Close to Me

by Amanda Reynolds

  The shock when she’d opened the door, her face smooth and round, her belly so distended, had lifted me up, detaching me from the awful reality to send me down towards the floor.

  ‘You fainted,’ she says. ‘I’ll make you some sweet tea.’

  The front room is tiny: a feature wall behind the fireplace papered in a bright bouncy pattern of mauve and pink. The other walls are painted in a saccharine shade of pale baby pink. I lean back against the sofa, my head still woozy, and it strikes me how Rob will have to adapt his very different taste to hers, a moment of cruel clarity cutting through the fog of my thoughts. Anna places a neat cup and saucer, china and floral, on the side table, then she lowers herself into the armchair facing me, a glass of water in her hand.

  ‘How many months gone are you?’ I ask.

  ‘Six,’ she tells me, her hands circling the huge domed bump.

  ‘Six? You were together in March.’ The thought swamps me, threatens to drag me under again, but I fight the light-headedness and when I speak my words are cold and emotionless. ‘When did it start?’

  ‘Just before Christmas. We tried to end it,’ she replies. ‘Rob and I feel terrible about it, but—’

  ‘Who tried?’ I demand, pushing away the tea. ‘Who?’

  ‘Both of us. After Christmas, then again in February, March time.’

  ‘So you trapped him with a pregnancy?’

  ‘No, that’s not—’ She coughs, takes a sip of water. ‘I know this must be awful for you, Jo. But we both need to calm down. Neither of us is well.’

  ‘You know about my memory loss?’

  Anna nods, looks away to readjust herself in the chair and place her water back down. She tries to sit up straighter then gives up and slumps back, her knees apart, clad in leggings under a tunic top. She’s a chubby woman, must be in her forties; too old you’d think.

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asks, then before I can reply she leans forward. ‘Did Rob tell you?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t know I’m here.’ She visibly relaxes; the news still hers to tell, unless I get there first. ‘So, how . . .?’ she asks.

  ‘It doesn’t take a genius,’ I reply. ‘I know my husband better than anyone.’

  Anna looks away, bites down on a response.

  ‘So I’m guessing I didn’t come in when I was last here?’ I ask her and when she looks up I can tell she had no idea I’d known before.

  ‘When?’ she asks.

  ‘Not sure. At a guess a few days before my fall.’

  She strokes her bump, looks away. I imagine her in ten years, twenty even. Her child an adult, her in her sixties, Rob in his late seventies; an old man. Maybe dead. I should feel something. Such terrible thoughts. Anna is pregnant and alone, perhaps fearful the father of her child may yet desert her, which he may well have done if I hadn’t found out. A pitiable creature and yet I feel nothing, not even resentment at her part in this. Just an aching numbness in my chest when I think of what the man I’ve loved for all these years has put me through. To discover his infidelity not once, but twice. He could have saved me all this, but he chose not to. He told me he loved me, that there was no one else, lied again and again, deliberately concealing the past for his own ends. He wanted to reinvent history, keep me and his pristine home, that bloody empty barn at the top of the hill, with me in it, splendid fucking isolation, rejecting all this mess, this big pink mess.

  ‘Why are you here, Jo?’ she asks, her voice quiet. ‘I mean apart from the obvious, what do you want from me?’

  ‘Just the truth,’ I tell her.

  I ask where her husband is, does he think the child’s his? Could it be? I hate myself for the bubble of hope that thought supplies, but no. It’s definitely Rob’s, her husband is in their marital home on the other side of town. ‘So who pays for this place?’ I ask, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Rob,’ she says, having the decency to look away. ‘And me. I have my sick pay.’

  ‘Jesus, he keeps you, me, Sash, Fin. No wonder my son blames us all for taking Rob’s money.’

  ‘Fin?’ she asks, looking back. ‘Of course. That’s why you’re here. He told you.’

  ‘Told me what?’ I feel my stomach clench. No, please god no, not my boy, not just for his father’s money, not that. I clutch the arm of the chair, willing myself to rally. I cannot pass out again.

  Anna hesitates, the inner deliberations revealing themselves in her expression, at once decided and then diffident again. ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’

  ‘I think we’re beyond the niceties, don’t you?’ I say, a defiance in my voice that belies the awful sense of betrayal I feel.

  ‘Your son . . .’ Anna says, glancing across at me as she begins. ‘He was playing in a band, in a country pub miles from here, the middle of nowhere. We didn’t notice him at first, we were seated in a far corner and Fin was stood at the back. They were very good, have you seen them?’ I shake my head, treacherous tears released. Anna looks away, towards the front window. She must be able to see my car, parked opposite. ‘It’s not your son’s fault, Jo. Rob told him we were over and he meant it at the time.’

  If Anna is trying to save my feelings, then there’s no point putting myself through this. ‘Tell me the truth!’ I say, my strength returning.

  ‘I am, Jo. It was early on, not long after Christmas. Rob spoke to him; swore he would end it.’

  ‘Well he didn’t,’ I say, pointing to her stomach. ‘Just tell me the truth, Anna. Everything. I need to know.’

  Anna spares me no details, and at times I wonder if she’s reminiscing, my presence temporarily discounted. She says they tried to stay away from each other, but they work together, very closely in fact; it was impossible. Rob was so unhappy; she couldn’t bear to see him like that. I balk at that, the inference being our marriage was somehow deficient, that I wasn’t enough for him. She loves my husband, that much is clear, but it’s hard not to point out that he’s stayed with me, and that he is still with me now. This clearly means more to her than it does to him. I remember when I was pregnant with Sash and Fin, the feeling of connection to Rob, pride that we’d made something together, just us two, but also terror at the thought I might lose him and be left to fend alone; a single parent. But I can’t allow myself to feel sorry for her.

  ‘We didn’t mean for it to be anything serious, not at first.’ She speaks so quietly I have to lean towards her to hear the terrible words. ‘But we were both unhappy. Colin and I have never wanted children. I thought it was enough, you see; my marriage and my work. It was, for many years.’

  ‘So you trapped my husband with a pregnancy?’

  ‘No, I said. It wasn’t like that. Not at all.’ She looks flustered, sips her water again, takes a few deep breaths. ‘Sorry, I have to be careful, my blood pressure’s up.’ I wait for her to continue. ‘I didn’t think I could still have children,’ she explains. ‘I assumed, at my age . . . stupid of me, but—’

  ‘Yes, very stupid of you,’ I say. ‘Both of you.’

  ‘It was a shock, but Rob wants to do the right thing.’ She looks up at me. ‘For both of us, Jo. You, me and this little one. And your kids. He’s a decent man. You know that.’

  ‘You still believe that? He was cheating on us both, Anna.’ Her loyalty is exasperating. I throw myself back into the sofa, my head finally clear. ‘He had the chance to leave, so many times. He could have told me, confessed the affair, but he didn’t.’

  She’s saying no, shaking her head, barely listening although I still try to convince her.

  ‘He took the opportunity my fall gave him to save our marriage,’ I say, softening my tone just a little as she’s obviously distressed. ‘I’m sorry but he doesn’t want you, Anna. He only wants me. He might have wanted you, for a while, you clearly adore him and Rob thrives on that, but no, not long term, not instead.’

  ‘No!’ she says, standing up. ‘That’s not right. He told you he was leaving you, but you took it badly and you fell. He was onl
y staying because you were so ill. He even spoke to the doctors, asked when he could break the news. He said it would be soon. He told me he was leaving you soon! He told me!’ Her face is contorted with denial, her body shaking. I think of the woman I’d recalled, her face contorted with fear. I hadn’t challanged Anna when I came here before, but I’d clearly imagined this scene playing out.

  ‘But he didn’t tell me, did he Anna? I found out. He was never going to leave me; I was leaving him.’

  It takes me a while to calm Anna down. I tuck her up in bed and bring her phone to her. She has the number of my newer phone if she needs me and I take a note of hers. We will talk soon. We’ve agreed. The hatred I briefly felt for her is now redirected. She’s a minor player in all this. I look back at the house, pitying her the next twenty years raising a child alone. It was hard enough with Rob, but at least we did it together. For that much, I’m grateful. Now I just need to plan my exit from a man I have come to realise is prepared to do almost anything to keep hold of me.

  September – This Year (The Day of The Fall)

  I sit on the bed and wait for my husband to come home, knowing this is the last time I will do this. The last time I shall wait for him, and the last time I shall refer to him as my husband without adding a prefix. It’s quite simple to unravel a life, to pull at the threads and separate the weft from the warp. A new credit card in my purse and my passport tucked into the zippered pocket of my overnight bag, just in case. Simpler than excusing Nick’s behaviour in his office. I told him no. Whatever happened between us in the past did not give him a mandate to force himself on me. My email to the charity who run the drop-in centre has been drafted and redrafted, but remains unsent, the latest draft deleted as were all the others. I hear Sash’s words in my head, ‘Head in the fucking sand as usual, Mum.’ To compound my dilemma, I’ve heard from Nick many times, as I knew I would. I’ve ignored his voicemails and emails, none of them listened to or read; all his calls rejected. I couldn’t bear to hear his voice, to think of him in any way. Rose has tried to contact me too, and I feel guilty for cutting her out, but the thought of the drop-in centre, even her, is too much for me right now. It’s all too much: Rob, Nick, Fin, Sash, Thomas; so many betrayals.

  I’m still sitting on the bed when I hear Rob’s car in the drive. He’s not late tonight, no trips to his other life. I wonder what he tells her. What excuse he makes for coming home to me? I make a mental note to ask him, although I may not bother. It shouldn’t matter to me any more, but somehow it still does. Twenty-four years of marriage and all that provides: protection, companionship, love, sex. I thought we knew every single thing about each other; all that shared history wiped away with a key in a door.

  He comes up the stairs two at a time and he’s so sure of himself, and me, that he doesn’t notice my expression, just assumes I’m the same, telling me of his day, asking how mine was, but he doesn’t speak the truth, or truly care about my answers; because he’s a liar. I observe all his movements as if for the first time, but they are so familiar; achingly so. He changes into his jeans and a casual shirt, the Ralph Lauren one he bought for our holiday in the Caribbean, and something shifts inside me, a rage building, but I remain mute and motionless.

  That holiday was almost a year ago now; the year in which we broke, and I wonder again when the affair began, maybe after that holiday, although I suspect later, maybe Christmas, or January after Fin left, or was it even later than that? There’s no point to this, I’ve been over it in my head a thousand times.

  Rob goes into the bathroom, uses the toilet, then I can hear his electric toothbrush. He comes out, waves a palm in front of my face. ‘Jo, I asked you what’s for dinner.’

  He laughs, bends to where I’m seated on the bed, kisses me on the cheek, asks shall we go out, it’s been ages since we’ve had a date night? He hasn’t noticed my preparations to leave because there’s nothing to see. I’m not taking much with me. I thought about it, but I don’t want anything we jointly own, it’s all his taste, not mine. Just a couple of photographs which I shall pull from the wall as I leave, and a few essentials in my overnight bag which is already stowed in the boot of my car: jeans, tee-shirts, nightclothes. I’m ready to go. I have a hotel room booked, my passport just in case, and rehearsed conversations in my head for when I tell the kids, and yet . . . I look up at him, wonder if he should be the one to leave. But I never wanted this barn, it’s all his choices; his dream.

  Rob is talking about work, how busy it’s getting, how he might have to pull an all-nighter, and every thought and emotion held within me now explodes. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ I scream at him. ‘That you can make up more and more ridiculous lies and I’ll just believe them?’

  ‘What?’ Rob is half-laughing, his shock evident despite the smile. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘I know,’ I tell him. ‘I saw you.’

  ‘Saw me?’

  He turns away, a dismissive move, and something inside me gives. It’s such a small tug, so insignificant, and yet with it comes everything, as if the plug had been removed to an ocean of recriminations.

  ‘I know about her! I saw you! You have a fucking key!’ And I’m on my feet now, and he’s covering his head, protecting his face as I lash out. I want to do harm, seeking out the flesh on his cheeks, his hands, his neck, but he grabs my hands, pushes me away, tearing two of my nails as I wrench my hand free.

  ‘Jo, listen to me! You need to calm down.’

  I ignore him, striding out of our bedroom, past the empty rooms where our children once slept, away from the man who took everything I ever loved. My home, my kids, my self-respect, my marriage.

  ‘Jo, wait!’ he calls after me as he comes out of our bedroom. ‘You can’t just walk out. At least let me explain.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it, Rob. I saw you. You had a key. Colin rang me. I followed you there. I know about you and Anna.’

  He’s behind me on the landing now, too close, his long strides outpacing me. I run, afraid of him, afraid of us both; what we might do to one another. His hand is on my arm, spinning me round to look at him.

  ‘Just look at me, Jo! Twenty-four years. They’re worth a few minutes more aren’t they?’

  ‘No more lies, Rob. No more!’

  Rob is crying now, and although I know I should feel something, there’s nothing but coldness within me, a shocking feeling of separateness, then distaste as he pleads with me to stay. We’re by the window on the landing now, the beautiful view bleak and grey as I look out.

  ‘I’ve been such an idiot.’ He sobs, his nose running, eyes streaming, and yet he does nothing to clear up the disgusting mess of it all. ‘Jo, listen to me!’ He grabs my arm again. ‘It was nothing, just a stupid one-time thing.’

  ‘Oh for god’s sake, Rob. It’s a whole other life. You let yourself in with a key. I saw you.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t another life, Jo. It wasn’t, you have to believe me. It was never meant to be, but then this baby . . .’ He looks at me, his face filled with grief and shame.

  ‘What?’ I ask, spitting the words in his face. ‘She’s pregnant?’

  ‘I thought you knew. You said you’d been there. I thought you must know.’ He looks away, his face crumpled, his hands covering it. ‘Oh god, forgive me, Jo. I was trapped, I didn’t know what to do.’

  The wind is tapping a branch against the window, a beat which works its way into my brain as my husband tells me his mistress is pregnant with his child.

  ‘I couldn’t leave her, Jo. Not after she’d told me she was pregnant. She begged me to stay, Jo. She begged me.’

  I imagine Anna pleading with Rob, her face contorted with terror at the thought of losing my husband. I push away the pathetic image of her in my head. ‘You weren’t hers to keep, Rob! You were mine! My husband!’

  ‘I know that, Jo. You’re my world. But I couldn’t tell her, not yet, not until—’

  ‘Until what? At what point would this have all worked out for you
?’ I stare at him, but he says nothing. ‘I’m leaving, Rob.’ I turn towards the stairs, but he grabs my arm again, pulls me back.

  ‘I don’t want her, I want you,’ he says, his voice wired with desperation. ‘It’s always been you. Everything I did was to keep us together. I can’t lose you, Jo. I won’t allow it!’

  ‘It’s over,’ I tell him. ‘Let me go!’

  But he won’t. I struggle from his grasp and manage to reach the top stair. I want a photo of each of the children, not Rob, just them, but I have no time to choose, and each one I try resists my attempts to remove it. I should have done this before, but I’d been afraid he’d notice, guess I was leaving before I’d confronted him. I couldn’t risk it, but now my frustration hampers the task and Rob is behind me, taking each step down as I do, begging me again not to leave, he’ll do anything, his hand reaching out to me. I step away from him. He can’t stop me now, he can’t.

  22

  Twenty-One Days After The Fall

  As I succumb to sleep the memories come, but I know they are unreliable; broken and unpredictable. The harder I search the further they retreat, but then something breaks through, at once unbidden and yet desperately wanted, and as much as I crave the past, I fear it too.

  He lunges, his right arm raised, slamming me hard against the wall; the force of his body holding me there. In his eyes I recognise passion, but of what nature and from what emotion it’s derived I cannot tell. I reach out again to the memory, my hand touching his face, turning him towards me to read something in his expression, to look into his eyes, begging him to stop. He pushes me away, grasping my wrist to dig his fingers hard into the pale skin and then the veins beneath, his rapid breaths hot against my neck. Insistent and urgent he holds me there, pinned to the wall. I fought him, of that I’m certain; my nails deep in his skin until he cried out.