The Affair

by Colette Freedman

  “Do you want me to do it for you?”

  Something in her voice, some eagerness, some expectation alerted him. He’d heard that tone before, and he knew then, knew for a certainty that Kathy was suspicious. Only this time there was a reason. He was aware that his heart was racing. It was beating so hard and so fast, he could actually feel the skin vibrate. Christ, that’s all he needed right now was a heart attack. He took a deep breath and forced his voice to remain calm, and then he smiled in the darkness. “That’d be great. Table for two, Friday night, seven thirty, in either my name or Jimmy Moran’s. I used his name too just in case he got there first.” Let her check up; she’d find nothing, and it might allay some of her suspicions.

  Robert got into bed. The sheets were icy, but maybe that was because he felt as if he were burning up. He leaned across and kissed his wife quickly on the cheek.

  “Night.” She muttered the single word as she rolled over, turning away from him. He found himself getting angry. Why did he put up with this? Was this his future? Was he destined to spend years going though this loveless routine, gradually becoming more and more distant from Kathy, until there was nothing left between them but bitterness?

  But there was an alternative.

  There was Stephanie.

  She loved him, and he loved her. She loved being with him. There was an opportunity for a future for both of them. A happy future. But she wouldn’t wait forever.

  But the children. What about the children?

  When he eventually fell asleep, he tossed and turned in dreams where he chased Brendan and Theresa through endless corridors. They were always just out of reach, and Kathy and Stephanie appeared around every corner, watching, waiting, accusing.

  He awoke around four and didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER 28

  Saturday, 21st December

  “I told you we should have gotten the smaller tree.”

  “Dad! You know we always get the biggest tree we can find,” Theresa said.

  “And then we always spend ages cutting the end off,” Brendan reminded his sister.

  “Who’s this we?” Robert asked. “Looks like I’m the only one sawing at the moment.”

  “Hey, we’re holding it steady,” Brendan reminded him.

  Robert, along with Brendan and Theresa, had gone thirty miles outside of Boston to buy a Christmas tree at Doe Orchards in Harvard. It had become a tradition over the years to buy their tree as close to Christmas as possible, a tradition that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep as trees began appearing in neighbors’ windows earlier and earlier in December and surviving long into January. The other part of the tradition of course was that Kathy would complain about the tree—it was too big, too bushy, too thin, too lopsided, and, Robert’s favorite, too environmentally incorrect to cut down a live tree.

  But at least they had been spared Kathy’s complaining this morning, and, for that small mercy, Robert was grateful. Although Kathy had been in bed when the trio had set out to buy the tree, she’d left the house by the time they had returned a few hours later. A scribbled note on the kitchen table said: Gone Shopping.

  It suited Robert perfectly. Once he got the tree into the house, and dug the decorations out of the garage, he needed to see Stephanie. He glanced at his watch; he wanted to be gone before Kathy came back.

  But the tree was too tall; it wouldn’t fit into the house.

  He spent a frustrating half hour sawing off the base of the tree, getting covered in sticky sap and pricked by scores of needles. And every moment he expected to see Kathy’s car turn down the road. Finally, he managed to chop and saw eighteen inches off the end of the tree, and, with Theresa holding the top, Brendan the middle, and him taking up the rear, they backed the tree through the kitchen door and into the house.

  “We could set it up in the hall,” Robert said, voice muffled behind branches, which kept swatting him across the face.

  “Dad!” Theresa squealed in disgust. He made the same suggestion every year, and every year they placed the tree in the family room.

  With the tree finally set up in its usual corner, standing in a bucket filled with stones, and more or less straight, Robert turned to Brendan.

  “I know, I know,” the young man said. “Vacuum up the needles. I’ll get on it.”

  “Right. I’ll get out the decorations, then I need to wash up and head into the office for an hour or so.”

  “Dad! Do you have to?”

  “This is to do with DaBoyz!” He leaned over and patted Theresa’s cheek. “Just think, if I get this gig, you can come on set when I shoot their video.”

  Theresa looked distinctly unimpressed, with that look that only teenage girls perfect. “Yeah, I don’t think so!”

  “I thought they were good,” he said, surprised. “Up and coming. They were on Ryan Seacrest.”

  “And they were crap,” she said. “Their last single didn’t even chart. And Gideon, the lead singer—”

  “Which one is he?”

  “Shaved head, little pointy beard.”

  Robert nodded, vaguely remembering the young man. He’d thought all five band members looked alike.

  “Gideon’s gay. He’s dating Vic, the drummer,” she said seriously.

  “How do you know?” Robert knew the answer just as the words were coming out of his mouth. With media access and social networking, teenagers often knew about breaking news long before adults did.

  “There were like a hundred tweets about it last week,” she answered. “Everyone is expecting the band to break up.” She saw the look on her father’s face and grinned. “Are you sure you want to shoot their video?”

  Robert licked dry lips, tasting pine and bile in equal measure. “I don’t know.”

  “Might be a mistake, Dad,” Brendan said, coming back into the room, lugging the upright Oreck. “If they’re about to go bust, these bands usually blame everyone but themselves. Blaming the video is high on their list.”

  “Wish I’d spoken to you two sooner,” he muttered, leaving the room.

  “Anytime, Dad,” Brendan called after him. “Say, do we get a consultant fee for this?”

  Robert stepped into his home office, shut the door, then, as an afterthought, turned the key in the lock. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared out across the bare winter garden, not quite sure what to think. The big gig, the great opportunity, might just turn out to be not so big, not so great as he had imagined. He’d talk to Stephanie about it; she’d know what to do.

  He sat in his chair and reached for his cell. He never called Stephanie on the home phone; he didn’t want the itemized bill displaying numerous calls to a single number. He hit the speed dial and, while he waited for the call to connect, he rifled through the correspondence in his basket. He’d been so busy at work that he hadn’t had a chance to attend to it. He’d stuffed all the correspondence in his briefcase on Monday last, intending to deal with it during the week, but so far, he hadn’t even had a chance to glance through it.

  The call connected.

  “How . . . how are you feeling?” he asked immediately.

  “I’m tired, Robert.”

  “Do you want to see me?”

  “I always want to see you.” He could almost hear the smile in her voice.

  “I was going to come over.”

  “I’m about to head into the city; there’s an open-air carol service in the Common.”

  “What time?”

  “Starts about two.”

  “Great. Why don’t I meet you there? We can listen to some carols, then go and get something to eat.”

  “Okay,” she said after a brief silence. “Give me a call when you’re in the city.” The phone went dead.

  Robert sat looking at the handset for a long moment. That had been very short and not so very sweet. He put the phone down and quickly sorted through the basket.

  And for a moment thought he was indeed having a heart attack.

&nb
sp; His MBNA Visa bill was in the pile. What was that doing here? He must have bundled it up with the mail he’d brought home from the office. He’d taken up the offer of the credit card shortly after he had started his relationship with Stephanie, thinking that it might be a useful way of allowing him to spend money unbeknownst to Kathy. Kathy did the household accounts and paid all the bills, and the last thing he needed was for her to start questioning some of his expenditures. He still put his legitimate business expenses on the Wells Fargo card, but expenses that were specifically to do with Stephanie went on the new card. Statements were sent to the office, and he wrote them a check every month. He filled in the check stub with fictitious business meetings.

  Robert turned the statement over and over in his fingers. Had Kathy seen this? Unlikely. She rarely came into his office, and she would have no reason to go rooting through his mail.

  Unless she was suspicious.

  The thought crept slowly and insidiously into his consciousness.

  And he knew she was.

  He looked through the bill. It wasn’t as bad as he thought; most of the items on it he could claim as legitimate business expenses, even the books and CDs, which he’d given as gifts to Stephanie, he could claim as research material for a documentary. Documentary research covered a multitude of sins. He turned the page. “Shit!” There were three items on the second page that might be more difficult to explain. He had satellite TV piped into the office and often watched QVC, the shopping channel, when he was working, particularly when they were selling movie memorabilia, which he collected. However, he’d bought a bracelet for Stephanie—part of her birthday present—on the credit card, and he’d also ordered a bouquet of flowers online to be sent to her. He’d taken Stephanie to L’Espalier in the Back Bay, and he’d used the card to pay for that.

  Okay. What was the worst-case scenario? Kathy had seen this page. If she had, then she was bound to raise the issue of the card. He could explain that away. The books, the CDs, he could explain away also. These three items however . . .

  Well, the statement only showed the amount; it did not show the item.

  The QVC bill could have been something for his computer. He had a couple of items in the office—wireless mouse, an external hard drive—that he could show her if necessary; she’d never know how much they cost.

  The flowers. A birthday present, a thank-you gift. Maybe a get-well bouquet for Maureen. He must remember to really send her a bouquet, just in case Kathy asked about the flowers.

  The dinner. Well, that could have been just any business dinner. A meeting at a hip restaurant to impress a new client.

  A lie justified.

  He sat back in the creaking chair, and then stopped. What was he was doing? He was creating a worst-case scenario—just in case Kathy confronted him. But only last night he’d been on the verge of confessing to her. So just what did he want to do? To stay with Kathy or go with Stephanie?

  Both, the little perverse thought at the back of his head whispered. Both. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

  CHAPTER 29

  “Shit. Shit. Shit. She didn’t waste any time.”

  Robert slowed as he turned off Columbus Avenue. Kathy’s car was parked outside Maureen’s house. He remembered the row house well; when R&K had pitched a reality makeover show to FOX, they’d used Maureen’s home for the pilot. She’d gotten a very nice conservatory out of it. He hoped that she and Kathy were now sitting out in that conservatory at the back of the house, rather than in the living room watching him drive by. He glanced at the bouquet of flowers on the seat beside him. He had planned to drop in on Maureen unannounced, just to “see how she was” and give her a Christmas bonus, a check for one thousand dollars. He had planned to be very careful to explain that one of the reasons he could pay the bonus was because of the work that Stephanie had brought them. Well, Maureen wouldn’t be getting the money or the flowers today. He accelerated past the house, desperately resisting the temptation to glance over and look in.

  It took him another half an hour to get from Mission Hill into the city, and he eventually parked the car in the Boston Common garage where, after fifteen minutes of circling, he finally found an empty space on the bottom level.

  Pulling on his heavy tweed jacket and wrapping a wool scarf around his neck, he hurried through the park. The temperature was hovering around zero, but Boston looked glorious in the crisp December light. It was one of those rare winter days when the sky was cloudless and the low sunlight painted the streets in gold and shadow. All across the city, bells were tolling as the bell ringers put in some practice for Christmas Eve, and, with his breath pluming in the air before him, he felt the first touch of Christmas spirit.

  This had never been his favorite time of year. There were too many bitter memories from his youth; his parents’ constant arguing and his mother’s drinking—exacerbated by his father’s icy temper—made holidays, or indeed any time they were forced to spend together as a family unit, difficult and uncomfortable. When his parents had finally divorced, he ended up spending Christmas Day with his mother, listening to her bitch about his father, and then New Year’s Eve with his father, listening to him rant about his mother.

  He didn’t want that to happen to his children, forcing them to choose between parents. He didn’t want to place them in that position. . . and yet, his actions had certainly made that a very real possibility. When he’d first slept with Stephanie, he’d never imagined the potential consequences. It was just a bit of fun, two adults doing what adults did, not harming anyone....

  Except that it had. Even if Kathy and the kids never found out about his affair, it had damaged his marriage. He shook his head quickly; no, the affair hadn’t damaged his marriage. He had.

  The drive into the city, however, had allowed him to come to one conclusion. He was determined to get through Christmas without having to make a decision. If he boxed cleverly, danced around questions, parried issues, deflected attacks, he thought he might just be able to do that. He just needed a little more time to think things through. A couple of days, a week, maybe a month or two to make a decision.

  Coward, something that might have been his conscience heckled. And he had to agree.

  He cut through the Common. It was packed, and he battled his way through hordes of shoppers: teenagers wrapped around one another, mothers pushing carriages, fathers carrying children in their arms or dragging older children along behind them. Who in their right mind brought children into the city a couple of days before Christmas? But when he looked closely at the children and parents, none of them seemed to be upset. They were smiling, happy, and he remembered that when Brendan and Theresa were young, he and Kathy had taken them into the city to see the lights strung across the streets, window shop, and enjoy the festive atmosphere. They had been happy then, just the four of them; they’d laughed a lot, as a couple and as a family. He tried to remember when they’d stopped doing that. There was no one moment. It had just happened; things had changed. The children had grown up, he’d started working harder and harder to support a particular lifestyle, and he and Kathy had just drifted apart.

  He ducked into the entrance of the AMC Theatre on Tremont, pulled out his phone, and hit the speed dial for Stephanie. The call went for ten rings before it was finally answered.

  “Where are you?” she asked without preamble.

  “In the lobby of the movie theater.”

  “Stay there. Don’t move. I’ll find you. It’s chaos here.”

  Robert ended the call and stood nervously in the foyer. He was feeling exposed; this was probably one of the most visible spots in Boston, with crowds of people milling around. He’d already caught glimpses of a couple of neighbors.

  He turned away from the crowds and focused on a poster for a WWII film he thought he’d like to see, but knew he’d end up watching it on TV. He peered at the director’s name on poster, and a hole opened up in the pit of his stomach. Robert had gone to film school with him.
The kid was talented, but it had been Robert who had won all of the awards, who had shown the greatest promise. Now, this guy was directing a holiday blockbuster and Robert was . . . Who was he anymore?

  And then suddenly Stephanie was standing beside him. She was bundled against the chill air in a bright red ski jacket, black jeans tucked into woolly-topped boots, wearing a bright red woolen ski cap on her head. With the bulky clothing disguising her lithe body and only a tiny section of her face visible—eyes, nose, and mouth—the similarity to his wife was startling.

  He leaned forward to kiss her, a quick peck on the cheek, and then caught her arm, easing her away from the doorway. “Where did you leave your toboggan?”

  “Parked it upstairs alongside the sleigh.”

  Robert hurried her across the road, back toward the center of the Common. From within the park came the sound of “Away in a Manger,” clearly audible above the noise of the traffic, the rattling of the T, and the drone of the massed people. “So, Christmas carols?”

  She shook her head. “The choir is loud but not good, and the park is jammed. Let’s walk around and look at the art.”

  A huge, open-air art exhibition was taking place near Frog Pond. Dozens of artists were exhibiting their works, the younger artists standing nervously alongside their paintings, talking to everyone who stopped to look, the older, more experienced exhibitors sitting on chairs, allowing their art to speak for them.

  “Left or right?” Stephanie asked brightly.

  “Right,” Robert said, leading her to the right, away from the crowds.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he began.

  “So am I,” she said immediately. “I should have told you that our relationship had been discovered. But I knew you were under so much pressure; I simply didn’t want to add to it.”

  “It might have been better if you had. When Jimmy dropped it on me last night, I started to have a panic attack.”