by Sue Watson
‘And I love you.’ I sigh. ‘I just feel like there’s someone else here now.’ I’m unable to call her by name, that way I’ll bring her to life and into our relationship. Then again, has she been here all along, just waiting for the gap to form between us so she could step in again?
‘No, it’s just me and you. We’re forever Hannah,’ Alex says, touching my hand with his for emphasis.
As a child who lived on the fringes of other people’s families, I never had forever, and I’m sure Alex knows the power of that word to someone like me. Not having a permanent home growing up messes with your identity, and it’s hard to know where I fit in, even now.
Today has reminded me of a time when I was beginning to finally settle into a foster family. Mr and Mrs Rawson were kind and attentive and I dared to dream this might be my forever home. But when their only daughter came home from uni, I realised it was an impossible dream. She was their real child, it was her home, her family, not mine. I’d fooled myself I belonged there, compared to her I was no more than a piece of furniture in the house. They were all very nice, but they’d sometimes stop talking when I walked in a room, Mrs Rawson would take Shelly shopping for clothes, they’d go to the cinema together, and her Dad would take her to football matches. At first they invited me, sometimes, but I think it was easier for all of us when I stayed behind. They had a shared history, cousins, genes and blood – something I could never be part of. No one wanted to put in the effort of cajoling a child who didn’t belong to them. I slowly withdrew, eating alone in my room, not joining them on family days out, because I felt like an intruder – a cuckoo in the nest. I feel like that now. I learned at an early age that people break their promises, and however good I am, I’m never good enough to keep.
Whatever Alex might say, whatever his promises, the doubts have been planted. After all, he’s already lied to me, and with Helen back on the scene, I feel like there’s a timer ticking on our relationship.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex pulls away from me and sits up in bed, drawing in his knees and wrapping his arms around them protectively, his head down.
‘You okay?’ I ask gently.
‘Yeah,’ he says bitterly, clearly still thinking about Helen. ‘I gave her everything, you know, and she just walked out.’
‘Some people just don’t want to settle down,’ I offer, trying not to be catty, after all I’ve never met the woman, I can’t judge. ‘Tom was the same.’
‘And look where it got them. He’s sending poison pens and she’s begging to get back with me.’
‘Yeah, when you put it like that…’
He seems almost oblivious to my presence, as he stares ahead before speaking. ‘We hadn’t been married long, when she started taking her phone calls in another room, smiling at texts, talking about some guy at work all the time… Then she started going out. It was just once or twice a week at first, but then it was almost every night. Honestly, Hannah, I sat in our house alone nights on end, just waiting for her to come home, worried about her.’
The reference to ‘our house’ stings slightly as I’m reminded that he shared his home with someone else before me – his wife. But I’m aware he needs to get this off his chest, it’s important for us to be able to move forward.
‘I’d be calling and calling, wondering where she was, but she wouldn’t answer her phone, said she needed her space. She never let me know where she was. It was like she’d gone missing.’
‘Oh Alex, that sounds awful.’ I can’t believe how selfish and hurtful Helen had been.
‘Yeah. We’d bought that lovely house, had a brand-new kitchen fitted because she wanted it, filled the house with all her favourite stuff – that blue crockery cost a fortune.’ He sighs.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, thinking of the rustic, grey-blue chunky bowls I fell in love with on my first visit to his home. But he isn’t listening, it’s like he’s still back there with her.
‘I bought the velvet sofa she pined for, the power shower she couldn’t live without. I made sure she had everything she wanted, because all that mattered to me was her happiness.’
Despite his claims that he didn’t feel about her as he does about me, I don’t believe him, because that’s exactly what he’s like with me, constantly trying to make me happy, always giving me things. Little gifts on my pillow, a carton of my favourite pink champagne truffles in the larder. I left my favourite perfume at my place, so he bought another bottle to keep in his bathroom. He fills the house with pale pink roses, because they’re my favourite, and he even asked me the other day if I’m okay with the sofas.
‘If you’d like something else, we’ll get rid of them. You like that blush shade, don’t you?’ he’d said. I told him I loved the green velvet, which I do, but I didn’t know they’d been chosen by Helen. I feel a bit weird about the house and everything in it now.
‘If it was all for her, even if she wanted to leave, it must have been hard for her to leave that house and everything in it.’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs. ‘Makes me think perhaps she was planning to come back.’
This feels uncomfortable. ‘She obviously never really left, in her heart at least – and it seems to me like you still have feelings for her,’ I hear myself say.
‘I’ll always care about her. You think you’re over someone, and suddenly it hits you. It’s like grief, it isn’t a linear journey, it comes and goes. But I don’t still love her, if that’s what you mean?’
‘I understand,’ I say, relieved to hear him say this again. ‘I don’t love Tom, not sure I ever did – but sometimes, when I think about him, it makes me sad.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he was part of my life, he did nothing wrong, we just weren’t meant to be. And I was the one who ended it. I think that made him realise what he’d had, but it was too late.’
Alex doesn’t say anything, he’s just looking at me, presumably waiting for me to say more, so I continue.
‘I mean, he wasn’t caring like you, he didn’t show his love – but that didn’t mean he didn’t love me in his own way.’
A flicker of resentment flashes in Alex’s eyes. ‘You told me you were unhappy, that you don’t know why you stayed so long, that he was indifferent,’ he says accusingly. ‘And now suddenly he loved you – you were great together.’
‘Hang on, Alex, that’s not what I said. We were together, and now we’re not – end of story.’
‘It isn’t though, is it? He’s clearly still messed up enough to send you vile notes and roses.’
‘I think he just gets really angry about everything now and then and can’t help himself. But he’s met someone else now, so I hope that means he’ll move on properly.’
‘Do you still love him?’ Alex suddenly says.
‘No. No, of course not. Like you said about Helen, I care about him, what happens to him, but it’s in the past. And as for the note, there’s no proof it was him who sent it. Sameera thinks it might be someone I’ve pissed off through work.’
Alex is about to say something, but seems to think better of it.
‘Anyway, this isn’t about Tom,’ I say. ‘We were talking about you and Helen… and I still think you have feelings.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you? NO! I don’t!’
That sudden flash of anger makes me uncomfortable and I get out of bed and pull my dressing gown around me in the early-morning chill.
‘But you still have feelings for him,’ I hear Alex mutter from the bed.
I walk over to the window. ‘You’re wrong, I don’t,’ I say absently and look down at the white pavements, the black, sludgy road. The darkness outside is punctuated now by mere wisps of white snow, the show’s over.
I stand there a while and I’m suddenly aware of Alex’s arms around me, he’s holding me firm against the window, and whispering in my ear.
‘Did you and Tom do it like this?’ He pushes against me, nuzzling my neck, but hard enough tha
t my palms are now flat against the cold glass.
‘Alex,’ I gasp, as I feel him hard in the small of my back.
He lifts my dressing gown, grabs my hips and pushes into me from behind. ‘Did he give it to you like this, Hannah?’ He thrusts gently at first, then harder as he gets more and more excited. ‘Are you looking for him out there on the street, do you think he can see us?’
I’m now squashed against the window and surprised to find I’m strangely aroused. I’ve never seen this side to Alex, didn’t know he had it in him, but rather than feeling weak, used by him, I feel empowered that he wants me so badly when I’d thought he was still pining for Helen.
‘Is he out there on the street watching us? Seeing me take you?’ Alex is really getting off on this fantasy. ‘I hope he knows that you belong to me now.’ He pushes into me so hard, I almost scream.
In the aftermath, we lie in bed and he tells me how much he loves me, and I say the same. I turn off the lamp and I’m in his arms, wondering what just happened. I’m slightly unsettled by the way we made love, but at the same time it was so exciting, I hadn’t wanted him to stop.
‘I can’t get my head around the fact that the idea of Tom watching us excited you,’ I say.
He doesn’t answer me at first, and just as I think he must have gone to sleep, his voice creeps over me in the darkness. ‘Did it turn you on?’
I hesitate. ‘It was… good.’
‘Did it feel like me?’
‘No… it felt different.’
‘Like you were doing it with someone else?’
‘I… Yes, I guess.’
‘Like you were doing it with Tom?’ he asks.
I don’t answer, I want to say no, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about Tom, Alex was mentioning his name throughout.
For a few moments we lie in silence, until he says, ‘You haven’t answered me.’
I don’t want to spoil everything, in admitting the truth, that would hurt and make him jealous, so I say, ‘No, it was definitely you.’
I smile in the darkness, waiting for the feel of his kiss on my head, the reassuring brush of his hand on my face, but he’s still and silent, and then I hear him murmur, ‘Lying bitch.’
It’s dark and I can’t see Alex’s face. Is he joking? I’m not sure, so I lie there waiting for him to add something, but after a few minutes I hear his slow breathing as he falls asleep.
Surely I’m mistaken. Lovely gentle Alex wouldn’t say anything like that. To me. But like the chorus of an awful song that won’t go away, it plays on a loop until eventually I fall into a difficult sleep. Lying. Bitch.
Chapter Eighteen
This morning, Alex is as loving as ever, but I keep returning to those words he whispered in the dark. It’s the kind of phrase that sounds horrific if it’s meant, but I mustn’t overthink it. He was probably half asleep, in that state between waking and dreaming. At the moment, Alex and I are happy, we seem to be working through everything, and I will, at some point, come to terms with his marriage – so now isn’t the time to make something of nothing. I hope that spending time together will help to bond us again and erase the niggling doubts I now have. But remembering last night, being pushed against the window, and Alex’s arousal at the idea of Tom watching us, seems rather surreal. It was so out of character. I can’t help but think about it – was it just a harmless sexual fantasy or was it something more?
‘As it’s the weekend, I’m going to make you breakfast,’ Alex is calling from the kitchen.
This is the Alex I know and love, the kind, caring guy who only wants to make me happy. So who was that last night who took me without warmth, who murmured that I was a lying bitch? I wish I could wipe away those niggles, I wish I could go back to yesterday morning when I thought I knew the man who shares my bed, my life, my future. But I can’t, so I need to try and move on.
‘You don’t seem to have anything in for breakfast,’ he’s saying now.
‘Oh Alex, I’m sorry. I even left the meal I’d bought for us in the fridge at work.’
‘Yes, we were supposed to be dining here last night, weren’t we?’ He pops his head around the door. ‘Come to think of it, no wonder I’m hungry – I haven’t eaten since… lunch.’ His voice fades on the final word and we look at each other.
‘I was too upset,’ I say, a gentle reminder that all is not forgotten, and offering to make me a Saturday morning breakfast isn’t going to eradicate the fact he lied to me.
‘I’ll go out and get us something,’ he says.
‘There’s always Harry’s dead croissant in the fridge,’ I joke.
‘No there isn’t. I threw it in the bin as instructed.’ He pulls on his jeans. ‘What’s with him and the bloody pastries anyway? He’s like your feeder – it’s weird.’
‘It’s not weird. I told you, his girlfriend has the café down the road; he just brings us the leftovers.’
‘Well, I think it’s weird,’ he says, walking over to where I’m sitting. ‘Does he have the hots for you or something?’
I look up at him and smile. ‘Ooh, Alex, I think you might be a little bit jealous,’ I say, reaching for him, but he moves away.
‘I’m not jealous of some creep at the office trying to lay it on you,’ he replies, putting on his jacket.
‘You’ve never met him.’
‘I know, but… I just know.’ His jacket’s on now, and he goes towards the door. ‘If he ever turns up on your doorstep with a bag of cakes, don’t let him in, he’ll have you tied to the bed before you can say pain au chocolat.’
‘Harry’s been here loads of times,’ I say, affronted. I’m not playing those games; he may have hidden stuff from me, but I’m not hiding anything from him. ‘He used to feed my cat when I went on holiday, before she died. I’d trust him with my life. And he isn’t creepy. What’s wrong with you, Alex?’
‘What’s wrong with me? I’m not the one who’s having little gifts left on my desk by some perv.’
‘He’s not a perv.’ I have to laugh at the ridiculousness of the conversation, and Alex catches this and it makes him smile.
He walks back over to where I’m sitting, kneels down and takes my face gently in both his hands. ‘I love you, Hannah.’ He’s looking into my eyes, but it feels like he’s going even deeper.
‘I love you too,’ I say, surprised at this sudden moment he’s created, but pleased that he seems to have shaken off whatever concern was making him overreact. I know now that Helen’s betrayal affected him a lot, so I can understand his trust issues.
Alex continues to look at me for a while, like he’s searching for the answer to a puzzle. Then, just as quickly, the tenderness seems to leave him, and his hands feel firmer on my face. ‘Was it Harry I saw running from your office last night?’
‘What the hell?’ I push his hands away. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Alex but I don’t like it.’ I stand up, almost knocking him over, and head for the kitchen.
He follows me. ‘Hannah, I was joking, can’t you take a joke any more?’
‘Yeah. I can take a joke, but you weren’t being funny,’ I snap.
‘I thought I was.’
‘Did you? Well, how about this for funny. I was late because Harry and I were doing it on the photocopier when everyone else had gone home, and when we’d finished, he ran off before anyone saw him.’ This is not delivered as set comedy, I’m angry and Alex knows it.
‘Funny, very funny, Hannah,’ he monotones. ‘Thing is – I wouldn’t put it past him. Total perv,’ he says again, but this time in a more relaxed, jokey voice.
‘Harry’s my friend, please don’t call him that,’ I say seriously. ‘And while we’re talking about cheating, please don’t you dare question me about what I was doing yesterday,’ I hiss.
He looks at me and half smiles, I’m waiting for a playful reply, a little sprinkle of Alex charm. But I don’t recognise the man standing in front of me with cold eyes.
‘Yesterday
you didn’t know the situation, so I can forgive you, but now you do know – I’ve told you everything, and it’s the truth. So please don’t accuse me of cheating,’ he says in a steely voice.
This feels like some kind of power game, but he’s picked the wrong woman if he wants to play that. I learned young that you have to stand your ground, because if you don’t, you risk being taken over and losing control of your own life.
‘I thought I knew who you were, Alex,’ I say.
‘You do.’ He throws his hands up in the air. ‘What do you want from me, Hannah? Shall I just keep saying I’m sorry?’
I don’t answer him, and he leaves to go into the living room.
After a few minutes to calm down and compose myself, I follow him, but just as I walk into the room, my phone pings. It’s a text from Harry:
Hey, are u ok? Sorry I didn’t text back, was out. No, I don’t have any copies of Chloe’s files, you have them all now. Did you get them back?
Alex turns, looks at me questioningly.
‘It’s just Harry,’ I murmur, as I text a response.
‘Why’s he texting you on a Saturday?’
‘It’s about the files. I told him I’d left them at the bar,’ I say, matching his irritated tone.
‘So, the minute I set off in the snow to get them for you, you were straight on the blower to Harry?’
My heart sinks. ‘I texted him last night because I was worried. I hoped you’d get them back for me, but I wondered if he knew if there were copies, just in case,’ I say.
‘What’s it got to do with him?’
‘He used to be Chloe’s social worker,’ I start to explain, as I realise I’m trying to justify a text to a work colleague and I shouldn’t have to. ‘What is this, Alex? What the hell’s wrong with you?’
He suddenly looks like he’s about to cry. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He walks over to me, arms open. ‘I feel like yesterday was a watershed for us. I told you about Helen and I’m worried it’s changed how you feel about me. I know it’s made you feel insecure, but the whole thing’s made me feel the same – I wouldn’t blame you for leaving me, for running off with someone simple and uncomplicated like Harry.’