Amber drops her head and bangs her forehead against the steering wheel. It looks like it hurts, but I don’t try to stop her.
‘What happened?’ I ask sheepishly. ‘I mean when did we, ugh, how did we … oh, God.’
Amber jerks upright, like she’s just been Tasered and glares at me glassy-eyed. ‘Is that a serious question?’ She snarls.
‘Yes, actually, it is. I need to know.’
Amber covers her face with her hands and thrashes her whole upper body from side to side. She crashes against the driver’s door on her side, but she doesn’t come close enough on my side to touch me. I reach my hand out to clasp her shoulder, to try to steady her, but she smacks me away. My touch repulses her; it’s written all over her face, like just sitting next to me right now makes her want to vomit. But her distaste pales in comparison to my self-disgust.
Traffic roars past us on the motorway. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of their engines and the whistle of the wind as they pass. Forty-foot trucks carrying heavy loads rumble by. The car rattles as the gust of wind they drag behind them grazes past the driver side in a split second. I keep my eyes firmly shut. My body knows where it is; nestled amongst the familiarity of day-to-day traffic on the motorway, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere new. Somewhere scary. Somewhere I don’t want to be. I think of Emma. Her beautiful face. Her amazing body. She’s tiny; barely scraping five foot. Even in her skyscraper heels, the tip of her head sits neatly under my chin.
I remember her face as she stood on our front porch yesterday evening waving me off. She was so sad. So sad she looked even smaller than usual. I knew she wanted to ask me to stay. I knew her heart was hurting, and she craved me beside her to make it hurt just a fraction less. But I didn’t put her first. I knew how much she needed me, and I still left. Christ, I’m some bastard. And now this.
I open my eyes and look at Amber. Her hands still hiding her face. I understand she feels bad, but she can’t possibly feel as awful as I do. Or as horrible as Emma will. What have I done? I’ve betrayed the person I love most in the world. Emma’s so fragile right now. This could destroy her completely. For the first time in my life, I think I understand the low Emma sometimes feels. The desperation, the self-hatred. The pain. Because I know, it’s not possible to hate myself any more than I do right now.
‘Tell me what happened,’ I say.
Amber ignores me and begins to cry. I catch her hands and pull them roughly away from her face. She refuses to look at me.
‘Tell me, Amber. For fuck’s sake, tell me.’
‘Tell you what, David?’ She sniffles, dragging the length of her arm under her nose.
It’s disgusting, and my skin crawls at the thoughts of watery snot sitting in the creases along the sleeve of her knitted cardigan.
‘Please, Amber?’ My aggression from seconds before melts into passive pleading.
‘What do you want, David? All the gory details. Or do you just want to hear that we drank so much we lost the ability to control ourselves and gave in to our desires.’
I shake my head. ‘I never desired this.’
Angry, tearless sobs shake Amber’s body. I don’t intend for my words to hurt her, but I have to say it. It’s true. I don’t desire anyone except my wife.
‘Look at us,’ I say, pointing at her and then dragging my finger back across the air to point at myself. ‘This isn’t what desire looks like. We didn’t desire this. We’re both miserable.’
‘So you’re saying it’s regret?’ Amber slurps her words like she drinking soup that’s too hot for her mouth.
‘Isn’t that what we’re both saying?’
Amber nods.
‘Okay then.’ I exhale sharply through my nose.
I don’t know why it’s a relief to hear her admit she regrets it, but it is.
‘What are we going to do?’ she says, finally making eye contact with me.
I stroke my chin between my thumb and forefinger as if I’m contemplating something. Formulating a plan. I’m not. The words oh my God, oh my God playing on repeat is all that’s going through my mind.
‘No one can know about this, David,’ Amber says, sounding much more together than she was seconds before. ‘Seriously. You can keep a secret, can’t you?’
I swallow a lump of air too wide for my throat and cough. ‘Not from Emma. I can’t keep this from Emma.’
‘What?’ Amber slaps her thighs with her hands, repeatedly. The loud smacks ring in the air. She repeats the process several times before stilling completely and staring out the window.
If possible, she’s making me feel even more uncomfortable than I already do.
‘You really want to tell your wife what you’ve done?’ she asks, somewhat sedate now.
‘I have to.’
‘How can you be that selfish?’
I snort. ‘How is not keeping a horrible secret from Emma selfish?’
‘Because you’d only be telling her to ease your guilty conscience.’
‘That’s not true. I’d be telling her because we don’t have secrets. Emma and I know everything about each other. We’ve been together since we were kids, for God’s sake. I could never hide something like this from her. ’
‘Every couple has secrets, David,’ Amber accosts.
‘We don’t,’ I retaliate, bluntly.
Amber tosses her shoulder towards her ear. ‘Okay. If you say so.’
‘We. Don’t.’
‘Okay, David. I said I believe you. But I still think you’re being selfish. We’ve already made love. It’s done. You can’t change that. Neither can I. But you don’t have to tell Emma and break her heart. What good will it do?’
‘Made love?’ I echo. Amber’s choice of term leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
‘Screwed. Shagged. Banged each other ten ways backwards. Does it matter what we call it? You and I were a pair of horny idiots last night. One night. That’s all it was. Let’s not let it ruin our lives, okay? No one needs to know. It doesn’t need to destroy your marriage or my career.’
I run my hands through my hair and tug. Her career, I think bitterly. I wish that’s all I stood to lose. My goddamn job.
‘Okay,’ I say, nodding. ‘Okay.’
‘You won’t tell Emma?’ Amber reiterates.
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Okay. Me too. It’s our secret,’ Amber says.
Our secret, I repeat silently. Our dirty little secret. My fingers fumble and struggle to find the door handle in time to open the door. I lean out and throw up. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and close the door again.
Amber ignores my meltdown and sits like a statue staring into space.
‘Can I use your phone, please?’ I ask, concentrating on pushing the words that try to stick in my throat out and past my lips.
Amber reaches across me and bends down. I jump, like a fucking idiot. Now, I’m the one who can’t bear to be touched. She fishes for her handbag that’s resting at my feet and lifts it onto her knees to take out her phone.
‘Here,’ she says, passing her iPhone to me, but keeping her fingers wrapped around it like dangling spiders legs. ‘Remember, don’t tell her.’
‘As if I’m going to tell her over the phone anyway,’ I puff out. ‘I just want to call. I want to make sure she’s okay.’
‘Yeah. Of course. Sorry,’ Amber narrows and lets go of her phone.
Chapter Ten
EMMA
I rub my eyes, squint, and yawn loudly. I’m surprised to discover darkness has swept the day away, and my bedroom is poorly illuminated by a green-blue hue omitted by my laptop screen. I flittered most of the afternoon away in bed watching DVD boxed sets I’ve seen a hundred times before. I didn’t intend to nap, but I must have dozed off quite some time ago because the DVD is almost halfway through a second loop, and my tummy is rumbling angrily, protesting that I’ve forced it to endure another day of unintentional fasting.
The duvet is twisted
around me uncomfortably, pulling my knees in opposite directions. I flap my arms and kick my legs, shaking myself free. The bottle of wine I brought upstairs is unopened on the bedside table. The paracetamol box is open, but I remember that I only took two. They must have worked because the headache that was tormenting me earlier is gone. My phone rests on David’s empty pillow – flashing. I roll over onto my tummy and pick it up. I’m disappointed to discover all that awaits my attention is a friend request on Facebook. I’ve no missed calls or texts from my husband.
I ignore the Facebook request from some Asian guy I don’t know who probably wants to sell me fake Louboutins or a Russian bride. I send David a snarky message asking why he hasn’t been in touch and throw my phone back onto his side of the bed as I get up. I wobble a little as my legs object to sustaining the weight of the rest of my body. I pick up the bottle of wine and tuck it under my arm, ready to carry it back downstairs and put it in the fridge. Just as I reach my bedroom door, my phone rings, startling me.
I toss the bottle of wine onto the bed and grab my phone.
‘Hello,’ I say, without checking the number flashing on the screen.
‘Hey, baby.’
‘David,’ I beam. ‘I was worried.’
I sit on the end of the bed and cross my legs; instantly feeling lighter just because I hear his voice.
‘I’m so sorry,’ David mumbles. ‘I lost my phone yesterday. I tried to get in touch last night from another phone, but you weren’t picking up.’
‘Oh. Right. That was you?’ I remember ignoring a call in the taxi last night. ‘Sorry, I didn’t recognise the number …’
‘That’s okay. I guessed as much.’
David sounds oddly jumpy. Losing his phone must be really bothering him. I remember our argument about taking out insurance, and I grunt. I won’t bring it up now. He sounds like he’s already beating himself up a lot. But it’s money down the drain that we really can’t afford to lose. It’s hard to hide my frustration, and I hold the phone away from my ear for a moment. I sigh deeply and roll my eyes before placing the phone back to my ear.
‘So,’ I say, ‘how’s your weekend going?’
David exhales. He actually sounds upset or maybe just exhausted. It’s worrying.
‘The client seems nice,’ he says after a long pause.
‘Well, that’s good.’ I smile. ‘The weekend will be worth it if they give you their business, right?’
I hear David clear his throat. ‘How has your weekend been?’ he asks, changing the subject. ‘Did you get out for a drink with the girls?’
I don’t blame him for steering the conversation in a different direction; I don’t want to talk about work stuff, either. ‘Yeah, we went to some posh place in town that Kim picked. It was nice. Actually, she stayed over last night.’
‘Good, good,’ David says, followed by another long pause.
He’s unusually pensive.
‘Baby, it’s just a phone,’ I say, finally.
‘Hmm?’
‘I can hear how upset you are. Don’t let it get to you. It’s just a lost phone.’
‘It’s not the phone.’ David sighs. ‘Listen, baby …’
My face falls, and I’m glad he can’t see me. I know he’s going to say something I don’t want to hear. Like he’s stuck in Kilkenny entertaining the client for the week. Or even worse, he has to take a last-minute trip to Boston.
‘Yeah …’ I reluctantly encourage him to go on.
‘Things have changed a little,’ he says, almost whispering. ‘I thought I’d make it home tonight. Actually, I thought I would even be early. I wanted to surprise you.’
‘But?’
‘But something has come up. I don’t think I’ll be home tonight after all.’
My heart sinks. But I tell myself it’s better than him jet setting to the States.
‘Okay.’ I sigh. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow after work, then. Yeah?’
‘Are you going to work?’ he squawks.
‘Well, yeah. Monday’s usually start that way, don’t they?’
‘But you’ve been feeling terrible. How will you face a class of thirty-two five-year-olds?’
I can hear the concern in his voice. It’s sweet if not somewhat irritating. Facing my pupils on Monday will be a hell of a lot easier than facing this weekend alone was.
‘Work is good, David. It’s a distraction. It beats being all by myself with my thoughts.’
Shit! I panic as soon as the words leave my mouth. I shouldn’t have said that. He’ll worry. I know he worries when I’m alone normally. He’s probably freaking out that I’m by myself so soon after Danny’s death now. And there’s nothing he can do about it. He has to work. I do understand. And I am okay. Or I’m as okay as any normal person can be at a time like this. I. Am. Normal. For once, I’m totally in control of how I feel. Even if that feeling is awful and crushing my heart. I know I’m grieving, and I accept it. It hurts—of course, it does. But I can cope. In a weird way, I want to feel it. I loved Danny. I miss him. I ache for him, and I want to experience that ache.
I don’t want to hurt myself. Not this time. I don’t need to drown out the emotional pain with a physical pain like I’ve done before. I am coping. I. Am. Okay.
‘Okay, baby. If you’re sure you’re ready for work?’ David’s gritty voice hits my ear like a gentle rain.
‘I’m sure.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow. So if it’s a number you don’t recognise, it’s just me, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I maffle.
Just him, I think to myself with my head heavy and flopping to one side. The weird messages from last night suddenly carnival around my head.
‘Bye, baby. I love you,’ David whispers.
‘I love you too. Bye, bye.’
I hang up and sit still on the end of my bed for a while. The usually comfortable mattress feels like rocks under my arse, and I shuffle and twist, but I can’t contain my restlessness. The message from last night won’t dissipate. I replay each one clearly now, and I’m as unnerved as ever. Deleting them from my phone hasn’t deleted them from my head. Suddenly, my neat, three-bedroom semi-detached house grows to enormity in my imagination, and I’m overly aware of being all alone. I can’t take my eyes off the bedroom door. My heart pounds in my chest as I imagine someone charging up the stairs at any second. I think about calling Kim, but I remember her date. I can’t call Liz or Ruth; they’re both pissed off with me after my weird behaviour last night. My shoulders round and shake as large, uncontrollable tears trickle down my cheeks and splash against my knees. I miss Danny so much. It’s a physical pain as if my ribs are shrinking, and soon, there won’t be any room left inside for my heart, and it will implode under pressure.
I reach behind me. My hand pats around the mound of tangled duvet searching for the bottle of wine. I beam brightly as the noise of my wedding ring clinking against the glass bottle kisses my ears. I thank God for screw caps and slug huge mouthfuls, barely taking the time to catch my breath between.
Chapter Eleven
AMBER
I potter about in the kitchen making as much noise as I reasonably can. It’s past seven thirty a.m., and if I don’t leave the house in the next ten minutes, I’ll be swallowed up in Monday morning traffic and almost certainly be late for work. I clink cups off each other and bang cupboard doors, hoping to wake David. When he asked me if he could stay over for the rest of the weekend, I didn’t know what to say. I definitely didn’t see that question coming. He said he couldn’t go home and face his wife, considering what we’d done. Fair enough. But staying with me? Wow, I couldn’t make this crap up. I suggested he stay in a hotel, but he was one step ahead of me and had already thought that idea through. He said the booking would show up on his credit card bill, and Emma would notice. He was right, but I couldn’t help but be disappointed to realise he’s more astute than I give him credit for.
Seconds later, the double doors between the kitchen and sitting room sl
ide open, and David appears in the alcove. His suit is crumpled, and he isn’t wearing a tie. His messy hair and pale face are evidence that he didn’t sleep much on my couch last night. He must not have taken the sleeping tablets I gave him. I recall the disapproving shake of his head when I offered them to him. But I’d breezily made up some excuse about being a nervous flyer, and with the amount of traveling I do with work, I thought he’d believed me. It’s bothersome to know he didn’t take them and instead spent a restless night tossing and turning. It irks me to know he was awake and listening to every move I made in the room above him. He looks like crap, and I can tell his head will be all over the place today at our meetings. He’ll be a liability. I can’t hide a smirk as I look him up and down. If today’s meetings don’t go in our favour, the team will look at David, not me.
I turn my back on him and make some coffee. I can hear him walking closer to me, and I know to suspect him sitting comfortably at the kitchen table when I turn back.
‘Here,’ I say, spinning one hundred and eighty degrees on the spot and stretching my arm out to pass him a cup of coffee.
I’m taken aback to find he’s actually in front of the back door using the glass panels as a makeshift mirror to tidy his appearance. He runs his hands over his suit jacket and straightens it out, and he pulls a grey and navy striped tie out of his back pocket. It’s the perfect complement to his sky blue shirt. He’s scrubbing up rather debonair.
‘Here,’ I repeat, this time gaining his attention. ‘I made you some. It looks like you need it.’
‘Thanks,’ he murmurs, meeting me at the table to take the cup.
I retrieve another cup from the countertop for myself, and we both sip in silence. He checks his watch a number of times, and I wait to see if he’ll suggest we leave soon. He should. We only have minutes left if we’re going to make it into the office on time, yet he doesn’t say a word.
I drop my cup into the bubbly water in the kitchen sink. He walks over to the sink to copy.
‘You should lead today’s pitch,’ I say randomly.
See Me Not: A gripping psychological thriller with a heartbreaking twist. Page 5