The Secret Lives of Emma: Distractions

by Walker, Natasha

  Emma closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  She woke later when she heard Sally and her husband Mark talking. Some lights were on now. She was uncovered and naked. She wanted to pull the covers over herself but didn’t want them to notice her, so she lay still and listened. They were both ineffectual whisperers.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘About an hour,’ he said. ‘I was lucky not to disturb her. It was still light when I got here.’

  Emma heard feet padding across the floor towards her, then hastily padding back.

  ‘Why didn’t you cover her up?’

  ‘She’s the one lying around nude for the whole world to see. I didn’t want to wake her. It would be embarrassing.’

  ‘She’ll be more embarrassed now knowing you’ve been here all that time.’

  ‘What have you two been up to? I found this.’

  ‘That’s Emma’s. Give me that! Oh, how embarrassing. Don’t say anything, will you?’

  ‘I won’t say a thing. Here’s the plan. I’ll go outside and wait ten minutes while you pretend to come home again and wake her. Then she won’t know I know anything about it.’

  ‘Good idea. Go outside. I’ll wake her.’

  Emma lay still and pretended to sleep while her friend drew the blanket over her then went back into the kitchen and proceeded to make lots of noise putting away the groceries. Emma lay with a smile on her face for some time, wondering exactly how long to wait before ‘waking up’.

  ‘Sally! What a racket you’re making!’ she said, eventually.

  ‘I’m sorry I was so long at the mall. Quickly now, upstairs, the boys will be here any minute.’

  No shit Sherlock, thought Emma as she ran up the stairs stark naked. Sally could sound twenty years older than she was when she was in her mother-mode.

  After a quick shower Emma entered her bedroom to find Mark standing at the door.

  ‘You look well, Mrs Benson,’ he said, nonchalantly.

  Emma pulled the towel firmly into place under her arm. Thankfully it was large and reached to her knees.

  ‘As well you might know,’ she said, not willing to keep up the charade with him.

  ‘So you know, do you? I thought you might,’ he said, stepping into the room. He had the air of an intimate.

  ‘Do you mind? I have to change.’ She leant over and switched on the bedside lamp. Till then only the white light from the en suite lit the room. Now she could see him more clearly. Though she was acting tough she was a little nervous.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he said, drifting over to the dark window but keeping his eyes on her.

  ‘I meant—’

  ‘I know what you meant, Emma,’ he said, interrupting her. He was a very handsome man, but he was small and a little too fashionable standing there so self-assured in his dark suit and shirt, open at the neck. Exactly the type Emma had secretly predicted Sally would end up marrying. He was the sort of man some women will fall in love with if they saw him up on the big screen, but who seems too petite in real life. Emma had always tolerated him. He was her best friend’s husband, and till now he’d never acted out of character, that is, the role of the best friend’s husband.

  He raised an eyebrow saucily. ‘You knew I was here?’

  ‘I knew.’

  ‘But you pretended to sleep.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, lying. Curiosity had the better of her.

  ‘I could tell you were awake when I turned on the lamp. I watched you so intently. I was right up near your face. You’re not very good at pretending. Your breathing was all wrong. Then I knew you wanted me to do something. I pulled back the blanket. I didn’t expect to find you naked. How lucky I was. You didn’t move or flinch. You just let me look.’ He paused. She could see words stuck on his lips. Her breathing quickened. ‘Had you been masturbating? With that thing?’

  Emma couldn’t believe what he was saying. She felt like calling for Sally and the both of them throwing him out of the house.

  ‘You’re a very beautiful girl, Emma.’ He waited for some response, but quickly discerned she wasn’t about to thank him. ‘You know what I was thinking as I looked at you? I was thinking, the four of us might, you know, play around this weekend. Wife swap.’

  Silence.

  He was unperturbed. Silence was better than a rebuttal.

  ‘Enough games, I want you, Mrs Benson. I want to fuck you now.’ He took a step forward, but she raised her hand and he stopped dead.

  Emma let the towel drop and saw his eyes open wide. She liked that. Men like Mark had one sure value, they were fun to tease. She liked that he liked her so much to be so bold. But she didn’t like him. She didn’t like his eyes, or his lips. She didn’t like the tone of his voice or the shape of his hands. She had toyed with him. Why not? She didn’t like him. She had been sleeping. He had made the first move. He had crossed the border under his own steam. He was in foreign territory and he had had the gall to assume too much of her. He did not know the local customs, nor the language, and his behaviour was that of a cliché, an American tourist with a loud voice and even louder shirt.

  ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Mark, but you can’t fuck me, nor will you ever fuck me. I like to be clear on these issues. I don’t want to hurt you but I am just not interested in you.’

  ‘You prefer my wife?’

  ‘That is between Sally and me.’

  He stood there fuming. He wasn’t hurt, he was vexed. He wasn’t absolutely sure this wasn’t another part of the game. She was still naked, though she now began to dress casually as if he was some eunuch slave of no account.

  Emma smiled secretly to herself for he just stood and watched. He had been bettered. She liked the attention but made no effort to encourage him. She was being as banal as she could be. She had no idea what she would do if he had found the courage to advance.

  There was really no way of hurting a vain man, nor was there any chance of putting him off with any finality, he would always suspect there were other reasons for the refusal. Having no interest in him was simply not possible.

  ‘Surely you don’t mind me trying?’ he said, calming down a little. He felt sure now that the game would continue, he would have his way soon enough.

  ‘I would never want to stifle someone’s self-expression, but you might want to think whether you ought to have done what you did.’

  ‘You mean with regard to Sally’s feelings?’

  ‘And mine.’

  ‘Yours? What have I done?’

  ‘Apart from sexual assault?’

  ‘You’re joking. I didn’t touch you.’

  ‘Infidelity.’

  ‘Now I know you are.’

  From downstairs both heard Sally call out that David had arrived.

  ‘Well, what shall we do about it?’ he asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘This.’

  ‘There is no this. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mark. But I don’t find you in the least attractive. There. Will that do?’

  ‘For now,’ he mumbled as he left. He went to Sally’s room and jumped in the shower.

  EIGHT

  The highway north through Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park had changed over the years. The road itself had been updated and improved, making for smooth, high-speed driving, but sadly not updated fast enough. The traffic had increased, the speed limit had been repeatedly reduced and the police presence was now oppressive. David had particularly enjoyed the crossing of the Hawkesbury River and the winding climb out of the valley but things had changed. The bleeding hearts had won out again. When did they not? Once it had been such a fine road on which to drive. Now it was tedious. His BMW was impotent on Australian roads. He’d travelled comfortably in a lesser BMW at 200 kilometres an hour along Italian motorways, roads like this one. Wasted. An excellent machine had been reduced to the capabilities of a 1970s shit-box. If everyone had a BMW there would be no road fatalities. Safest car there was. That’s democracy for you �
�� less is more. At least the leather seats were comfortable. They needed to be, too, for the drive was taking much longer than he remembered.

  The day had been hot. He’d left the city early to beat the rush north for the weekend. The herd from the outer suburbs were heading for their little slice of paradise. Why was he going? He lived in paradise. He could be swimming at Balmoral Beach right now. The frustration! Why was Emma behaving so irrationally? He was sure somewhere in the traffic sat Sally’s spiv of a husband. He’d have to sit around being sociable with that idiot when all he really wanted was Emma.

  The traffic from Wahroonga had been heavy but moving. Now he ground to a halt, a long line of red brake lights stretched out up the highway before him. The sun was setting already. He wouldn’t arrive in time for a swim in the surf after all.

  David’s week alone had been a long, lonely one. After a year or so of marriage he was unused to solitude. Or at least the kind of solitude Emma left in her wake. The contrast was the thing. Life was less without her.

  Gone were her talk, her love, her consideration, her caresses, her cheek and her stubborn will. Not even a week had passed and he was angry at her for her desertion. The house was large and inhospitable when so empty. Empty. Emma-ty. Without Emma. Emma-ty.

  Her sudden departure had hurt him. Something had happened in her other life, the life she lived while he was busy working. Whatever it was, she had chosen Sally not her husband to confide in. Sally must certainly be privy to that other life. The life he knew instinctively not to question.

  He was not a stupid man. He was not entirely ignorant of the other Emma. For David the other Emma was like a dark and forbidding thunderstorm sitting on the southern horizon, ready to ruin a beautiful day, but wild and exciting and full of potential nonetheless. He preferred not to focus on her past either. She was different. None of his rules applied to her. She wouldn’t have adhered to them anyhow. He loved her because she was different.

  He had chosen her because she was who she was. She was a wild force and the thought of breaking her in, of corralling her, was to take from her her allure. She brought a worldly sensuality with her to his bed. She brought with her all that was in her history. No ex-lover was exempt from their bedroom. No past act was left waiting in the hall. She was a compendium of fuck. When he fucked her, he fucked a lifetime of debauchery and devilry. She was a bad girl and bad girls make the best lovers – no matter what rubbish good girls tell you. A cocktail of infidelity, unparalleled tenderness, doubt, love, fear, lies, truthful eyes, half-truths, insincere avowals, warm knowing smiles, made for uncertainty and kept him on his toes. The thought that this might be the last fuck they shared together, this might be the last time she spoke to him, heightened his pleasure. Made him work harder, made him appreciate his opportunity and forced him to concentrate all his attention on the devil woman he had married.

  But this week spent alone had given him time to wonder about Emma’s secret life. He wondered who her lover might be. David’s gut instinct calculated that there had to be another satellite orbiting Emma. He imagined a shadowy figure in a shadowy world – the reverse of him – single, poor, a misfit of sorts. No more than that. He had no damning proof that she had a lover, just her personality, her overt sexuality and her opposition to a fixed moral position that certainly lent weight to the possibility. Her smiling eyes had always made a mockery of his attempts to discover the truth. How light and intangible she could make herself when pressed. ‘What?’ she seemed to say then. ‘Ah, darling, but don’t you know? I orbit you!’

  He would love to believe that. But the brightest stars have the greatest mass and he knew he was but a lump of rock by comparison. So he was never bold in his questioning, he’d only nudge her softly. For, though a temptation, the truth was not wholly welcome.

  He brooded now over the possibility that she might have a few lovers. Not just one, but three. That was balanced, too. Four satellites orbiting around a celestial beauty. His house might have a revolving door and his wife might be fucking half the neighbourhood behind his back. He ran through his friends, business associates … A week of this kind of thinking can send a man mad.

  The moment David entered the beach house Sally greeted him warmly and informed him that Emma was upstairs taking a shower. He glanced at the room, not yet registering his surroundings as he was still partly lost to the mechanics of the drive, and the thoughts he had been turning over in his head. Sally spoke of the light traffic, as Mark had had a good run, so David informed her of his frustrating crawl north.

  He felt tired now and registered the dead weight of his overnight bag on his shoulder. Sally had been quick to assess his mood by the way he dumped the bag by the stairs, and sighed, and she had immediately stepped to the fridge. He looked up the dark stairway, shrugged his shoulders and decided to stay where he was. When he turned back to Sally he took the beer she was offering him and noticed how beautiful she seemed in such a simple dress. He also noticed that her feet were bare, clean and tanned. They represented the week his wife had been enjoying.

  ‘Have either of you gone swimming in the ocean?’ he asked, his attention having been turned inside-out by her feet. Sally described her swim and the temperature, neglecting to tell him it had been a skinny dip, and assured him that they’d all go swimming together tomorrow while drawing him over to the dining table.

  She had put out cheese, dips and crackers and had arranged the room the best she could in the limited time she had, having lingered so long at the mall. She had turned on a few of the lamps and switched off the overhead lights. The dining table was aglow with candles.

  David looked around the room, answering Sally’s gentle questions and, warming to the interest she was paying him, told her of the sort of week he’d had. He complimented Sally on the house and she led him out onto the balcony.

  The night sky seemed to have dropped upon their heads. A change in the direction of the wind had cleared the air of the salty mist that often obscured the bright brilliance of the stars in a deep black sky. If they had dared they might have reached out their hands and tickled one. The sound of the surf and the invigorating scent of ocean, coupled with Sally’s warm and interested presence, relaxed David. He had been anxious about seeing Emma, but Sally’s easy manner was an uncomplicated assurance that all was well. He felt certain now that Emma would welcome him, that she had missed him as much as he had missed her. He suddenly felt the urge to pay Sally a compliment, and he told her frankly just how lovely she looked and that he hadn’t ever seen her so relaxed and happy.

  ‘You’re a remarkably beautiful woman,’ he added, spontaneously. He looked directly at her and felt better for having done so.

  She nodded an acknowledgment.

  For both parties this declaration was totally unexpected. His words certainly took Sally by surprise, for although she was often complimented she rarely felt a compliment to be sincere, more likely one applied generally to blondes. David was sincere and she was delighted. His words too, she was quick to note, were blissfully free of ulterior motives. The outcome being, none of her natural alarm bells rang. She could see that he had only just realised she was beautiful. He had seen her for the first time, as it were, which she felt was both awful and lovely at the same time.

  The silence which followed his words and her acknowledgement of them quickly turned to embarrassment. They both hurried back inside as each had suddenly decided to run upstairs to their partners.

  NINE

  After Mark had absconded, Emma sat on the bed, in her underwear, brushing her hair. She was very excited both by David’s imminent arrival and by the delicious duplicity of the scene, just ended, with Sally’s husband.

  At least five minutes had elapsed since Sally had called saying David had arrived. Now she began to think it strange that he had not come straight up to her.

  Another five minutes later, when she was dressed and presentable, she realised she was harbouring a hurt. Why hadn’t he thought to come up? Why hadn�
��t he wanted to come rushing up to her? A week was a long time. Hadn’t he missed her at all? She was certainly not going to go down to him. Not now, no way.

  She went back into the en suite to check herself in the mirror. When she had thought about their reunion she’d imagined him running up to her, closing the door hurriedly, grabbing her roughly and in one great orgy of indulgence expending a week’s worth of pent up sexual energy in a matter of minutes.

  But no, he did nothing of the sort. She wondered if he was downstairs sitting on a stool with a beer talking with Sally while she messed about in the kitchen. Did he feel encumbered by decency to forgo his baser desires in favour of his duties as a guest? How dreary married life was if after only a year all a wife could expect from a husband was adherence to social niceties!

  Finally, Emma heard footsteps in the hall. The bedroom door opened and a relaxed looking David sauntered in.

  ‘You’re all dressed! Sally said you were in the shower. Did you enjoy your nap? It’s so good to see you, Em.’ He walked up to her and took her in his arms. She did not respond well to his hug – she smelt beer on his breath, but he did not let her go. ‘I missed you so much,’ he added. ‘My life is crap without you. Why did you run away from me?’

  The tone of his voice was enough to cause a sob to escape from her.

  ‘I didn’t run from you, baby,’ she managed to say, disengaging from his grip and looking him in the eye. She held both his hands in hers. ‘I swear, I didn’t. I’ve had a lovely week with Sally and was feeling fine … But why didn’t you come straight up?’

  ‘Is that it?’ David asked, relieved. ‘Are you angry at me for taking my time?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘I was frightened. I thought you might not want to see me. Sally was so lovely, she gave me a beer and put my mind to rest.’