He opened the front door, then turned to look at me.
‘You disgust me.’
The black floating frames that we had bought together in Rome, with photos of the children as babies, shook as the door slammed and his car screeched on the gravel as he drove away.
My knees buckled and I sank to the floor, my spine liquid. I drooped until I was lying down flat, hugged my knees to my chest.
‘You disgust me.’
The words spun around in my head, getting louder and louder. I disgusted myself too. All these months that I had been telling him lies, I’d told myself that they were just little ones, that I was protecting him. I hadn’t even noticed them after a while. But now I saw that the deceit had permeated my whole being and I couldn’t stand what I had become.
I put my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, sobbing silently, unable to get up again…
I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, I was still curled up into a ball and it was 1 a.m.
I went upstairs and got into bed but I couldn’t sleep. I texted Tom but he was offline and none of my messages were delivered.
Please come home. I can sleep in the other room. Just come home.
Later.
Baby, just let me know you’re OK.
I called his phone, but it kept going straight to voicemail. At 3 a.m. I started to get worried. I knew there was no point in texting Tariq or Tom’s brother, Peter. He wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened. Not yet anyway. I threw back the duvet and stood by the bedroom window, looking at the driveway. I googled ‘car accidents in south west London’, but didn’t find anything. The police would have called me if there had been an accident, anyway.
An image flashed in my head of Tom in a hotel, in bed with another woman. If he believed that I had slept with Harry, he might see it as simply redressing the balance in our marriage. He could have gone to a bar, got drunk and taken someone to bed.
I started to walk up and down the small space between the window and the bed. He couldn’t have meant the things that he’d said. He was angry and hurt, that was all. I prayed that was true.
I got back into bed, clutching my phone. I sat propped up against the pillows but eventually fell asleep again, waking in a panic at 6 a.m. to find no text from Tom. He hadn’t been online since he’d left the house. I ran to the guest room and then the children’s rooms in case he was sleeping there, but all the rooms were empty. There was no sign that he had come back.
I texted Martha to ask if she could collect the boys from my parents later and got into my car. I couldn’t just sit at home. I had to find Tom.
Seventy-Six
I drove around the Common first, looking in the lanes where we went for walks with the children and where Tom and I had a snow fight last winter. I drove past our favourite Sunday lunch pub and then to the hotel nearby. I checked the car park but there was no sign of his car. I drove down the High Street and the back roads in the Village too, and then down to Wimbledon.
I called his mother in case he’d ended up there. I knew she woke up at the crack of dawn.
‘Good morning, Victoria.’
‘Is everything OK, Faiza? Why are you calling so early?’
Her question gave me my answer. He wasn’t there. Her immediate worry had sounded almost like Ami. Perhaps after two decades she had picked up some of the inbuilt neurosis of a Pakistani parent.
‘Yes, sorry to call so early. I wanted to ask you what you used for the lemon icing for Sofia’s birthday cake. I’m making cupcakes for Alex for a sleepover and I was just off to the supermarket to get the ingredients.’
I knew that she would panic if I told her Tom was missing. It was best not to say anything yet and I knew exactly what I could pretend to phone about.
I tried to get off the call as soon as I could, which was hard, as Victoria gave me detailed recipes for lavender and orange icing as well. I parked the car and checked my phone again. Nothing. I would never find him like this, I knew that. But I couldn’t face going home either. I drove to the A3 and headed towards central London. I knew where I needed to be.
It was still early and I found parking in a side street off Piccadilly. I got a takeaway coffee then darted across the road towards the Ritz and walked to the entrance of Green Park. When I reached the gate, I stopped. I remembered standing at that same spot, twenty-one years ago, debating whether to go in or not. Tom had been waiting for me inside.
It was our first date. My head was crammed with all the reasons I should not go in: the different cultures, my parents’ ban on my dating anyone at all, let alone a non-Muslim and non-Pakistani. If I went into the park, I’d be going against every expectation and tradition that had been drilled into me. I would be entering uncharted territory.
I was already in love with Tom but I didn’t know exactly how he felt. I was aware, though, that a twenty-eight-year-old English guy would not be thinking love and marriage, when they hadn’t even been on a proper first date. I was setting myself up for a fall. On the day of the date the sensible thing would have been for me to turn around, walk back to the tube station and go back home, to the path expected of me.
Even though I was in love with him, at that stage I could have got over him, eventually, I’d thought. We had been circling each other for months, coming closer and closer, until Tom had asked me to come for a picnic.
‘It’s a date,’ he’d said. ‘Just so there’s no confusion.’
On that April afternoon, against all logic and self-preservation, I’d walked into the park for my date with Tom. He had laid out a red and white picnic rug under a tree and he smiled when he saw me and stood up. I waved to him and ran the rest of the way.
That tree would later be christened ‘our’ tree. Four months later, Tom and I lay on the same blanket in the park, looking up at the sky. I was crying, and he was holding my hand.
‘You don’t have to do this anymore,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t sleep with you unless we’re married. I want to, more than anything, but I can’t go against my beliefs. It’s just not something I can do. I know it would be bizarre for you to marry someone before sleeping with them so it’s an impossible situation. I’ll understand if you want to end things.’
My tears blinded me and I could no longer see the frothy clouds in the sun-blue sky that we had been staring at earlier. Tom squeezed my hand. He was silent for a heartbeat before he spoke.
‘Or, we could just get married.’
I stopped crying instantly.
‘What?’
It was such a casual remark. If he was joking, I knew that my heart would break. I held my breath and he nodded, then was absolutely still. His eyes were a serious, deep blue, waiting to see my reaction. When he saw it, a smile spread across his entire face. He pulled me closer.
‘Good. You know I’d do anything for a shag.’
His arm tightened around me, and I smiled.
For the last twenty years, Tom and I had come to Green Park every April. As I walked into the park, I realised that we had missed our date this year.
The memories were painful, as I took a sip of my coffee. It was the first time I’d been here alone, and the first time that I had no idea where Tom was, or if he still loved me.
I sat down under our tree and took out my phone. I had to keep texting him until he replied. I held my breath when I saw he’d just sent a message: I’m OK. We need to talk. I’m coming home.
I let out a shaky sigh. Thank God he was all right. I gripped a chunk of grass in my hand.
I typed back quickly: Don’t go home. Kids there with Martha. We can’t talk there. I’m out. Can you come and meet me?
Where?
Green Park.
There was a pause.
OK.
I wanted to tidy myself up before he got there. I had a brush in my bag and some mints. I was still wearing the leggings and T-shirt that I’d slept in. I hadn’t brushed my hair or my teeth before I’d left the house and last night’s red lipsti
ck and eyeliner were smeared and smudged on my face. I pushed my tangled hair back, tucking a strand behind my ear. I didn’t have the energy to fix myself. I stared at the grass at my feet and waited.
Seventy-Seven
‘Hi.’
I hadn’t heard him come up. He sat down opposite me. His eyelids were pink and his eyes bloodshot. His white stubble stood out in the morning sun.
‘Where have you been?’ I spoke without emotion, careful to keep my voice neutral. I didn’t say that I had been worried or that he should have called.
‘I needed some time to think.’
He spoke without the anger of the night before. We could have been discussing what we had for lunch.
‘We missed our Green Park date this year. But we made it after all. Twenty-first date,’ I said.
When he spoke, it was as if he hadn’t heard me. He had prepared what he was going to say.
‘I can’t do this. I’m sorry.’
The quietness of his voice and the layer of kindness between his words were worse than the fury from the night before. These weren’t words thrown in anger. It was his verdict after hours of consideration.
I watched an old woman with a grey plait and a striped rainbow jumper who was feeding the pigeons across from us. She was singing to the birds and the sounds carried in the air towards us. Her arm cut a perfect ‘C’ in the air as she scattered breadcrumbs.
‘Are you leaving me?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Tom, darling, please…’
‘I don’t know who you are any more, Faiza. Last night I found myself wondering what was true and what was a lie. I always had complete faith in you – now I doubt every word that comes out of your mouth.’
I looked away from his eyes, from the pain and bewilderment there. I’d done that to him.
‘I love you, Tom. Don’t you believe that?’
‘Maybe love means different things to you and me.’
The calmness of his voice was deadly. I felt as if my heart had stopped. I didn’t know how I was still breathing, still listening. This was it. The thing I had always feared.
The irony of it hit me. We had dismissed the warnings and cautions from both sets of parents about the strains and stresses of a mixed marriage, but I hadn’t forgotten their words. They had stayed in my head and walked down the aisle with me. We had reassured each other that we wouldn’t let religion or culture or clothes or traditions or the societal pressures on us from two very different worlds ever break us. And they hadn’t. After the first three or four years, those issues faded into non-issues. I had never imagined, though, that the threat to our love would come not from culture, but from cash.
‘Look, we need to sort things out,’ he said, brisk and business-like while my head felt as if it was underwater. ‘Let’s get a coffee and think about what needs to be done.’
The old woman was gazing at the birds now, the way I used to watch my children eat when they were toddlers: with exhaustion but a deep satisfaction.
Tom took my hand to pull me up, then dropped it. He walked a little ahead of me and I watched his shoulders, wanting only to lay my head on them. I couldn’t imagine never holding him again.
He left the park without a backward glance and I stepped through the gate where I had started our story, knowing that it would now end.
Seventy-Eight
We went to the coffee shop in Waterstones, and Tom borrowed a piece of paper and a pen from the waitress when she brought our coffees and croissants. He started to make a list. I drank my coffee, but couldn’t swallow anything else.
Tom was going to leave me. The words were like acid burning into my brain. I didn’t think that I could survive. He clearly felt no such emotions.
‘The first thing we need to do is to give Harry his money back. I’ll do it on the laptop when we get home. Can you give me his account number, please?’
My face flamed as Harry’s name was mentioned. I had a confirmation email for the transfer from the bank so I took a screenshot and sent it to Tom. He opened the text, his lips a tight line of disapproval.
‘You have to tell Sergio that Harry tricked you to get the information – I can bet he’s done other things too, if he’s done this with you.’
‘But what if they don’t believe me? They could just fire me.’
‘You have no choice. Has he contacted you since the party?’
I shook my head. I didn’t want to tell him that Harry had texted, to say that nothing had changed, and I should tell Tom that Julia had mistaken me for someone else he’d been seeing – to her, all brown women with long black hair looked the same – and deny anything about the money.
His text said: There’s no way he’d know about the money. Just stay quiet and I’ll keep your secret. I told Julia it was a company payment and she had it all wrong. You’re a dark horse. Looking forward to Monday.
I still couldn’t tell Tom about Harry attacking me; he would definitely make me go to the police and I couldn’t risk anything that might jeopardise my job and my bonus. I had to carry on as normal, and stall Harry for another two weeks until I got the bonus.
‘But we’re giving Harry’s money back and then, if I lose my job and don’t get my bonus…’ I said.
Tom was brusque. ‘We’ll just have to deal with it.’
I couldn’t help my hand from moving towards his. I didn’t function without touching Tom. He moved his hand away and put it under the table. I slid mine back and picked up my phone. I looked at him but he looked away. His eyes had always been my anchor. I didn’t know where else to look.
Outside, we went in opposite directions to our cars. As I walked away, I looked back, wondering if he would too, some part of me still hoping that this was just a tiff that would dissolve and disappear – my mind could not envisage a reality where Tom no longer loved me. But he was already on the other side of the road, taking long strides away from me.
He never looked back.
Seventy-Nine
When I got home Tom was already there, and the small blue suitcase that we used for weekends away in Bath was lying on the bedspread. I wrenched open the wardrobe door. His side was already half empty and the hangers shook mournfully as I stared at them. I hadn’t thought he would move out like this…
Later I watched Tom from the kitchen window, his laugh loud enough to reach me as he picked up Alex and swung him around in the garden, while Ahmed kicked a ball into the goal and raised his arms in victory, running in a circle around Tom and Alex. No, I told myself, Tom would calm down once he’d had some time to think about it all. He couldn’t throw all this away. He would stay for the children, even if he didn’t want to stay for me.
After lunch, when we were alone, he said, ‘I’ve transferred Harry’s money back.’
‘Thank you.’
I was glad we had returned that monster’s money but I couldn’t help shivering as I thought about Harry’s text. He was still expecting me to go through with his ‘offer’. What if he tried to attack me again? I couldn’t tell Tom though, I just couldn’t…
Tom’s eyes were fixed on his phone. I wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, kiss his forehead, do something to take away all that pain. I needed to show him that I was sorry. It was almost twenty-four hours since he found out about the money. I hoped that he would now let me explain what had happened and tell him how much I loved him.
‘Tom, listen…’
‘I’ve packed my things, Faiza. We should get the children together and tell them that I’m leaving…’
‘Tom, no! Please, come on. You don’t have to leave.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t stay here.’
‘This is too much for the kids to take in. Let’s just say you’re going on a business trip.’
‘And then what? Have them feel cheated when we tell them the real reason I left? No more lies, Faiza. They need to know what’s going on and I need to tell them that I’ll still be there for them, even if we aren’t together.’
*
He called the children into the TV room. Alex sat on my lap and I put my arms around him, pulling him close. I wasn’t sure if I was comforting him or myself. Tom sat next to Ahmed. He put his arms over our son’s bony shoulders, then patted the seat next to him, for Sofia to sit down. She stood impatiently by the sofa, her eyes flitting to her phone, her feet poised to flee, as if at the start of a race. She stayed where she was.
I let Tom start, still hoping that, as he said the words, their horror would make him come to his senses. He could still change his mind and his script.
‘We wanted to tell you about something very sad that’s happened.’
Ahmed flinched and Sofia was suddenly still.
‘Don’t worry, no one is sick or anything like that, but Mum and me haven’t been getting on very well for a while now and so we’ve decided that it’s best if we have some time apart. I’m going to stay with Uncle David, my friend from university, remember?’
Sofia burst out laughing. ‘Very funny. Although it’s not the best joke, Dad.’
‘Darling, I’m sorry but this isn’t a joke. I wouldn’t joke about this.’
The silence was suddenly louder than all the noise the children had made over all the years put together. Sofia’s face was a mask, her jaw stiff just like Tom’s. Ahmed stared at his shoes. I wanted to jump up and pull all my children to me, in a close hug, but I couldn’t move. I tried to take one breath after the other, and quieten the screams in my head. I just wanted it all to stop. I concentrated on keeping my face calm for the children and holding back my tears.
‘I’m going to move out, but this doesn’t mean you won’t see me.’
Alex wriggled out of my arms and ran to Tom, who hugged him.
‘I don’t want you to go!’ said Alex.
Ahmed was silent, biting his nails. Sofia looked at us both and shrugged. Her cheeks were red, her eyes glittered.
‘It makes no difference to me. I’ll be out of here soon anyway!’
Would I Lie to You? Page 27