I sat for a few minutes waiting for a reply and then, with an angry gasp, I stood and slipped the phone back into my pocket.
I paced up and down the track a few times, repeatedly checking my phone each time I reached the olive trees until, finally accepting that she wasn’t going to pick up or reply, I returned to the courtyard.
Heather, who had Sarah in her arms, climbed out of the pool immediately. She plopped Sarah down in the jacuzzi and circled the pool to join me.
‘So?’ she asked.
I shrugged and looked away.
‘Did you speak to her? You did, didn’t you?’
I shook my head ever so slightly and offered her the phone.
‘Um, the screen,’ she said, refusing to take it. ‘It’s locked. And my hands are wet.’
I unlocked my phone and swiped to the list of messages, before – telling her it was waterproof – I handed it back.
Ben appeared beside us, grasping the edge of the pool and looking up. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
Yes, your mother’s gone bat-shit crazy, I thought. ‘No, champ,’ I said. ‘Everything’s fine.’
I watched him swim to the far side.
‘But this is . . .’ Heather said quietly. ‘Why isn’t she coming back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you speak to her at all?’
‘No, I told you,’ I said, struggling to keep the anger from my voice. ‘This is all I got.’
‘God,’ Heather said, handing back the phone and turning towards the house. ‘I . . . Maybe I should phone Ant.’
I glanced at the screen again, as if to check that last message was still the same.
‘Yeah, maybe you should call him,’ I said, then, despite my best intentions, the next sentence slipped out. ‘Does this a lot, does he?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Heather asked, pausing and frowning back at me.
‘Does he make a habit of this? I mean, you don’t seem overly shocked,’ I said.
‘Christ,’ she said, and then she shook her head and continued on her way.
She returned a minute later, wearing a T-shirt and carrying her phone.
‘Well? Does he?’ I asked, as she approached. I was vaguely aware that my anger was misdirected, but I didn’t seem to be able to help it.
‘Does he what, Joe?’ she asked, pausing in front of me.
‘Does he make a habit of seducing other men’s wives?’ I said. ‘Because if he does, you maybe could have warned us before we invited you on our holiday.’
She glanced at the kids and then leaned in towards my ear. ‘Fuck you, Joe,’ she said quietly.
I sat with the kids until, about fifteen minutes later, she returned. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, as she passed by. ‘That was out of order.’
‘It was,’ she said. ‘But it’s fine. Come inside for a minute. We need to talk.’
I glanced at the pool and she said, ‘We can watch them from indoors. Come.’
I followed her into the house, where I found her holding on to the edge of the sink and looking out of the window. ‘Ant said the same thing,’ she said, without turning. ‘That they’re not coming back today.’
‘They’re not?’ I said, wondering if this existence of a ‘they’ meant something.
‘He says tomorrow,’ she continued, in a weird, lifeless voice. ‘He says he’ll come and we can talk tomorrow. But he doesn’t want to see you.’
I snorted bitterly.
‘I think he’s ashamed,’ Heather continued. ‘Or afraid. Maybe both.’
‘Right,’ I said, ‘because I’m so scary and everything.’
‘He says he thinks he should just fly home.’
‘Home? Really?’
Heather half turned in my direction before she spoke. ‘He thinks the atmosphere’s gonna be awful if he stays.’
‘No shit!’ I said. ‘Jesus, he’s one clever dude, isn’t he? He could maybe have thought of that before he . . .’ But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Instead, I just shook my head.
‘Anyway, we need to work out what to tell the kids,’ Heather said. ‘For today, I mean.’
I shrugged. My brain was refusing to even engage with the subject of what lies we needed to tell our children.
‘I said I’d walk up to the main road to talk to him. Tomorrow . . . when he comes . . .’
‘So I don’t hit him?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Do you think you might?’
I laughed sourly. ‘If he was smaller,’ I said, ‘then perhaps.’
‘Oh, Ant’s no fighter,’ Heather said. It almost sounded like she was egging me on. ‘I thought we could tell the kids they’ve gone to Marbella.’
‘Marbella? Why Marbella?’
‘Well, they know it’s a long drive. I thought we could say there’s a problem with the tickets and they’ve had to go back to Marbella to sort them out.’
‘D’you mean Malaga? Where we flew in to?’
‘Sorry, yes, Malaga.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Whatever.’
‘I don’t know what to think about this, really, Joe,’ she said, her voice beginning to wobble.
‘I know,’ I said quietly. I stepped forward and patted her hesitantly on the shoulder. ‘Me neither. A great fucking holiday this is turning out to be.’
‘It’s awful,’ Heather said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, everyone’s sorry,’ I said, a shudder of bitterness leaking out. ‘It’s just that sorry doesn’t fix anything, does it?’
‘But to answer your question,’ Heather said.
‘My question?’
‘About Ant.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to. I was just—’
‘The answer is maybe. Probably. Look, I’m not that sure, to be honest. I’ve had my suspicions, but it’s never been quite this . . . It’s never been as obvious as this, let’s say.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘And you two?’ Heather asked. ‘I mean . . . you’re . . .’
I frowned at her until she glanced my way. She licked her lips and swallowed. ‘I’m assuming you’re, you know . . . monogamous?’
‘In theory?’ I said. ‘Yeah, we are. We’re like totally, utterly monogamous, so make of that what you will.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘That’s what I thought.’
‘You know last night,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Were they actually, you know . . . doing it? Or were they just messing around?’
‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure,’ Heather said. ‘But I suspect . . . you know . . . that they were.’
We spent the morning alternating between misery time alone and lifeguard duty.
When it was Heather’s turn to watch the kids, I’d walk to the tree and check for messages, but there never were any, and on the two occasions I tried to phone, the call went straight to voicemail. Amy had almost certainly switched her phone off, and as she’d left her charger in the kitchen, it was possible she’d had to do so in order to save the battery.
Other than to negotiate who was watching the kids and a couple of muttered phrases about lunch, neither Heather nor I spoke that afternoon.
Sarah asked at one point where her daddy was, and so Heather had the honour of telling the Malaga lie to all three. When she’d finished explaining about the tickets, Ben glanced at me for reassurance, so I think he suspected that something was up. But he quickly seemed to forget about his mum, concentrating instead on the utter misery of not having a car to take us to the fish-pool.
In the evening, while we were eating, one of the French neighbours dropped by to invite us again for drinks, but a simple ‘Maybe another day’ seemed enough to send him packing. I don’t think either of us looked like we’d be much fun.
When I returned from reading the bedtime story, Heather had uncorked a bottle and served two massive glasses of wine.
‘I think I need to get quite drunk,’ she said flatly, handin
g me a glass and raising her own. ‘Otherwise I’m not going to sleep a wink.’
I raised my glass and tapped it against hers. ‘To the best holiday ever,’ I said sourly.
‘Indeed,’ she replied, before taking a gulp. ‘Do you think they’re together?’
‘Um?’ I said as I tasted the wine. It was a slightly rough local Spanish one, but it was chilled and fruity – it would do fine.
‘Ant and Amy,’ she said. ‘Do you think they’re, you know, together?’
‘Almost certainly,’ I said. Then, ‘Oh, you mean . . .’
Heather shrugged and squinted as if she was trying quite hard not to cry.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Really?’ she said. ‘That’s not why they’ve decided to stay wherever they are? It’s not so that they can—’
‘No,’ I said definitively. My brain didn’t even want to explore the possibility. ‘No, I think they’re just dying of embarrassment, and they’re too scared to face the music.’
‘Yes,’ Heather said, with an intensity that made me think she was trying to convince herself. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I think, too. Good.’
Heather left the house at a quarter to ten the next morning, trundling Ant’s suitcase behind her across the courtyard.
‘You’re taking him his suitcase?’ I asked, catching up with her just beyond the pool.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He asked for it. He’s been in the same clothes for two days.’
‘I’d make him come and get them himself,’ I said, ‘under the circumstances.’
Heather nodded. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I should.’
‘Don’t you think we need to have some kind of discussion – I mean, before Ant goes home? It kind of involves all of us.’
‘Yes,’ Heather said. ‘We probably should.’ And then she continued towards the track, dragging the case behind her.
‘Where’s Mummy going?’ Lucy asked, once she’d vanished from view.
‘She’s, um, taking some stuff up to the road,’ I said.
‘What stuff?’
‘Just rubbish. For the dustbins.’
‘In Daddy’s suitcase?’
I smiled weakly. ‘Sharp little cookie, aren’t you?’ I said. ‘So . . . the rubbish was too heavy for her to carry, and she put it in a suitcase because it has wheels.’
‘Why didn’t you take it for her if it’s heavy?’
‘Because I have to stay here to look after you.’
Lucy furrowed her brow as she considered all of this, and then smiled. ‘OK,’ she said brightly.
It was ten minutes before Amy popped up, lingering at the entrance to the courtyard. She stood there, beckoning discreetly for me to join her.
‘I can’t,’ I called out. ‘I have to watch these three.’
‘Mum!’ Ben shouted, leaping from the jacuzzi and running across to hug Amy’s legs. ‘Can we go to the big pool now?’ he asked. ‘The one with the fish? And the pig. Can we go and see the pig again?’
Amy crouched down and hugged him. ‘You’re all wet!’ she said. ‘And now, so am I.’
‘But can we?’ Ben asked. ‘We’re fed up with this pool.’
‘Maybe later,’ she said, standing. ‘First I need to talk to Dad, OK?’
She walked around the far side of the pool so that she was opposite me, but at a safe distance. ‘So, how do we do this?’ she asked.
‘We can talk inside,’ I told her.
‘Go and play,’ Amy said, giving Ben, who was still lingering, a gentle push.
‘But we’re bored with the little pool,’ Ben protested.
‘Just do it, champ,’ I told him in my special no-nonsense voice. ‘Your mum and I need to talk.’
‘It’s so boring,’ he said, his parting shot, as I followed Amy into the house to find her already seated at the kitchen table.
‘Has he been OK?’ she asked, glancing up at me before returning her attention to her phone.
‘Sure,’ I said gruffly. ‘He’s fine.’ We weren’t here to talk about Ben, after all.
Amy swiped the screen of her iPhone back and forth.
‘That doesn’t pick up here,’ I said.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just nerves.’
‘Then put it away, please,’ I told her. Her phone fiddling had always annoyed me, but at that moment it struck me as unbearable.
She slipped the phone into her bag. ‘So,’ she said, fiddling with her wedding ring instead. ‘Are you going to sit?’
‘I’m fine here,’ I replied. I was resting against the cool porcelain of the kitchen sink.
‘I’m not sure how to do this,’ she said.
I coughed. I cleared my throat. ‘Well, I guess that depends what you want to do.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I am. I want you to know that. What happened . . . Well, it shouldn’t have.’
‘What did happen, Amy?’
‘Oh, I think that you know what happened,’ she said.
I laughed bitterly. ‘So now you can’t even say it?’
‘Do I need to?’
I shrugged. ‘I thought you placed so much onus on being honest. On naming things properly.’
‘I slept with Ant,’ she said. ‘And I shouldn’t have.’
‘You slept with him?’ I repeated.
Amy frowned.
‘I thought you fucked him, that’s all,’ I said. ‘I thought you went into that outhouse over there and you fucked him. When did the sleeping thing happen?’
‘Joe,’ she said. ‘Please don’t . . .’
‘Don’t?’ I repeated. ‘You’re telling me don’t?’
‘There’s no need to—’
‘To be honest about what actually happened?’ I said, completing her unfinished sentence.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not like that.’
‘It might be good, though,’ I said. ‘To hear you say it, don’t you think? It might be, what’s the word? Cathartic.’
‘OK!’ Amy said angrily. ‘I shouldn’t have fucked Ant in the outhouse. Happy now?’
‘Oh yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’m really thrilled.’
‘So I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Jesus, Ame,’ I muttered. ‘If you say that one more time then I swear . . .’
‘But things haven’t been right between us for years,’ she continued. ‘You need to admit that, too.’
I froze. I held my breath. She had stunned me into silence.
‘They haven’t, have they?’ she insisted.
‘I . . .’ I croaked. But I couldn’t think how to respond. I’d thought we were here to deal with a drunken incident in the outhouse. But this was morphing into something quite different.
‘Joe?’ Amy said.
‘Is this . . . I don’t know, Amy . . .’ I finally spluttered. I looked out at the children for a moment and the vision of them playing, unaware, calmed me enough that I managed one coherent thought. ‘Is that supposed to excuse it?’ I asked, turning back. ‘Is that it?’
‘Excuse it?’ Amy said.
‘Yeah, is this, things haven’t been right with us so I perfectly justifiably fucked our friend’s husband?’
‘No,’ Amy said. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. And he’s not . . .’
‘Not what?’
‘Nothing,’ Amy said. ‘Nothing. Forget it.’
We remained in silence for a moment and when she eventually looked up at me, she simply shrugged.
‘I don’t know what you want from me here, Amy,’ I said.
‘Nor do I,’ she replied. ‘That’s the problem.’
‘It seems to me that there are only two options really,’ I said, trying to simplify things for her. She seemed so lost, the poor thing, I was actually feeling sorry for her. ‘Either you’re sorry and you regret it. And in that case we try to—’
‘I need more time, Joe,’ she said, interrupting me. ‘I’m sorry, but I do. I need more time.’
‘OK,’ I said
slowly. ‘I guess that’s the third option I hadn’t thought of. More time for what, though?’
‘Look, I’m going to take Ant to the airport. He’s changed his flight and he’s flying home tonight.’
‘What?’
‘I’m taking Ant—’
‘I heard you, Amy,’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t make sense. His wife’s here. His kids are here.’
‘I know,’ Amy said. ‘But I can’t decide what he does. That’s between them, don’t you think?’
‘Um, I don’t know,’ I said, struggling to work through the ramifications. ‘I am slightly involved in this whole equation too, you know. We are. I mean, we’re going to be stuck here with Heather and the kids. And that’s not exactly ideal, seeing as we have our own shit to work through.’
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ Amy said, as if she hadn’t been listening to me at all. ‘Once I’ve sorted myself out.’
‘Oh! You’re going too, are you?’ I asked, my anger rising. ‘That’s nice.’
‘I told you. I have to take him to the airport. And I’ll be back by tomorrow.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘No?’
‘No, I don’t approve of this . . . this . . . plan. I’m not staying here with her while you two fuck off on a little trip together.’
‘We’re not going on a little trip,’ Amy said. ‘I’m taking him to the airport.’
‘Well, I don’t agree,’ I said.
‘I don’t think you have much of a choice, actually.’
‘Maybe we should all go home, then,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should pack our things, and all go home right now.’
‘Well, you could,’ Amy said. ‘If that’s what you want. But I’m going to stay on for a few days. I don’t feel ready to go back home yet.’
‘Christ, Amy,’ I said. I couldn’t believe that she’d torpedoed our holiday so thoroughly. ‘Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?’
‘But you’d have to leave right now,’ she continued. ‘If you did want to leave. Because Ant’s flight is at four and I need to get moving.’
‘I don’t give a shit about Ant’s flight.’
‘Joe,’ Amy said. ‘Listen to me.’
‘Oh, I’m listening,’ I said. ‘But I’m not liking what I’m hearing so much, you know?’
From Something Old Page 18