‘Jo?’ He sounds half asleep, his expression hard to read in the shadows.
‘I was looking for Sash.’ The words are slurred, I hear it and so does he, commenting on how I’m wasted. Then he laughs and throws the covers back, inviting me in.
13
Ten Days After The Fall
Walking back to my car I go over the conversation in Nick’s office, imprinting his words on my memory in case I should lose their sense. It’s possible, I suppose, to imagine myself led astray by Nick, but I find it harder to accept that it was me who initiated our first liaison. I’ve never cheated on Rob, never even contemplated it and, if Nick’s to be believed, it wasn’t a one-off; it had recently happened again, although he admitted he’d misread the situation the second time. I unlock my car and climb inside, too preoccupied to look across at the bar as I drive away. Thomas is now the least of my concerns.
The ring road is relatively quiet, not quite rush hour yet, and with my confidence in my driving ability safely restored, I allow my thoughts to return to my conversation with Nick, running it in my head again and again. Since my fall, the process of memory has become more precious and I’ve realised I’d taken for granted something that is infinitely more delicate than I’d previously understood. I can almost feel the memories securing themselves in my brain, like running an ink roller back and forth across a printing block; every detail revealed.
I’d certainly experienced no physical attraction for Nick this afternoon, I hadn’t even remembered him, but if what he said is true then I must have felt something. Maybe it was an intellectual attraction, or perhaps I’d turned to Nick because he represented a change of direction; towards altruism and social conscience? He’s certainly a very different man to Rob. Could I have used Nick as an antidote to my husband? Nick was convinced Rob has deliberately kept me away from the drop-in centre, deleting emails and lying about my phone, which suggests Rob knew I was unfaithful. But an affair would require a degree of capitulation on my part, and longing, attraction, desire, none of which I now feel. Had my marriage really deteriorated to such a degree that I would turn to someone else? I shudder, shutting out the endless questions as I stop at a set of traffic lights, waiting as the pedestrians cross; an image of a lone girl dashing in front of the car flitting in and out of my thoughts. I press my foot harder to the brake pedal, although the car is already stationary. It was a rainy night. My birthday? Was Sash the girl at the crossing? I close my eyes and lean forwards on to the steering wheel, willing away the flashes of memory and the confused thoughts ploughing furrows into my psyche and lines across my forehead; begging them silently for a moment of peace. There’s a loud blast of a car horn and when I look up the lights have changed. I raise my hand in apology and drive on, away from the town centre, certain only of my desire to be home.
The barn is quiet as I walk in; even the wind has dropped to a whisper, as if we have both been hushed by this afternoon’s revelations. I make tea and take a couple of painkillers for my headache, then I retrieve my mobile phone from my desk in the den and send Rob a message. His conference concludes today; a day of boring presentations he’d informed me in this morning’s message. I text him to ask what time he’ll be home, then with my phone still in my hand I tackle the stairs slowly, pushing away the images of Rob and me arguing at the top.
It’s getting dark when I wake up, the room grey with shadows. There’s a message from Rob saying it’s been a tough few days, he can’t wait to see me, but it might be late before he’s home. I put down my phone and lift myself up in bed. I feel awful, my head thick with sleep and confusion. I need some water, maybe more painkillers, although I can’t remember how many I’ve taken today. It’s as I make my way downstairs, both hands gripping the bannister, that the images of Rob and me return.
We were arguing, I was telling him something, screaming it at him, but he wouldn’t let me go, he was holding on to me, and he was distraught, begging me to stay.
I stop, my foot paused mid-air, looking down at the hole in the wall, just about visible in the semi-gloom. Is it really possible he deliberately pushed me? I take another step down and look at the photos of the children, our family that was; the changes from one year to the next, chronicled in reverse as I slowly descend. Would I turn the clock back if I could? Almost certainly the last year, which strikes me as ironic given the trick my mind has played on me to achieve that very same thing. But maybe it’s the kindest, not cruellest, of tricks. Perhaps I’m being saved from the worst year of my life.
In the kitchen I switch on the lights, the glare burning my eyes, adding to my headache. I place my hand on the kitchen island to steady myself, wondering again how many painkillers I’ve taken today. I decide not to risk taking any more, walking past the dining table to pick up the photo frame from the windowsill behind. Outside the blackness is descending, a stark contrast to the beautiful sunset in the photo. Our laughing sun-kissed faces look back at me. We were happy then, October I think, or maybe November? Rob had said it was just before my birthday; a surprise trip which had been wonderful; a second honeymoon. We certainly look like a couple making the most of the next phase in our lives. Yes, Fin was miserable at university and Sash was living in a cramped bedsit, but that’s real life, difficult and complicated. Children grow up and make their own choices; not always good ones. Every family has its own troubles. I look at the photos: sun, sea and palms in the top print, and below a snap of Rob and me in front of a balustrade, a terrace maybe, the ocean behind us as the sun slips out of view. There’s something familiar in there, just a glimmer, although I can’t be sure it’s not my imagination filling in the gaps. I see Rob’s face across a table for two, a conversation, my frustration with him as he tells me not to be silly.
The landline rings and I rush to answer it. ‘How long will you be?’ I ask.
‘I’ll drive quickly,’ he says. ‘Be home soon, okay?’
I listen for the sound of traffic, clues to his journey. ‘Where are you?’ I ask. ‘It sounds quiet.’
‘I’m not far away,’ he says. ‘Can’t wait! I’ve missed you so much, Jo.’
I replace the receiver and look down at the photo frame still in my hand, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall.
February – This Year
‘How’s your head this morning?’ Rob asks as he rolls off me and grabs his glasses to look at the time.
I think of the coffees laced with whisky Nick poured last night, and the ache in my head and the guilt settling in the pit of my stomach both intensify. ‘I told you, it was Rose who was drunk, not me.’ I turn on to my side, away from my husband, and swallow the rising bile in my throat.
‘I should go; I’ll be late for work.’ He gets up and walks to the bathroom.
Rob was much less perturbed by my late return than I expected. He’d only just beaten me home, he said, readily accepting my excuses that a quick pizza with Rose had turned into a drunken night out. ‘She was a mess,’ I told him. ‘I couldn’t leave her like that.’ The pang of remorse I experienced using Rose as my excuse was chastening, but more than eclipsed by my guilt at the dreadful deceits which had forced my hand. Rob hadn’t appeared to notice, commenting that it was good I had company as he was late home too. ‘Anything could have happened to me,’ I told him as he followed me up the stairs to bed, his hands on my hips to steady me. He laughed, said he trusted me to be sensible, but I probably shouldn’t have driven, even on two glasses of wine, and to prove his point I stumbled, his quick reflexes righting me as I tipped back towards him.
I check my phone again whilst Rob is in the bathroom, but there’s still no reply from Sash. I’ve messaged her twice now, once last night and once this morning; any more and I’ll definitely arouse her suspicion. I must be patient, but it’s so hard. I just need to hear something normal from her, something that tells me she has no idea I was at the bar last night. I discard the phone on the bed, but snatch it up straight away as Sash’s reply comes. She has a hangover, was
out late last night with ‘The Girls’; she’s in Thomas’s bad books because she forgot to take her keys so got a lecture from him as he’d had to leave the doors unlocked, then on top of that she threw up when she got in. She has to go; she’ll be late for work. I exhale and close my eyes, snapping them open when Rob’s head appears from behind the bathroom door.
‘Are you due to be a good person again today?’ he asks.
‘Yes, but . . .’ I wait as the whir of Rob’s electric toothbrush interrupts our conversation. ‘I’ve been thinking maybe I go there a bit too much . . .’ I falter, waiting for Rob’s reaction.
‘I told you . . .’ he says, his words thick with toothpaste ‘. . . once they get their hooks into you . . .’
I sit up, leaning forwards to pull my nightdress from the floor and then standing to slip it over my head, the dampness between my legs running down my inner thighs. Then I run towards the bathroom, pushing Rob out of the ensuite just in time, the tears flowing over my burning cheeks as soon as I close the door.
I stood in the shower for ages last night, allowing the water to run down me, my thoughts loud in my head until Rob banged on the door, startling me with his imperious tone, joking that I’d drown if I didn’t come out soon. The shower made no difference of course; no amount of hot water and scented shower gel could have changed how dreadful I felt as I crawled into bed beside my unsuspecting husband. The guilt-sex I initiated this morning didn’t make any difference either; but why would it?
‘You okay?’ he asks from the other side of the door.
‘I’m fine,’ I call back, flushing the toilet. ‘Out in a minute.’ I wipe my eyes with a torn-off sheet of toilet paper and splash my face with water as I wash my hands, catching sight of myself in the mirror; shocked at how normal I look.
‘Not that I mind . . .’ Rob is saying through the door. ‘You know I’ve never been that keen on you volunteering, but I thought you were enjoying it?’
‘Not any more,’ I tell him, opening the door, head down as our paths cross.
‘Has something happened?’ he asks, spitting toothpaste into the sink. ‘No one’s upset you, have they?’
‘No,’ I reply, pausing to watch as he gargles and rinses. ‘Why would you ask that?’
Images of last night appear, so vivid I’m certain Rob must notice a change in my expression as he looks back at me, something that will give me away. I climb back into bed and pull the duvet up to my chest.
‘No reason. But you love your volunteering,’ Rob is saying. ‘There all the time. And now you want to leave.’ He dries his mouth on the white hand towel as he walks back into the bedroom. ‘Something must have happened to change your mind.’
‘Rob, you’ve stained the towel.’ I point at the blue drool he’s left behind. ‘Look at it!’
Rob inspects the damage. ‘It’s fine.’
‘It’s not,’ I tell him, grateful for the distraction the towel has provided. ‘I’ll have to wash it.’
‘So you think you’ll give it up?’ he asks, tossing the white hand towel into the laundry basket on the landing. ‘Volunteering, I mean.’
‘Yes, I think so. For the time being.’
‘You know what they say?’ Rob asks, still entirely naked as he wanders back from the landing. ‘No good deed goes unpunished.’ He laughs at his own joke; oblivious it seems to my desperation. ‘But it’s not like you to give up quite so soon, you’ve only been there a few months.’
‘Three,’ I tell him, as I try to return his smile. ‘I’ve given it a good go.’
I watch him dress, wondering if this is a taste of my life from this point on; always covering up, lying, fearful, over-compensating with Rob to somehow atone for what I did. Perhaps I should tell him now, throw myself on his mercy, cite the many years I was completely faithful, as if they would somehow outweigh the awfulness of last night. I think of Nick and me, half dressed and fumbling with one another in his office, then Thomas, entirely naked, pulling back the covers to invite me into his bed, Sash’s bed—
‘Jo!’
‘Sorry, what?’
Rob laughs, teases me again about my hangover. ‘All joking apart, I think volunteering’s been a good thing for you,’ he says, fastening his cufflinks. ‘I’ve been so busy at work . . .’ He stands up to shrug on his suit jacket. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting you. You know I’d spend every waking moment with you if I could.’ He smiles at me. ‘Especially if morning sex is now on the menu.’
‘You look very handsome,’ I say, seeing him properly for the first time in ages. Or is it that I now view him entirely differently, my perspective altered by the risk I’ve taken with our marriage?
He frowns at me, his expression quizzical. ‘You sure everything’s okay?
‘Everything’s fine.’ I smile, my voice sounding unnatural. ‘Can’t I be nice to you without you wondering what’s wrong?’
‘Sorry,’ he says, bending down to kiss me lightly on the lips. ‘Of course you can. I appreciate it’s been hard for you, with the kids, and me not being here much, but I’m hoping that will change soon. Once all this craziness at work is done with. Okay?’
I tell him I don’t mind, I understand. I appreciate his commitment, the way he provides for us all; always has. Then I force myself to stop talking, to simply smile at Rob as I would have before; certain of our roles. Rob looks at me directly, a question on his parted lips. I panic, afraid he may have noticed something, a change in me, as if my thoughts were projected across my face, a flickering image of my spectacular fall from grace last night, but then he says, ‘Did you get that email yesterday?’
‘Which one was that?’ I ask, a crack in my voice.
‘The one about the leaving do at work,’ he says, turning away. ‘Don’t even know why Colin asked you, years since you worked there, bloody decades in fact. God knows how he got your email address.’
The invite arrived yesterday, sent to Rob and copying me in. I wondered too how Colin had found me; it had been a very long time and our paths hadn’t crossed since I’d worked with him and Rob.
‘I thought it was bit odd,’ I reply. ‘I barely remember him.’
‘Maybe he guessed your email from mine, thought it would be nice to include you?’ Rob suggests. ‘He’s a bit of a strange character.’
‘You think I should go?’ I ask.
‘God, no! Man’s a complete bore. Thought I might pop in for an hour myself, if that’s okay with you?’ Rob says, waiting for my reaction.
‘Yes, whatever you think,’ I reply, the unimportance of it irritating me. ‘I really don’t care either way.’
‘I don’t have to go.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I tell him, side-tracked now with thoughts of Rose and how I’ll explain my decision to leave the drop-in centre. ‘I’ve got a few things to sort out today. Just let me know what time you’ll be home.’
‘Quite late,’ Rob says, kissing me again, this time on the cheek. ‘Sorry sweetheart. I promise it won’t be too late. And like I said, as soon as this busy period is out of the way I’ll be back to normal, nine-to-five, again. We can go out more together in the evenings, cinema and stuff. Okay?’
‘Sounds good,’ I reply as brightly as I can.
I’m already composing my text message to Rose as I hear Rob’s tyres cutting through the gravel. The excuse I use may be unoriginal, but aren’t the best lies also the least complicated? Besides, I do feel unwell; it could be flu for all I know. I pull the duvet over my head and close my eyes tight shut, but I know I won’t sleep.
The Limes looks entirely different in the daylight, not benign, but much less threatening than it did last night, although as soon as I walk in and see Thomas perched on a stool on the wrong side of the bar, my fear returns. He’s slumped forward, his back to me, resting his head on the solid slab of mahogany. He turns to look at me over his shoulder, his eyes heavy, his chin stubbly. The Thomas I’d admired last night has now gone, replaced by this degraded version, a jeer on h
is face to shame me further.
‘I thought it might be you,’ he says, only his right eye open to peer at me. He wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth and pushes his hair back from his face. ‘Fuck, you look rough,’ he says, as I take the stool beside him.
Perhaps I should retaliate, tell him he surely looks ten times worse than me, but I know I must look terrible, I haven’t even tried to make myself presentable. ‘Is Sash here?’
He shakes his head, then lays it down on the bar again. I look around, but there’s no one else in the place. It’s far too early for even the most hardened of drinkers and Sash will be at work.
‘If you’ve come here to give me a lecture, I’m not in the mood,’ he mutters. ‘Your daughter’s already got that covered.’
‘What do you mean?’ He doesn’t answer, throwing himself forwards across the bar to grab a beer, loosening the cap with his teeth and draining half of it before he sits back down.
‘What did Sash say?’ I ask, grabbing his arm. ‘Tell me!’
He smiles, shakes me off as his swagger returns, perhaps because of the beer, or maybe because he senses there may be some advantage to be gained from my desperation.
‘You haven’t spoken to her?’ he asks, draining his beer and slamming the bottle down on the bar.
I jump at the loud sound. ‘No, just texts. What have you told her? Did you say I was here, that I saw you—’
‘Of course not,’ he says, leaning in so his mouth is an inch from mine, stale beer-breath finding my nostrils as I turn away. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Good. That’s good.’ I take a deep breath to deliver my rehearsed speech. ‘I came here to ask you to leave my daughter, end it now,’ I tell him, holding eye contact. ‘I think it’s best after . . . and anyway . . .’
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