The Other Us

by Fiona Harper

  Someone like you? I want to ask, but I keep my question to myself. It’s the wrong question, the wrong man. It strikes me that the tables had been turned in my other life and I’d opened up to Jude about my marriage with Dan, he’d have seen it as an opportunity to score points, to preen his feathers and paint himself as the better man. Dan doesn’t care about that. He just cares about me, how I feel. He’s actually listening.

  I have the feeling that if I wanted to pour my heart out to him for the next hour, he’d let me. He’d sit here, taking it all in, asking gentle questions when needed. He wouldn’t get twitchy, wanting to check his BlackBerry after ten minutes. Dan sees the real me.

  I’m not sure Jude does any more. I think he sees the gloss and sheen, the designer clothes, the good businesswoman. I have this horrible feeling that I have become just another one of his glitzy accessories.

  ‘Long-term relationships are hard,’ I say philosophically. ‘But you can’t give up, can you? You’ve got to keep trying.’ I’m tired of talking about me and Jude now. I’m going to think about that on our holiday, our planned time-out to start filling the cracks and make things good as new again.

  ‘How about you?’ I ask. ‘How are you doing?’

  Dan frowns. ‘All the writing stuff is exciting but I’m also tired. Very, very tired. Trying to hold down a job, find time to write, which I can no longer just play at – I have deadlines and everything – and having a little one in the house, it’s …’ he trails off, lost in thought.

  ‘Exhausting,’ I finish for him after he trails off. Somehow I knew that was the word he was going to pick.

  ‘Exactly,’ he says, nodding.

  I take a sip of my mineral water. ‘But Becca’s wonderfully supportive,’ I say. ‘She’s your biggest fan.’

  He nods again, but this time there’s less conviction in it. ‘But like you say, long-term relationships can be tough.’ He looks across at me, right into my eyes. ‘Has Becca said anything to you?’

  ‘About what?’ I reply.

  ‘Us. I dunno … we just seem to bicker a lot these days. I mean, we still love each other and everything, but it’s not the same as it once was. Becca puts a good face on it, but I know she’s thinks we’re drifting apart. It’s hard on her when I’m stretched in so many different directions. I thought she might have confided in you, that you’d be able to give me some advice?’

  I shake my head. ‘She hasn’t breathed a word.’ Which is odd in itself, I realise. I wonder why she hasn’t confided in me? ‘The early years of having kids are tough,’ I tell him, and then I realise it must sound as if I’m preaching about something I have no experience of, so I add, ‘Or so some of my friends say. You’ve just got to find a way to keep the romance alive.’

  ‘You’re right. That’s it. I think we’ve lost some of that magic, that spark.’

  Dan is looking into my eyes now. The air in this tiny corner of the pub has thickened around us. I realise that talking about magic and spark has made him remember our relationship, because that’s all it was to him – magic and spark. It never had a chance to grow into anything deeper or more complex.

  I’m his Jude, I realise. The one that got away. His if only …

  And that is a very dangerous thing to be. I yawn, wide and deliberate, hoping Dan is going to catch the lifeline I’m sending him.

  ‘I’m keeping you up,’ he says, taking his cue. ‘You didn’t intend to be my chauffeur this evening, and you’ve got a long drive home. I should make a move …’

  My smile of thanks is thin and weary.

  Dan does the round of his pals then, saying his goodbyes, and we walk five minutes back into the town centre to where I left my car. We don’t say anything on the drive back to his house, but I can smell his aftershave in the confined space of the car, I can feel the heat of his arm near mine when I reach to move the gearstick.

  I pull up outside his and Becca’s house but I don’t make a move to get out, even though the lights are on downstairs.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says, ‘for coming to support me, for being there.’ Then he leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s if we’re two magnets stuck in each other’s force field and I have to concentrate hard to pull away.

  ‘Bye,’ I say without looking at him and he slides from the car without saying another word.

  I drive away, aware of the cold space where he had just been sitting and my hands are shaking. I’m scared. I know he loves Becca, that he would never do anything to hurt her, and neither would I, but I can’t pretend this isn’t there, that it isn’t growing stronger each time I see him. I don’t know what to do.

  As I head off back up the A21, my beams on full, because I seem to be the only car on the road, snatches of memories from the evening play through my mind at random: Dan’s smile when he first saw me, the look of pride on Becca’s face while he did his reading, the iciness in my stomach after she’d delivered her bombshell about Jude.

  I wish she’d told me before, because then I could have processed it, moved on, but the way things are between us now …

  I decide it’s better not to think about it, and I try to do that, to clear my mind and just concentrate on the road. It works for a while, but by the time I hit the London suburbs my imagination starts to wander again.

  I see us all back in my garden on the afternoon of the barbecue. I play that scene in the kitchen over and over in my head. We start off with the right partners, but by the end of my private movie show the players have switched, and when the guests wave goodbye and thank the hosts for the lovely afternoon, the mother who picks a sleepy Chloe up and carries her down the path is me. It’s me that Dan puts his arm around and kisses before he goes to sort the car seat out.

  I know that I could do it if I wanted to. He and Becca are at a vulnerable time in their relationship, a time when it’s easy to get the balance wrong and when that happens, other things – other people – can slip in under the radar. A marriage can go wrong before you even know it. I could use my ‘insider info’ on Dan to make that pull we’re both feeling stronger.

  I’d have Chloe, then. On weekends, anyway, when Dan would go and pick her up from Becca, and we’d take her to the park and be like a proper family …

  I indicate swiftly and pull in to the edge of the road, almost slamming on the brakes, and then I get out of the car and walk down the pavement. It’s not raining here and I need the chilly evening air to slap me out of my twisted fantasy. I’m horrified I even let myself think that.

  I wander around with my cardigan clutched tight around me to keep out the cold. It’s ten minutes before I’m ready to climb back in the car. Even then I’m worried the ghosts of my terrible daydream will be there waiting for me, but when I sit back in the driver’s seat everything feels calm and normal. I turn on the radio and listen to some people discussing a political subject I have no knowledge of. It fills the space nicely.

  As I near Notting Hill, I’m reminded of what Becca said to me all those years ago about my haircut: one of these days you’re going to have to make your mind up and decide what you really want, none of this flip-flopping between different choices.

  It’s time for it to stop once and for all.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  The next time I see Dan and Becca, it’s Chloe’s third birthday party. I could have cried off saying I needed to pack for my holiday tomorrow, but I don’t. I need to see Chloe one last time.

  And it will be the last time.

  I can’t do this anymore. Not to myself and certainly not to them. I’ve let myself get too close. I’ve started wanting things I shouldn’t. Oh, I’m not a real threat to their relationship yet – I don’t flatter myself that much – but I could be, and I love them both too much to do that to them.

  At first I keep out of Dan’s way, going into the kitchen to help myself to a drink I don’t really want when he’s in the living room, slipping into the hall and back into the dining room when he wanders into the kitchen, but eventually I run ou
t of places to hide and we bump into each other just outside the kitchen door.

  ‘Hi,’ he says.

  ‘Hi,’ I say back.

  We stand there for almost ages talking books and storylines, about the fact his publisher is keen to have the next book soon and that he’s considering tweaking the over-arching plot. I know I should probably make an excuse and walk away, but I’m allowing myself this little luxury, because I’m going to be easing myself out of their lives after today. It’s nice to talk to a man who thinks you’re talented and creative and kind, who looks at you as if you’re fascinating, as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be…

  ‘Dan!’ Becca marches up.

  He snaps to attention. ‘Yup?’

  ‘I’ve been calling you for, like, two minutes! It’s time to cut the cake.’ She looks down at his empty hands. ‘Where’s the video camera? You said you were going to get it half an hour ago.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Dan says, and shoots me a conspiratorial look. ‘Got caught up talking time-travelling teenagers!’ And he scurries off up the stairs. Becca watches him go. I feel a swirling inside me, the horrible stomach acid only a good dose of guilt can create.

  ‘It was kind of my fault, I say. ‘I shouldn’t have got him started.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ Becca frowns and keeps her eyes on the stairs until Dan comes back down them, camcorder in hand. Before she heads off back to the kitchen, I put a hand on her arm. She finally looks at me.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask. She seems very sombre for Becca, especially Becca at a birthday party.

  She looks long and hard at me and then through the door at Dan, where he’s trying to find the best spot to stand to catch the best candle action. ‘Yeah… It’s just been a hectic day.’

  I watch her go, and then I go and stand at the fringes of the crowd to cheer Chloe on as she blows out her candles and all her little friends squeal with delight. I try to catch her attention a couple of times, to give her a birthday hug, but she and the other kids are a hyperactive tornado, ripping through the downstairs of Dan and Becca’s house and occasionally spilling into the garden and then having to be brought back in again because it’s started to rain.

  I wander round the party, not talking to any of other parents. What have I got in common with them that I can discuss in this life? Nothing. As I pass clusters of other women my age it’s all conversations about good primary schools and potty training.

  Across the room I see Dan and Becca deep in conversation. They seem be … well, not exactly arguing, but there’s tension between them. Becca glances in my direction, and my stomach rolls.

  I’m kidding myself that I can hang around here this afternoon and pretend it’s just another day. I turn and walk back into the hallway. I see my coat on the rack near the door and before I know it I’m putting it on, then I weave through the crowd to where Becca and Dan are standing and they break off their mildly heated discussion to look at me. ‘I’d better head off,’ I say with a tight smile. ‘Packing and all that.’

  I give Becca a hug, even though I know she’s not one hundred per cent in the mood for it, and as I hold her, I close my eyes and try not to cry. I want to hold her longer, because I know this has to be goodbye, and not just the affectionate gesture that says ‘until I see you next time’. It’s the only thing I can do.

  I don’t even look at Dan as I give him a lightning, split-second one-armed hug, and then I go and find Chloe. I wish I could breathe her in, hold her for at least an hour, but she gets distracted by a balloon that’s been batted above our heads and she runs off laughing, trying to catch it.

  Goodbye, Sophie, I whisper inside my head, and then I run out of the house and into the car. I drive round the corner, yank the handbrake on and then cry with my head against the steering wheel until the tears won’t come any more.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Jude and I are due to leave for the airport at five tomorrow morning and I can’t find the travel insurance documents. I hunt in the study, because I knew Jude used them for a trip to Dubai to see a prospective client, but I can’t find them on his desk or in his filing.

  I know I’m probably fussing about nothing but I need to keep myself busy, otherwise I will stew too much on the awful decision I’ve just made.

  I’m still trying to work out how to do it. Becca is going to be hurt if I just cut off all contact, but I can’t see any other way. I can’t risk pulling back slowly, seeing them every now and then. I’ve considered engineering a fight, but that option seems too calculating and cruel, and even then it might not be a permanent solution. Goodness knows Becca and I have had our differences over the years, but we always find our way back to each other. One or both of us realises we’ve been stupid and we make up.

  I can’t let that happen this time.

  I’m falling in love with her husband – my husband – all over again.

  I pause as tears sting the backs of my eyes. I know it’s true. It’s been creeping up on me for such a long time. I feel terrible that I feel this way, but I didn’t choose it and this is the only way I can think of to stop it.

  I swipe a tear away and carry on searching for the stupid travel insurance papers. I feel like it’s a triple blow. I know Dan isn’t mine to lose but I’ll still miss him horribly, and then I’m also losing my best friend and my daughter, or my ‘should have been’ daughter, at the same time.

  All I have left is Jude. I’ve been trying so hard to love him the best way I know how. I’ve been trying to turn things around but I have to admit that it’s not working, not the way I want it to. That’s why I’m focussing on this holiday. Maybe this is the fresh start we need to get things back on track.

  I text Jude to ask him where the insurance stuff is, but he’s not replying. I end up staring at his computer as I try to work out what to do next, and that’s when it hits me: I’ll just go online and download the policy booklet with all the phone numbers and terms and conditions in it! That’s all I need, really, because I’ve got a note of the policy number already.

  I turn Jude’s computer on and when it’s booted up a whole host of windows pop open. He never bothers to close all the programmes down when he turns off, usually because he’s in a hurry, so they all just helpfully re-open themselves when he comes back to it. As well as various web pages and text documents, the last thing that pops open is his mail programme. I’m pushing the cursor to the corner of the screen to close it down when I notice something out of the corner of my eye.

  An email. From Dr Hausfield in Harley Street.

  I don’t recognise that name. As far as I know the only doctor either of us has seen in the last few years is Dr Shaw, the fertility specialist, and that hasn’t been for some time. Cold shoots through me. Either this is good or it’s very, very bad.

  Jude might have contacted another specialist … Maybe to do with the IVF treatment I so desperately wanted but he wasn’t sure about. Or there is another option: Jude is ill, with something he wants to keep quiet about, which can’t be good.

  I have to know. I can’t lose him too. Not now.

  I don’t actually have to click on the email to read it. All I have to do is look to the reading pane on the right.

  Oh, God, I think as my eyes scan over the brief message.

  Oh, Jude …

  What have you done? What have you done!

  I’m sitting in Jude’s office chair, waiting for him, when he comes in. I know he’s not going to come looking for me in the kitchen or the living room, to give me a kiss or make me a cup of tea. This is the place he always heads for first. I want to confront him at the scene of the crime. I want to see his face when he looks at the computer screen and realises I know.

  Jude jumps when he sees me sitting here. I get a tiny sadistic kick of triumph, enough to bolster me for what’s to come. ‘Who’s Doctor Hausfield?’

  He tries to hide his shock. I can see his brain working away furiously, trying to guess how much I know. I’m not in the mood for a ga
me of cat and mouse, so I press the space bar on his keyboard to wake the screen up. When he sees his email program light up, he swallows.

  ‘Meg – ’

  ‘D’you know, I’ve really started to hate it when you call me that. My name’s Maggie. Only that was never good enough for you, was it?’ I stop myself, take a breath. I’m getting sidetracked. I need to stick to the issue at hand. Jude is staring at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so blind-sided. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘Erm … I …’

  I wiggle the mouse, bring up the Internet browser. ‘All I need to do is a little googling,’ I say. ‘You might as well tell me.’

  Jude swallows again. ‘He’s a urologist.’

  ‘And you were contacting him about …?’

  He gives me a Are you really going to make me do this? look.

  I stare back at him. Yes, I am.

  When Jude bottles out, I push on. ‘You went to see him about having a vasectomy, didn’t you? This email – ’ I wave in the direction of the screen ‘ – is asking if you’re ready to book the procedure. So are you, Jude? Are you?’

  He steps back, looks slightly offended, as if I’m wrong to raise my voice at him. ‘I didn’t do anything. I just …’

  I stand up and walk towards him. ‘You just talked to him about it.’ My voice is low, calm.

  He nods. ‘Yes, that’s all.’ He even tries a smile, thinking he’s managing to turn this around. He really should have paid more attention to me during our fifteen-year relationship. If he had, he might know that when my voice gets all soft and nice like this, it’s time to get worried.

  ‘Instead of talking to me about it?’

  He sees too late the trap he’s walked into. There is panic in his eyes. ‘Listen, Meg – ’

  ‘Maggie!’ I yell back at him. ‘You know how much I want a child!’

  ‘But I’ve never been sure … you know that! I’ve tried to be ready, but if you really want the truth, I’m not sure I’m cut out for it. I don’t think I want to be a father.’