Adultery for Beginners

by Sarah Duncan

  'Yes I am. Of course.' She felt close to tears.

  'I'm pleased for you.'

  'Thanks.'

  They stood side by side behind the counter, not saying anything, watching the customers look through the books. She knew he thought she'd given up because Neil had come back and was disappointed in her. But change is frightening, she wanted to tell him. I want to be back to normal. And in her head the male tortoise climbed on top of the female tortoise and took back his property, while the female clamped her lips together and was silent.

  - ooo -

  'Isabel? What's all this stuff doing, cluttering up the place?' Neil was back from work, scratchy with irritation. He was picking up the stack of prospectuses.

  'They're mine,' Isabel said. She took a deep breath. 'I was thinking of going to college next year.'

  'What for?'

  'For me. Because I'm interested. Because I want to do something with my life.'

  'I see. So who will look after the children while you're off being a student?'

  'There are three universities within an hour's drive of here, plus the FE college at Fordingbury. It won't make any difference to the children. They're at school all day, and I'll have the same holidays as them.'

  'What about money? You don't get grants any more, you know.'

  'I know. I'm not eligible anyway, having been abroad,' She gathered her thoughts. 'I'm going to sell my parents' house.'

  'But we use the rental money for the school fees.'

  'I know, but the way property has been going, it's worth a lot of money. There's enough to fund me going to university as well as paying the children's school fees.'

  'We agreed it would go on education.' Neil's face was mulish.

  No, Isabel thought of saying. You decided and I agreed. But instead she said lightly, 'Why not my education?'

  Neil rifled the prospectuses, the glossy pages making a soft blur of sound. 'So, what will you do with your education?'

  'Teach.' She searched his face, trying to gauge his response.

  He leant back on his chair.

  'I suppose there's no harm in trying.'

  She waited to see if he was going to say anything more.

  'What's for supper?' he said.

  - ooo -

  It was fortunate that Neil had stopped searching through the mail before he left for work because a few days later Isabel received a plump letter with a Roma postmark. She tucked it into her bag without opening it, knowing who it was from, wondering what he had to say to her. The shop was busy so she had to wait until her morning break. She escaped into the stock room and closed the door. Perched on boxes of books she took the letter from her bag and opened it.

  Inside was another envelope, containing three film negative strips, a postcard of the Coliseum with an address on the other side, and a small package wrapped in tissue paper. She sat with it in her hand, thinking of the beginning, the first kiss. She had felt so excited, expectant, electric with life and its possibilities. And now?

  The door opened and Adam came in. 'Everything okay?'

  In answer Isabel held out her hand. Patrick's signet ring glistened in the palm of her hand.

  'I don't seem able to break free,' she said. It should have felt strange saying something so personal to her employer, but it felt natural to confide in him. Adam leant against the door, his face serious.

  'Do you want to?'

  'Yes. And no.' She fingered the ring. 'If I let go, I feel as if I'm closing the door on everything that's alive.'

  'Do you love him?'

  She shook her head.

  'And Neil?'

  'I don't know. I've been with him my whole adult life. I can't imagine life without him. Is that love? It's not violins and rockets, we just trundle along in our little world, every year settling deeper into the ruts.'

  'It doesn't sound like love to me.' His face was sad, and she wondered about his past.

  'The children love him.'

  The shop doorbell rang and he moved as if to go.

  'I must go back. Come up when you can.' At the door he turned back to her. 'Don't forget that there are always alternatives.' He looked as if he was going to say something else, but the bell rang again. He smiled at her and shrugged. 'I have to go.'

  Isabel felt ashamed. It was Adam's shop, and she was the employee, yet he was the one who was going to deal with the customers. She hurriedly shoved Patrick's letter and ring back into her bag, and went up to join Adam.

  She thought about what Adam had said about alternatives all day. Perhaps her choice was not, as she had thought, between Patrick and Neil, but between staying in a rut and moving on. Moving on didn't have to mean moving to Patrick, or leaving Neil. She could move on within her marriage, through developing herself. In that way she could maintain the stable home for her children that she so wanted for them. Talking about becoming a student hadn't seemed real before, more an elaborate party game, but now she realised that it was more important than that.

  When she got home she waited until Neil had gone up to bed. The blue of the sitting-room walls was nearly as blue as the sky behind the Coliseum on the postcard. She flipped the card over. Patrick had scrawled his Rome address in his terrible handwriting, an unspoken invitation to a new beginning. He was destructive, Mary said, but he didn't mean to be so. The ring was heavy in her palm. Emotionally involved, Mary said, as much as he was able. Isabel shook her head. Poor Patrick. She didn't love him, that much she knew.

  She found an envelope, wrote the address on it, then tore the postcard into pieces and put them on the fire, along with the strips of film negative. The cellophane curled and twisted as if in pain, then dissolved into the flames. Finally the ring. It was heavy in her palm, a beautiful gold circle. Without trying it on she wrapped it up again, put it into the envelope and sealed it. It was over.

  Chapter 21

  Neil rang Mary's doorbell. As it sounded, Isabel felt panic rise inside her. She wanted to run, be anywhere else. Inside she could hear party noises, what sounded like hundreds of gossiping people. Neil must have sensed her panic because he put one arm around her waist so that when the door opened they were coupled together.

  Mary had got staff in for her party. The door was opened by a young woman in a black dress and frilled white apron, with a bored expression on her face. They went in, Isabel wishing that she'd worn something smarter and more glittery. She could see by the way Neil was sticking his neck out as if his tie was too tight that he was feeling equally nervous. Glasses of champagne in hand, they made their way down the hall. Isabel was thankful that of the people she had seen so far she recognized no one, beyond Millie in her nightie, peeping through the banisters from the upstairs landing.

  Mary's drawing room was crowded. Neil again put his arm around Isabel as if protecting her from the crush.

  'Isabel, my dear, so pleased you could come.' Mary, pink face clashing with a gold sequined top, sailed majestically towards them. 'And Neil too, how nice. Now come and meet some people.' She briskly introduced them to a small group. 'Neil and Isabel Freeman, back in this country after years of ex-pat life.'

  With Mary's introduction the conversation ran the usual path: which countries, what did you do out there, how long for? Neil did most of the talking, which was good as she felt wound up with the strain, too tense to make conversation. She looked up at him, watching his mouth, hidden under his moustache. It opened, red and fleshy as he talked. He kept talking about 'we' - we did this, we did that.

  A waitress came round with canapés. Isabel ate one, although she couldn't tell what it was she'd just eaten. She hoped the children were all right: it had been the last day of school for them and they had come home carrying plastic bags bulging with exercise books and loo roll and cottonwool constructions, paintings flapping, and stray bits of tinsel. It had been a wrench to leave them with the girl from next door but one. They were so clean and delicious after their baths, necks smelling of warm soap and innocence. They need security, she t
hought, suppressing a sharp pang of rebellion. They need Neil and me to stay together.

  Isabel concentrated on the conversation, nodding and smiling. More canapés, more champagne. She began to relax. None of the people seemed to know of her, or if they did, they hid it under an impenetrable layer of sociability. One or two familiar faces went past, but Isabel acted as if nothing had happened, and they reciprocated. One of them, whom Isabel recognised from the sole PTA meeting she had attended, even went as far as to tease her about a meeting she had missed.

  'Don't forget again, now,' she said gaily.

  Mary had written that people had short memories, but to forget something as shocking as the photographs would imply the attention span of a flea. Isabel wondered what the reactions would have been like if Neil hadn't been there. After all, if Neil forgave her, then no one else had anything to say about it She started to enjoy the party, although she stayed close to Neil's reassuring presence. Hesitantly at first, then with more confidence, she started to talk about her plans for university. It was heartening to realise how many people either knew someone who had gone to university as a mature student or had done so themselves. This is easy, she thought, relaxed on her third glass of champagne. Even if they know, no one is going to refer to Patrick. She turned to see where Neil had got to and bumped into a man standing behind her.

  'Oops, sorry,' she said. The man turned and stared at her with bulbous eyes.

  'Well, well, if it isn't Isabel,' George said.

  Isabel stepped back, but she was hemmed in by the crush of other guests. George put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, his palms moist with sweat, his breath hot on her cheek. One hand brushed - accidentally? - against her breast. He was standing close, too close, looming over her but she couldn't move away.

  'I hardly recognised you with your clothes on,' he drawled, his eyes lingering on her body.

  'Excuse me.' Isabel tried to push her way through the crowd, away from him, but George stopped her.

  'Why so unfriendly?' he said, placing a fat hand on her bottom. 'We all know you're not exactly exclusive.'

  He didn't bother to keep his voice down, and Isabel sensed a few heads turning. She caught the glint in his eye. He's enjoying this, she thought, he's enjoying my humiliation. But I don't have to be bullied by George, I've been through too much to let him get away with it.

  'I think you need to cool off, George,' she murmured, and very deliberately poured her glass of champagne over the front of his trousers. He yelped and stepped back, but too late. Ignoring his splutters she tried again to escape through the crowd, and succeeded in reaching the door where Neil was talking to Mary.

  Neil raised his eyebrows. 'You look flushed.'

  Isabel nodded. 'It's awfully hot in there.' She heard a noise behind her and turned. 'Oh dear, it looks like George has had a little accident.' Her voice carried further than she meant to, so several heads also turned to see George pushing his way towards them, his trousers dripping wet. Someone laughed. George marched up to Neil and Isabel, scarlet in the face, his eyes bulging. He opened his mouth to speak, but was prevented by Mary cutting in.

  'Never mind, George,' she said, putting a hand on his arm.

  'But -'

  'Now, come with me and we'll sort you out, there's a good chap,' she said, sweeping him away from Isabel and Neil, her manner that of a kind-but-firm matron.

  Richard joined them. 'What was all that about?'

  'George has got a little problem,' Isabel whispered in Richard's ear. 'You know.' She raised her eyes suggestively.

  'Really? Goodness. Poor fellow,' Richard said.

  'But don't tell anyone,' Isabel added, thinking that the Golf Club gossip machine might as well work to her benefit as her detriment.

  'I wouldn't dream of it.' He stared after Mary and George. 'Who'd have thought it?' He gave himself a little shake. 'More champagne, Isabel? Neil? Your glasses seem empty.'

  Richard topped up their glasses. 'I must circulate, but I'm so pleased you were able to come. Both of you.' He smiled at Isabel, and she blushed at his kindness.

  'So what was that all about?' Neil said when Richard was out of earshot.

  'I'll tell you later,' Isabel said, thinking back to George's face as he realised that she was actually going to pour champagne over him. She smiled. Not the world's wittiest riposte, but it'd do.

  'What's so funny?' Neil asked. 'You really shouldn't laugh at poor old George.'

  'Poor old George, my foot.'

  'You looked at him as if he was something particularly nasty you'd just stepped in.'

  Isabel glanced at Neil. Perhaps all this had started when Neil had told the story of the dissolving party dress to George. She remembered the way he'd leered at her then, the way his hands had felt on her shoulders tonight.

  'I'm going to go to the loo,' she said. In the hall one of the waitresses directed her upstairs to what was obviously Mary and Richard's room, all frills, swags and flowery chintz contrasting with Mary's usual brusque manner. A couple of women were lolling on the bed, chatting.

  'Are you waiting?' she asked.

  They said no, and indicated the bathroom.

  When she came out the women had gone, and another woman was standing examining the objects on top of a chest of drawers.

  'Justine.'

  As she turned round and saw Isabel, she looked so guilty, so dismayed that for a second Isabel wondered if she'd caught Justine helping herself to something of Mary's. But her dress was a skin-tight sheath, and tucking anything away would have been impossible. Justine's smooth, confident expression reasserted itself.

  'I haven't seen you for ages,' Isabel said, trying to remember when she'd last seen Justine.

  'I've been busy,' Justine said, moving away from the chest of drawers and smoothing her dress down over her hips.

  It occurred to Isabel that both of the women she had initially made friends with had been absent while she'd dealt with the fall-out from her affair. It was Mary who, surprisingly, had been supportive while Helen and Justine had disappeared. Perhaps it was that thought that made her comment, 'Neil's back, you know.'

  Justine tucked her hair behind her ears and sat on the bed. 'I know.' Her face was hard. 'So Neil has come home and forgiven you. Lucky you.'

  'Yes, lucky me.' Isabel had a flashback to writing 'lucky clover' on the PTA agenda. It hadn't brought her much luck. She tried to read the expression on Justine's perfectly made-up face, but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.

  'Why didn't you go with Patrick?' Justine asked, tracing the pattern of the bedspread.

  'How could I?' Isabel said.

  'He seemed smitten.'

  Isabel tried to keep her voice light. 'I expect it was the novelty factor of being refused.'

  'Maybe.' Justine stood up. 'I'm sure Neil's told you his version of events, but I want to make it clear I didn't mean you any harm. We'll be meeting up at school, at social events like this, so it's best to be civilised. Or at least, civil.' She examined her perfect nails. 'Mary's obviously decided to back you, and who am I to go against Mary? Especially as I don't have a husband to support me. And there was I thinking you were bored to tears with each other.'

  'We're not,' Isabel said automatically, completely adrift.

  'Obviously,' Justine said. 'Or boredom's better than risk. That's what Neil chose, but somehow I didn't expect you to. Still. Don't let's go there.'

  Isabel started in recognition. She could remember Neil using the expression, and thinking how strange it was. The world seemed to have changed angle, like a distorting mirror at a fairground. She touched the wall to steady herself. She could hear what Justine was implying, she just couldn't understand it. Then she thought of Patrick in the shop insisting that he hadn't sent the photographs, Patrick who claimed not to tell lies, who she knew avoided answers or told harsh truths with a casual shrug of his shoulders rather than lie. She had assumed he was lying because there wasn't anyone else with knowledge, opportunity
and motive. Or so she had thought. Her body felt as wobbly as if she'd just got off a rollercoaster, her vision distorted, but as she focused on Justine the overlapping images settled themselves into sharp clear lines. Justine. And the photographs.

  She swallowed although her mouth was dry. 'How did you get the photographs? From Patrick?'

  'Patrick? No, why would he give them to me? It was your set, of course.'

  There was a bitter taste in Isabel's mouth. She felt her whole body slump with the shock. 'When?'

  'When I did your wardrobe. I heard all your conversation with Patrick - how could I not? At first I was simply curious to see what they looked like, so I retrieved them from your bin. Then I thought they might be useful.'

  'Why did you do it?'

  'Well, obviously because -' Justine stopped herself, her eyes narrowing. She drummed her scarlet nails on Mary's dressing-table, as if buying time, deciding what to say. 'I should have guessed... He hasn't said anything, has he?'

  'Who? Patrick?'

  'No. Not Patrick.' Justine looked almost amused. Isabel tried to think who else Justine could be referring to. It couldn't be...

  The door opened and three women burst in, laughing and giggling. They caught the atmosphere in the room.

  'Oops. Sorry,' one said and they started to back out.

  'No, it's fine,' Justine said, smiling at them, her pretty face as smooth as an egg. She sauntered towards the bathroom, her bag swinging jauntily over one shoulder.

  Isabel caught her arm, not caring who saw. She wanted to shake some answers out of Justine. 'Who are you talking about?'

  Justine looked down at Isabel's hand on her arm, and Isabel dropped her hand. 'Thank you,' Justine said. 'Please, Justine,' Isabel said. 'Please.'

  Justine looked at her with cold eyes, then smiled her pussycat smile. 'Why don't you ask Neil?' she said. 'Try asking your husband.'

  - ooo -