I keep thinking back to my state of mind on that night, trying to look for some reason why it all played out like it did. Was it entirely my fault? I don’t think so, but I do acknowledge my part in it. I didn’t light the fire, but I did fan the flames.
Talking to Jenny had lifted my mood. I’d been torn when I left Meg, preoccupied with my thoughts in the car, then buoyed up by Jenny’s welcome. I’d been hacked off by Martin – really hacked off – and, looking back, I think that was still eating away in the background.
I hadn’t been totally honest with myself about that perfect moment I’d shared with Meg earlier in the day. Yes, I’d seen a tiny glimmer of hope, but only to have it withdrawn again when I’d messed it up and moved my hand towards her exposed midriff, sliding it up her untucked shirt. She’d pushed my hand away as if I was a dodgy stranger on a train.
‘You’d better think about getting ready, Pete – don’t want to keep Diane waiting.’
I think that’s what Martin would call deflection. It was a block from Meg, I didn’t need to wade through a counselling qualification to know that. She knew what I was doing, daring to suggest that we might, for once in a long time, forget the training course, the washing up, the shopping and the electricity bill and dive into bed together.
That’s it, just there. That’s how I was feeling when I met Ellie. Blocked. Frustrated. Spurned. By my wife. That’s what made me do what I did. I know it’s no excuse, I’m not trying to justify it. But I do need to explain it, or else everything that happened afterwards is too much to bear.
Meg loved me, I was certain of that, but for some reason she didn’t want to be close to me. Yet I longed to be close to her. At that moment, I desperately wanted to make love to her. Not have sex. This was about love. I needed her. And she pushed me away.
My room at the OverNight Inn was what you’d expect. The carpets and curtains were in navy blue corporate colours, functional and clean. The bed was luxurious, better than the one we had at home. There was a desk and flat screen TV opposite the bed and a small chair tucked into the corner. The bathroom was impressive and had a large walk-in shower with a glass panel to keep the water in and a mirrored wall opposite. I’ve always had a thing about mirrored walls. I wouldn’t have one at home, that’s a bit tacky. But in a hotel? Sexy as anything! If Meg had been in there with me, we’d both have clocked that sex in the shower was something that would definitely happen that weekend.
Then I felt the loneliness. The old Meg would have seen that. The old Meg would have given me a suggestive smile and told me that she couldn’t wait to get in there with me. But the Meg I’d left at home would have gone in to freshen up, locked the door, then emerged fully clothed. No chance of me catching her naked and maybe chancing my luck. The old Meg would have left the door open and called me in. It’s not just the absence of the sex, it’s what it means and how we got there. It’s the blocking and pushing away that’s involved that had made me feel so isolated. Lonely. I shouldn’t have felt so lonely when I was with Meg.
I wasn’t getting a very strong mobile signal in my room, that was annoying. Not that it mattered anyway, my battery was about to die. Meg knew where I was. If she needed me, she would call reception if there was no joy from my mobile. I put the phone on charge then muted the sound so it wouldn’t disturb any other guests if it rang while I was out.
I took a shower, changed into jeans and a casual shirt and brushed my teeth. We’d arranged to meet in the pub adjacent to the OverNight Inn at 7 o’ clock, deciding to forgo the bar in the building. I was running a little late. The hotel was quiet, I hadn’t heard any voices that I recognised along the corridor so I guessed that we were evenly spread about the accommodation. I preferred it that way. It’s a bit intense if you can’t even step out to the vending machine without running into one of your colleagues.
I turned off all the lights except for the cool blue backlight behind the headboard. That was nice – sexy – the sort of lighting Meg and I would have gone for to set the mood. It was also just enough light to make my way back from the bar when drunk without having to turn on the main lights and dazzle myself out of my drunken state. I wasn’t planning anything at that stage. I was going to meet my colleagues, get some food down me fast, have a few drinks and a laugh, then get back to my room for some sleep.
I had a presentation to make the next day, not first thing but about 11 o’clock. I could let my hair down more on the Saturday night, the day of my birthday. I had to stay sharp for Diane’s sake.
I heard the loud laughter as I walked into the bar. That had to be the broadcasting bunch. It was, and our numbers were already strong. The various teams from around the country had homed in on each other and were already enjoying some boisterous company. One chap, who I didn’t know but whose voice I’d heard on the radio, was telling a story about how one of his colleagues had been having an intimate conversation about a personal problem in one of the studios, and it had gone out on air. A five-minute description of a problematical prostate examination broadcast across the whole of London and it had taken the tech-ops five minutes to locate and terminate the open microphone.
There were huge guffaws around the table. God forbid if Introverts International were meeting in the same pub that night, they’d have run a mile. As the laughs subsided from the prostate story, and one of my own colleagues raised the stakes with a ‘sex with a guest in the studio’ anecdote, I got the people on the long couch to shuffle along and introduced myself. After a couple of minutes of chat and trying hard to remember the new names, I asked if anybody wanted a drink. They were all newly fuelled so it was a cheap round to start the evening, just a pint and some dinner for me. I stepped over to the bar and picked up a menu. Regular pub grub, exactly what I wanted.
I caught sight of a woman outside the bar talking on her mobile. She was having a heated row with somebody, a man I guessed, and she sounded exasperated. I caught the tail end of a ‘Get lost, Dave!’ before she terminated the call, then went into the toilets, presumably to compose herself.
She emerged a few minutes later visibly more relaxed. I was still waiting to get served, there didn’t appear to be any staff around. At least not any who were actually awake.
She came up to the bar and looked about her.
‘I’m starving, is there anybody serving?’ she asked.
With a voice like that, if she wasn’t a broadcaster already, we’d all be recruiting her before the evening was out. She was friendly, confident and assured. It immediately reminded me of my earlier conversation with Meg: broadcasters seduce people for a living – I’d said it many times, but I didn’t mean in a predatory way. We make people feel at ease quickly, we get them talking, bring them out of their shell.
That’s exactly what Ellie did with me. Whatever had happened on the phone had done something to her, she was in that bar to put it all behind her. I was the first person she saw. I introduced myself and she shook my hand, squeezing my arm with her free hand as she did so.
At first, I just thought she was being friendly. It’s what broadcasters are like. But it soon became clear that it wasn’t an interview she was after. In the state of mind I was in, she caught me at the wrong time, my defences were weak. If I’d have been a little bit stronger, we could have prevented the violent storm that was about to sweep through our lives and change things forever.
Chapter Three
I met Meg while I was recording for the radio at the probation service offices. I’d made arrangements to speak to some ‘bad lads’, as we called them in the office. It was a report about a new community initiative to encourage ex-offenders to start their own online businesses. It was a good idea, as far as I could tell.
I’ve always hated having anything to do with ex-cons and people who are perpetually being recycled within the justice system. I want to be able to walk about town without running into them. Meg was always diving into shops to avoid somebody she’d been working with.
‘That’s Max Donovan,
he was in two weeks ago for aggravated assault,’ she’d say. Just the person you want to run into at the supermarket for a chitchat over the frozen foods counter. Meg enjoyed her work, it was engaging and absorbing for her, but it would have been nice if she’d worked in another town or city so it didn’t intrude so much in our domestic lives.
Occasionally she’d get probationers who would latch onto her, mistaking professional interest for genuine concern. They’d make promises to her about how they were going to turn their lives around and swear blind they’d stop doing whatever they were doing. They’d see Meg as their road to Damascus, wanting to spend more time with her and seeking a social connection.
It was a hazard of the job. Meg was constantly having to define limits and restrictions at work. She’d stopped telling me about these incidents some time ago, it worried me and made me feel that she was vulnerable.
In my profession we seldom come face-to-face with the perpetrators. We get unique access to investigators, politicians, crime-scene investigators, lawyers and the like, but it was the posh side of crime. I’d got my shorthand as a rookie journalist, but I’d never used it since leaving university, it was only court reporters who got to see any direct bad-boy action. I was office based most of the time, reporting on what had happened rather than getting my own hands dirty.
I worried about Meg, though. We’d met because of an incident in her offices, so in a way I actually have her clients to thank for getting us together in the first place. Like a villainous version of Blind Date.
I was in an office at the probation service talking to three men about their community payback arrangements and how they were being given the chance to exchange removing graffiti from community centre walls for learning how to start up web-based businesses. All of a sudden a door slammed in the corridor outside followed by a loud scream.
It was a woman, furious at something or other. She was spouting a lexicon of every offensive word you could possibly think of. The probation officer who was sitting in on my interviews suddenly tensed and went into difficult-client mode.
Several members of staff were attempting to calm the woman down, but there was one person who caught my attention immediately. I can still remember it with precision. It was as if somebody had muted the commotion going on outside and blurred the movement of bodies rushing up and down the corridor. All I could see in HD clarity was Meg.
It’s only ever happened once like that in my life – and that was with Meg. Meeting her must be what people refer to when they say they fell in love at first sight. She took my breath away. That’s a cliché, I know, but that’s how it felt.
‘Are we doing this or what?’
My moment had been rudely interrupted by one of the interviewees. We’d all stopped what we were doing when the uproar began, but they were more used to this abrasive way of living than I was. For them, the rows, the shouting, the wild accusations were all part of their day-to-day lives.
‘We’ll just give it five minutes until the noise dies down,’ I replied. ‘Don’t want all that racket on the recording.’
I looked back towards Meg. She’d seen me and was torn between looking at what I was doing and monitoring the progress of her angry client. She seemed shaken. I guessed that most days things didn’t kick off like that.
I stood up and walked towards the open door.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked, genuinely concerned – she looked really rattled.
Meg was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I don’t mean in an Angelina Jolie or Penélope Cruz film star kind of way. Meg was a wonderful person, I picked up on it immediately, and her soul shone through to me. I’ve never believed all that nonsense about auras, but if anybody had one, it would be Meg.
Our eyes met, she felt it too, it was an immediate attraction. I’m no hunk. I’m in reasonable shape for my age, but I’m not the kind of guy women look at and then can’t help themselves. I’ve had to work hard with women all my life. I get on well with them, in fact, I probably have more female friends than male. But I’m not good at converting liking to romance. With Meg, though, it was instant.
We laughed about it later. We were being watched by three minor criminals, four members of staff were calming an irate client just along the corridor, and Meg and I were standing there like starry-eyed teenagers.
The journalist in me tends to make me prone to cynicism, but in the privacy of our relationship I admitted to Meg that I’d loved her deeply from the moment I saw her. Everything was there – love, liking, lust, attraction, desire, wonder – and I didn’t even know her name. She became a compulsion from the minute we met, a fever that burned fiercely, and one that I couldn’t shake off.
The client had now calmed down. She was taken to a different room, and another member of staff rushed to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.
‘I’ll finish her off if you want,’ said the colleague who’d been sitting in on my interviews. ‘Let her cool off a bit.’
‘Thanks,’ Meg replied, grateful for a bit of time to recover herself. ‘It wasn’t aimed at me. They’ve stopped her benefits, she was sounding off about it, got a bit carried away.’
Her colleague nodded. It was an occupational hazard as I learnt later on. But it gave me an opportunity to get to know Meg much better.
I picked up my interview recording, suddenly self-conscious that I was being watched by this astonishing woman. I asked my questions, checked the audio and thanked the men who’d taken part. Meg showed them out of the building.
‘Back in a moment,’ she’d said. ‘Fancy a coffee?’
‘I’d love one, thanks,’ I smiled.
It was very fast after that. Meg returned with the coffee. We swiftly moved from pleasantries to personal information. One minute she was explaining how the clients kicked off sometimes and that it didn’t usually shake her, the next we were discussing where we lived.
‘I recognise your voice don’t I? You’re Peter Bailey aren’t you?’
‘Pete,’ I replied. ‘Always Pete to my friends. Yes, if you listen to the local station you might have heard me.’
She smiled. God, I loved that smile. She had beautiful teeth, white and even.
We moved quickly to a first date. That night. I didn’t even ask her if she was in a relationship. I wasn’t at the time, and I assumed that because she was sending out such strong signals to me, she had to be a free agent too.
We almost devoured each other in that office. We went out for a meal together, barely finishing the first course before we rushed straight home to Meg’s place, stopping to kiss passionately along the street as we went.
I’d experienced instant sexual attraction before, many a time, but this was something different. We had to possess each other, it was our destiny. That night had to happen, it was inevitable from the moment that we met. Meg felt it too – we discussed it many times afterwards. It had to happen, there was nothing we could do to stop it.
We burst into her room, tearing our clothes off and hurling them around the place to get them out of our way. We fell onto her bed and made love, our lips pressed together as if we were going to consume each other.
It was urgent, frantic, passionate sex, a collision of two people who had to be together. We made love another four times that same night as if we would never have the chance to do it again, like lovers who were about to be torn apart. It was perfect, the most loving, sexy, passionate, connected experience I’d ever experienced with a woman.
Then Meg’s boyfriend came home.
The connection with Ellie was instant too. It was nothing like my first meeting with Meg, it wasn’t ‘destiny’ or anything like that.
It was completely different with Ellie. It was a sexual thing, there was never going to be a lifelong relationship there, there was no expectation of one on either side. We met, we liked each other, there was an immediate attraction and we had a lot in common. I liked her, but I’d never love her, and she’d never love me. We were both consenting adults, mayb
e not free agents, so it was fair enough. I knew it wasn’t right, we both did, but at that moment in time, for both of us, it was exactly what we needed.
Sometimes you have to get some clarity. Relationships are tricky things. If you’ve been married to somebody for twenty years, you don’t separate on a whim. It’s slow burning, the thoughts creep in over time.
‘Do I still love her? Is this what I want for my life? Have we gone stale?’
You don’t end a relationship because you happen to think one of those thoughts in isolation. It’s only when they add up over time and reach a critical mass that you might be spurred into action. You reach a tipping point.
In many ways, it’s easier if somebody cheats or is violent, it forces the decision. Most relationships die slowly and painfully, they win temporary reprieves and postponements, but still limp slowly towards the abyss.
Meg and I were in that zone. There was lots of love there, I still believe that she loved me when it all happened, I really do. I loved her, I know I did, I was desperate to reclaim what had driven us on that first day that we met. I was certain that we had not burned out. When I thought back to how things had been, I longed to go back to how we were. I wanted the relationship to survive.
Why did I sleep with Ellie? We’re only human, not that far removed from the animals, we apply all these social constraints and make things more important than they really are. It’s not that it was unimportant, I was a cheating little shit, but in my mind it made no difference to me and Meg. So long as she never found out. In fact, the very act of betrayal made me resolve to work even harder to save our relationship. It took being unfaithful to my wife to understand how much I wanted her. I know that would never stand up in the high court of human relationships, but it was true.
I knew I’d have to try to live with my secret for the rest of our lives together. You have to keep a deception like that to yourself, it’s a cancer that must fester within you and be taken to the grave. I should know – the pain of betrayal can destroy. If you reveal your horrible little secret, or if it’s ever discovered, it’s game over, the trust can never be restored. You only needed to look at what had happened to Jem to understand that one.
Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set Page 3