The Perfect Life

by Valerie Keogh

  There was a man standing beside the lock, leaning on one of the lock paddles. His back was to her, but she could tell from his slim-hipped broad-shouldered physique that it was the man she’d met the day before. Perhaps he lived on one of the narrowboats she had passed? Or perhaps he was a figment of her overactive imagination? An illusion conjured up by her paranoid, confused brain.

  She stood staring, shifting her weight from foot to foot. What had Amelia said? You should try something new, do something different. There would be no harm in going over and saying hello, would there? Then Molly was beside him, a tentative smile on her lips. ‘Hi.’

  It was a second before he turned as if he were lost in his own thoughts, a second that gave Molly time to admire the classic line of his jaw, and acknowledge the lust that had set her groin tingling and her heart pounding.

  When he turned, stunning turquoise eyes boring into hers, her first thought was that Amelia had been wrong, that colour eye did exist and the second that she had been equally wrong, she should never have stopped.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Aren’t canal locks fascinating?’ He moved around the paddle and stood at the edge of the lock chamber staring down.

  She stood uncertainly, watching as he leaned forward, then she took a few steps to stand beside him. The walls of the deep chamber were green with moss and slime, the water at the bottom dark and eerie. It wasn’t pleasant. She turned to him instead.

  ‘Some lock chambers have ladders in case people accidently fall in. This one,’ he said, ‘doesn’t.’

  Molly had no interest in the lock; she was mesmerised by the man, by his chiselled cheekbones and sculpted lips, his low husky voice as he spoke about the workings of the lock. She remembered an expression Freya had used about some movie star – sex on legs – it was a description that suited him perfectly. When his hand reached for her, sliding around her waist, she decided Amelia was right, she was going to grab the moment and to hell with the consequences.

  She felt the heat of his hand through the thin material of her T-shirt and leaned towards him, chin raised, her lips parting in invitation… waiting for his response… and in that second of waiting, she knew she’d got it wrong… he reared back, mouth thinning in distaste, eyes narrowing in disgust. She’d got it all wrong… he’d not been reaching for her, he’d been putting a hand out to prevent her falling in… to prevent a woman old enough to be his mother from making a stupid step and falling into the damn chamber.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to stop the pathetic stupid woman from making an absolute fool of herself.

  With a cry of anguish, she pulled away. His hand had tightened on her T-shirt, she could feel the material stretch as he tried to stop her and she wrenched it away, then ran as she didn’t think she’d ever run before, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew on the heat of mortification. She heard him call out, then the heavy sound of his feet crunching on the path as he chased after her, but he was no match for her speed and within a minute, she had left him behind.

  Back in the hotel, she went straight to her room, grabbed her clothes from the wardrobe and bureau, changed quickly and jammed everything into her bags. Humiliation stung with almost unbearable pain and all she wanted to do was leave, to go home, hide away to lick her wounds.

  At reception, she left a note for Amelia, explaining that something had come up that required her to leave early. Her brain was too fraught to come up with a reasonable explanation, she’d think of one before speaking to her next. She settled her bill and headed out to the car park.

  Pines from an overhanging spruce tree decorated her windscreen. She brushed them off, wiping her hand carelessly on the leg of her trousers and sat into the car, throwing her bags into the footwell of the passenger seat. There had been no early morning text from Jack, he was probably still fast asleep. She took out her mobile to tell him that she was on her way, then changed her mind, she’d be home before he woke.

  She turned the radio on, scrolling through stations to find music then increasing the volume so that the sound filled the car and her head, leaving no room for recriminations, for scalding guilt and searing gut-wrenching humiliation.

  Despite bank holiday Monday traffic, she made good time. The music helped to drown the demons and, by the time she pulled up near her house, she was calmer and suitably embarrassed at her behaviour. It would have made a good story to share at parties if it had only happened to someone else. Now all she wanted was to forget about it.

  The downside to their beautiful London home, the only one, was that there was no parking. Today the gods were smiling down on her, perhaps in sympathy, and she found a space a minute’s walk away. She picked up her bags and headed for home. Home, she thought, pushing open the door and feeling instantly relaxed.

  A sudden piercing beep beep beep told her the alarm was set. She dropped her bags and hurried to key in the code to switch it off. Maybe her plan to surprise Jack hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He’d probably woken early, gone out for the newspaper and taken it somewhere to read over breakfast.

  Heading upstairs, she pushed open the door to their bedroom, planning to drop her bags and ring him, her eyes widening when she saw the bed. Jack was being unusually tidy. Normally, if he did anything, it would be to pull the duvet up but today the pillows were plumped, the bedspread in place and tucked under them, the way she liked it.

  Leaving the bags on the floor, she walked over and ran a hand over the bed, her forehead creasing in a frown. So neat; just the way she’d left it before she went away on Saturday. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he hadn’t slept in it at all.

  But that was ridiculous.

  Wasn’t it?

  9

  Molly had unpacked, thrown a wash on, and was sitting with a mug of tea before she heard the front door open and Jack’s irritating off-tune whistle.

  Her eyes were glued to the kitchen door. She hadn’t bothered to ring him, so he wasn’t expecting to see her. He wouldn’t notice that the alarm was already off, he’d assume he’d forgotten to set it, as he often did. She was shocked when the door opened and he stood staring at her with his mouth slightly open… he looked terrible. She’d not noticed before but absence, no matter how short, highlights change; she’d thought he’d lost weight recently but now she could see it, his face was full of angles and planes that were new. There was a greyish tinge to his skin, and dark circles rimmed his eyes

  ‘Molly,’ he said, faltering in the doorway.

  She attempted a laugh that fell flat. ‘Don’t sound so surprised, I’m only a couple of hours early.’

  ‘It’s great… great… just unexpected, you should have phoned to let me know,’ he said, stumbling over his words. ‘That’s great,’ he said again, his smile looking as false as the heartiness in his voice. He dropped the holdall he carried and closed the distance in two swift steps, dragging her into a hug, burying his nose in her hair.

  She could feel his breath damp on her neck and the slight tremble that ran through him. Pulling back abruptly, she looked at him. She saw confusion sweep across his face and… was that a trace of fear?

  ‘What’s wrong, Jack?’ she asked, reaching a hand up to his cheek and holding it there.

  He shook his head. ‘Not a thing,’ he said, putting his hand over hers, ‘although I might have overdone it at the gym.’ He patted his stomach. ‘I’ve lost a bit of weight recently and thought I’d better tone up. Haven’t been in ages.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, wishing she believed him.

  ‘Yes’ – he patted his stomach again – ‘I swear I feel more toned already. A good workout, you can’t beat it.’

  She sat and picked up her tea. ‘It’s still hot if you want some.’

  Nodding, he reached into a cupboard for a mug. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, lifting the teapot. ‘You look pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, with a reassuring smile. ‘Amelia wasn’t as much fun to go away for a weekend with as I
’d expected, so I made an excuse to leave early.’

  ‘Really? I thought you said you were having a great time.’

  ‘It was okay.’ It would have been nice to share her humiliation, to have him laugh over it. But of course, she couldn’t – couldn’t tell him about her moment of weakness where she had lusted after a young man so much that she would have followed him into the fields and revelled in him like an escapee from a Thomas Hardy novel. ‘But I’m glad to be home and looking forward to having lunch with you.’ She caught Jack’s puzzled look. ‘You did remember to book a table for lunch, didn’t you? Remember, we discussed trying that new Lebanese restaurant.’

  Jack shook his head as he poured tea and added milk. ‘It went out of my head. I’ll give them a buzz, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’ The tea was too hot, he slurped it noisily. ‘You’ve already unpacked?’ Putting his mug down, he went to the cupboard for biscuits, rummaging through a selection of packets before deciding on one. He took it out and struggled to open it. ‘Damn things,’ he muttered and tore the top with his teeth.

  Taking his seat, he shook out a handful of biscuits and slid the rest over to her.

  Shifty. It was the only word Molly could use to describe the way he was looking at her. ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘I’ve been home about an hour.’

  ‘Did you see?’ he said, taking a sip of his tea.

  She blinked in confusion. ‘See what?’

  His mug went down with a clatter and he threw his hands up in the air. ‘What? The bed I made so perfectly. Weren’t you surprised?’

  He’d made the damn bed. He hadn’t put on the laundry or emptied the dishwasher. But she knew the easiest course was to give him the praise he was seeking. ‘I was pleasantly surprised.’ She didn’t mention that it looked as if it hadn’t been slept in. She still wasn’t convinced it had.

  ‘I knew you were unhappy about losing Rebecca, I thought I’d show you that I could help out more.’

  ‘Great,’ she said, trying to sound enthusiastic, knowing by the tightening of his mouth that she hadn’t succeeded.

  He drained his mug, left it on the table and went into the study to check emails before they headed out to lunch. With a sigh, Molly picked the mug up and put it into the dishwasher with her own. There was a beep as the washing machine finished the cycle. She went into the small utility room, opened it and transferred the clothes to the tumble dryer.

  With the idea of putting Jack’s gym clothes in for a wash, she went back to the kitchen. But he’d taken the bag with him. So much for being helpful. She scowled; she wasn’t going to go looking for it.

  Despite Jack’s assurances, the Lebanese restaurant didn’t have a table free for lunch. Instead, they went to an Italian that, although excellent, was too traditional, conservative even, for the Instagram-obsessed customers who frequented the restaurants in their area. No flowers, no fantasies, just food.

  ‘So, tell me about the weekend,’ Jack asked her. ‘Amelia wasn’t much fun, you said.’

  ‘I was mostly on my own, Amelia vanished somewhere. I think she was having a fling with one of the waiters.’

  One of Jack’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. ‘Seriously?’

  Gossip, it was never kind. She laughed. ‘Of course not, I was kidding. Amelia likes her own space, that’s all. She wasn’t expecting to have to babysit me, she thought you were coming, remember?’

  Jack, in the middle of lifting his pasta-laden fork, stopped and stared at her. ‘So, you’re blaming me for the weekend not being up to your standards?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m trying to explain why it was a bit of a washout.’ She put her fork down, her appetite suddenly gone as she thought about the weekend.

  ‘You and Amelia have been friends forever, but you’ve hardly spent any time with her in the last ten years. People change, Mol.’

  What about in a year? She wanted to ask him what had changed between them, because something had. It was easy to blame work or to imagine he was cheating on her with Amelia or any number of women. Too easy perhaps. The dim light of the restaurant emphasised the shadows and shades on his face.

  Was the distance that had grown between them her fault? She’d been so caught up in Remi and Freya’s departure, the organising and arrangements, invoices that needed to be paid. All of it had fallen on her shoulders. She hadn’t minded but maybe he had. Maybe, not only did he miss the children but also resented her total immersion in them and felt left out.

  The grip on her fork tightened. So maybe he had looked elsewhere for attention. Maybe he’d been tempted to cheat on her, the same way she’d been tempted to cheat on him – only with more success. Was that why he’d looked so shifty and spun her that crazy story about making the bed? She was convinced it hadn’t been slept in, so where had he spent the nights? She dropped her fork and pushed the plate away.

  ‘You’ve hardly touched it,’ he said in surprise, reaching over with his fork and jabbing it into a piece of her chicken.

  ‘I ate a lot over the weekend,’ she said, pushing the plate closer to him. ‘The food in the hotel was excellent.’

  After lunch, they walked the short distance to St Luke’s Gardens. This late, the flower borders held little interest, but it was still a pleasant, quiet place for a stroll. Molly was conscious of the silent man at her side, of the need to make conversation that before would have flowed. Since when had they struggled for words to fill the gaps… since when had there been gaps?

  A sideways glance told her he was lost in thought, a set look to his profile. She slid her hand into his and saw his quick look of surprise – she’d never been the hand-holding type. But she could change; now that the children were settled, she could concentrate on him. If there was one lesson she’d learned from the calamitous weekend, it was how easy it was to be led astray. If Jack were having an affair, she’d fight for him.

  ‘Let’s go away for a weekend,’ she said, squeezing his hand tightly. ‘Maybe to Venice for a few days. What do you think?’

  He pulled his hand away and bent to retie his shoelaces. They didn’t look to Molly as if they needed to be retied and when he stood, and they’d resumed their walk, she noticed he didn’t reach out to take her hand. On the contrary, he moved slightly further away as if to prevent her doing so.

  She felt a weight in her chest. They were in more trouble than she’d thought.

  He hadn’t answered her question.

  ‘Well?’ she said, trying to keep her voice light.

  She saw him turn toward her, a puzzled lift to his eyebrows. ‘Well, what?’

  ‘About my idea of a weekend away,’ she said, unable to prevent the trace of exasperation.

  ‘Oh, that? Maybe in a few months, I’m way too busy to take time off work now.’

  There it was, work again. Maybe it was at the root of it all. There was no point in asking him; if there was a problem at work, he’d not talk about it. He became stupidly macho about things like that. To her, it was simple, if there was a problem, he needed to sort it out… sort it out or leave. He was an experienced finance investment manager; he’d easily find something else. And if he didn’t, they’d cleared the mortgage on the house a few years ago, they’d easily manage for a while on her salary. But she knew his stubborn pride wouldn’t accept that situation.

  She needed to find out what was going on. Her friend, Petra, knew someone who worked in a different department in the same company. She’d get her to do a bit of digging.

  After a leisurely walk around St Luke’s, Jack wanted to go for a drink. She’d have preferred to go home, chill in front of the TV and have a glass of wine. Instead, she forced her lips into a smile and nodded enthusiastically. ‘Good idea,’ she said, wondering at how easily lies came these days.

  O’Dea’s was a popular pub, and always busy. If she’d hoped Jack might open up over a pint or two, her hopes were dashed when they were greeted by an acquaintance of his, a man she’d met a few times and found amusing when sober a
nd a bore when drunk.

  Luckily, this time he was sober. ‘Jack, Molly,’ he greeted them, drawing them into the group he was with, making introductions, names fired around, forgotten as soon as heard.

  Molly smiled at everyone, accepted the drink bought for her and perched on a stool. She’d stay for one, then make her excuses. She saw the signs; these men were there for the long haul.

  Apart from the occasional nod and smile, she wasn’t called to contribute to the conversation and was able to concentrate on her own thoughts. When she got home, she’d ring Petra.

  It was time to take the first step and find out what was going on.

  10

  Molly made her excuses after one drink, noticing that Jack, on his second pint, looked settled for the evening.

  ‘Don’t be too late,’ she said into his ear before she left.

  ‘I won’t be, I’ll have one more and follow you.’

  It seemed she wasn’t the only one to whom lies came easily these days. With a casual wave to the rest, she headed out onto the street, the light already fading, the darkening clouds promising rain before long. It made her quicken her pace and she was home as thunder rolled and the first crack of lightning shot across the sky.

  Inside, she hung her coat over the banisters, kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot to the living room as she scrolled through her list of contacts for Petra’s number. Molly flopped onto the sofa as she waited for the phone to ring, hoping her friend would be at home.

  She was in luck; it was answered almost immediately. They chatted regularly so it wasn’t unusual for her to ring, and her friend greeted her with her customary cheerful, ‘Hiya Molly.’