Be Careful What You Hear

by Paul Pilkington

  ‘Just arrived?’ the woman smiled. On first glance, I’d placed her older, but now she looked to be in her fifties. From her accent, she was obviously a local.

  ‘Yes, this afternoon,’ I said, standing by the till. James had said he was going to get some fresh air while I paid. ‘We thought we’d get in some supplies before the bad weather hits.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Supposed to be a nasty one. You know, those weather people, only the other day they said it wouldn’t hit us at all. And then they change their minds.’ She shook her head as she punched in the prices of the items into an ancient looking till. There was no use of barcodes here. ‘I’d recommend battening down the hatches, and hopefully by morning it will have come and gone,’ she added.

  ‘That’s what we thought.’

  ‘So who’s the lovely lady?’

  ‘Grace. She’s six months old.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ she cooed. She looked across at the till. ‘That’ll be ten pounds and thirty pence, please.’ She took my fifteen pounds worth of notes and scooped out the correct change.

  ‘So,’ she said, handing me back my change, ‘whereabouts are you staying?’

  ‘The little white cottage, right on the coast.’

  ‘Ah, Cartwright Cottage.’

  ‘Cartwright Cottage? I didn’t know it was called that.’

  ‘It isn’t. Not officially. It used to belong to Elsa Cartwright. My family have lived in this area forever, and if you know this area, you know the story.’

  ‘Story?’ I spotted James peek inside at me through the glass door, presumably wondering where I was.

  ‘Back in the late nineteenth century. Her husband, Richard, was a fisherman. They’d only been married a year when he was lost at sea. She bought the cottage, and spent all her time looking out for him, hoping that he’d reappear out from the waves. For years she could be seen sitting in front of the cottage, until the day she died. He never did come back. And they never found a body.’

  ‘That’s a really sad story.’

  ‘It gets sadder.’

  I wished really that she hadn’t told me it. I’d never been one for such tales. I was easily spooked. So I was half-expecting her now to add in an epilogue, featuring the ghost of Elsa Cartwright, who visitors to the cottage would sometimes sense, and maybe even see…

  ‘There were rumours that Richard never went to sea at all that day. Some people claimed that he’d set the whole thing up, so that he could run away with a mystery women whom he’d met.’

  ‘No way?’

  The bell rang as James re-entered the shop. He’d obviously ran out of patience, and had got enough fresh air. ‘You okay?’ he said.

  But I didn’t want to be left hanging. ‘Do people really think he did that to her?’

  ‘Some do.’

  I shook my head. ‘I know it sounds strange to say this, but I really hope that he did die.’

  ‘Me too,’ she replied.

  ***

  Later that night, with Grace asleep next door, James and I snuggled down on the sofa, with the fire blazing, watching Sleepless in Seattle. The collection of DVDs wasn’t the most up to date, but this was one of my favourite films, and I hadn’t seen it for ages. I was a massive Tom Hanks fan.

  ‘The wind’s picking up,’ I said, as the windows rattled. I looked across to the curtains. ‘I hope the storm isn’t too bad.’

  James pulled me closer. ‘I think it will be okay. It’s not like it’s a hurricane.’

  ‘No…’

  Right on cue, the windows rattled again, and for the first time that day, we heard the sound of rain as it slapped against the panes.

  I thought of our little daughter. ‘I’ll go and check on Grace again in a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ll go.’ James returned less than a minute later. ‘Sleeping like a, well, a baby,’ he smiled.

  ‘Good, good.’ I suddenly thought of Elsa Cartwright, and then explained the story to James. I figured that if I told him, it would make me feel less spooked. Because as much as I knew there was nothing to be concerned about, it did make me feel uneasy. I felt scared to go to the bathroom on my own. I knew I was being stupid, but I couldn’t help it.

  James listened in silence until I’d finished explaining. ‘So that’s what you were talking about in there. I came back in because I thought there was some problem with the payment – you know, you didn’t have enough cash, or they weren’t accepting your card. I didn’t realise she was telling you ghost stories. She probably does that to everyone who stays here, just to frighten them.’

  ‘Maybe. I can’t help feeling sorry for her though – especially if Richard had really run away with another woman.’

  ‘Yes,’ James replied. He turned away. And then he began to sob. His shoulders jackhammered as he screwed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  I brought my arm around him. ‘What’s the matter, James? Please, tell me.

  He shook his head, before burying his face in his hands.

  I tried again to make contact. ‘I’m really worried about you. Really worried. Worried that you’re going to do something stupid.’

  He muttered something into his hands that I couldn’t hear properly.

  And then I told him. ‘I heard what you said to Grace on Thursday night. I heard it over the baby monitor, when I was downstairs and you were putting her to bed.’

  That got his attention.

  He raised his head slowly. ‘You heard me?’

  ‘You were saying you were going to end it all.’

  He looked off to his right and shook his head at some thought. ‘I’m so sorry, George, I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Sorry about what?’

  He looked like he was going to be sick, but what came out of his mouth only made me feel ill. ‘I’ve been having an affair.’

  ‘An affair?’

  Even then I hoped this was all a mistake. I even wished in that split second that my illness had returned, and that the idea of James having an affair was just in my head. But it was horribly real.

  He closed his eyes. ‘Yes. But it’s over now. I ended it. The conversation you heard on Thursday evening. I wasn’t talking to Grace. I was talking to her, telling her again it was over. She called me and, stupidly, I answered. I completely forgot about the monitor.’

  I swallowed as my stomach lurched and rolled like the sea spread out in front of us. With all my emotional strength I stayed calm, and asked the question. ‘Who? Who is she?’

  James, his eyes still closed, pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Please, George, not now, not here.’

  That really made me angry. I still however kept my voice measured. ‘Tell me everything.’

  He blew out his cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  He pulled at his lip, and I thought for a moment he wasn’t going to reveal the name. But then he turned to me, his face filled with genuine remorse and shame. ‘I’m really sorry, George. It’s Sophie.’

  9

  I felt sick to my stomach. Sophie?

  She had been the person who had supported me so much, yet all the time was having an affair with my husband? How could she do that to me, while sitting there and listening to my problems, offering me advice, being there for me? I could hardly believe it. But I knew from James’ face that he was telling the truth.

  I just stayed there on the sofa, saying nothing, losing myself in the flames. All this time, I had thought that James might be on the verge of taking our lives, when he had actually been talking to his mistress on the telephone.

  What kind of an idiot was I?

  ‘George, I really sorry,’ James said at last, in an attempt to elicit a response.

  I closed my eyes briefly, trying to shut out the situation that I found myself in. ‘I need to give Grace a feed,’ I said, leaving the room. James didn’t try to stop me.

  When I returned, he was still there, lying back on the sofa. He’d switched the tele
vision off, and was just staring at the ceiling, hands folded.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I said.

  He seemed surprised, and reacted like someone who was unprepared for the task they’d just been given. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He sat back upright, and bit down on his lip as I took the space next to him.

  I gazed into his eyes, not knowing yet if I was going to forgive him. I would certainly need to know more about what had happened, even if really it was the last thing I wanted to hear. And I needed to know now. Not tomorrow. I wanted time to process this before the morning. I swallowed back my fears and began. ‘How long has it been going on?’

  ‘Three months. But it’s over now. I finished it two weeks ago.’

  I didn’t need to pause and calculate when that was. It started at my lowest ebb, a month before I really sought help. I was in such a state there’s no way I would have been able to see the reality around me. I was too busy dealing with my paranoid delusions about, ironically, James having an affair with the locum dentist. ‘How did it start?’

  James bit down again on his lip. ‘I know it’s a terrible cliché, but I didn’t intend for it to happen. And there are no real excuses. But as you know, we were in a really bad place, and Sophie was being so supportive. But she started to open up too, about how the miscarriage had affected her and her relationship with Michael. Over those months, we got closer, until…’

  He broke off and just shook his head.

  I was surprising myself by how calmly I was dealing with this. But there was really little other option. If I screamed and shouted, I would wake up Grace. And given our location, throwing James out was not a sensible option. At least by staying calm and controlled, we could talk things through like adults. The truth was, I didn’t feel angry; I just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. I was grieving the loss of innocence of our relationship, which would never be the same again, whether we stayed together or not. ‘Why did you break it off?’

  ‘Because I knew it was wrong. And that I wanted to be with you, and Grace. I felt awful, I still do feel awful for what’s happened, for what I’ve done.’

  I thought back to September. ‘So the holiday. Us as a happy family. It was all an act?’

  ‘No.’

  I found that hard to believe. ‘But you were still seeing her.’

  He found it hard to look me in the eye. ‘I know. But it wasn’t an act. The holiday, being with you and Grace, it was amazing. I knew during that week that it’s what I wanted. I decided early on in the holiday that I was going to break it off with Sophie.’

  ‘Were you planning to tell me?’

  ‘I wanted to. I nearly told you, last Sunday, when we were out for a walk along the Thames.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because I was scared that if you found out, it would mean the end of our marriage.’ He looked at me. ‘Does it?’

  ‘I can’t answer that right now.’

  He nodded. ‘I understand. I shouldn’t have asked that.’

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. Meanwhile, the storm outside was closing in. The wind had strengthened into a constant force and was rattling the windows and whistling down the chimney breast. And the rain was hitting harder. We were certainly under sustained attack from the elements. It seemed as though the storm had arrived early, as it was only just nearing midnight.

  ‘How does she feel about it?’ I asked, turning my attention to the other person in this sad triangle.

  ‘She wanted it to continue.’

  I shook my head at the betrayal from someone I had called my friend. But, then, how long had I actually known Sophie? Very little time, when I really thought about it. I didn’t know what she was really like. She wasn’t my lifelong buddy. In fact, she wasn’t really my friend at all – she was James’. ‘What about her marriage? What about Michael?’

  ‘Their marriage is as good as over,’ he replied.

  ‘What?’ That did shock me. Of course I knew that there had been problems, as Sophie had told me herself. But I didn’t think it was that bad.

  ‘They’ve barely spoken to one another for months,’ James revealed. ‘Sophie told me that they live separate lives in the house.’

  ‘I never realised it was so bad.’

  James continued. ‘It all began with the miscarriage, according to Sophie. Michael bottled it all up, and Sophie felt abandoned. They never recovered.’

  I thought about their plight. They hadn’t been able to withstand the devastation of a future ripped away from them. Yes, like countless couples who had experienced the same, they could have moved on, tried again, and gone on to have a baby and be that family unit they had dreamt of. But for some reason, they hadn’t been able. And instead of rebuilding, Sophie had thrown herself into the arms of another – my husband.

  ‘All the support for me, was it genuine?’

  ‘From Sophie do you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Was it genuine, or was it just a way to get to you?’

  ‘It was genuine. Sophie told me it was her way of helping to get over the miscarriage. She had a real longing to help, and be useful. She wanted to help you, and Grace.’

  ‘And you.’

  ‘Yes, and me. But at first, that was just it. It was just help.’

  ‘But then things changed.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You said she didn’t want your relationship to end. What did she say to you when you finished it?’

  ‘She said she didn’t want to go on, if nobody wanted her.’

  I actually felt sorry for her. This woman had tried to steal away my husband, with his consent of course. But instead of hating her, I just pitied her situation. ‘She threatened to take her own life?’

  ‘Nothing specific,’ he said. ‘Just that she didn’t want to go on.’

  ‘And what did you say to that?’

  ‘I told her we had to stop what we were doing, that I wanted to stop it. But I didn’t want her to do anything stupid. I asked her to get help – from a doctor, preferably.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  I thought back to how well she had looked in Allemandi’s, just yesterday. It seemed crazy to think that the measured, cheerful exterior was masking something altogether more fraught and wounded.

  ‘There’s something else,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think in the past two weeks, Sophie has been doing things.’

  ‘Doing things. What do you mean?’

  ‘Silent calling me on my mobile. Sending strange things to the dental practice…’

  ‘Like what?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Two days ago I received a letter. There were instructions that only I should open it, so Elizabeth passed it on to me unopened. Inside was an image of a heart, which someone had doctored to show blood flowing out of it. On the back someone had written, “Broken hearted. Only just started.”

  I shuddered.

  ‘And then the other night, the person Max saw in our back garden.’

  ‘You think that could have been Sophie?’

  ‘Of course. I nearly told you everything then, but it just wasn’t the right time. I was more concerned that I kept you two safe.’

  ‘Which is why you booked the holiday away? So we’d be safe?’

  ‘Yes. For the weekend, I knew there would be a lot of miles between us. I know it’s not rational, that we have to go back to London on Monday, but I guess I just felt the need to do something.’

  Then I thought of something. ‘The flat tyres. You think that was Sophie, too?’

  ‘I assume so. It might just be a coincidence, of course, but I doubt it.’

  And then I had another thought. ‘She knows where we are.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I gave her the details of where we are staying. I texted her when we were at the services.’

  He looked back at me in horror.

  Bang! Bang!

  I tensed.
‘Was that someone at the door?’

  ‘Just the wind,’ he said.

  But he didn’t look at all convinced.

  10

  When we finally did go to bed, at a quarter to one in the morning, James offered to sleep on the sofa, and I let him. I still didn’t know how I felt about his admission of infidelity, but I didn’t want him so close to me that night – even though the storm, and the lingering thoughts of Elsa Cartwright and Sophie, set me on edge. You don’t hear your husband tell you he’s had an affair and then promptly go back to bed with him, as if nothing has happened.

  I lay there in the strange bed, in the isolated cottage by the sea, listening to the wind and rain battering us. The bed was comfortable, but my mind was running at full speed, trying desperately to process the day’s events. To my surprise, when I finally did fall asleep, I was out cold. And the next time I opened my eyes, it was morning, and there was sunlight streaming through the curtains. I checked my watch on the bedside table – half past eight.

  I wanted to check on Grace first. It wasn’t unknown for her to sleep through the night – we’d been extremely lucky in that respect. But when I hadn’t heard from her for all those hours, it always sparked anxiety in me.

  ‘Hello, poppet,’ I whispered, standing over the cot. She was still asleep. The unfamiliar surroundings and even the storm obviously hadn’t disturbed her the way it had her mother.

  ‘Morning, George,’ James said from behind me.

  I didn’t turn around. I just kept my eyes on Grace. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Did you sleep okay?’

  ‘Yes, surprisingly. How about you?’ I felt that I needed to ask.

  ‘Woke up a few times. The sofa is not the most comfortable. But I deserve it.’

  ‘I didn’t do it to punish you,’ I said, turning to face him.

  ‘I know. I know. Do you fancy breakfast?’

  I nodded and we settled down to eat.