Adultery for Beginners

by Sarah Duncan

  Adam shrugged and smiled. 'Sorry. It was the most riveting conversation I've ever overheard. I take it you didn't go.'

  'No.' Isabel was trying to adjust in her mind the idea that everybody seemed to know what she was doing almost before she did.

  'Milbridge is a small town,' Adam said gently, just as Patrick had once told her.

  - ooo -

  The kitchen still seemed too bright when she opened the door, but at least it was cheerful to come home to. The rest of the house was dull and dreary in comparison. Once the children were in bed and asleep she rang Neil's mobile. There was a lot of background noise, people talking, glasses chinking, and she wondered if he was at a party, but he sounded depressed and tired.

  'Why don't you come back?' she said on impulse.

  'Back?'

  'I don't like to think of you in a B&B.' Music started playing in the background and she had to strain to catch his words.

  'I miss the children,' he said.

  'They miss you. I understand if you don't want to see me, but that doesn't mean you can't see the children.'

  He said something she didn't catch.

  'I can't hear you properly. Let's meet up and talk. Please?' Silence apart from the background noise. 'Neil?'

  'I have to go,' he said, and cut her off.

  She put the phone down and went into the sitting room to start making the curtains for the kitchen. As she cut and sewed, and sewed and cut, she thought about Neil. But whenever her thoughts started with Neil they ended up with Patrick. Then, when she thought about Patrick her thoughts unerringly turned towards Neil. It was as if they were conjoined, as if each existed only as a reflection of the other. Patrick-Neil, Neil-Patrick. But whatever she'd felt for Patrick was dead now, burnt out like a violent storm. She didn't know how Neil felt, whether he would ever come back. It wasn't her decision, all she could do was wait and see what Neil wanted. You can't make someone love you, just because you've decided it would be better for the children, she thought. And was there any point in staying married if love wasn't there? But then, what is love, in the context of a marriage? Liking someone an awful lot, feeling comfortable with them, knowing them. It didn't seem enough. Not an all-powerful, all-conquering emotion that moved mountains and shook the earth.

  But I didn't love Patrick, she thought. There were times when she had thought she did, admittedly, a confused, obsessive, unhappy love. But she'd never loved him more than the children. Perhaps that was why he became so angry. Perhaps he thought she should have abandoned her children for her lover, as his mother had done. If it hadn't been for the photographs, she would have stayed with Neil, sighing wistfully at the memories of her mad affair when she was feeling bored. A little bit of spice, to add flavour to the everyday. She frowned. Patrick had said that she would never remain faithful, that if it wasn't him it would be someone else. If the marriage had been happy, he'd said, she would never have had an affair. Was that true? She dug around in her memory, trying to find an answer. Perhaps happy was the wrong word. She'd lacked contentment. She'd been restless. If it hadn't been for the photographs, perhaps she would have taken another lover, become a serial adulteress.

  I love the children, she thought, but that didn't stop me jeopardising their happiness. I love the children, yet I've willfully disrupted their home. I love the children, but that love wasn't enough for her not to be tempted by something more in her life.

  The phone rang. It was Neil, this time with a silent background.

  'I'd like to have the children this weekend,' he said abruptly.

  'The whole weekend?'

  'Why not?'

  'No reason,' Isabel stammered, horrified at the thought of them going. 'What will you do?'

  'Take them to my sister's. Heather would love to see them.'

  'You know, I haven't said anything to them about -'

  'I know.'

  She wanted to ask him about his plans, what he intended. Every day of the past week she had been half expecting to see a letter from a solicitor drop through the door. Every day she had been relieved - and disappointed. Relieved because it meant that Neil was uncertain about what to do next, disappointed because it meant that she was left dangling.

  They arranged that he would pick the children up on Friday evening and return late on Sunday afternoon.

  Isabel put the phone down feeling as if someone had removed her insides and wrapped them round a rusty skewer. She had never been without the children for as long as a whole weekend. She decided she'd work in the shop on Saturday and on Sunday would paint the sitting room blue, a clear high-summer blue that you could imagine dissolving into infinity.

  - ooo -

  The weekend also seemed to stretch into infinity. Friday evening she spent clearing the sitting room and trying not to feel as if her heart had been ripped out by the children's joy at seeing their father and gleeful departure with him. Neil had stayed in the car and not spoken to her. Saturday was chaotic. It felt as if the whole of Milbridge filled the shop, with a stream of querulous customers demanding obscure volumes. Even Adam became tetchy. Saturday evening she had wanted to collapse with a bottle of wine, but she started to paint the sitting room instead, finishing well after midnight. On Sunday morning she did the second coat although her arms were aching. Good thing I'm not bothering with the woodwork, she thought. Afterwards she sat in the kitchen to eat a ham sandwich for lunch, exhausted, but admiring the curtains and the freshness of the room. Impossible to feel sad when surrounded by sunshine and sunflowers; impossible to feel sad when the children were coming home. As she munched she thought she'd do her room next, perhaps in a deep crimson. Something dramatic and extraordinary.

  Neil stayed in the car when he dropped the children off. She ushered them into the house then ran out in the rain to speak to him, her shoes slipping on the concrete.

  'Come in,' she said, rain dripping down her neck. 'We need to talk.'

  'Not yet,' he said and drove off, spraying puddle water in dirty arcs.

  'When, then?' she yelled as the car was swallowed up by the darkness. 'When?'

  - ooo -

  At work on Monday she surreptitiously read a book about moving on after the end of a relationship. Accepting your loss, grieving, clinging on to the past. She'd heard the words before, but had never applied them to herself. At every opportunity she drifted back to the book and read another chapter, hoping Adam wouldn't notice. Not that she thought he would have minded, but she felt he'd been exposed to quite enough of her emotional states.

  They were setting out new stock when he said, 'What are you going to do with yourself?'

  'What d'you mean?'

  'Angela will be coming back after New Year, but I don't think Maria will. There'd be a job going here, if you wanted it.'

  'I haven't thought about what happens next. Making it to Christmas seems hard enough.' She spoke without thinking, her voice bleak.

  'Perhaps you should think about it,' he said gently.

  'I've sort of been waiting for Neil to decide...'

  'It's your life,' Adam said, straightening a pile of books Isabel had haphazardly stacked. 'But if it was me, I'd want to make some of my own decisions.'

  'Like?'

  'Like, it might be that bookselling is your ideal job. On the other hand something else might be.'

  Isabel could have spat with irritation. 'I've been through that. I don't have any experience, I don't have any qualifications and I'm too old.'

  'You can get experience, and you can get qualifications. It's a question of deciding what you want to do and then going out and doing it.'

  'If it was so easy, everybody'd be doing it.'

  Adam laughed. 'Wake up, Isabel. Everybody is doing it. Something like one in five students is a mature student. More or less everyone I knew in the City is doing something else now, like running a ski chalet or an organic farm, and the ones that aren't wish they were.'

  'That's okay for them, they've got pots of money behind them.'
r />   'Look, all I'm saying is that people are changing careers and reinventing themselves all the time. There are loads of books for women returners. Do some research. Or don't: it's your life. If you want a job here, you can have it.'

  I'll think about it.'

  'And the job?' He grinned at her and she couldn't help smiling back.

  'Yes, and the job.'

  'Good. Now, I want to clear part of Fiction away and make a larger cookery display.' And they moved books around for the rest of the morning until Adam was satisfied he'd maximised the space according to his calculations of profitability per square foot. Isabel loved the way he took his calculations so seriously, the way he'd stand weighing two books in his hands as if gauging their relative chances of success with the readers of Milbridge. Once he caught her looking at him.

  'What's so funny?' he said, grinning at her.

  'Nothing,' she said, giggling at being caught out.

  'You think I'm mad, don't you?'

  'Mmm. But in the nicest possible way.'

  Isabel went to the library during her lunch hour and looked through their careers section. She discovered that the County Careers Office offered a free session on the computer, which threw up a selection of possible careers with as much variety as a bag of pick 'n' mix. She started to discuss career ideas with Adam, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence.

  'Adam,' she'd start. 'What do you think of horticulture?'

  Depends what sort,' he'd answer. 'I can't see you in dungarees on a municipal lawnmower, but something like landscape design would be good.'

  'Except I know nothing about plants. Well, not English ones anyway.'

  'Exotic gardens are fashionable right now.'

  Why are you always so positive?'

  'Natural optimism?'

  She tried not to smile. 'What about a lion tamer?'

  'Working with animals. Plenty of travel opportunities. Snazzy outfit.'

  'But if dogs have stinky breath, imagine a lion's breath.'

  'Yeah, but you'd get a whip.' He raised his eyebrows and she giggled.

  'Traffic warden?'

  'Uniform, again - always a plus, don't you think? Outdoor lifestyle. A chance to be mean to people with shiny new cars, and widen your vocabulary.'

  'Seriously, what do you think I should do?'

  'Seriously, I think you have to decide for yourself.'

  'It's all right for you, you always knew what you wanted to do.'

  'Not true.' He shook his head. 'I was always good at maths, so everyone assumed I would go and do maths. I didn't choose maths; it happened to be there and one thing led to another.'

  Isabel thought for a while. 'Still,' she said, 'you had a career, and are free to do what you like whereas I haven't, and I'm not.'

  'Not what?'

  'Free. I have children and a husband - I think.' She sighed. It would help if she knew what Neil was intending, if he was coming back. She didn't like to think of him in some horrible B&B or moving to a sordid bedsit. Not that all bedsits necessarily were horrible or sordid, but that was how she saw them.

  'It doesn't have to be all or nothing, you know. The choice isn't between working an eighty-hour week or drooping at home.' Adam straightened up, his tall frame unfolding like a laundry airer. 'Customers.'

  Isabel went to help, thinking about what Adam had said. Perhaps she was concentrating on the difficulties, rather than looking for the possibilities. It struck her that she was managing to work full time, and although the children grumbled about going to the After-school Club, they seemed to be happy with it. But then there were the school holidays, and she couldn't see how she was going to manage those. She stopped herself. There she was again, looking at the difficulties rather than the possibilities. She had to think of possibilities.

  'If I became a student,' she said to Adam later, 'I wouldn't have to worry about the school holidays. And when I graduated the children would be older, so it wouldn't be so much of a problem, and I'd be able to get a better job.'

  'Sounds good. What subject?'

  'Before I met Neil I wanted to read English.'

  'So why not now?'

  'It'd be a bit self-indulgent. I ought to do something more vocational.'

  'Do something you enjoy. You can always specialise later.' He yawned and stretched, bony wrists emerging from his sleeves.

  'I'm sorry, I'm being boring.'

  Not at all. Why don't you phone up for some prospectuses?'

  'Now?'

  'Use the phone in my office. You've got ten minutes.'

  Isabel obediently went downstairs. The first call was nerve-racking, but nobody asked any awkward questions and she became blasè about making the calls, making three more in quick succession. She was just about to ring the fifth and last college when Adam stuck his head round the door.

  'You've got a visitor.'

  Isabel followed him up to the shop floor, wondering who it could be. Obviously not Patrick, judging by Adam's demeanour. As she reached the top of the stairs he retreated into the children's section, and she blessed his discretion in the face of what was likely to be another awkward encounter.

  'Helen.' The last time she'd seen Helen was on the other side of the school playground. She was sure that Helen had seen her, but had avoided eye contact. And before that was the awful time on Helen's doorstep, when George had called her a bitch and told Helen to chuck Isabel out. Isabel clamped her lips together and crossed her arms.

  'Hello, Isabel. Mary said you were working here.' Helen rubbed her hands together. She looked so nervous that Isabel softened.

  'Are you well?'

  'Yes,' Helen said, but she didn't look it. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her nails were raw. She took a deep breath. 'I came to invite you and Katie to tea. If you'll come.'

  Isabel was astounded. 'What about George?'

  Helen's face flushed. 'It's my house too,' she said, her air of defiance worthy of Joan of Arc about to go to the stake rather than a woman arranging for a little girl and her mother to come to tea. But Isabel knew how much the invitation meant.

  “That's kind of you. Katie's missed Millie. But I don't want to get you into trouble. I thought George had banned me from the premises.'

  'He has,' Helen said, 'but I don't see why I shouldn't invite who I want to my house.' She then spoilt the effect by adding, 'He doesn't get back until well after seven most nights.'

  Isabel smiled. 'Katie would love to come for tea. And so would I.' She would, too. She felt so sorry for Helen. It must be awful being married to George, who Isabel knew to be a bully, and had wondered if he was something worse. She pressed her lips together, thinking about what she wanted to say. 'You know, these last few weeks, they've probably been the worst in my life, when I thought I'd lost the children -' She had to stop there. After a moment she continued, choosing her words carefully. 'But although it's been bad, here I am, and I think things are going to work out. I used to wish I could go back and change the past, but now, I'm not sure. Neil and me, we were stuck. And however painful it's been, I'm not stuck anymore. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

  Helen flushed, and then quickly nodded. 'But I'm not brave, like you.'

  'Oh, Helen, I've not been brave.' Isabel gently put one hand on her arm. 'Look, there are people, organisations, that can help. If you want.'

  Helen blew her nose. 'It's not that easy,' she said.

  'I know.' Isabel gave her a hug. 'But when you're ready, ask.'

  - ooo -

  On Friday evening Isabel opened a bottle of Rioja, to celebrate another week of work, spread the prospectuses out and read through them. And the more she read, the more the idea of going to college to read English appealed. It seemed to bring a circularity to her life: she had given up her place at university in order to be with Neil and now she was no longer with Neil, she could go to college.

  Some of the prospectuses promoted the wonders of student life as if studying was some minor interruption to the seri
ous business of sports, drinking and generally having fun. And the courses sounded fascinating, far more attractive than she remembered from twenty years back. There seemed such a huge range, not just English literature courses offering Anglo-Saxon or Victorian women novelists but modules in syntax, semantics, and sociolinguistics. Some of the combinations seemed strange: English and built studies conjured up visions of literate bricklayers discussing George Eliot as they trowelled mortar and built Flemish Bonds.

  She looked at the grades required. Her own ancient A levels were nothing like as good as the As and Bs required for courses at the best-known universities, but most of the prospectuses said that entry requirements could be waived for mature students. Perhaps Adam would let her use the office phone again to ring up and ask. Then there was the money. She'd need enough to maintain herself and the children, and to pay tuition fees. She wondered how much her father's house was worth.

  As she went upstairs to bed she thought about how peaceful her evening had been. She felt guilty, but it was pleasant just to be on her own, despite the difficulties. The weekend lay before her. She'd booked a visit to a local wildlife park that did Father Christmas specials - Michael was too old, but he wouldn't miss out on a 'free' present and Katie still believed. Then they'd go into Fordingbury and go Christmas shopping, with hot chocolate and cakes at a cafe for tea. She hoped the treats would make up for Neil's absence, or at least, make it less visible. On Sunday morning she was going to paint Katie's room lilac. It wasn't a very big room. Then in the afternoon she'd try to make a Christmas cake. Perhaps the children could make peppermint creams to give as presents. That was assuming they were still going to Neil's parents as arranged.

  But I can arrange things to suit myself, she thought. I can do what I please. If I want to read English I can, and I can use my own money, I don't have to consult Neil. And once I get a degree, I can become a teacher and be with the children in the holidays. She started to drift off to sleep, mulling over her plans and smiling. She'd enjoyed teaching. This time next year I might have finished my first term at college. She stretched out and rolled herself snugly in the duvet. It made such a change to be looking forward to something rather than worrying about Patrick or Neil. On the edge of sleep she heard a noise.