by Susan Lewis
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
He took a breath but didn’t answer. She saw tears in his eyes and wanted to hit him.
“What do you mean?” she raged.
“Please don’t make me say things I’d rather not.” His voice was ragged, shaky.
She felt herself backing away. He didn’t have to say them; she could guess what they were and would almost rather die than hear them. “You’ve lied to us, betrayed us, and now, because you can’t pretend, we’ll be left here, trying to pick up the pieces, trying to work out where we went wrong, and all because you’ve got a hard-on for a woman—”
“It’s more than that,” he broke in quietly. “You surely can’t think I’d do this if it wasn’t.”
She could only stare at him as everything inside her began breaking apart. He was serious about the woman; he was in love with her.
Panic was starting to take her over. She was shaking, tears were falling onto her cheeks, her breathing was labored. She suddenly realized there was a knife in her hand. She wanted to plunge it into him, to make him bleed and scream the way she was bleeding and screaming inside. “How long has it been going on?” she heard herself ask.
He dragged a hand over his mouth. “What does it matter?”
“How long?”
“Virtually since we arrived here.”
More shock tore at her heart. How had it been possible for him to deceive her for an entire year without her suspecting sooner?
Because she’d always trusted him; that was how. She’d truly believed that she and the children meant as much to him as he did to them. She’d never imagined he’d do anything to jeopardize their happiness, to destroy everything they’d built together, and yet for the past year that was exactly what had been happening. How much worse could the betrayal get? “I don’t know you,” she told him, her voice threaded with pain and contempt. “You’re not the man I married. You’re not the father of my children.”
He said nothing, simply stood there, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Suddenly, without thinking, she picked up her wine and dashed it into his face.
For a long moment he only stared at her, the ruby liquid dripping onto his shirt.
“You’re despicable,” she told him brokenly. “You’ve been lying to me all this time—”
“Of course I lied,” he cut in hoarsely. “I had to, to protect you.”
“No! To protect you, and her. Tell me, the morning you disappeared on the beach, when you said you’d taken Irene Evans’s dog home, where were you?”
His expression was impenetrable, his tone stiff, as he said, “I think you know the answer.”
“So what happened? She rang when you were out walking with me and you…What did you do? Went running to her, we know that, but then what happened? Where did you go?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I want to know.”
“OK. She picked me up in her car and we went…somewhere quiet.”
She felt suddenly sick, dizzy, unable to stomach any more. The images he was creating of desperate lovemaking in the back of a car while she, sad little dupe that she was, continued to walk on the beach were too hard to bear.
“And the night you said you were at the pub?” she made herself ask.
His gaze remained steady. “I was with Martha.”
Once again the name felt like a slap. “You’d seen her that day, but you couldn’t wait to see her again?”
His failure to answer was answer enough.
“Did you go to see your mother? No, of course you didn’t—more lies so you could spend two whole nights with your whore. Did you ever see anyone from the Arts Council? The email inviting you never found its way to my inbox. Do I even need to ask if it was where you went last Saturday when you decided to disappear?”
“I was with her,” he confirmed.
She looked at the knife she’d dropped on the countertop, and for one insane moment she felt tempted to slash it across her own wrist. Real pain, something deep and physical, surely had to be easier than this.
“Why did she come here to talk me through the website?” she demanded, wondering why she was putting herself through this, yet unable to stop.
“What does it matter?”
“Why did she come?”
He took a breath, and she could see how hard he was finding this, but she couldn’t care less. “I think a part of her wanted to be reminded of how much she likes you,” he said.
“What?”
“She wanted her conscience to take over, to make her realize that she couldn’t take me away, so that she would have to give me up.”
Remembering how the woman had sat in this very kitchen, asking about her family, looking through pictures of the children and noticing that Jack wasn’t in many, sent a bolt of outrage surging through her.
“And tomorrow? What’s that supposed to be about?” she asked furiously.
“It won’t happen now.”
“Because you’ve already told me. Meaning she threatened to do it for you.”
“It had to come out sometime, and dragging it on wasn’t doing anyone any good.”
It was all hurting so much that she hardly knew what to do with herself. She didn’t understand how his mind could be so set on destroying his family. It wasn’t making any sense, it wasn’t who he was, and yet he was standing there telling her that Martha Gwynne meant so much to him that he couldn’t give her up, not even for the sake of his children. “Does her husband know?” she asked.
He nodded and swallowed. “She moved out last week. We’ve rented an apartment in the Maritime Quarter.”
Her eyes widened. We’ve rented an apartment. The word was like acid on an open wound. “When do you intend to go?” she said hoarsely.
“I hadn’t—”
Suddenly losing it again, she stormed into the utility room and grabbed his coat. “You can go right now,” she raged, thrusting it at him. “Here you are. Take it and get the hell out of here.”
“Jenna, for heaven’s sake…”
“I said get out!”
“You’ll wake the children.”
“What do you care about them?” she yelled. “You’ve already made the decision to abandon them, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re not in their lives anymore.”
“I’m not abandoning them, and I won’t have you telling them that I am.”
“Then what will you have me telling them? Better still, what will you tell them? After all, you’re the one who’s doing this, so you should be the one to explain that you’ve been fucking another woman who you’ve now decided to live with instead of them. Exactly how are you going to put that, Jack? What words have you?”
“You don’t have to be crude.”
“If what you’re doing isn’t crude, then I’m sure I don’t know what is.”
“I thought we could talk to the children together, explain that I won’t be far away, that I’ll still be picking them up from school, coming for tea, putting them to bed…”
“Are you out of your mind?” she cried hysterically. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself, that you can carry on coming and going from this house as though nothing’s changed? As if not living with their mother, not loving her anymore, counts for nothing?”
He stared at her helplessly.
“Well, is it? Is that what you’ve fooled yourself into believing? You seriously think you can carry on your relationship with them?”
“What do you want me to say?” he demanded.
“I want you to say that this isn’t happening, that I’ll wake up in a minute and find out it’s a nightmare, that you aren’t really standing there telling me that our marriage is over when I…when I…” She couldn’t hold it together now, and as she started to break down he came to her. “No,” she choked, pushing him back. “I don’t want your pity. I just want…I just want you. Oh God, Jack, please don’t do this, I beg you.
I can’t bear to lose you. We can work this out. Please say you’ll give her up, that our lives can go on the way they are.”
Pulling her to him, he stroked her hair as he said, “I swear I didn’t set out to make this happen. The last thing in the world I ever wanted was to hurt you.”
“Then don’t do it. Think of everything we’ve meant to each other, of how much it would mean to the children if you were here to see them grow up…”
“But I will see them grow up. Swansea is only a few miles away, and like I said, I’ll come every day.”
“But you’ve got to see how impossible that would be for me. I can’t let you do it, Jack, I just can’t.”
“I know it seems hard at the moment, but once things have calmed down—”
“It’s never going to happen. You have to start believing that. If you leave here, you’re out of our lives. It’ll be over. You’ll never see us again. Any of us.”
The pain in his eyes was etched in his voice as he said, “You can’t cut them off from me, and you know it.”
“Paige would cut herself off.”
“Maybe, if you told her to, but what good would that do her? I’m the only father she’s ever known, nothing’s ever going to change that, and I’ll always be there for her, no matter—”
“No! You’ll be at an apartment in Swansea with Martha Gwynne. That’s not here. No, Jack, you can’t have it all. You have to choose, Martha or us. We’re not going to share you, even if she will.”
Taking a breath, he said, “Now’s not the right time to discuss this. We’re both tired, emotional…”
“There’s never going to be a right time.”
“Maybe not, but I think we’ve said all we can for tonight. I don’t want to hurt you any more; I just want you to know that I’d give anything for this never to have happened, but it has.”
“Because you let it, and now you have to stop it.”
His only answer was to pull her more tightly into his arms, and as he held her she’d never felt so helpless or afraid in her life.
In the end, she said, “Are you leaving tonight?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“Had you intended to?”
“Not really.”
“But she’s waiting for you to call?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Glad to think Martha might be worrying, fearing he’d changed his mind, perhaps even imagining him making love to his wife when he should have been leaving, she heard herself say, “Is she good in bed? Is that what it’s really about?”
He didn’t answer; simply closed his eyes and rested his head on hers.
“Is she better than me?” she asked brokenly.
“Jenna, don’t do this.”
“I want to know. Is it better with her than it is with me? I suppose it must be or you wouldn’t be doing this. Who made the first move? Was it you or her?”
“I’m not getting into this.”
“Do her staff know?”
“I don’t think so.”
She put a hand to her head as more tears welled in her eyes. “So she’s taking my husband and my business. Is that the plan? You’re going to leave me with nothing.”
“The business is yours. We’ll help you to run it, of course, but the profits, the success will be—”
“It’s ours. We’ve built it together, like our family. It’s a part of us, we’re all a part of each other, you can’t just…”
Sighing, he said, “Don’t let’s talk about it now.”
She turned away, her heart raw with the pain of so much fear and betrayal. She could feel more panic rising, trying to steal her breath, to push her over the edge into a terrible, bottomless gulf of despair. She couldn’t bear to think this was the end, that they’d already slept together for the last time, that she’d never again see him walking naked into the bathroom or simply going to open the curtains. There would be no laundry of his mixing with hers in the basket, no clothes hanging in his wardrobe or toothbrush next to hers in the mug. While she lived here alone, longing for him, unable to bear the loneliness, he’d be with Martha, loving her, laughing with her, and not even thinking about those he’d left behind.
As more sobs tore through her he held her close, murmuring softly, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Then don’t do it,” she pleaded. “Call her now and tell her you’re not going through with it.”
She heard him swallow and her heart tightened with a desperate hope as long, silent minutes ticked by. In the end he said, almost in a whisper, “I’ve tried to stop seeing her, lots of times, but what I feel for her…the way we are together…Oh God, Jen, I know how hard this is for you to hear, but if I say it, perhaps then you’ll believe it. I love her, I want to be with her, and I’m prepared to leave our marriage so I can.”
Her eyes were livid with pain, her heart was too big and raw for her chest. “Then you can leave our marriage right now,” she told him. Not giving him the chance to protest, she thrust his coat at him again and left the room.
Moments later she heard his engine start, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to run outside and beg him to stay.
Let him go for now, she told herself. It’s the only way he’s going to find out this isn’t what he wants, and then he’ll come back.
—
The instant Paige saw a large brown envelope stuck to the front of her locker with the school magazine behind it, she knew it was going to be the surprise Kelly Durham had promised—LOL.
As she opened it she had the sense of being watched, though she couldn’t actually see any of the Durmites; she was just conscious of them being around, camouflaged amongst all the comings and goings of fellow students stuffing coats into lockers, grabbing their books, and scurrying or dawdling off to their tutor groups. She had double maths this morning, a subject she’d always detested, but today she was actually looking forward to it since Kelly and most of the morons were in a different group.
Charlotte was standing behind her. “What is it?” she whispered as Paige peered inside the envelope.
Paige couldn’t tell at first, she was only able to see that it was yellow, and there was an odd bitter-sweet smell coming from it. Tentatively she put a hand inside, afraid of being bitten or stung or covered in something revolting, but whatever it was felt soft and cool, kind of like fabric, but not. She brought out a small handful of something, and when she saw what it was her heart gave a horrible thud.
The envelope was full of crushed daffodil heads. With them was a note reading like a banner headline: Mass Daffodil Suicide After Paige No Moore Tortures with Prose.
As tears flooded her eyes, Charlotte quickly put an arm around her.
“Come on,” she urged, steering her toward the loos. “Don’t let them see they’ve got to you. They’re just fuckwits who need to fuck off and die,” she added over her shoulder.
“Daffodils have a jaunty exuberance,” Paige heard someone shouting after them, and the quote was followed by loud groans and gagging noises.
“It’s OK, I’m fine,” she told Charlotte as the door closed behind them. She couldn’t be sure whether she was crying for the flowers or for herself; it was just that seeing them all mangled and discolored had felt so cruel and meaningless. She hated being the reason they’d been plucked from their stalks only to be crushed, but at least they couldn’t feel anything, unlike her, because they were dead, unlike her.
Taking the envelope from her, Charlotte flushed the contents down a toilet. “That’s what someone ought to do to them,” she said savagely.
Only wishing she could, Paige tensed as the door opened. To her relief it wasn’t any of the Durmites, so after drying her eyes and checking that her makeup wasn’t ruined, she followed Charlotte back out to the corridor. Since the bell had sounded a couple of minutes ago, there were fewer people around now, but amongst those not yet in registration were Owen’s sister and a couple of her friends, who were standing outside the
sixth-form common room.
Without giving herself time to think, Paige hurried over to her. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said awkwardly, “but if you don’t mind, I need you to tell your brother that I didn’t post anything about him on Facebook. Everyone’s saying I did, but I swear my account was hacked and I thought…Well, if you told him it wasn’t me, he might listen to you.”
The coldness of the stare she received from her—the eyes, the face so like Owen’s they could be twins—seemed to go right through her, and as she took a step back all three girls turned and walked away.
“We’re going to be late,” Charlotte said, putting a hand on her arm. “Have you got everything?”
Close to tears again, Paige managed to force them down as she nodded. She hadn’t expected Owen’s sister to cut her dead like that; then again, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She was just an idiot for going up to her like that in the first place. It stood to reason she’d believe Owen, and even if she didn’t she was friendly with Kelly Durham, so she probably despised Paige No Moore along with the rest of the world.
As she went into class, where Mrs. Haynes was already waiting, she kept her head up, reminding herself that she was overemotional today because of the clash she’d had with her mum earlier over her clean shirt not being ironed. Ordinarily she’d have forgotten all about it by now, but she hadn’t because, weirdly, her mum had just walked away and her dad had snapped at Paige for being rude. Of all the injustices! All she’d said was that in most people’s homes their families came first. OK, it might have been a bit harsh, but her mother spent so much time on the business now that all sorts of things were getting forgotten. Anyway, she might have been better able to take the telling-off from her father if she hadn’t felt so sure that he was the one who’d upset her mum in the first place.
Still, all that mattered right now was the fact that she wasn’t having to suffer Kelly Durham for the rest of the morning. Equal bliss was that when lunchtime came round she and Charlotte didn’t have to go to the canteen because they’d brought their own food today. Paige had had to make her sandwiches this morning, because neither of her parents had bothered to sort out anything for her, even though she’d texted from her bedroom last night to ask if they would.