cut me off! He didn’t say anything to Ruby—if he had I wouldn’t have been responsible for my actions—but put his phone back into his pocket. I don’t know whether I imagined that slight hesitation before he put his arm around her shoulder.
I looked from him to her, at the way she reached up to touch his hand, the way she nestled against him, and I thought, Enjoy it while you can, Ruby Dean. I am going to blow up your life.
CHAPTER 24
Emma
I have never been the kind of person who’ll just sit and take whatever someone chooses to dole out. Why would I do that? No. No. Better to preempt them. Get in first. Fire the first bullet. That’s more what I’m like.
And Harry should have known that.
So that night I went straight from the airport to Ruby’s house, to tell her husband that my husband was having an affair with his wife.
* * *
• • •
By the time I parked on the road by their house, ready for a quick getaway, I was feeling pretty nervous. I looked at the house; it was a good size. Well kept. A large magnolia tree sat in the corner of the garden, still in bloom, its graceful fragrant flowers just starting to shed. Everything here seemed so respectable, so normal, that I had a moment of panic in case I’d got it wrong and Ruby answered the door. What would I say? And then I pulled myself together. She wouldn’t be here. That was definitely her at the airport. I recognized her from the Sheridan’s website, though there her face was pale and serious. There was clearly more to her than you might assume from that photo. No, she wasn’t here. She was boarding her flight around about now, snuggling up to my husband. I’m sure they’d had a quick celebratory drink while they were waiting, clinking glasses at the prospect of a naughty weekend away, thinking they’d fooled everyone. Well, not me.
I walked up their driveway. It was nearly dusk and lamps were lit in their living room. I could hear the faint sound of a television. Someone was home. My stomach clenched with stress but I knew I had to go through with this. I took a deep breath and rang the bell. Through the colored glass panels in the front door I could see someone moving in the hallway. He came closer, his body blocking the light, and I took a step back and braced myself. The front door opened.
A man stood on the doorstep. He was tall and dark, about my age. He was wearing a gray T-shirt and soft denim jeans. Nice-looking, really. Put it this way: he didn’t look like a good-enough reason for Ruby to be sleeping with my husband. Not that you can always tell, but still.
He stared at me. “Yes?”
“Hi.” I started to speak but my throat felt raw. I know I’m all for bravado, but this was taking its toll on me. “Are you Tom? Tom Dean?”
He nodded and made to shut the door. “I don’t want to buy anything, thanks.”
I bristled. “I’m not selling you anything!” I took a deep breath. “Is Ruby here?” I knew she wouldn’t be, but I had to double-check.
He shook his head. I could see he wasn’t going to give away a damn thing.
“I’m Emma Sheridan,” I said. “Ruby works for my husband.”
“You’re Harry’s wife? Is everything okay? Nothing went wrong with their flight, did it?”
“I doubt it,” I said with confidence, because I always think that bastards get away with everything. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
He looked behind me, as though I might have a posse with me, and automatically I looked, too. His house is on a corner and he has only one neighbor; that house was in darkness and its driveway was empty. Then he remembered his manners. “Yes, of course. Come on in.”
He ushered me through the hall and into the living room, then switched off the television.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered. There was a bottle of red wine open on the coffee table and a glass stood beside it, half-full.
“Sparkling water? Orange juice?”
“Water would be great, thanks.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a tall glass of icy sparkling water. He set it down on the table beside me. “Let me take your jacket,” he said. “Have a seat.”
He was nervous, I could tell. I gave him my jacket and sat down on the sofa. I felt like I was going to be sick. The room was lovely, actually, much nicer than I’d expected. The colors were soft and relaxing, and a bowl of pink summer roses on the table made the room warm and welcoming. On the mantelpiece were a couple of photos in silver frames. I saw a teenage boy with a direct gaze and hair down to his shoulders: he looked like he wouldn’t take any crap. Then there was a photo of the same boy aged about seven with a smile that would break your heart. Next to him was Tom, looking tanned and relaxed, and on the other side was a woman in her thirties with dark glossy hair and sharp cheekbones. I’d last seen her an hour or two before, kissing my husband. She had her arm slung around the boy in a casual hug and I wondered what on earth she was doing, having an affair when she had so much to lose.
“What did you want, Emma?” Tom said. He was clearly trying to act nonchalant, as though your wife’s boss’s wife came calling uninvited every Friday evening, but his back was stiff, I noticed, and his hand gripped his wineglass. He took a long drink—I knew exactly how he felt—and put the glass down on the coffee table.
“I wanted to talk to you,” I said. “I think my husband is having an affair with your wife.”
He stared at me, then laughed. “What?”
“Your wife works for my husband,” I said. “They’re away in Paris this weekend.”
“Yes. They’re at a conference. She’s his PA.”
“That’s not all she is.” I hated that, no matter how I tried, I sounded bitter. As though I cared.
He stared at me for ages. I met his eyes straight on. I knew I’d sounded like a bitch, but I had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
And so I did.
CHAPTER 25
Emma
We hadn’t talked for long before I caved in and let Tom pour me a glass of wine, and then when he asked if I’d like another, I decided that I’d take a taxi home. Soon the bottle was empty.
Tom stood. “I’ll get some more wine.”
While he was out of the room, I called, “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Of course not. It’s out here, off the hallway.”
In the bathroom I looked around furtively, trying to get a sense of the woman who had attracted my husband. Everything looked clean and freshly painted, but there was nothing personal there. No photos, no cosmetics, just soap and hand cream and a mirror on the wall. I took one glance at myself, at my face, flushed pink with alcohol, my hair awry, and thought of Ruby standing there every day, looking at herself, standing just where I stood right now. I thought of her looking pleased with herself, smug with her double life. I shuddered and quickly left the room.
Tom passed me another glass of wine.
“Are you absolutely sure about them? You couldn’t be imagining things?”
“No. I’ve wondered about it, whether something was going on, but now I know there is. I saw them at the airport just now.” I’d already told him that; I guessed it was taking a while for it to sink in.
He flinched. “I took her there this evening. Dropped her off. I thought there would be a few of them there. That’s what she told me.”
I shook my head. “The other guys went yesterday. It was just Ruby and Harry today.”
“When you say ‘guys,’ are you including women, too?”
“She’s the only woman going,” I said.
His mouth tightened and I guessed then that Ruby had been economical with the truth about this visit. There was a long silence where we sat without looking at each other, clutching our glasses for comfort.
“They’ll be arriving now,” he said.
We both looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nine thirty here, ten thirty in Paris. I thought of them walking through the airport, hand in hand. They’d get a taxi to the hotel and sit for a while, ordering drinks in the hotel bar. Maybe they’d have dinner. After a while they’d say it was time to call it a night, knowing, knowing what would happen. Then not long after they’d find themselves in the elevator, crushed together with a party of people, aware of each other’s bodies, deliberately not looking at each other. I remembered that feeling from when I first met Harry and felt a stab of jealousy that he was experiencing it again with someone new.
I wondered who would turn to whom, who would be the first to suggest that they have a nightcap in one of their rooms. Would it be her? It’s so easy to blame the other woman, but the picture Harry had painted of her when she started working for him was hardly one of a confident woman. Yet there she was, on a little trip with my husband. Confident enough for that.
And that’s how it had begun with Harry and me, years ago, though neither of us was involved with anyone else at the time. I was in my first year at university; he was in his last. I’d noticed him for a long time and one summer night we were at a party in his student house and we sat on the porch steps and talked for hours. When it was late and most people had gone home, he hesitated, bit his lip, then said, “I don’t suppose you fancy one last drink, do you? I’ve got some Jack Daniel’s upstairs,” and I’d sighed with relief that he’d acknowledged something was going on. I remember going up to his room, giddy with excitement. He shut the door behind me and kissed me there, so that I was pressed up against the wall, his hands in my hair, his mouth on mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” he said as he came up for air, and I had flushed with pleasure.
I thought of him saying that to Ruby and felt sick. And yet, why wouldn’t he? He’d known it had worked with me. Maybe it was his party piece, something he said to all the women he’d been with.
I looked at Tom and wondered whether he was going through the same thing.
“Are you going to confront him?” he asked. “Now that you know for certain.”
“I don’t know.” I desperately wanted Harry to stay with me. To choose me. I knew that if Tom and I challenged them both now, there was a huge chance they’d run off into the sunset together. I couldn’t cope with that. “I think I’ll bide my time. How about you?”
He looked unsure. “I don’t know. I want to call her now. I won’t, though.”
“No,” I agreed. “Don’t do anything just yet.”
He got up and went into the kitchen. I heard a tap running and when he came back in, his face was damp and there were splashes on his T-shirt. “I think you’re right,” he said. “We should bide our time.”
“See what happens.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t want to think about this now.” He poured me another drink. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do?”
And so I curled my feet up on their soft velvet sofa and I had another sip of wine and started to talk to Tom about my life. What it was like to be me. It was more intoxicating than the wine, I have to admit. For a while there’d been a barrier between Harry and me; I knew now he’d created that. I realized when I spoke to him nowadays it was as though there was a brief pause where he had to stop thinking his own thoughts and acknowledge mine, but then he’d forget mine immediately afterward and go back to his own. It was more than that, though. It was as though I was speaking another language and he needed time to translate. And the distance had grown greater as time went by. So that night it was the first time in months that I felt someone was really listening to me. Speaking my language.
And then it was quiet and when I looked at Tom, I saw he was looking at me, to
o. His expression was serious, as though there was something he had to say.
“What?” I said. My mouth was suddenly dry. “I’m sorry. I’ve been talking too much.”
He shook his head. “You haven’t. I just wanted to say . . .” He sat up, put his glass on the coffee table. “You’re really lovely.” His gaze was so intense and I just couldn’t look away. “I don’t know how Harry could do that to you.”
I swallowed, suddenly close to tears. He leaned forward and put his hands in my hair, just as I imagined Harry was doing to Ruby, probably right at that moment.
And then he kissed me.
CHAPTER 26
Emma
I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done it. We shouldn’t have done it. There’s no excuse. None at all.
Except I wasn’t the only one behaving badly, was I?
I woke before dawn the next morning, my eyes snapping open to see the fluorescent digits of a bedside clock blinking at me. My head banged with a red wine headache and my mouth tasted foul. I must have been asleep for three hours, I reckoned. The room was dark, but light spilled in from the lamp on the landing, and I could see Tom, sprawled out on the bed beside me. His face was in the pillow, his breathing deep and regular. He’d drunk as much as I had. More, perhaps. I think he’d had a few drinks before I got there. It’s no excuse, but there it is.
I lay as still as I could, letting my eyes scrutinize the room. We were in their spare room; I don’t think either of us had had the stomach or the sheer gall to sleep together in their marital bed. The bed was large and comfortable, with deep pillows and a huge feathery quilt that he’d pulled up over us just before we slept. It wasn’t that that made me feel uncomfortable, obviously. His clothes were on the floor, where I’d thrown them the night before. I winced and looked away. There were pictures on the wall—I wished they were generic, so that I could feel superior—God knows I needed to claw back some self-respect—but they weren’t. They were clearly chosen by someone who was interested in art, who loved the pictures and had spent ages deciding on frames and positioning and the way the light would shine on them. The huge bookcase held so many books that were in my house, too, and I knew, I just knew that they were Ruby’s.