by Tess Stimson
Andy led me on, I think furiously. He made me think he was falling in love with me, he encouraged me, he came to me when he found out Louise had cheated on him. He didn’t have to, but he did. He married me. He doesn’t get to change his mind now. This isn’t the playground. There aren’t any take-backs here.
Eventually I must fall into some kind of half-sleep on the sofa, because I don’t hear Andy come in, and startle when he touches my shoulder. ‘Why are you sleeping down here?’ he whispers.
I struggle upright. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost three. Sorry I’m so late.’ He kicks off his shoes and thumps onto the sofa beside me. ‘I lost track of time. Louise and I had a couple of drinks after Bella went to bed. More than a couple, actually. She’s going to feel it tomorrow.’ He yawns. ‘Were you waiting up for me?’
‘You didn’t answer your phone,’ I say tightly. ‘Or reply to any of my texts.’
He gets up abruptly and goes over to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a Scotch. ‘I told you not to wait up,’ he says, his back towards me. ‘My train was delayed because of—’
‘A security scare. I got your text.’
I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he tries to work out what I know, how much trouble he may be in. He must realise it would have been easy enough for me to check his story. ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big thing of this,’ he says finally, settling in an armchair on the other side of the room. Putting distance between us. ‘You knew where I was.’
‘Until three in the morning?’
‘You want me to text you every time I take a shit now?’
It’s a measure of how uncomfortable he is with this conversation that’s he’s so uncharacteristically coarse. ‘It would’ve been nice to know you’d got to Brighton safely,’ I snap. ‘Given there was a security scare.’
‘Look, what is this?’ he says irritably. ‘It’s been a long day at work, I’ve been worried sick about my daughter, and it’s late. The last thing I need when I finally get home is the third degree from you.’
I’m tired of the verbal fencing. Tired of his lies. ‘There was no security scare,’ I say coldly. ‘Your train wasn’t delayed. Why don’t you tell me what “this” is?’
He opens his mouth to bluster, and then I see him rethink it. He knocks back his Scotch. ‘I spent the evening with my children,’ he says defiantly. ‘I was worried about Bella, OK? I just didn’t want to get into it with you. You always make such a fucking drama out of it whenever I see Louise.’ His tone turns aggressive. ‘I wouldn’t need to lie if you didn’t make it all so bloody difficult.’
‘That ship has sailed,’ I say tersely. ‘You’ve made it very plain where you stand on the subject of Louise. She just has to snap her fingers, and you go running.’
‘Louise is the mother of my children,’ he says coldly. ‘Like it or not, she’s part of my life. You knew that when you married me.’ His expression is hostile. ‘She’s got far more reason to have an issue with you than you do with her, but she doesn’t give me this much grief.’
‘Saint Louise,’ I say bitterly. ‘I’m beginning to wonder why you ever left her.’
‘Yeah, well. You’re not the only one.’
A sudden silence falls between us. We stare at each other across a widening gulf, either unable or unwilling to bridge it. ‘I’m sorry,’ Andy mutters finally. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
I know I should let it go. It’s late, and we’re both tired. This isn’t the kind of conversation to have at three in the morning, but I can’t stop picking at the scab. ‘Where were you today, Andy?’
‘You know where I was,’ Andy snaps. ‘I just told you.’
‘I mean today, when you were supposed to have been at work.’
He’s suddenly very still. ‘I was at work.’
‘No, you weren’t. And you weren’t at work on Friday either—’
‘Have you been checking up on me?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Jesus, Caz. You know I wasn’t with Louise today, or I wouldn’t have had to rush down from London when our daughter ended up in hospital!’
‘So who were you with?’ I persist. ‘Your secretary said you were taking a personal day. How personal was it, Andy?’
He slams his glass on the coffee table. ‘Would you give it a rest!’ he shouts. ‘I’m investigating some very sensitive subjects – I don’t tell Jessica everything I’m doing!’ He rubs his hand through his hair, clearly trying to get his anger under control. When he speaks again, his tone is much calmer. ‘Look. Some of my sources are very gun-shy, OK? Occasionally I go off-book to talk to them. Can we please stop this now? There’s nothing going on, with Louise or anyone else, I swear to you on my life.’
I want to believe him. I hate him for turning me into the kind of woman I’ve always despised, jealous and mistrustful, going through pockets and checking emails. I’m so confused. Everything is smoke and mirrors, and I don’t know what’s real anymore. Maybe I’m just paranoid, I think desperately. I’ve let Louise get under my skin. I need to regroup and think this through when I’m less tired. I’m too drained to fight anymore. ‘I’m going up to bed,’ I say, without waiting for him to follow.
I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed, but I’m too wired to sleep. The door opens a short while later, and I hear Andy undress in the dark. I lie motionless, rigid with misery, as the bed sinks beneath his weight. He presses his body against the length of mine, his arm heavy as he drapes it across my waist. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers, propping himself up on his free elbow. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. I didn’t mean what I said. It was the Scotch talking.’
I’m still savagely angry with him, and yet the heat of his body pressed against my back makes my pulse roar in my ears, even as I fight to hold on to my rage.
He runs his hand over my hip, his voice low and hypnotic. ‘You’re right, I shouldn’t have lied to you. I just know how upset you get about Louise. I’m not trying to make excuses – I was wrong, and I’m sorry.’ His breath is warm on my neck. ‘She was a little crazy tonight, that’s why I stuck around. I’d forgotten how obsessive she can get. She seems to think you poisoned poor Bagpuss. I’m beginning to think she’s as unstable as you’ve said. Who knows what craziness she’ll come up with next.’ His fingers slip into the wetness between my thighs, and I don’t stop him. ‘She’s living in fantasy land. She’ll think we’re getting back together next—’
I pull away from him abruptly. He’s fucked her. Until thirty seconds ago, I wasn’t sure, but I know Andy too well, I recognise the way his devious mind works. That little speech was laying the groundwork for his defence if she ever comes to me and admits he slept with her. She’s crazy. Look at all the insane things she said about you. She’s obviously delusional. You can’t believe a word she says.
Andy puts a tentative hand on my shoulder, but when I jerk away again, he sighs theatrically, and rolls away from me. ‘I’m just going to have a quick shower,’ he says. ‘I won’t be long.’
I press the knuckles of my hand into my mouth. Salty tears spill onto my fingers, and I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing my sobs through sheer effort of will. Angie was right. My mother was right. All the naysayers and doubters who told me leopards don’t change their spots were right. What else did I expect? What kind of man walks out on his baby son when he’s a week old, no matter what his mother has done?
The kind of man who cheats, and lies, and fools you into thinking he is capable of loving anyone but himself.
Andy is a treacherous, devious son-of-a-bitch, but he’s my son-of-a-bitch. I have no intention of giving him up. Love him, hate him, it doesn’t matter. They’re different sides of the same coin anyway.
Chapter 35
Louise
I love you, Andrew said. I always have, he said.
I make a face at myself in the bathroom mirror, mimicking Andrew’s voice beneath my breath. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you
. This has been great. I’ve had a really nice time.
Stepping into the shower, I turn it to the coldest setting, and hold my face in the icy spray, furious with myself. How did I let myself fall for his bullshit yet again? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Andrew came to me for advice over his affair with another woman. That’s what he meant when he said he’d been a fool, not that he regretted leaving me. I’ve got to hand it to Andrew. It takes real skill to cheat on two wives at once.
The cold shower does little to cool my temper, but at least it dispels my hangover. Furiously, I towel my hair, and march back into my bedroom to get dressed. I’m sure Andrew didn’t come over here expecting to get laid, but it must have been a nice little bonus. He didn’t exactly have to sweet-talk me into bed. The thought of him smugly reclining in the back of his taxi, totting up the notches on his bedpost as he goes home to his wife, makes me want to bloody kill him.
Last time he left me to go back to Caz, he broke my heart. I probe my feelings now, tentatively testing them as if prodding an aching tooth. I should be devastated that he’s betrayed me yet again, and yet once more I feel oddly flat and unemotional. Irritated, certainly. Disappointed, even; but in the way a parent might feel about a child who’s let themselves down, rather than as a lover who’s been cruelly deceived. I can’t quite believe it, but I don’t think I care very much what Andrew does, or with whom. I think … I think I’m over him.
The realisation is exhilarating. My feet are wonderfully light as I go downstairs to make Tolly’s breakfast. Maybe last night wasn’t such a mistake after all. It took being slapped in the face one more time for me to finally realise I stopped loving Andrew a long time ago. I just didn’t know it till now. Perhaps this is what people call closure.
To my surprise I find Bella already up and dressed, leaning against the half-built kitchen cabinets and eating a bowl of Tolly’s Coco Pops. ‘What are you doing up?’
‘School,’ she says, as if talking to a simpleton.
I try to get a better look at the huge purple bruise that’s bloomed overnight on her forehead. ‘You don’t have a headache?’
She ducks out of reach, the cereal bowl still in her hand. ‘You’re the one who should have the headache, after all that wine,’ she says. ‘What time did Dad leave?’
‘Late,’ I say vaguely. ‘You could stay home today, darling. No one would mind.’
‘I’m fine.’
She certainly seems all right, I think, watching her spoon chocolate milk into her mouth. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen her eat such a good breakfast in months. Maybe I’ve been overreacting about her weight and her moods. She’s a teenager. It’s to be expected she’ll have ups and downs.
It suddenly occurs to me I still haven’t tackled her about the money she took from my account. I meant to discuss it after she got home from her weekend with her father, but it was late when he dropped the kids off on Sunday, and then of course we had all the drama of our trip to casualty yesterday. I’ll talk to her about it tonight, when we’re not in a rush. Whatever the explanation, she has to understand she can’t just steal money from me like that. Even if we could afford it, which we most certainly can’t, it would still be wrong, and she knows that. I thought I was doing a better job of raising her than this.
We leave the house early for once, since I haven’t had to drag Bella out of bed. Instead of haring down the lane in our usual fashion, I’m actually able to drive at a normal speed, well within the legal limit. Which is why I’m surprised when I see a police car pull out of a concealed track behind me, its blue lights flashing. For a moment, I think he just wants to get past me, but then his siren wails briefly and I realise with shock that he’s stopping me.
Bella looks up from her phone. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t speeding. Maybe one of my brake lights is out?’
I can’t help feeling nervous as he approaches, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s like when you go through the green channel at the airport: I never know whether to smile at the customs officials, or stare fixedly ahead and refuse to make eye contact.
The policeman looks about the same age as Bella. I wind down the window. ‘Can I help you, officer?’
‘Is this your car, madam?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Is it registered to you?’
I hesitate. ‘I’m not sure, actually. It’s my ex-husband’s car, and I don’t know if he’s put it in my name yet. But I’m insured to drive it,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s all above board.’
‘Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle, madam?’
‘I can call my husband, he’ll tell you—’
‘Please step out of the car.’
Flustered, I scrabble for the door handle, accidentally locking myself in. Bella sighs and hits the unlock button in the centre console. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, following the officer around to the rear of my car. ‘Is it my taillights, or something?’
‘Have you been drinking, madam?’
‘What?’
‘You crossed into the oncoming lane twice while I was watching, and—’
‘There’s only one lane,’ I say defensively. ‘It’s impossible not to go onto the other side.’
‘I have reasonable cause to suspect you have consumed alcohol,’ the officer says pleasantly. ‘I’m going to ask you to consent to a breath test. Do you consent?’
‘Alcohol?’ I exclaim. ‘It’s eight o’clock in the morning!’
‘I must caution you that it is an offence to refuse to supply a breath sample—’
He reaches ominously for his two-way radio, and I quickly backtrack. ‘Yes, fine, I consent. Of course I haven’t been drinking! I haven’t even had breakfast!’
Bella opens the passenger door and leans out. ‘Mum, what’s going on?’
‘Get back in the car, Bella.’
‘Mum—’
‘Get back in the car!’
‘If you could come and join me in my vehicle,’ the officer says. ‘Please have a seat there, in the front.’
I climb into the police car, my heart pounding. I’ve never been in a police vehicle before; I’ve never even been pulled over. I feel embarrassed and humiliated, like I’m some kind of criminal. Thank goodness we’re still in the lane, and no one I know is likely to see me. The whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t imagine why he stopped a mum on the school run at eight a.m. They must have some kind of silly quota to meet before the end of the month.
The young policeman produces the breathalyser, and the school prefect in me purses her lips, determined to do it perfectly. I follow his instructions as he holds the device steady in front of me, and breathe into the tube until the machine beeps. We both wait awkwardly for it to analyse the sample I’ve just given. It’s going to be negative, obviously. The only thing I’ve had to drink all morning is two cups of Tetley.
The breathalyser beeps again, and the officer reads it. His expression doesn’t change. ‘OK, so it’s a fail 42,’ he says. ‘The legal limit’s 35. You’ve failed a breath test, so you’re under arrest under suspicion of driving while over the proscribed limit—’
‘It can’t be,’ I cut in. ‘It must be a mistake. Can I do it again? I swear, I haven’t had a single drink this morning other than a cup of tea.’
‘We’ll carry out another test at the station, madam.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ I insist. ‘I really haven’t had anything to drink, not even cough syrup! I must have done it wrong, or—’
‘Did you have a drink last night, madam?’
I suddenly feel sick, remembering the entire bottle of wine I got through with Andrew. ‘Yes, but that was eight hours ago,’ I say faintly. ‘I’m not drunk.’
‘Alcohol remains in the bloodstream longer than you think,’ he says nicely. ‘Now, I’ll be driving you to Brighton police station. I’m going to ask your children to accompany us. If there’s someone who
can pick them up from the station, that’ll be fine.’
‘There’s no need to bring the children with us. My mother can come and get them right now, she only lives ten minutes—’
‘I’m afraid I do require you to come to the station with me straight away. Your mother can collect the children from there.’
I’ve never been more ashamed in my life as I watch the police officer walk to my car and ask my children to accompany their mother to the police station. Tolly’s eyes are out on stalks, his cheeks pink with excitement as the officer transfers his car seat to the back of the police vehicle and buckles him in, but Bella doesn’t even look at me as she climbs wordlessly into the back of the car.
I don’t blame the officer. He’s just doing his job; actually, now that the process is over, he seems to unbend a little, chatting amiably to Tolly, who is fizzing with questions. My son will tell everyone he’s been in a police car, I realise. His teachers. His father. There’s going to be no hiding this.
Bella leans forward between the front seats. ‘Why were you waiting in the lane?’
‘Please sit back, miss.’
She ignores his request. ‘It’s just, like, a weird place to be parked. It doesn’t lead anywhere, except Barlow’s farm. Nobody goes down the lane but us. Why would you even be there?’
I suddenly understand what my daughter is driving at. ‘Were you waiting for me?’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘We are acting on information received, yes, madam.’
‘It’s that bastard farmer, the one who wants to sell off his fields to those developers,’ Bella exclaims. ‘I bet he did it, because you refused to let them put their access road across the bottom of our paddock. It’s just the kind of shitty thing he’d do.’