The Other Us

by Fiona Harper

  He ponders this for a moment. ‘I think I get what you mean. Do you think we can learn to do it the other way?’

  ‘We’ll just have to figure it out. I’d rather make some mistakes while we try and be happier at the end than not bothering and being miserable.’

  Dan reaches out and holds my hand. His thumb strokes my skin softly. It brings a lump to my throat. But before either of us can say anything further Billy comes charging towards us with pretend cutlass raised and we have to do some fancy invisible sword fighting to avoid being robbed of our last remaining chocolate buttons.

  That night, Billy is almost asleep before his head hits the pillow, worn out by all the running and the fresh air and sunshine. When I’m sure he’s snoring softly, I slip off and have a shower. When I come out I’m so tired I just crash onto the bed, my towel wrapped round me, not really caring that my hair is making the pillow wet. I close my eyes, but I don’t go to sleep. I just exist in a dozy hinterland where reality is limited to sound and the vague sense of light beyond my eyelids.

  The mattress dips and creaks beside me.

  ‘I’m all finished,’ I say without opening my eyes. ‘The shower’s yours if you want it.’

  A hand brushes up my thigh, nudging under the corner of the towel. ‘What if it’s not the shower I want?’ Dan’s tone is playful, but I can hear a hint of a question in it too. I open my eyes and look at him.

  This feels weird. Partly because I’ve got used to thinking of him as belonging to Becca and partly because when I’ve been back in this life sex really hasn’t been on the menu much. At first it was because I was too down but later it was because we were constantly fighting. And not the kind of fighting where you blow it all out of your system then have explosive make-up sex afterwards, either.

  However, as I look into his eyes, I realise the Maggie and Dan in this life need it. It would be taking a step backwards to push him away now. So I don’t answer his question, I just reach up and curl my hand around his jaw, sliding it round the back of his neck as he dips in for a kiss.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The moment before I open my eyes the following morning, I have a tiny moment of panic. Not yet, I whisper in my head. I don’t want to go yet. I’m relieved when I have the courage to look and spot curtains that have seen better days rather than cream roman blinds, all folded in perfect lines. It’s not that I’ve changed my mind. Just that I’m tired of being weighed down by all sorts of unfinished business in both my lives. I want to make sure that everything is neat and tidy when I leave this one for good.

  I stretch slowly and a smile creeps over my lips. My body feels good this morning. Relaxed. I smile harder as I remember why and turn to look at Dan.

  ‘Hello,’ he says then laughs when I almost jump a foot off the mattress. I didn’t realise he was awake too.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ I say, starting to laugh myself. ‘I almost had a stroke!’ I notice he’s propped up on one elbow but I don’t remember him moving. ‘What are you doing? You weren’t watching me sleep, were you? Because that’s creepy, you know.’

  He grins at me. ‘Might have been. Just for a moment or too.’

  ‘Crazy stalker,’ I mutter, but he’s pulling me into his arms and his day-old stubble is grazing my cheek, and we go for a re-match of the night before. It’s even better this time. Although I’d wanted to last night, I’d still been nervous. I felt a little rusty, as if I’d forgotten how it could be between us. But this morning it’s easy. Right.

  We’ve not long finished when Billy bursts into the room, informing us at the top of his voice that it’s been breakfast time for ages and mummy and daddy are being really lazy this morning. He’s full of the camp we built the day before so we end up making another one under the duvet, me and Dan taking it in turn to use our legs for tent poles, but after a while Billy decides it’s much more fun to tickle us and have the camp collapse on top of him.

  ‘We’d better feed him before all this laughter turns to tears,’ I tell Dan and make a move to throw the duvet off and get up.

  ‘You stay there,’ he tells me. ‘I’m thinking of going to church this morning, anyway, so I’ll give him breakfast and you can have a slow start.’

  ‘You’re going to church?’ I say. ‘I thought you’d … Well, you just haven’t been much lately.’ Not as far as I could tell from my family calendar, anyway.

  ‘Just feeling like I’ve got reasons to be thankful today.’ And then he’s gone, counting the stairs with Billy as they jump down each one on the way to the kitchen.

  When he comes home we have roast chicken and then we take Billy to the play park. Dan and I take turns to push him on the big swings, and as we’re standing there, keeping our eyes on Billy’s retreating and advancing form, he says, ‘I’m going out on Tuesday. I’ll be in for dinner, but back about eleven.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say lightly. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Just meeting up with friends,’ he says.

  I watch Billy swing back and forth for a moment. ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea,’ I say, glancing sideways to catch his reaction before it happens. ‘How about we see if Gwen next door can babysit and I’ll come with you. We haven’t been out together in the evening for ages.’

  Dan’s face becomes suddenly expressionless. ‘It’s just the lads, mainly,’ he says. ‘We’ll probably talk about stuff you haven’t got the slightest interest in.’ Then he turns and smiles at me. ‘How about we do that next week? You know have one of those “date nights” people bang on about?’

  I don’t know how to answer. Even though he’s talking about going out on a Tuesday instead of a Thursday, red flags are waving madly in my brain. At the same time the smile he’s giving me is so open, so hopeful, that I want to believe what he’s telling me. And he’s just been to church, right? Wouldn’t lightning fall down out of the sky and zap him if he was lying? Or, at the very least, wouldn’t he look even the tiniest bit uncomfortable about it?

  I check his face for any signs of deceit and I can’t find any. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘That’s sounds lovely.’ Because, at the end of the day, I’ve decided to do things differently this time around, haven’t I? And maybe I need to start trusting where once I would have been accusing, and I don’t think Dan could have been quite so convincing last night and this morning, if he was sneaking around behind my back. At some point I have to start giving this man the benefit of the doubt.

  I decide the best way to stop myself even thinking about where Dan may or may not be going tomorrow is to distract myself. I phone Becca after dinner, once Billy is down, and suggest a girls’ night in.

  Becca is fine during the conversation until I mention doing something on Tuesday night and then she starts to get really weird. ‘Oh, I can’t,’ she says, all in a rush. ‘I’ve got to … I mean I’ve got this thing booked …’

  ‘Thing?’ I ask, trying to ignore the plummeting sensation in my stomach.

  ‘Yeah,’ Becca says, doing her best to sound airy but I can hear the tension in her tone, and then she brightens. ‘You know… Tuesday night is my belly-dancing night, isn’t it?’

  ‘I thought you stopped that ages ago, after you fell out with the teacher because she told you she didn’t ever think you’d master figure eights.’

  There’s a moment of silence. ‘Yeah, well, I did … I mean what right did that woman have to tell me I was “too tight” in my hip joints? She was practically calling me frigid! And I’ve never had any complaints from the guys who …’

  I listen to her drone on, aware that she’s very cleverly sidestepped my question, but when she pauses for breath I say, ‘And this new belly-dancing class is on a Tuesday night too, is it? Still in Sidcup? What a coincidence.’

  Becca had started up again, even though I’d been talking, but now her narrative rolls to a stop, like a car that has just run out of petrol. ‘Yes,’ she says, but I can hear the upward lilt in her tone.

  ‘OK,’ I say, my words even and cool. Reasonable. ‘Maybe
we can do it another night?’

  Becca suggests Wednesday instead and then we say our goodbyes and then I press the button to end the call. The air is very still around me as I stare at my phone.

  Dan is lying …

  Becca is lying …

  I try not to make the inevitable leap, but my mind goes there anyway, uninstructed and without my permission. The question is: are they both lying about the same thing?

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ‘I’m off now!’ Dan calls out as he pulls his coat on. ‘Have a nice time at your thing …’ When I come into the hallway, he gives me an absent-minded peck on the cheek. There’s a wisp of cool evening air and then it’s gone again, as the door slams behind him.

  I stare at the closed door, jaw tense, and then I go into the living room. Gwen, the lovely Welsh lady from next door is sitting there. She’s going to be babysitting for us tonight. I told Dan if he was having a night out that maybe I deserved one too. Of course, I’m not the only one lying about where I’m going. I told him I was going to the new slimming group that’s meeting in the Baptist Church hall.

  ‘I’m going to shake a leg too, then,’ I say and give Gwen a tight smile. ‘I promise I won’t be back too late.’

  ‘That’s fine, dear,’ she says, and picks up the remote. I know she’s itching to watch Coronation Street, so I let her get on with it.

  That done, I sling my mac on and head out the door. I walk up the street in the same direction Dan has just gone. In fact, I think I can make him out farther up the road, his head bobbing as he listens along to his personal CD player. Good. I know where he’s heading, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose sight of him.

  Ten minutes later, we’re both at Swanham station. Dan stands on the platform, whistling to himself. He seems to do that a lot these days, I’ve realised. I thought it was because he was happier, that ‘project loose ends’ was working, but now I suspect there’s another explanation.

  I’m skulking around inside the ticket office, hoping that when the six-forty-six arrives I’ll be able to dart on board without being spotted. It should work. Dan’s farther up the platform, planning to get on the first carriage, which will take him closest to the barrier at Charing Cross. I just have to hope I don’t lose him once we get out.

  Yes, I’m following Dan. The thing I said I’d never do.

  I could confront him, I suppose, but I’m just so tired of all the lies. At least this way he won’t be able to wriggle out of it. I know that for sure because he’s arranged to meet someone. I saw the text messages on his phone.

  Yes, I did that too. I went there.

  But a little worm the shape of a question mark has burrowed in itself inside my skull, wriggling, niggling and insistent. I have to know, it sings, and I hum along with it. I have to know. I have to know. It’s going to drive me mad if I don’t.

  The train arrives and my pulse quickens. If I don’t time this right I’m going to slam face-first into a closing carriage door. Thankfully, Dan is among the first to hop on board and I have plenty of time to run and jump into the carriage that pulls up outside the ticket office before the door alarm beeps.

  Once inside the train, I walk up through the carriages until I’m in the one behind Dan’s. I peer through the dirty window in the door that links the two, but I can’t see him. He must be sitting down, maybe farther up the carriage, or maybe just facing away from me. He’s wearing his red waterproof so I’m hoping he’ll be easy to keep tabs on.

  I find a seat and, as the train jostles and bumps me, all I can see in my mind is the blocky message on Dan’s mobile phone from an unknown number: The Terrace restaurant, 8.30. I’ll be waiting for you.

  I don’t know where the Terrace is. I tried doing an Internet search, but Google is still in its early days and TripAdvisor has yet to be invented, so I came up with a big fat zero. I’m just praying it’s not too far from the station, because the longer I have to follow Dan, the greater the chances of me getting caught. I’m not really good at this spy stuff. I’d have watched a few episodes of Spooks for tips if I could have done, but it hasn’t started airing yet.

  The train pulls into Charing Cross about forty minutes later. I’m there at the door, jabbing the button with my finger even before it lights up, and when it does I spring out, scanning the platform for a bright-red waterproof.

  I locate it heading for the ticket barrier and give chase.

  I don’t run, but I do walk very fast. Dan makes his way to the exit, pauses to look around, and then makes a sharp right instead of crossing the cobbled courtyard and heading for the Strand. Oh, hell, I think. He’s not going down that side road to the tube station, is he? I’m bound to get rumbled if he does.

  Thankfully, though, he only walks a handful of steps before he turns and heads into a building. My relief doesn’t last long, because I notice what it is – the Charing Cross Hotel. My stomach rolls and I think I want to be sick. A hotel? That can’t be good, can it? If I had any doubts, they’ve been shot to smithereens now.

  I follow Dan into the hotel and up a large marble staircase. I hide behind a pillar when I get to the top to see where he goes next.

  He walks up to the entrance of what looks like a restaurant and asks the girl standing at the host desk something. I look around and see a sign: THE TERRACE. I swallow. This is the right place. The only silver lining I can find is that at least I’m not watching him disappear into a hotel room somewhere on a higher floor.

  The girl nods and smiles at Dan then gestures at him to follow her and leads him into the restaurant. Quickly and quietly, I make my way out from behind the pillar and along the carpeted corridor. Since the desk is currently empty, I take the opportunity to peer into the seating area, scanning quickly for a flash of red.

  And then I see it – Dan is taking his coat off, smiling and sitting down opposite someone, but there’s a waiter pouring wine at a nearby table who’s blocking my view. As I wait for him to move, a thousand questions bombard my head at once: Is this real? Who is he meeting? It can’t really be Becca, can it? Can it? The questions circle round and round unanswered, gathering speed until I feel dizzy, but then they gradually fade until just one is left: how can he do this to me?

  How can he do this to this me?

  I get why he did it the first time around, even if it was still absolutely the wrong thing to do. Things were so bad between us and then there’s the seductive tug of meeting someone who thinks you’re funny and exciting and wonderful, instead of boring and naggy. After all, that was why I’d got fixated on Jude in my first life, wasn’t it? And who knows what might have happened if I’d gone to that reunion, if I’d had a couple too many glasses of wine?

  But in this life …

  I thought we were working it out, that things were going well. When I think of being together in bed at the weekend, of how Dan looked into my eyes with such tenderness and affection, I feel actually, physically sick.

  I’m on the verge of turning round and walking away, unable to take any more, when the waiter who’s been blocking my line of sight finally moves.

  I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand. This isn’t what I expected! It isn’t what I expected at all!

  Because it isn’t Becca that Dan is about to sit down to dinner with. It isn’t even another woman. The person that Dan is smiling and laughing with as they peruse their menus is a man.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  I back away. I can’t stay here. I can’t watch this.

  But I must have walked further into the restaurant than I realised while I was staring, because now I bump into someone coming the other way. I turn and apologise to the couple who are being shown to their seats.

  ‘Maggie?’

  I turn and see Dan walking towards me, a bemused expression on his face. ‘What are you doing here?’

  I have no words. Literally, no words.

  But then Dan’s expression starts to change. Harden. ‘You followed me here?’

  I nod. I can ha
rdly deny it, can I? But I don’t know why he’s looking so furious. I’m not the one having a secret meeting at a London hotel!

  I finally hook my tongue up to my brain again. ‘How long has this been going on?’ I blurt out, glaring at the man Dan had been sitting with, who has now turned round to see what the commotion is. Never in a million years did I think it would be something like this.

  ‘What do you mean, “how long”?’ he begins, but then his face screws into an expression of disgust. ‘My, God! You don’t – ’

  ‘I do!’ I say back, trying not to shout, so it comes out more like a hiss. ‘I’ve just seen you with my own eyes!’

  Dan shakes his head, his lips clamped firmly together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this furious. ‘That man,’ he says stiffly, ‘is a literary agent! He’s interested in – ’

  I don’t wait to hear any more. I just run. I hear Dan calling after me but I keep going, my feet pounding on the wide, stone steps of the staircase. I dash through the lobby and out the door into grey drizzle of the London evening.

  I’m feeling so many emotions I don’t know which to pick first. Embarrassment, humiliation, disgust at myself? They’re all in there. And something else too: as well as being ashamed and horrified, I’m devastated. Dan has hidden this from me in not just one life but two. Why won’t he ever trust me? It doesn’t seem to matter what I do, it never changes.

  I’m so distraught that I manage to get on the wrong train and end up having to disembark at Orpington and wait forty minutes for another one that’ll take me back to Swanham. I walk home in the rain, which has now really got its act together, and when I get home I relieve Gwen, then I get in the shower and turn the temperature up hot.

  I stand there, one hand braced against the wall, and let the water run over me while I stare at the tile to the left of my splayed fingers. I take in its squareness, it whiteness. The faint discolouration in the grout surrounding it. It’s much easier to do that than sort out what’s going on inside my head.