The One That Got Away

by Lucy Dawson

‘She doesn’t know about any of this. Her phone’s off. It’s a really kind offer, but you’re at work and everything.’ I stare at the floor. How is this even happening? ‘I’ll be OK.’

  ‘You sound like shit … I hate him so much for this,’ she says, her voice tight. ‘I can’t even tell you …’

  I don’t know what to say.

  ‘It’s not enough for him, all that misery he put you through back then? He couldn’t just fuck off and … Oh Moll, why would you want to message him? I don’t understand!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I feel so ashamed. ‘It didn’t seem a big deal, it was silly light stuff, just—’

  ‘Tell me,’ she says, quietly, ‘that this isn’t you starting something up again with him?’

  ‘NO!’ I say it so vehemently she falls silent. ‘Of course it isn’t!’

  ‘It’s just you’ve always had that weird … blind spot … when it comes to him.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ I insist. ‘I used to love him, I’m not saying I didn’t. But Dan changed everything. I can’t believe I’ve cheated on Dan.’ My eyes fill with incredulous tears at the words I’ve just heard myself say.

  ‘You need to get to the doctor’s, get the pill and we’ll go from there.’ She says firmly. ‘This is going to be OK.’

  ‘Can they do the STD tests there too?’

  ‘Yeah, but not right away. Can you just not ask me how I know this, but you can only have most STD tests about a week after you’ve had a dodgy shag. I’m not sure you even can have them done at most surgeries. You have to go to the GUM clinic.’

  But GUM clinics are usually based at hospitals. ‘Suppose I see someone from work I know?’

  ‘There are loads of private ones you can go to instead. You could come to one up here. I’ll find you a number and text it to you, OK? And if you change your mind and want me to come with you today, call me. Remember it’ll take me an hour and a bit to get back though. And definitely call when you’re done. If my phone is off it’s only because I’m in a meeting, I’ll ring you as soon as I can. I bet you this is a more common situation that you think,’ she assures me, ‘and the doctor will have seen it all before. It’s all going to be all night. I promise.’

  * * *

  Sitting in the GP’s waiting room dressed in my home clothes rather than my suit, dully watching a small, wheezing toddler sitting on the carpet as it half-heartedly bashes some building bricks, feels very wrong. I should be psyching myself up for a sales tussle. At least, thank God, the surgery isn’t actually one of mine in a professional capacity. That would be unbearable. My phone buzzes with a text from Mum.

  Are you OK? Dan OK? Conference good? Still coming lunch on Sunday? I’ve got a big chicken. Love from Mum xxx

  Normally just her insistence on signing off every time makes me smile. Not today. I merely text back:

  Conference OK. Dan fine. Lunch yes Xxx

  Then two more arrive. The first is from Pearce.

  All good. Everyone very understanding. Assume you still going to the post mortem meeting tomorrow unless hear otherwise. Take care.

  That is a relief at least, and kind of him to let me know. The other is from Joss, checking I’ve received the clinic number she’s sent me.

  I have and I’ve already made an appointment. Then I scroll right down and open a message Dan sent me ages ago.

  Love you! Will txt u when on train back home after gym. xxxx

  I can’t even remember what day that would have been. What had we done that night when he got home? Probably just sat there and ate tea watching TV perfectly happily and normally.

  The receptionist calls my name just in the nick of time. Just before I lose it completely.

  ‘So, Mrs Greene,’ the slightly useless grandfatherly looking doctor glances at his notes and smiles pleasantly as I sit down in front of him. ‘How can I help you today?’

  I take a deep breath and do away with any pretence of pleasantries. ‘During intercourse last night’ – I am acutely embarrassed, it’s as if we are living in the 1950s – ‘the condom unfortunately broke. I just want to make sure none of it has been left … inside me. I don’t want to get an infection.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ the doctor doesn’t seem thrown at all. ‘You’ve had a go at finding it yourself I assume?’

  I nod.

  ‘No joy?’

  I stare at him.

  ‘Sorry. Foolish question. Why else would you be here?’ He scratches his head. ‘Well, it’s very likely you would have got it out eventually – it’s not er, a bottomless pit up there. We’ll have a look anyway. Slip your things off and hop up on the couch.’

  ‘I need the morning-after pill too,’ I say awkwardly, taking my tracksuit bottoms and knickers off, wishing I’d worn a skirt as I get on the examination table. I’ve never felt less like ‘hopping’ in my whole life.

  ‘We’ll sort that out in a minute.’ The doctor stands up, pulls on some latex gloves and then advances towards me. ‘I need you to place your ankles together, bend you legs and just drop your knees apart please.’

  ‘Well,’ he says after an uncomfortably long time, as I focus hard on a spot on the ceiling. ‘I can’t find anything … it’s probably worked its way out already.’

  I wince.

  ‘… Sorry … OK. I’m as certain as I can be that it’s all gone. You can put your things back on now.’ He removes the gloves. ‘But even if there is a very small piece of it left, which is possible, it won’t be large enough to cause a bacterial build up. The body will just flush it out, as it were.’

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

  ‘And here’s your prescription.’ The printer whizzes merrily, he whisks it out and signs with a flourish. As he passes it to me, he opens his mouth as if to say something else, but seems to change his mind as he sees me gripping my wedding ring tightly with my right hand. ‘Not always the right timing is it? The sooner you take it, the more effective it is. You can collect it now from our pharmacy which,’ he checks his watch, ‘should still just be open.’ He smiles kindly at me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I stand up and leave as quickly as possible.

  I end up taking the pill in the car like some irresponsible teenager, burying the packet carrying my name in a random rubbish bin en route home.

  When I arrive back at the house, only our end-terraced brick cottage, out of the five, is completely dark. Next door are very obviously in, the house is all lit up, every light in the place blazing away, and as I slip my key in the lock I can already hear our neighbour Mel cooing at her little toddler, repeating ‘What are you doing? What are you doing?’ over and over again, like a syrupy parrot.

  God only knows Mel, I have no idea.

  Then I hear a crash, a wail and Mel change tack immediately as she shouts fiercely, ‘No! Very bad!’

  He’s not a dog, the poor little thing, but it actually so uncomfortably feels as if she could also be talking to me, I just want to get inside.

  As I slip in noiselessly, flick the light switch, shut the front door and kick off my shoes, my phone goes with another text. Probably Joss, I haven’t called her, she’ll be worried. I pull my phone out, but a number shows up which I don’t recognise.

  Are you all right? Have you been to the doctor’s? What they say? xxx

  It’s him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  I don’t even have to think about it – I hit delete. I want him gone, want to make him vanish without trace.

  I drop my phone on the sofa as if it has burnt me and walk out of the sitting room. Upstairs in the bathroom, I pull the light on, my trousers off and then yank my top over my head. Unhooking my bra and slipping off my knickers, I climb into the bath, turn the dial and gasp as the cold water from the overhead shower stings my skin. As it begins to heat up, I get the soap and start to scrub. I rub so vigorously, with a slightly too-coarse flannel, that my inner thighs turn pink. Then I rinse and rinse myself. Over and over again until I feel sore and my fingers, clutching the showe
rhead, are going wrinkly. I turn off the water and climb out, shivering on the bath mat. The mirror has steamed up and as I wipe across it, my mascara-ravaged face stares back. I still don’t feel clean.

  I reach for some loo roll, scrape the stubborn makeup off and drop the tissue in the bin. Then I run a scalding hot, very deep bath and get in. The water rises over my shoulders and I don’t look down my naked body, I just close my eyes.

  But as I lie there, I remember waking up in the dark hotel bed next to Leo and crying … I think I cried and he comforted me … and that’s when he kissed me …

  Oh God, STOP … my eyes rush open and I gasp out loud as Mel bellows, in what I know is her son’s bedroom, ‘Time to go to sleep!’ through the stupidly flimsy walls, before starting up a rousing rendition of the wheels on the bus go round and round, which doesn’t strike me as a bedtime sort of song.

  Leo is the last man who touched me. Not Dan – Leo.

  I quickly rear up and out of the water, slopping it over the side as I thump first one, then the other foot down on to the bath mat and reach for my towel. I don’t want to lie there any more. Wrapping my body tightly, I walk into our bedroom and pull the curtains shut. Then I dry myself off, slapping on cold body lotion and, before it sinks in properly, step into my PJ bottoms. I begin to rake a brush through my wet hair before reaching for the hairdryer.

  I have been very drunk like that only once before, at university where about four hours vanished from my life after I got stupidly sunburnt, took a couple of ibuprofen to dull the pain and then had a bottle of wine before going to the end-of-term ball. I went from having a good time, to feeling drunk, to finding myself on my back, half-conscious in the toilets with several strangers’ faces looming over me asking me if I was OK. I’d not been able to answer – just lain there with the vague feeling my skirt was rucked up and I probably ought to sort it out. Then Abi and Rose had appeared. I don’t remember anything more about the evening than that. The morning afterwards, the whole episode was frightening enough to make me vow I’d never do it again.

  My hair is almost done when I feel a change in the air within the house. Just as I switch the dryer off to listen, Dan suddenly appears in the bedroom doorway eating a packet of Wotsits, and makes me jump.

  He grins. ‘Didn’t hear me come in then?’

  I shake my head.

  He crosses the room and kisses me. ‘I’m a bit crispy. Sorry.’ He puts the empty packet down on the chest of drawers and takes his coat off, slinging it on the bed. ‘You been back long?’

  ‘No, about half an hour.’ Which, technically, is true.

  He leaves the room and from the bathroom calls, ‘Did the car hold up? Traffic all right?’

  ‘It was fine.’ I hurriedly put the hairdryer back on, to prevent any more discussion.

  He comes back in, yanks his shirt up and begins to unbutton it before slipping his trousers off. He reaches for a T-shirt from the ironing pile and pulls on a pair of jeans last of all. As I turn the dryer off he comes round and draws me into a hug. ‘I missed you,’ he says and kisses the top of my head.

  ‘I missed you too.’ I close my eyes tightly and cling to him. His T-shirt smells cleanly of washing powder.

  ‘It’s been a funny old week, hasn’t it?’ he says. ‘Still, Friday tomorrow. I thought we could do something this weekend just the two of us. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Very.’

  The doorbell rings downstairs. ‘Aha!’ he says happily. ‘That’ll be Tesco’s. Are you going to come down? I’ll stick the kettle on.’ He hastens from the room leaving me just standing there, an oily black seam of guilt opening up within me, the like of which I’ve never, ever experienced.

  When I first met Leo, and he began bombarding me with illicit and intoxicating text messages telling me he wasn’t able to stop thinking about me … what was he supposed to do, walk away from the love of his life knowing I was all he’d ever need? All I had to do was say the word and he’d be there for me … I’d felt guilty about his poor girlfriend; but not enough to ignore him. I was too breathlessly excited and absurdly flattered that he’d been so obsessed with me. When Leo falls – he falls hard and fast.

  But this? This is a different kind of guilt altogether. My eyes fill with tears and I have to cover my mouth with my hand to silence myself. This is Dan; it is us. A drunken moment in a hotel room and the quality of light in our marriage has changed for ever.

  I hate Leo for that, almost as much as I hate myself.

  * * *

  When we get into bed – having got through eating tea on our laps, Dan asking me painfully innocent questions about how the conference was – I shiver with the cold and he reaches out for me. ‘Shall I warm you up?’ He hugs me and plants a kiss on my nose. ‘Arggghh!’ He pulls sharply away from me. ‘Your feet are freezing! OK,’ he braces himself. ‘Go on then, put them on me … FUCK!’ He laughs and then his kind brown eyes search my face as if he is reminding himself of me. ‘The things I do for you!’ He kisses me again. ‘Love you.’

  ‘I love you too,’ I mumble, trying to smile and not cry.

  He kisses me again, properly, and I am now so desperate to annihilate everything else, blast it all away and make him what is real, I kiss him back with such energy he almost stops in surprise, although his hands can’t help tightening round me in response to my urgency.

  Afterwards, trying not to look at the condom wrapper on the floor of our bedroom because it is too horrible a reminder of earlier, I lie there in our bed listening to Dan moving around in the bathroom and clutch the duvet to me. I want to tell him everything. I desperately want to come clean … but that is exactly the problem; telling him will not undo what I’ve done. And there is no way he’d possibly be able to understand or forgive me, I am sure of that. It would only devastate him. I am going to have to learn to live alongside it, that will be my punishment.

  He comes back into the room and gets back into bed. ‘Moll, I know we’ve sort of glossed over it, but that row on Tuesday night …’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I say immediately.

  ‘No – I should be apologising to you!’ He exclaims. ‘I flew off the handle, I let what I wanted get in the way of everything else.’ He looks so genuinely worried; the guilt and the need to do something to make everything all OK overwhelms me, I just can’t bear it.

  ‘The thing is Moll,’ he begins, ‘I know we’ve said that …’

  ‘Dan,’ I interrupt him. ‘You’re right. We should have a baby. We should start trying, tomorrow in fact.’

  He looks confused, ‘But—’

  ‘I really want us to.’

  I don’t actually have to say more than that, because he pulls me delightedly to him, and the expression on his face is all the proof I need that I have done the right thing.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘You’re going to start trying for a baby?’ Joss’s voice on speakerphone echoes around the car as the road rumbles away under me. ‘Are you serious?’

  There’s a long pause, in which I can’t think of anything sensible to say.

  ‘Do you not think,’ Joss adopts an unusually careful tone, ‘considering that the night before last you had sex with your ex, there’s a chance this may not be the best time to make such a big decision?’

  ‘We were always going to have kids, Joss, it was just a question of when,’ I reply quickly, trying to pretend I haven’t heard what she’s just said. ‘I know I’ve been putting it off but … look, I can’t talk about this now, I’m in the car, I’m not sure where my meeting is and I’m already late.’

  ‘All I’m saying is stop and think if this is what you actually want. Have you told Bec yet?’

  ‘Told her what?’

  ‘Well, everything. About Leo for a start.’ Her voice darkens.

  I shake my head emphatically. ‘No, and I’m not going to. I don’t want anyone to know about this. You’re the only person I’ve told. Please Joss – it’s got to stay that wa
y.’

  ‘But it’s Bec.’

  ‘The more people know, the higher the chance that it could somehow come out, and Dan must NEVER know about this. I’m ashamed enough as it is, I almost wish you didn’t know to be honest. I just want to forget the whole thing ever happened.’

  She snorts sadly. ‘Well that I can understand.’

  Thinking about it again makes me want to vomit, and I get a moment of horizontal vertigo. The car feels static, like it’s the trees and other cars on the dual carriageway that are rushing past me. It is a horrible sensation and I know instinctively that I have to pull over for a moment.

  ‘Moll?’ Joss says. ‘You still there?’

  I swing on to the hard shoulder and lurch to a stop, my head thudding back lightly on the headrest. I can hear my own breathing.

  ‘Molly! Talk to me!’

  ‘I think I’m going to hurl, hang on a minute!’

  Joss pauses. We sit there in silence, me on the road, her somewhere in London. ‘Is that the morning-after pill, d’you reckon?’ she says. ‘Bec would know.’

  I ignore that. ‘I didn’t eat breakfast and I’m very tightly wound up. That’s all.’

  ‘You haven’t actually been sick, because the last thing you want is …’

  ‘I know,’ I cut her off quickly, before she can finish that sentence. ‘Trust me, I know.’

  Eventually I find the dreary, anonymous roadside hotel and get out of the car. It’s a thick, cold, nothing sort of day which can’t really be bothered to get properly light. Everything feels leaden, even the seagull wheeling above my head is squawking lethargically like it might just fall out of the sky.

  When I finally make it to the meeting room I see I’m the last to arrive. There is an empty seat between Pearce and Sandra, the only one left, so I walk round and slide into it as quietly as I can while apologising to Antony, whose flow I have broken. ‘Sorry, I got stuck in traffic.’

  ‘No problem,’ he replies smoothly. ‘We haven’t started the debrief yet.’

  Everyone waits as I place my bag down quietly, trying to avoid any further interruptions, but the bloody thing falls over and disgorges its contents on to the slightly sticky carpet. Pearce silently leans to the side, retrieves my phone and wordlessly passes it to me. I take it and our fingers touch briefly. Sandra’s eyebrow shoots up obsessively, right into her blonde hairline, and she crosses her arms. So that’s how she and Pearce are now. That conference has got a lot to answer for.