by Hilary Boyd
‘Hey, Mum, glad I caught you.’ Caitlin’s voice sounded cheery.
Connie was waiting in the lobby for everyone to assemble and be told the plans for the day when she took the call.
‘I haven’t heard a peep out of you,’ her daughter was saying. ‘I wondered if you’d been swallowed up by a salt mine or something. They have a famous one in Poland, don’t they? I’ve read about it somewhere.’
Connie smiled. ‘They do indeed. But for some reason they crossed the salt mines off the itinerary this year. Could a salt mine need renovating?’ The sound of Caitlin’s laughter was so welcome … and so uncomfortable.
‘So where are you now?’
‘Warsaw. Such a beautiful city. Did you know that they rebuilt a lot of the old structures after the war to precisely what they looked like before Hitler flattened the place?’ She went into tour-guide mode, to fend off the truth of what she’d been doing in Poland. ‘You’d never know the old town wasn’t exactly that, to look at it.’
‘Wow, hope I’ll get there one day … when Bash is a bit less challenging on the travel front, perhaps. What’s been going on, then, Mum? Any passengers getting up your nose?’
Connie cleared her throat. She had a persistent frog, as if her sins were choking her. ‘Not so far … I’ll tell you about Auschwitz when I see you. I want to hear about Bash.’ She changed the subject and for the next ten minutes her daughter filled her in on the minutiae of her grandson’s life. Caitlin’s words soothed her, her pulse dropping for the first time in twenty-four hours. Listening, she was reminded of the normal round of her life, where she was a mum and a grandmother, a wife and a member of a solid, supportive community, all of whom she loved. Another universe to the one she inhabited with Jared. I’ll tell him, she promised herself, as she ended the call to Caitlin. If he turns up tonight, I’ll tell him he can’t come in. But her promise rang false, even to her own ears.
Unlike before, in the G-plan hotel in Kraków, she made no attempt to resist, aware of nothing except his hand sliding softly up under her T-shirt and finding her naked breasts.
And also unlike before, this time Jared made love to her so slowly. He would not let her come. He teased her, tormented her, brought her close, then withdrew until she begged him. She thought she would literally die from pleasure. He was always in control and she found, to her surprise, that she liked it, enjoyed the agonizing way he was playing with her senses, caressing her body so that all her nerve endings were on fire. In the end she was gasping, half-conscious, the rippling surge through her body like nothing she had ever experienced before.
Afterwards he lay beside her in the darkness. The air in the room seemed to swirl and vibrate with their lovemaking. Her body tingled all over, her skin glowing from his touch. She closed her eyes, a wash of pleasure floating, like a fragrance, around her head. She felt his hand reach for hers and held it lazily, too dazed to move.
Jared had appeared out of nowhere, as always. Connie had spent the afternoon strolling past the colourful buildings and famous churches along the impressive Royal Way – sometimes referred to as ‘the Champs-Élysées of Poland’. She was with some of the group, poking into small shops and stopping for coffee and delicious pastries. It was hot again, the June sun a welcome relief from the previous two days of rain.
She had come out of a trinket shop, Audrey from Wisconsin hanging on her arm and bending her ear about her grandson’s extensive collection of snow-globes. Sitting at an outside table in the café next door, sipping iced tea from a tall glass, Ray-Bans and hair glinting in the sun, was Jared. He looked up as Connie and Audrey passed, raising his eyebrows just a touch in greeting. Connie jolted, held her breath, but was unable to stop a small smile in return. Audrey waffled on, oblivious. Tonight, she’d thought, her heart banging like a gong she thought the whole of the boulevard must hear.
For the rest of the day, Connie had fretted: she knew they would make love again – just the thought of it made her stomach flip, her heartbeat thump out of rhythm. But without the blind, almost furtive haste of that Kraków night and the cover of the duvet, she was suddenly conscious of her age, her breasts, her belly, the not-so-firm skin of a woman over sixty. Jared was still young – younger than her by ten years, anyway. Dressed, she passed muster, perhaps, but it was a whole different thing to strip off in front of a man she barely knew. In her mind’s eye she ran through her underwear: bog-standard M&S, nothing frilly or even remotely enticing enough. How could he possibly still want her, her body revealed in all its nakedness?
But, in the end, nothing mattered. He had walked through the door – having texted first from the lobby this time – and that had been that. She forgot about her shortcomings. There was no self-consciousness between them, only desire.
Now she heard him turn and rolled to face him. His fingers brushed a strand of hair back, tucking it behind her ear. She took his hand and cupped it to her cheek. Then she said softly, ‘You made me laugh today, sitting like a spy at that café table, with your shades and your newspaper.’
‘It was in Polish,’ he said, chuckling. ‘I couldn’t read a word.’
They fell silent.
‘We’re leaving tomorrow … Well, it’s today now.’ Her words sounded loud in the quiet room. They went unanswered: Jared was asleep.
Connie watched through half-open lids as Jared hauled his naked body from the bed. He was tanned and lean, the muscles of his back well defined. She had no recollection of falling asleep, but she must have done, because the summer light was poking through the blinds at the hotel window. The last thing she remembered was the feel of his breath, soft on her cheek.
He did not speak or look at her as he pulled on his jeans and buttoned his blue shirt, brushing his long hair back from his face with both hands as he padded to the bathroom. She heard him splashing in the sink but lay there, her body still tender and sensitive, in a blur of remembered pleasure.
12
Connie realized with a shock, as the Eurostar slid out of the tunnel on the English side, that she had barely thought about Devan in the days she’d been away. Now she felt the first stirrings of panic at the prospect of seeing her husband. He was the last person on the planet she felt able to face. He knew her like the back of his hand. Surely, surely, this time he must read something in her eyes.
Because she had changed. From being an unthinkingly faithful wife, she had morphed into a person who would willingly open her body to another man, lie naked with him, press her mouth to his in lust, and dream of him during her waking moments. Not just once, either. How could that not show in her eyes, in the way she spoke and breathed, even in the hue of her skin? She cringed at the thought.
Her next tour was in two weeks – five nights in the Scottish Highlands. Between now and then she needed somehow to remove herself firmly from Jared’s orbit and slot back into real life. Although her mind still burned with the possibility of seeing him again. Will he come to Scotland? It didn’t seem to matter to her brain that she despised herself for these perfidious thoughts. It ran on regardless, almost minute by minute, replaying those moments with Jared until she knew every one by heart.
The house was silent when Connie got home around three: no dog, no husband. Devan hadn’t answered her call about picking her up from the station – she’d had to take a taxi – or any of her subsequent texts asking where he was. She wasn’t even sure she’d told him when she was getting back, their communication having ground almost to a halt. Not that she minded his absence. It just put off the evil moment, gave her time to unpack and settle in, wash off the journey – and, hopefully, Jared – before she had to face him.
When she finally heard the front door open early in the evening, and the scuffing of Riley’s paws on the wood floor, she was showered and as composed as was possible in the circumstances. She steeled herself for the blank indifference that seemed currently to be Devan’s default position, her body tense as she put aside the local paper – merely a prop, her thoughts had been d
rifting elsewhere all afternoon – and took a sip from the mug of mint tea, long since gone cold.
Devan’s face appeared round the kitchen door. Even with all that had happened, Connie felt a momentary pleasure at the familiarity of his handsome face. But his expression as he said a soft ‘Hi,’ was hard to read. She eyed him cautiously as he came into the room and took a seat opposite her.
‘Sorry I missed the pick-up. Only just got your messages,’ he said.
Connie bent to greet Riley, burying her face in his furry brown neck and fighting off his eager tongue with a laugh. It gave her a moment to catch her breath. ‘Didn’t matter, I got a taxi OK.’
When she straightened up, Devan was gazing at her. ‘Can we talk?’ he said.
It was a strange question for a husband to ask a wife, and Connie felt a frisson of alarm. Is he going to say he doesn’t love me any more? Her heart was pounding. He seemed so serious, his hands on the table fiddling nervously as he rubbed hard at a spot on his index finger. She waited. He didn’t speak for what seemed a long time. She could almost see the words bunching on his tongue.
‘I know things have been shit between us for a while now,’ Devan began eventually, ‘and that’s partly my fault.’ He twitched his eyebrows in an apologetic half-smile.
Surprised by his opener and still nervous, Connie dithered in her response, wondering where this was leading. He was talking again.
‘It’s been weird … not sure how to explain … but I had a serious crisis after you left this time, Connie. I was so low, lower than I can remember being my whole life.’ His head, previously bowed, lifted, his eyes finding hers. He hesitated before going on. ‘I feel like we’ve been locked in separate rooms recently. Like I’ve lost you … and all sense of myself too.’ He took a long breath. Connie did not interrupt: she was too moved by his words, and the obvious bewilderment in his eyes. ‘It was bad. I barely got out of bed. I wasn’t even drinking, just lying there, doing nothing … crying a lot.’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘Pathetic, I know.’
‘Devan …’
He held up his hand to stop her. ‘Please, let me finish. It’s been going round and round in my head, all this, and I want to get it out.’
This made her smile. Her husband wasn’t comfortable with confessional mode. ‘I’ve tried to analyse what happened to me when I stopped working.’ He paused. ‘It’s hard to articulate … but it was like being trapped in myself. I couldn’t see or feel or care about anyone or anything around me. On one level I knew I was pissing you off, I knew I was letting myself go, but it was all happening at a remove … It didn’t really touch me.’
Connie nodded. She didn’t totally understand, but it made sense.
‘I know you were frustrated with me because you thought I was depressed and in denial about it. But I kept telling myself that none of what I’d been feeling fitted my professional view of depression.’ He gave a wry laugh. ‘Shows how crap we professionals are when it comes to self-diagnosis.’
Devan fell silent, even his hands now still, his head bowed again.
‘So … something changed?’ Connie asked cautiously.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly. It was like I’d reached the bottom. There was no feeling at all. I wasn’t even scared, lying in that no man’s land. Then I woke up one morning and realized I didn’t feel like crying. Which was progress in itself.’ He gave a short laugh, raised his hands in the air. ‘This probably all sounds loopy. Maybe not drinking for a week helped, who knows? I’ve been seriously knocking it back for a while, as you know.’
She nodded, waited for him to continue.
‘I even felt like getting out of bed. I was suddenly desperate to. Which may sound small, but it was huge for me.’
‘I wish you’d been able to let me in, Devan, not felt you had to go through it alone. It’s been really hard, seeing you so unhappy.’ Her words sounded uncomfortably false to herself, in light of how little thought she’d given her husband during the Polish tour. But she meant it. The months of watching him suffering like that had been agonizing. Now, remembering Jared, guilt hit her, like a smack in the face.
‘Yeah, well, we haven’t been exactly on the same page recently.’
Connie nodded in agreement. She was trying to take in what her husband was saying. After battling for so long, Devan’s sudden moment of epiphany was bewildering. Like leaning on a heavy door until suddenly it gives way and you fall flat on your face.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘in the last few days I’ve slowly begun to appreciate things again … like sunshine … bacon.’ He frowned, adding, ‘You know you’ve got a lot of fans out there, Connie.’
She gave him a questioning look, puzzled by the non-sequitur.
‘Jill, Gloria, Stacy, Neil … They’ve seen what’s been going on between us.’
‘You’ve been talking to them about our marriage?’ Connie was taken aback. She’d left for Poland with a husband who was hardly speaking to her and returned to find a man who was smelling the bacon and baring his soul, not just to his best friend but to everyone they knew.
‘Why not? They’re our friends, Con.’ He paused. ‘They’re rooting for us.’
Connie fidgeted uneasily. She didn’t deserve her friends’ support of her or the McCabe marriage. Not any more. When she looked at Devan again, his face was lit up with his old smile, not the jaded, tacked-on version of recent months, which faded almost before it had begun. It was tentative, as if he were unsure whether he was allowed to charm her like this. But it was there.
He got up and came round the table, hovering beside her. She rose. For a moment they stood in silence, as if they – who had been married for over thirty years – had forgotten how to hug each other. Then Devan opened his arms. Connie breathed out, feeling tears press behind her eyes as she leaned against him and felt overwhelming guilt, love and relief fight for pole position inside her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ Devan said, into her hair. ‘I’m so sorry things got so out of hand between us, Connie.’
She looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, then laid her head back on his chest with a long sigh. Although he has no idea what else I’m sorry for, she thought.
Devan let her go and she sat down, so weary suddenly, the air going out of her, like a deflating balloon. She was exhausted from everything that had happened on the Polish trip: the nightmare of Auschwitz, the sleepless nights with Jared, her overriding guilt and conflicted thoughts. Now she was also bemused.
Devan went to the side and picked up a bottle of Rioja, waving it at her with a question in his eyes. She smiled, nodded, and he brought two glasses from the cupboard, set them on the table and poured a little into each. He sat down opposite her and held his glass aloft. ‘To us?’ he asked hesitantly.
Connie chinked her glass against his. ‘To us.’
Is this real? She didn’t want to question his volte-face and jeopardize this precious moment between them, but after months and months of negativity, she felt she didn’t recognize this version of her husband.
‘You don’t look too thrilled, Con,’ Devan was saying. He sounded puzzled, bordering on hurt.
Connie dragged herself from her thoughts with effort. ‘No, I am. I’m really pleased for you, of course I am. And for us … It’s just all quite sudden …’
Devan did not immediately reply, and Connie tensed. But when he did speak, his voice was gentle. ‘For me, too. I still feel a bit raw. But hopeful, at last.’ He sat up straighter, seemed suddenly determined. ‘Listen, about the dreaded R word. Let’s just leave things as they are, see what happens.’ He put his hand over hers. ‘I know how much you love your job and there’s no way I’m going to browbeat you, Con. The last thing I need is a resentful wife!’ The final sentence was accompanied by a broad grin.
She laughed. She knew she should feel vindicated, relieved, grateful that the logjam of hostility had finally been freed. But it wasn’t that simple. There was her gross betray
al … There was Jared.
‘Where did you go this afternoon?’ Connie asked Devan. It was dusk and a beautiful evening as they strolled through the village with Riley, the horizon beyond the houses shot with a luminous raspberry gold that made her gaze in awe. Devan took her hand as they walked, but she didn’t feel entirely comfortable.
She’d been increasingly on edge since Devan’s announcement. She knew more than ever that she must forget Jared now.
Carrying on an affair during a serious rift in her marriage was bad enough, but might be considered understandable by some. Now that he’d started to re-engage with her, though, it was unthinkable. This is what I’ve longed for, isn’t it? she chided herself. To see the love in Devan’s eyes again. And it was. But it was hard instantly to push Jared from her mind, or the confusion of the previous year, just because Devan was so unexpectedly onside again.
Now Devan said, ‘Oh, out and about. I took Riley for a walk, then I dropped in on Bill for a cuppa and a chat. He’s after a nineteen-seventies Alfa now.’ She glanced at him as he spoke, detecting something oddly shifty in his tone. But he was staring at the sunset. He turned back and smiled, and she decided she’d imagined it. ‘With all that’s been going on in my head, I’d forgotten you were coming in today.’
They walked on, the air cooling as the sky faded to navy. Connie shivered and pulled her cardigan round her body.
‘Tell me about Poland,’ Devan said. ‘I want to hear all about Auschwitz and Kraków.’
It’s been an age since he’s shown any interest in my tours, she thought. But although he was finally making an effort she found she couldn’t enjoy it as much as she wished to.
When they got home, Connie wanted to delay going up to bed for as long as possible. She’d seen the eager light in Devan’s eye since supper, the way he gazed at her across the table, and took it to mean he might want to make love to her later. The thought made her panic. Jared’s erotic teasing had brought her to heights of pleasure she had never experienced with Devan. Will he know? She was hot with shame.