by Hilary Boyd
This was the evening of day four, however, and there had been no sign of Jared. Each night she’d gone to her hotel room and paced the patterned carpet in sickening anticipation. But he did not come.
It’s good he’s not coming. It saves me having to end it, Connie told herself firmly. She knew she should feel relieved. But instead she felt desperate, finally admitting to herself as she lay on the wide expanse of pristine hotel sheet, pillow clutched to her body for comfort, just how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him. I would have told him it’s over – that wasn’t in question. But her resolution didn’t stop her guiltily wanting to be with him. One last time.
The day had been long and wearisome. They’d done the Strathspey Steam Railway in the morning, taking in what should have been spectacular views of the Cairngorms and the River Spey – if anyone could see through the steamed-up carriage windows and the driving rain, the mist obscuring anything more than three feet from the tracks.
Her party had been stalwart and philosophical at first, but the site of the battle of Culloden – where hundreds of rebelling Jacobites had been mown down in an hour by ‘Butcher’ Cumberland and his English forces in 1746 – reduced them to dull silence. It was a spooky, haunted place, even on a sunny day, but in the sodden murk of late afternoon it was almost as if you could smell the blood and cordite, still hear the dying screams of the slaughtered Scots. They had all returned to the hotel – and a nice hot bath, a stiff drink and a good slab of Scottish venison – with patent relief.
That night, Connie had fallen into a fitful doze when she was startled awake by her phone beeping and vibrating on the glass of the bedside cabinet, the screen illuminating the darkened room like a searchlight. She picked it up, thinking it would be Devan – he’d been messaging her a lot since she left, with pictures of his bacon sandwich, or Riley, or what was supposed to be a squirrel but was just a blur – making her laugh. I’m outside the text read.
Jared’s name on the screen jerked her fully awake. For a moment she just stared at the display, her breath fluttering in her chest. She could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door. Hesitating, for a moment she pretended there was a decision to be made: ignore him or open the door. But her body had already decided, carrying her out of bed and quickly across the room to catch him before he walked away.
Jared was soaked, his hair plastered to his head, face glistening, jacket sopping wet. But he was grinning confidently as he stood on the threshold of her room. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘I’d forgotten how bloody wet Scotland can be.’
Connie stood her ground, although she trembled at his presence, so close. ‘Listen, Jared, I’m sorry, but you can’t come in,’ she began, sounding unnaturally sensible and businesslike – reminiscent, in fact, of Mrs Barnes, her primary-school head. ‘The tour finishes tomorrow. Maybe we could talk after I’ve seen them all off.’
Jared was clearly surprised. ‘Oh … right … if that’s what you want.’ He continued to stand there, however, looking bedraggled but determined, not moving a muscle. She saw him shiver slightly. ‘It’s just … I’m really wet and I didn’t book a room. My stuff’s in the car.’
Connie still managed not to crack. There was a strange impasse as they stared at each other in silence.
‘Could I just borrow a towel and dry myself a bit?’
She clung weakly to her resolve, but it was as if the last remnants were clattering fast down the hill, like shale loosened by a hiker’s boot. After another moment of agonizing hesitation, she moved back, waved him into the room and shut the door.
Jared regarded her in silence. Then, with a slight raise of his eyebrow – as if asking permission – he stripped off his jacket and hung it carefully on the back of the hotel chair. Connie, heart now thumping nineteen to the dozen, went through to the small en-suite to get him a towel.
He took it and thanked her as he vigorously rubbed his face and hair. When his skin was pink from the friction, his hair wild and still damp but at least not dripping, he handed back the towel. Connie did not speak. She didn’t dare.
He began to put his sopping jacket back on, not looking at her as he spoke. ‘I drove from Glasgow because I love that road. But the bloody hire car got a flat the other side of the bridge. So, I walked, thinking the hotel was closer than it was.’ His turquoise eyes settled on her now, taking in her T-shirt, her tousled hair, her bare legs. ‘I’m sorry, did I wake you?’
She thought of the car, another long, wet walk away. But she knew, even if the car had been parked right outside the hotel’s front door, even if he had a cosy room lined up along the corridor, it wouldn’t have made any difference to her decision. All of her intentions deserted her the instant she allowed herself to meet his gaze. Like a magnet to metal, she found her body pressed tight against his, felt his lips meet hers, his hands caressing her skin through the thin cotton of her T-shirt.
Maybe because Jared sensed, from Connie’s reluctance to let him in, that he was on borrowed time – and because she definitely knew they were – their lovemaking felt even more charged. Slow and exquisitely lingering, his fingers found places on Connie’s body she didn’t even know she had, enticing her to the peak of arousal – time and time again – until she was a tangled mass of feeling, no longer solid flesh.
It took her a long time to come down afterwards. The room felt hot and confining, her skin too sensitive to touch. She wanted air, but the hotel window wouldn’t open more than an inch. She flopped back onto the bed in the semi-darkness, the only light falling in a weak glow from the bathroom. Jared was lying on his side watching her. He reached out his hand, placing it against her bare thigh.
‘Mmm,’ he said, smiling.
Connie closed her eyes. In that moment, she didn’t care about anything. She couldn’t think of herself as a bad person, or an unfaithful wife, a coward and a liar. She was just sensation.
‘It’s late,’ she heard him say, ‘or early … There’s light outside,’ he added.
She didn’t want him to leave but, turning her head, she saw the glow of the digital clock saying 05:17. She groaned. ‘Thank goodness they’re going home today. I just have to hold it together until I’ve seen them off.’
His fingers were stroking her thigh in soft, circular movements. ‘Then what?’
‘I’m on the sleeper. Leaves at seven tonight.’
‘Well …’ Jared said, rolling over until he was lying on top of her, a strand of hair flopping on her cheek as he bent to kiss her ‘… that sounds suspiciously like an opportunity to me.’
The last of Connie’s passengers were on their way by lunchtime and her case was with Reception. She felt dehydrated and lightheaded, almost wobbly on her feet after the previous night with virtually no sleep. She longed to lie flat somewhere and close her eyes. But the room was no longer hers, and Jared – who had kept himself out of the way during breakfast – was now sitting in an armchair beside the large picture window in the foyer, quietly waiting for her.
He stood as she approached, a mischievous smile on his face. But Connie’s mind was in turmoil. I have to tell him. Her hand was clutched around her mobile, on which a lovely text from Devan had just arrived: Can’t wait to see you, Con. Have a good journey home. Love you xxx it said, making her tired body twitch with self-reproach.
She sank down into the armchair opposite, pushing thoughts of her husband from her mind.
‘Walk?’ Jared asked. ‘It’s such a beautiful day.’
‘Not sure I can put one foot in front of the other,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘OK, well, there’s a nice bench about a hundred yards to the right, overlooking the river. Could you make it that far?’
‘I might.’ She found herself smiling back, almost enjoying her feebleness. As usual, her time with Jared felt separate, unreal. It was just the two of them. The outside world – including Devan – did not exist. But she knew what she had to do, and the bench, away from the inquisitive eyes and ears of the hotel staff, w
ould be a better place.
Getting up, Jared said, ‘Coffee on its way.’
He strode off, coming back with lattes in takeaway cups and warm sausage rolls, the grease already staining their brown-paper bag in patches. She had no idea how long he’d been gone: she’d just sat on in the cosy, squishy, forgiving armchair in a dream-like stupor.
Bright sunshine flashed off the river, making Connie wince and squint. But the warmth of the sun on her back and a few sips of coffee were reviving her. The river looked more benign today, clean and clear and grey-green as it flowed swiftly past to the Moray Firth, the red sandstone of the stately nineteenth-century castle on the hill glowing pale gold in the afternoon sun. It was very peaceful as they sat on the wooden bench and ate their sausage rolls in silence.
‘We’re like Mr and Mrs Dracula,’ Jared said, dusting off the flakes of pastry from his jacket and briskly rubbing his hands together to dislodge any remaining crumbs. ‘We normally come out at night. This sunshine could finish us off.’
Connie smiled, but she knew this was the moment. Turning to him and taking a deep breath, she said, ‘I can’t see you any more, Jared.’ The words plopped flat between them like stones in a pond, dull – and ultimately unconvincing.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You say that every time.’
‘I know, but I mean it this time.’
‘Why?’
‘What do you mean, “why”?’ She was almost snappish. Her head hurt and she didn’t want to be questioned. The frailty of her purpose would not stand scrutiny.
‘I mean, what’s different?’ He didn’t appear ruffled, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. ‘Nights like that don’t come around very often in a person’s life,’ he added, with a slight smile. ‘Not in mine, anyway.’
Connie gave an exasperated sigh. She hadn’t shared with him the problems she’d been having at home: that wouldn’t have been fair. But he must have guessed. Why else would she have been so vulnerable to his attentions? ‘It doesn’t matter why. I just absolutely can’t.’ She took a breath. ‘Not ever again.’
After a long moment he said quietly, ‘OK.’ Then shrugged, turning back to the river.
She stared at his profile. Did he understand what I just said? She tried again. ‘Devan and I were going through a bad patch …’ She found herself explaining, anyway.
Jared raised his hand. ‘I said it’s OK, Connie.’ When he turned his eyes on her, his expression was blank: there was no light in them now. She saw him swallow. ‘Your call.’
The effect on Connie of his immediate acquiescence was searing. Maybe she’d thought he would put up more of a fight. Not that it would have made any difference, of course. She groaned, tears filling her tired eyes. ‘I’m going to miss you.’ She immediately cursed herself for her weakness, but it was the truth.
Jared nodded. ‘So …’
She gazed at him. He had such a quiet face. Devan’s was so expressive by comparison, his emotions flitting boldly across his features for all to see. She had no idea what Jared was feeling. Had no idea about his life at all, which perhaps was what made it so easy for her to compartmentalize him in this bubble. Where will he go when he leaves me? Who will he be with? What will he do? She wanted to ask, but instead she said, ‘I can’t keep on lying to him. Or, more to the point, I don’t want to.’ Because it was as simple as that.
Jared seemed to be considering what she’d said. ‘We aren’t hurting him.’
‘Yes, we are. On some level.’
‘He hurt you, I think.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I love him,’ she said. What she said was true, but even she heard the equivocation in her voice. Which was not about her love for Devan, but about never seeing Jared again.
Jared, gazing off into the distance, picked up her hand and placed it between his two warm ones, resting it in his lap. She could feel his thumb stroking her palm. ‘It’s a different world you and I inhabit, Connie. It doesn’t touch Devan. I’ve never stopped you loving him.’
‘You don’t exactly help.’
He laughed, and she did too.
‘This isn’t easy for me … Please try to understand,’ she said, staring at his profile, her voice rising in her need to make herself clear. ‘I can’t make love to him when I’m remembering how it is between us … when I’m waiting to be beside you again. I can’t meet his eye across the breakfast table. I can’t say, I love you, when you’re filling my thoughts. I can’t do it any more, Jared. I just can’t.’ Her voice dropped for the last sentence, weariness washing over her. She slumped against the bench.
Jared rose, stood with his back to her, his hands in his jacket pockets. She held her breath. Getting up too, her eyes were fixed on his still frame. The sun was gone now, and a breeze blew sharp off the river. She shivered, battling the scratchy stupor from a sleepless night.
‘I should get going,’ he said. He did not turn to her and she felt a tiny pang of rejection she knew was unjustified.
Jared began to walk back to the hotel, Connie following in silence. What will he do about his hire car? When does his plane leave? It seemed easier to think about the practicalities, her tour-manager muscle automatically flexing, but she held her tongue.
He turned to her when they reached the hotel. ‘I hear you, Connie. I do.’
She felt the finality of his words, like stones in her gut. An involuntary flash of last night’s lovemaking made her catch her breath. One more kiss, she thought, but knew that was something she could not ask for … and would never have again.
‘Goodbye, Jared,’ she said.
Their eyes locked. She saw the turbulence in his and closed her own, feeling them both swirling upwards together, like leaves in the wind. When she opened her eyes, he had turned away and was walking slowly towards the bridge.
15
Normally the night train to Euston was a series of rattling, swaying, jolting patches of fitful dozing. Connie hadn’t expected anything more. But last night she’d passed out, still fully clothed, as soon as the train started to move, only waking when the steward rapped sharply on the door of her compartment, informing her they were an hour from Euston.
In her bleary state, London seemed painfully loud and frenetic as she manoeuvred her wheelie-case through the crowds to the Underground and Paddington for the journey home. She kept picturing Devan at the station, imagining that smile of his, the enthusiasm he would show at her return. Because she wanted to prepare herself, plant herself firmly on the path back to her marriage.
But her night with Jared intruded. It was like trying to master the breathing exercises in her yoga class. ‘Focus on the breath,’ Nadia would say. ‘Acknowledge your thoughts, then let them drift away, bring yourself back to the breath.’ How long will it be like this? she wondered, in despair.
Devan, however, appeared subdued in the days after she got back. He was loving and attentive, but the burst of enthusiasm he’d shown around their anniversary seemed to evaporate on her return. He kept looking at her as if he were trying to gauge something about her. Connie found it hard to meet his eye. She couldn’t allow him to see what lurked in the depths.
‘We should talk,’ Devan said, one evening. Supper was on the table, the doors to the garden closed against the teeming summer rain outside. It was hot in the kitchen, and Connie had drunk at least two glasses of white wine while she was cooking the chicken and vegetable stew.
Her husband was leaning on the back of one of the wooden chairs, although she had doled out his chicken into one of the Delft-patterned bowls she’d picked up in a charity shop, and pushed the dish of buttered peas towards him. With seeming reluctance, he pulled out the chair and sat down. But he didn’t begin to eat.
Frowning, she said, ‘What?’
He flicked his eyebrows up, his blue eyes clouding as they looked at her. ‘I sense you’re not onboard, Connie.’
It was fair comment. There was no point in denying it. She said nothing, glancing down at her food and help
ing herself automatically to some peas. The silence stretched, like claggy pizza dough, and she knew she had to answer him. But she also knew that whatever she said would be only a fraction of the truth. She hated herself for the deception.
Taking a deep breath, she began: ‘OK, well, you’re right. I’m not finding it easy.’ Devan’s face showed nothing, so she ploughed on. ‘I know you’ve been struggling for a while … and that’s nobody’s fault. But it’s been hard for me too, Devan. I tried to pass it off, knowing you were in a bad way, but still … I’m only human, and so many months of rejection felt pretty personal …’
He slowly shook his head. She didn’t know whether it was in denial of her words, or discomfort at what he’d put her through. But he said nothing, so she went on, trying to stop her tone escalating with the hurt she couldn’t help still feeling. ‘Then one day I come home and everything’s changed, literally overnight. You’re all loved up. Your backache has mysteriously vanished and you want me again. You organize a surprise party behind my back – something you’ve never, ever done before. Which is lovely, but it’s not fair to expect me to fall instantly into line as if the last two years never happened …’ She trailed off.
‘For God’s sake, Connie,’ Devan spoke quietly, but she could hear the weary frustration in his voice, ‘I was trying to be nice … You’re making me out to be some sort of monster.’
‘I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you how I’ve been feeling.’ Resentment almost made her add, ‘This isn’t all about you, Devan.’ But she held her tongue, hating how peevish she was sounding.
Devan took a mouthful of wine and set his glass carefully on the table, as if he were trying very hard to control himself. ‘OK. Well, obviously I’m really sorry it’s been so difficult for you,’ he said, the words sounding sincere, but the edge to his voice telling her something different. ‘But I think we have to share the responsibility, don’t you?’