With or Without You

by Shari Low

  In fairness to her, Madeleine, in her very elegant black crepe shift dress and a Prada bag that didn’t look like it came from a dodgy stall in Thailand, showed no signs at all of being intimidated. Actually, she seemed even more pissed off than Sasha.

  ‘Fuck. No wonder I drink,’ Justin muttered. ‘Sasha, you don’t want to do this. We’ll talk about it later,’ he added.

  ‘Oh, I do want to do this,’ she countered.

  I decided to step in again. ‘Sasha, this isn’t the time. Come on, let’s go and…’

  ‘No,’ she said, again barely above a whisper. ‘I’m still really interested in knowing why Madeleine seems perturbed. Is something wrong? Something I can help with?’

  The other woman’s body language changed in an instant as she exhaled and said wearily, ‘Really? You really want to know?’

  Justin looked panicked, ‘Madeleine, don’t…’

  Oh God, was this actually happening? This wasn’t the time for confrontation. It was the time for small talk and musings about the weather.

  ‘I’m here because I’ve worked with Justin for ten years,’ she began, in a staccato, matter-of-fact, hint-of-vitriol voice. ‘You know, Justin, your saintly, loyal boyfriend?’ It was like a dam had burst and there was no stopping her. ‘Well, for five of those years, I’ve been having sex with him. For four of them, he’s been telling me he would leave you. For the same amount of time, he has been assuring me that you no longer sleep together. Yet, I come here, and, once again, you’re playing happy bloody families, in your nice garden, with your nice house and your nice friends, and I think I’ve been a mug. A complete fool. Because I believed everything he said.’

  I’m not religious but… oh sweet Jesus, this was a moment that required urgent divine intervention. A flash of lightning. A plague of locusts. A bloody big crater to open up and swallow us whole.

  ‘Oh, and for what it’s worth – he didn’t want me here today because I’m fairly sure he’s trying to cool things with us. I decided to come anyway. Nothing left to lose and a few home truths to share.’

  She was getting louder and louder, and I was desperately trying to think of a way to put this genie back in its adulterous bottle. Not that I believed a word she was saying. It was ridiculous. Nonsense. Justin wouldn’t do that to Sasha. Come on, they’d been together for years. Sure, they had their problems, but these long-term secret affairs were the kind of things you read about in books. If Justin hadn’t wanted to be with Sasha, surely he’d just have called it a day? Why carry on? There were no kids to consider, no marriage contract to dissolve, or joint lives to rip apart. This was Sasha’s house – left to her when her mum died a decade ago, five years after her dad. She’d come to an arrangement with her two brothers that they’d take the pensions and life insurance, and she’d have the house. Justin lived here, but he’d arrived with just a suitcase and could quite easily have packed a bag and left at any point.

  Other people around us were surreptitiously paying attention now to what was going on and a glance at Justin’s group of workmates told me everything I needed to know. Not one of them looked surprised. They knew. They all knew. That made me mad as hell. It all began to make tragic sense. The first time I met her she’d said she was having an affair with someone else’s partner. Now it was becoming devastatingly clear that the lover was Justin, and the unwitting victim in the infidelity was one of my closest friends.

  ‘True. Or. Untrue?’ The words, spat out individually, came from Sasha and were aimed with lethal venom at Justin.

  I could see that he was weighing up the consequences here. If he denied it, there was every chance that the ever increasingly agitated Madeleine would create an even bigger scene. If he admitted it, then he was whipping up the relationship equivalent of a nuclear fallout.

  In the end, he realised he didn’t have a choice. It was the moment at the end of every shite TV crime show, when the suspect admitted his crime, faced justice and the titles rolled.

  ‘True,’ he said.

  The word was barely out when the sound of the slap echoed through the silence, the red outline of Sasha’s palm searing his cheek.

  ‘Fuck this…’ With that, he turned and walked off, didn’t even have the balls to stay and face what he’d done.

  Sasha didn’t respond or react. Nothing. For the first time ever, she was frozen, silent, still, as he left.

  ‘Sasha, let’s go,’ I urged. How could he? Bastard. All I cared about now was getting her out of the centre ring of this circus.

  But she’d finally found her voice and it was aimed at Madeleine.

  ‘All these years you knew he was with me and you still had a relationship with him?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a defiance there. A desperate bravado of someone on the edge of a precipice. At work, I saw many human beings pushed to beyond their tolerable level of emotional pain, and that’s what I was looking at now. I recognised a woman who had been forced past her limit, who was distraught to the point of self-destruction, who saw no way out other than to walk through the fire.

  I braced myself for a typical Sasha reaction – volatile, explosive, furious – but she surprised me.

  ‘You still want him?’ she asked Madeleine.

  To my surprise Madeleine let out a low, bitter laugh. ‘Pathetic, isn’t it? But do you think I’d be here, humiliating myself if I didn’t?’ The words were bitter, but they were delivered with almost a plea for understanding.

  ‘Then he’s yours. Now get out. You might just be able to catch up with him. And if you do, tell him that his stuff will be cleared out of here tonight. I never want to set eyes on his cheating bastard face ever again. Or yours. Got that?’

  A hint of a smile and then a flinch of something – shock, maybe victory, even relief – narrowed Madeleine’s eyes, before she turned and walked, head held high, down the path that led to the gate. She had balls, I gave her that. They clearly filled the void left by her lack of scruples and empathy.

  The guests who’d overheard everything made a show of resuming their conversations with the people closest to them, pretending that there was nothing to see here, nothing at all. Only we knew they’d be replaying this moment and discussing it in minute detail as soon as they were out of here. This would keep the office water cooler in gossip for weeks.

  Right now, I didn’t give a toss. All I cared about was what had just happened to someone I loved.

  ‘Oh Sash,’ I heard Chloe whisper, just as I felt Sasha’s whole body deflate.

  I thrust my arm around her waist, supporting her. ‘Come on, love, let’s get out of here,’ I whispered, then watched in utter admiration as she smiled, lifted her head, and said, ‘Let’s carry this party on inside.’

  With that, holding Chloe’s hand on one side, mine on the other, she walked across the garden and into the house. That was an inner core of steel right there – but it was one that I knew would either melt or explode the minute we were out of the glare of strangers.

  We were just about to go through the patio doors into the privacy of the house when, across the garden, I saw Richard turn, look at me, and smile as we locked eyes. He was blissfully unaware of everything that had just happened, and in that moment I knew. Just knew.

  I was going to be needed here.

  He was going to be leaving for Manchester. Alone.

  Chapter Six

  The Stag Night

  July 2004

  ‘Isn’t the whole point of a stag weekend the fact that it’s supposed to be men only?’ Chloe suggested, speaking just a little louder than usual to be heard over the background noise of the train. We were on our way from Glasgow to Edinburgh for what just might be the most bizarre event in my social history – my ex-husband’s stag night. The wedding had been pushed to this summer, when no pesky siblings could steal Janet’s thunder.

  Sasha sighed, adopted a grave demeanour. ‘Yes, but these are desperate times. Number one, Liv hasn’t had sex in fricking months and Richard will be there – al
ways good for a regret-free encounter.’

  ‘Aw!’ I yelped, a little outraged – but not too much, because it was basically true.

  ‘And number two, Janet didn’t invite us on her hen weekend, so we’re doing this out of protest.’

  That last part was definitely true. Janet had decided to invite her ten closest friends to a spa in Marbella for a long weekend and we hadn’t made the cut. To be honest, I understood in my case. Who would want your soon-to-be-husband’s ex-wife along to celebrate your impending nuptials? Yes, we made nice with each other when we were all together, but I didn’t blame her for cutting me out of the loop.

  The others had mixed responses to their omission from Janet’s mini-break. Chloe was typically prosaic and focussed on the positives. ‘She’d make us wear Lycra all weekend and there’d be a daily jog between detoxing and meditating. I’d rather be here with a large vodka and the potential for a midnight curry.’

  Sasha wasn’t quite as understanding. ‘Cow. And after we totally welcomed her right from the very first time Nate brought her to meet us.’

  ‘I seem to remember that you avoided her that first night because you said she was boring your tits off,’ I reminded her, taking another sip of Chardonnay from the straw that was attached to a bottle tucked inside my bag.

  It may be 10 a.m. in the morning, but I’d worked fifteen days on the trot, sometimes staying long after my shift had finished – NHS cutbacks combined with a norovirus outbreak had left us hopelessly short-staffed on the ward. It felt great to be able to switch off, even for just twenty-four hours, and even if it was at my ex-husband’s stag night.

  I had to admit, Sasha wasn’t far off with her comments about Richard. It was almost a year since he had moved back to Manchester and I’d re-joined the world of the singletons, so I was looking forward to seeing him.

  We’d met up twice (once when Chloe, Connor and I had gone down to visit him, and a second time when he’d come up to Glasgow for a conference and stayed over with me in his old flat – I’d taken over the lease after he left). If you added those two occasions to the number of times I’d had sex in the last year, the total would be… two. There had been a bit of a drought, mainly caused by the combination of endless unsociable shifts and free nights being spent with Sasha, to stop her stalking Justin or venturing on to some gangland network to hire a hitman. She’d been through every emotional stage in the last year. Anger. Denial. More anger. Grief. Despair. Self-Doubt. Anxiety. Courage. Determination. Blind bloody fury. On the outside she was functioning, but I knew it was a superficial veneer and it could crack at any moment.

  Justin had begged, he’d pleaded, he’d promised her the earth if she’d take him back but she’d point-blank refused. If it had been a couple of one-night stands she might have found a way to forgive him, but five years of infidelity? There was no going back from that. We’d heard – and by that I mean we’d grilled Nate with such dogged intimidation that he had no choice but to tell us what he knew about his mate – that he was no longer seeing Madeleine, but that didn’t matter. Sasha was done.

  I wasn’t though. A few weeks after he’d moved out, I’d arranged to meet him for a coffee in a little bistro next to his office. While all my sympathy and fury was on Sasha’s behalf, there was no escaping the fact that he’d lied to us all. This guy had been like a brother for over a decade, and the whole time he was betraying my best friend. Even now I wanted to rant and rave and ask him how he could do it, but there was a bigger picture here. It was time someone pointed out what had been in front of us all for some time – Justin had a drinking problem. He was an alcoholic. Time to say it, tackle it and try to turn it around.

  Right on cue, he’d turned up, by-passed the hot drinks, and ordered a large glass of red wine. It was more depressing than surprising. I knew what he’d done was horrendous, almost unforgivable, but I loved him and I wasn’t ready to give up on him, especially when I suspected the root cause of everything was the liquid in the glass in front of him. He was defensive and aggressive from the moment he sat down.

  ‘So… sent here to tell me what a prick I am?’ he asked, his glare challenging me.

  I shook my head. ‘Sasha doesn’t know I’m here.’

  That surprised him. ‘So what’s the script then?’ he countered.

  I wondered how many drinks he’d already had today. This wasn’t the lovely, funny, affectionate Justin that I’d always adored. This was the antagonistic version that usually surfaced after half a dozen drinks. There was no point trying to mollify him because it wouldn’t work, so instead I got straight to the point. ‘I think your drinking is out of control and I want to help you,’ I said, then watched as his eyes narrowed in anger. ‘I don’t need any fucking help.’

  ‘Justin, every month I’ve got someone in my ward, who can look back and pin-point the moment that they said they didn’t need help, then drank themselves into a bed in palliative care. I care about you and I honestly don’t think you’d have done the things you’ve done if you’d been sober. This is a disease, Justin. There are programmes, treatment centres…’

  I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

  ‘Ah, piss off Liv. Sitting there all holier than though when all of you take a drink.’

  ‘Not every day,’ I countered, then wished I hadn’t because that sent him into orbit.

  ‘Don’t you dare judge me,’ he raged. ‘Christ, you’re priceless. Why don’t you just take care of your own car crash of a life and stop fucking worrying about mine?’

  With that he got up, sending his chair toppling, and left.

  Tears bristled behind my eyes. This wasn’t him talking. It really wasn’t. I knew that, but it didn’t lessen the sting of helplessness that I was feeling right then. I’d tried. And I would try again. But for now, I was going to have to let him make his own way to the point when he realised he was self-destructing and chose to do something about it.

  I hadn’t told Sasha, and I figured it was better that way. I didn’t want her to think I was choosing sides, when all I was doing was trying to help a friend that I loved, before he completely wrecked his life.

  ‘Are you going to be okay, dealing with Justin being here this weekend?’ I asked her, dreading the answer. Of course Justin was going to be here. He was still one of Nate’s best mates.

  ‘Absolutely. He’s dead to me. I’m just going to act like he doesn’t exist…’

  Fair enough. Maybe a civil silence was the best way to go.

  ‘… right up to the point where I snap and stab him with a cocktail stirrer.’

  Or maybe not.

  ‘You don’t think you and him…’ the hopeful lilt in Chloe’s voice made it clear that she was going to suggest a reconciliation.

  Sasha cut her dead. ‘No. Never again. Not even if his dick has been washed in Dettol.’

  Chloe surrendered immediately. There was more chance of us developing superpowers that could make this train go backwards than there was of changing Sasha’s mind about this. On a relationship level, I totally agreed with her. Five years. That wasn’t some meaningless fling, it was a double life and I was furious with him for doing that to my friend. That said, I’d still be there for him if he needed help, but I didn’t expect him to call anytime soon. As soon as it was clear that Sasha wasn’t interested in reconciling, and since that day I’d met him and tried to encourage him to get help, he’d cut off all contact with Chloe and I too. It was understandable. Inside Justin, somewhere far from his infidelity gene, was a good guy and he was probably mortified at what he’d done, but it was drunk Justin who was calling the shots.

  Given Sasha’s decimated life and my sexual drought, I’d have lost faith in the romantic process altogether if it weren’t for the fact that Chloe and Connor were still blissfully happy. Even all these years later, I couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if he hadn’t come home that weekend. It was impossible to imagine now what Chloe’s life would be like without him. There would be three sing
le women sitting around this wine-and-snack-laden train table instead of two.

  The wine was definitely going to my head by the time we reached the hotel in the Grassmarket area of the capital. The streets were packed with Australian rugby fans, having pre-game celebrations before playing an off-season friendly against Scotland at Murrayfield stadium.

  We ditched our cases, then headed downstairs to meet the guys. A pub crawl wasn’t the most original idea for a stag party, but the event had been organised by Justin, so we’d have been shocked if there had been any other plan.

  All the usual suspects were already warming up their livers. Nate, of course. Justin – looking sheepish the minute he spotted us and seeking refuge with a couple of guys I didn’t know. Connor. A few of Nate’s friends and… where was Richard?

  ‘He phoned this morning. He was called into work at the last minute so he’s not going to make it,’ Nate revealed. I tried not to let my disappointment show, but I was gutted on the inside. So much for my wild night of sex with an ex. And don’t get me started on the fact that the painful removal of six months’ worth of body hair had been a complete waste of time. I consoled myself by opening another bottle of wine and drunkenly asking the pub DJ to get a bit of Usher on. There was gyrating. Warbling. And a whole lot of miming along to ‘Burn’. Like I said, it was a long time since I’d had a night out.

  The next ten hours were a blur of drinking, dancing, singing and revelling in the atmosphere, despite the fact that Scotland got tanked at rugby. However, being a nation of good losers when it came to field sports, our commiserations looked a lot like our celebrations. By 2 a.m., half of Nate’s workmates had disappeared because they’d copped off with a squad of Australian girls who’d travelled up from London for the game. Justin had got completely sick of Sasha making pointed digs and gone off into the Edinburgh nightlife wilderness. As the day had worn on and his alcohol levels had raised, he’d got more and more loud and developed a demeanour that was almost arrogant whenever Sasha was nearby. In short, he was being a dick to Sasha, while ignoring Chloe and me, so I was glad when he left.