by Alan Millard
At the office no one noticed any change. In Eliot’s words Paul prepared a “face to meet the faces” He acted the part, played the game, got on with his work and appeared to be untroubled. In August he took a fortnight’s leave but no family holiday had been planned. Anne took the children to her parents’ caravan in Devon for a break while Paul stayed home sticking doggedly to his daily routine. When they returned his walks continued not just in the evenings but also at weekends. The house became somewhere to eat and sleep when he wasn’t out working or walking.
It was after a busy day at work that he came home to find Anne and the children laughing and larking about indoors with a stranger. As soon as he walked in the laughter stopped. He felt like an intruder and couldn’t think what to say. Anne came to the rescue. ‘Paul,’ she said, smiling. ‘Come and meet Martin. Martin, this is Paul, my husband.’ Martin went to shake Paul’s hand but Paul made no response. ‘Martin plays clarinet in the orchestra,’ Anne explained. ‘He was just passing and dropped in.’ The girls looked so at ease with this stranger that Paul wondered how many times he’d dropped in before.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Martin. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’ Paul remained silent. ‘Well I mustn’t outstay my welcome. I was just popping in.’ He glanced at Anne. ‘I’ll see you next Tuesday. Don’t forget to bring the Mozart. Bye Olivia, bye Miriam.’ The girls ran over and gave him a hug. Anne saw him to the door, whispered something and waved as he walked down the path.
Paul was silent over dinner and didn’t mention Martin though Martin was dominating his thoughts. Anne ignored him and talked exclusively to Olivia and Miriam. As soon as he’d eaten Paul rose from the table, slung on a coat and left for his evening walk. Aware of the chill in the air he buttoned up his coat. The sun was sinking behind a distant line of hills and a single star glowed faintly above. In a nearby field a herd of cows stood motionless with their legs dipped in a sea of white mist. Deviating from his usual route he followed lanes he’d never before explored not caring where they led. He tramped along unaware of his surroundings thinking of Martin. The twilight gradually turned to darkness. More stars appeared invoking another line of a poem he’d learned at school, a quote from Hardy that summed up his present mood. He recited the words to himself as well as to any other night creatures that might be hidden in the hedges listening. ‘White stars ghost forth,’ he murmured, ‘that care not for men’s wives, or any other lives.’ He couldn’t recall the details of the poem except that it concerned an estranged couple standing on Weymouth Bridge at night. One of the pair was having an affair. Now as he marched along in the dark he found himself asking the questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask before over dinner. Why had the laughter suddenly stopped when he walked in from work? Why were the children so obviously fond of and familiar with Martin? What exactly had Anne told Martin about him? What was Anne whispering at the door when he left? The answers were as clear as the stars overhead. Anne was having an affair. It had never occurred to him that his wife would ever betray him. The prospect of staying with her seemed as impossible as the prospect of being without her. He carried on walking not knowing where he was going and all the time imagining Martin and Anne together in his bed.
In the early hours of the morning he unexpectedly found himself at the main road and recognised where he was. Being closer to home than he realised he began walking towards the village when a police car drew up beside him with two officers sitting inside. The one nearest to him wound down the window. ‘Early to be out isn’t it sir? Can I ask where you’re going?’
‘I’m going home.’
‘Is everything all right?’
Paul was in no mood for polite conversation. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Everything isn’t all right. My wife is having an affair. That’s why I’m out walking There isn’t a law against it is there?’
‘I see. No sir there isn’t but it’s not wise to be out at this hour. I should go home if I were you.’ Giving Paul a wary look he wound up the window and drove off.
The church clock was striking three as Paul walked up the path and turned the key in the lock. He went in and briefly looked in the bedroom. Anne lay with her hair spread over the pillow. Leonard Cohen’s “sleepy golden storm” popped into his head - not the kind of storm he imagined was brewing. He stayed for a moment then crept along to the spare room, collapsed on the single bed and slept alone for the second time in their marriage. He dozed for a couple of hours and rose before the others. He was sitting in the kitchen when Anne wandered through in her dressing gown. She switched on the light and went to the sink to fill the kettle. Turning round and seeing him startled her. ‘My God!’ she cried. ‘What are you doing here? Look at your suit! It’s all crumpled. Where have you been all night?’
‘Walking. Does it matter to you?’
‘Of course it matters.’ She pulled a chair from under the table and sat staring at him. ‘Paul, this is getting beyond a joke. We can’t go on like this.’
‘Like what? I thought you’d be happy to get me out of the way while you and Martin have the place to yourselves.’
‘So that’s it. You can’t bear me having any friends can you?’
‘Friends? Is that what you call it?’
‘Yes friends. Martin is just a good friend. Someone I can talk to. Someone who takes notice of me and the girls and can have some fun with them in the absence of their father. What do expect when you’re never here?’
‘I expect you to be faithful.’
‘Faithful!’ Anne suddenly snapped. ‘Are you suggesting that Martin and I have been...’
‘Sleeping together? It’s obvious isn’t it?’
Before she could answer Miriam appeared at the door in her pyjamas. ‘Is it time for breakfast?’ she whined.
‘Soon sweetheart. Go upstairs and get ready for school.’ Miriam disappeared. ‘Right,’ said Anne, taking control of the situation. ‘I can’t bear any more of this. I’ll take the children to school and tell the head I’m not feeling well. I’ll get Zoe to have the girls for a sleepover tonight. You phone the office and tell them you won’t be in. We need time to talk and we can’t do it in front of the children.’
When she returned they sat together with the whole day before them to sort things out. Paul was fidgeting. He said he felt claustrophobic and asked if they could go somewhere else to talk.
‘Where?’ Anne asked.
‘I don’t know. Let’s drive somewhere. We could go to West Bay or Lyme Regis, anywhere. What do you say?’
‘I’d say you’re trying to wriggle out of talking.’
‘I’m not, I promise. Sea air would do us both good and get us away from here.’
‘Okay, we’ll go wherever you like. Are you up to driving after being out all night?’
‘Yes, I’ll be fine.’ All Paul wanted was to be away from a house he felt was no longer his. He couldn’t shake off the image of Martin hugging the girls or the sickening thought of Anne with him in bed. He hated the place and had to get out.
‘Where are we going?’ Anne asked as they drove away.
‘Lulworth cove. It’s as good as anywhere.’
On arrival they parked the car and joined the procession of sightseers strolling down to the sea. There were more people than they expected enjoying the late summer. Most were retired couples with walking sticks trailing grandchildren and carrying their scooters. When they reached the cove they stood on a small patch of concrete surrounded by people all gazing out to sea through the narrow gap that opened on to the channel.
‘We can’t talk here can we?’ said Anne.
Paul agreed, not that he wanted to talk. ‘We could climb to the top of the cliff and find a quiet spot,’ he suggested. ‘I shouldn’t think many of these could make it up the hill.’ He was already longing to walk.
For the first time that day Anne smiled at the thought
of arthritic grandparents struggling up the hill carrying the grandchildren and their scooters. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but remember we’re here to talk not walk!’
They climbed the chalky path to the top of the cliff and looked down at the sea far below them. ‘The wrinkled sea beneath him creeps,’ said Paul.
‘Where’s that from?’ Ann asked.
‘Tennyson. It’s about an eagle staring down on the water from a high mountain crag. As a kid I’d compress the skin on the back of my hand making wrinkles and pretend I was looking down at the waves from a great height.’
‘Very imaginative weren’t you? Where shall we sit?’
‘Why not here?’ They sat on a patch of grass a little way back from the edge of the cliff. Paul had resigned himself to the dreaded talk. It was Anne who fired the opening salvo.
‘You know we can’t go on like this, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Or, at least, I can’t.’
Paul shrugged. ‘Do you want me to go back to the doctors?’ he said, hoping for a speedy resolution. If he got things over quickly Anne might be persuaded to walk on to Durdle Door.
‘I’d say yes if I thought it would change things but it wouldn’t, would it? I’m serious Paul. I can’t go on like this. It’s like living with a ghost.’
‘And you’d rather be living with Martin.’ Paul spat out the name as though it tasted like venom.
Anne took a deep breath but stayed calm. ‘You don’t really believe there’s anything going on between us do you?’
‘Not if you say so,’ he answered without conviction.
‘Well there isn’t. There never was. We’re good friends, nothing more.’
‘If you say so.’
The last remark lit the fuse. ‘Christ,’ she shouted, ‘I’m beginning to wish there was something going on between us. You haven’t touched me in months. You treat me like dirt. You never play with the children or read to them. You might as well be dead as far as they’re concerned.’
‘Not like Martin, you mean.’
‘Martin’s married. He’s got three children of his own.’
‘And when did that make any difference?’
Anne had had enough. ‘Paul, do you really want me to leave you because I will. I mean it! I can’t take any more of this.’
‘Did you sleep with Martin?’ The question had to be asked but whatever she answered would make no difference. He’d already made up his mind.
‘No, I did not. How could you even ask? What do you think I am?’
‘I wish I knew.’
That for Anne was the final straw. She leapt to her feet. ‘Right, that’s it. Let’s not waste any more time. I’ll contact a solicitor as soon as we get back. I meant what I said. I can’t go on like this. If it’s a divorce you want you can have one.’ She started to walk away but stopped when Paul called out. He was wailing and trembling like a frightened animal. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he sobbed staring up at her with tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, please, please, don’t leave me. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll change, I promise I will.’
It was the first time Anne had ever seen him cry. She got down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. He cuddled into her like a broken child and stayed there crying and crying as if letting go of a lifetime’s tears. It was several minutes before the sobbing stopped. ‘What are we going to do?’ Anne said as she slowly released her hold.
Paul reached for her hand. ‘I don’t know, I really don’t know but I know I can’t bear the thought of being without you.’
Anne took his hand and helped him up. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘We’ll work something out.’ Paul stood and putting his arms around her kissed her forehead, her cheeks and her lips. He held her for as long as he had when they’d first fallen in love.
‘What now?’ Anne asked as they moved apart.
‘I don’t know. Shall we walk on? We might as well after climbing all the way up here.’
‘You and your walking!’ This time it was a tender rebuke. Nothing had been resolved but something had happened to break the deadlock.
They strolled along both knowing there was more to do but for now they enjoyed the feeling of being close to each other. Anne couldn’t remember how long it had been since they’d walked hand in hand. ‘It really is wrinkled isn’t it?’ she said looking down at the sea where a yacht small as a child’s toy sailed close to the coast heading for Portland.
‘Wow! Look at that!’ said Martin pointing to the humped outline of Durdle Door. ‘It looks like a dinosaur rearing to go but tethered to the shore.’
‘Sounds a bit like you. Are you ready for home?’
Paul glanced at his watch. ‘I am,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘No children to worry about. What would you say to an early night?’
‘And what would we do in bed?’
‘I can’t imagine but we’ll think of something. Whatever we do will make a change from walking.’
Driving home Paul kept one hand on the wheel and the other on Anne’s hand. He refused to let go and lifted her hand with his when he changed gear. He kept thinking back to the cliff top and wondered if he’d experienced some kind of catharsis that would permanently change things. He felt different, freed from depression. ‘Do you think this will last?’ he asked.
‘I hope so. Let’s just enjoy it while it does.’
As soon as they were home they went straight to bed and made love. For a while afterwards they stayed talking till Anne jumped out. Paul sat up. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘Stay where you are, I’ll be back.’ She returned with two glasses, a bottle of wine and a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘I thought we could have a picnic in bed.’
Climbing back into bed she handed Paul one of the glasses and poured out the wine. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said as they sat up sipping the wine and nibbling their biscuits. ‘If this is going to work we need to give ourselves time and get to know each other again.’
‘But we already know each other. We’ve been married for years.’
‘We have but it hasn’t felt like it. While you’ve been out walking I’ve become used to doing things for myself. I’ve made new friends, people you’ve never met, the teachers at school, the other mums like Zoe and the women at Zumba.’
‘And the orchestra.’
‘If you mean Martin, yes, and his family. I’ve been getting used to living without you. I’ve had to haven’t I?’
Paul was beginning to feel threatened again but resisted withdrawing into his shell. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked.
Anne took a deep breath. ‘You say we already know each other just because we’ve been married for years. But for a long time now I’ve felt as though I never knew you. I’ve thought of you lately as a complete stranger. If you’re really serious about making a fresh start you’ll have to get to know the new me and my friends. I’m not going to stop seeing them. There’s a lot for you to catch up on and it might not be as easy as you seem to think.’
‘And your other idea?’
‘My parent’s caravan. They said we could use it whenever we wanted. They know how depressed you’ve been. I told them I was thinking of leaving you. They weren’t pleased but they understood and offered to help in any way possible. If they thought it would save our marriage they’d be more than happy to come down and look after the children for a week while we went away. There’d be no room for us to get away from each other in the caravan, no way to avoid contact and no children to divert our attention. It would be a case of make or break. Will you come?’
He knew one afternoon wasn’t long enough to know if he’d changed for good. They’d been out in the open with nothing to hem them in. But how would he feel in a cramped caravan under Dartmoor miles from anywhere? What if it rained all week? �
�Are you sure about the caravan?’ he asked. ‘We could go abroad if you like.’
‘It isn’t about where we go. It’s about being together and, besides, I like the caravan.’
‘When would you be thinking of going?’
‘The sooner the better. Why wait?’
‘Now’s not the best time of year, is it? We could go in the spring or summer.’
‘No, I want to go now or as soon as I can arrange it.’
There was no point in putting it off. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘we’ll go when you like.’
Next morning Paul was feeling better than he’d felt for years. The euphoria lasted for at least a fortnight. Paul played with the children as soon as he came in from work. He read them their bedtime stories and made a point of asking Anne about her day and telling her his news. The compulsion to go out walking was as strong as ever but he fought against the urge. They were twice invited to dinner on successive weekends, firstly to Zoe’s house and secondly, at Anne’s insistence, to Martin’s home. Martin’s wife Andrea was also a musician who played the organ at the local church. Their children were model offspring. Beth and Amy were the same age as Olivia. David was the same age as Miriam. After the meal the children played together in the lounge while the adults drank wine in the kitchen and talked. Andrea listened dutifully to Paul’s views on architecture while Anne and Martin chatted and laughed about various characters in the orchestra.
‘Did you enjoy the evening?’ Anne asked when they drove home.
‘Yes, very enjoyable. You seemed to be getting on well with Martin.’
‘You aren’t suggesting what I think you are I hope.’
‘Of course not,’ said Paul, keeping his doubts to himself.
‘The meal was delicious.’