Unfaithful: An unputdownable and absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Natalie Barelli

  I am so relieved when they leave it makes my head spin. After that I can’t concentrate. At one point, during a meeting with Bernie, one of my post-docs, I ask if he’s able to help with tutorials next week and he says, “You okay?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “Because I’ve just spent fifteen minutes telling you I’m away next week. You haven’t been listening to a word I said.”

  In the afternoon I stare at the pile of papers I still have to mark and wonder if I could offload them to one of the teachers’ assistants, except that would mean I could leave for the day, and I just don’t want to go home yet.

  When I’m done marking, I sit with my fingers pressing into my eyes. Maybe I should confront Luis. But what will I say? I keep thinking about that odd artisanal dinner set. I didn’t think it was Luis’s style. Did she buy it for him? Maybe she’s another artist working in the same building. Maybe the whole time I was there he was on another floor, kissing some willowy young thing. A potter maybe.

  In the end it’s Geoff who puts me out of my misery. I’m sitting with my forehead propped against the heel of my hands when he walks in. He knocks twice on my desk to make me look up and perches himself on the corner.

  “What a day, hey? I’m sorry about Alex. Feel like a beer?”

  I cock my head at him. “You should have told me I missed out on the professorship yourself, you know. Shouldn’t I receive a formal notification? Having Mila tell me was a bit… weird.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she would do that.”

  “Out of curiosity, why didn’t I get it?”

  I’m sure I catch the glimpse of a smile, but it disappears so quickly I think I might have imagined it.

  “Who knows? It’s up to the board. But my guess is, you haven’t published enough. That’s where the gap is. And look, maybe it’s not your thing. Plenty of people are happy to remain associate professors for life. Have you considered that?”

  And I think, What is it with everyone? First Alex fires me from being his supervisor and co-author conveniently at the moment when his research is ready and he no longer needs me, and now Geoff, having let me do all that extra work for months in support of my application, all this stuff to show what an indispensable and brilliant team player I am, now tells me that it wasn’t my thing anyway. Some days it’s hard not to feel used and spat out in this world.

  “You know that’s not what I want,” I say. “Why would you even say something like that?”

  He frowns. “Because I’m not sure you’re ambitious enough, Anna. Not in that way. When was the last time you presented a paper at a conference? Or chaired a panel? Or attended a symposium? Mila is all over that stuff. You’re not.”

  He has no idea how much his words hurt me. I’ve always felt that Geoff and I had a certain kinship. If he thought that way about me, why wouldn’t he say something before? And what’s this about Mila anyway? Mila is all over this stuff. It feels like a slap in the face. Suddenly I feel old, past my sell-by date. Like the scales have fallen from my eyes and I see now that I don’t stand a chance against the Milas of this world. All this time I thought I was the star of the show, it turns out I was just the supporting act.

  Geoff gets to his feet. “Come on, come and have a beer. We can discuss it.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. You’re paying?”

  “Nope, Law is. There’s a birthday party or something happening over there right now. If we move fast, we might score two each.”

  I hesitate. But then, I’m feeling so strung out anyway, I may as well go for it. I check my watch. Five thirty.

  “Is Mila going?”

  He cocks his head at me. “No, she’s left for the day.”

  I look up at him under my eyelids.

  “Come on, Anna. Let’s go hang out.”

  I sigh. “Okay.” I shut down my computer, grab my bag and follow him out of the building. Normally I’d walk on the path that meanders around the flower beds and then backtracks towards the Law faculty, but today I follow Geoff as he strides across the lawn, even though you’re not supposed to, and steps over the leafy hosta patch and what’s left of the blue irises. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me: I never break the rules. Maybe that’s why I never get what I want.

  It’s not a birthday party: it’s a retirement farewell and we missed the speeches, but not the alcohol. I’d never do something like this normally—crash a professor’s retirement party. That’s very Geoff, though. He’s always looking for a way to get something for free.

  We stand at the drinks table—plastic cups, carrot sticks and dips—and Geoff finds two beers at the bottom of a plastic bucket full of watery ice. He hands me one and we clink bottles.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, then disappears to talk to someone at the other end of the room.

  I watch him go, confused, and shake my head. I don’t know why he bothered asking me along. I should just leave, I think, as I lean against the table, holding the bottle of beer without a bottle opener, wondering what I’m even doing here.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” A man in his mid-thirties with a short beard and green eyes has slid up next to me. “Sorry, is it okay if I join you? I should probably have asked that first.”

  I’m about to say no, I’m leaving anyway, but I clock Geoff glancing my way, then checking this good-looking man chatting me up, and I change my mind.

  I lift my beer. “If you can open this, you can absolutely join me.”

  He takes the bottle and unscrews the cap with his hand before handing it back to me. I laugh.

  “Easiest job I’ve had all day,” he says. He leans against the table too so we are next to each other, sipping our beers. He points with his chin in Geoff’s direction. “So, is he?”

  “What? Oh, no, he’s not my boyfriend.” He glances at my left hand. “Your husband then?”

  “No, not my husband either.” At the word ‘husband’ I feel the sting of tears in my nose and take a swig to hide my discomfort. “He’s an asshole,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m not even sure who I’m talking about anymore.

  “Really? Wow, okay, what’s the story?”

  My eyes never leave Geoff as I turn my head slightly so I can whisper in this stranger’s ear.

  “He’s having sex with one of the math lecturers, and just gave her a full professorship in return.”

  “Ha! So the whole hashtag MeToo thing, not really on his radar, amiright?”

  “Please. He wouldn’t know how to spell hashtag.” He laughs.

  “The professorship was actually meant for me,” I continue. “But I refused to have sex with him. He tried, once. I said no.”

  I don’t know why I say that. It’s like I’m throwing pieces of history in the air and letting them fall wherever they land, just to see what this new, random version sounds like. “That’s why she got the promotion and not me.” I take another swig.

  “That’s a terrible story. What’s she like?”

  I think of smart, beautiful Mila, with her long shiny hair and perfect skin and her thin gold chain around her delicate ankle. “Ordinary,” I say, and shrug. “But some people will do anything to get ahead.”

  “You could sue, you know. You’d win.”

  I shrug. “Hey, I just roll with the punches. My husband is having an affair, that’s my biggest problem right now.” I’m completely unstoppable now. Maybe it’s the beer. Or maybe I’m just lonely and tired of being everyone else’s support system.

  I could have confided in Lori, which would make a lot more sense, on the surface at least. Except that Lori—who I don’t see much anymore since she moved to Seattle, and who is on her third marriage, with a teenage son from the first—always comments on how lucky I am. “You have the perfect husband, the perfect children, the perfect career! How did you do it?” she’d say. And I’d joke back with something like, “You can have my kids if you like them so much. Scratch that. I’ll throw in the husband, too. Take the lot. See ho
w you like them after a week.” But, deep down, I believed she was right. I did have the perfect family and the perfect life. So there was no way I was going to confide in Lori right now. Maybe one day, after it had all blown over. I imagine myself in ten years on one of our ski trips in Colorado, sitting side by side on the chair lift, Lori commenting on my wonderful life.

  Don’t kid yourself, Lori. There was a time, you know, many years ago, when I thought we might not make it…

  Meanwhile, I find myself telling this complete stranger about my marital problems. At least it takes my mind off Alex. In fact, what happened with Alex is beginning to feel like a distant memory. Even the police didn’t seem that troubled by his suicide—this is what I do now: I make myself think of Alex’s suicide as opposed to Alex’s death. Meanwhile, this man listens intently to my woes, standing very close, head slightly bowed in concentration.

  “Would you leave him?” he asks, when I finish.

  I recoil. “My husband? No! I mean, I’ve fantasized about it sometimes, when he’s annoyed me particularly.”

  “But don’t you ever wonder? What it would be like to be with someone else?”

  “What would it be like for me? It depends. I mean, I have wondered what it’d be like to be married to someone successful, tangibly so. Someone busy, driven.” I look back at Geoff, who catches my eye and winks at me. Maybe I should have done it that night in Chicago; it sure had never occurred to me that Luis would be the one to stray. Maybe this is my punishment for flirting too much. Then a thought occurs to me, a terrible, stomach-clenching, bile-rising thought: Is Luis planning to leave me?

  “No,” I reply finally. “I never considered being with anyone else.”

  “Then don’t say anything to your husband. Don’t confront him.”

  “Do you think?“

  “I do. You don’t have enough information yet. You said so yourself.”

  “Are you married?” I ask.

  “No. But I was in a long term relationship. I found out she had an affair and I confronted her.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Really. Things got very messy and I asked her to leave. I thought she’d choose me, you see. I thought she’d beg me to take her back. She didn’t. She’s with the other woman now.”

  “Oh wow, the other woman?”

  “Correct.”

  “Good to know the grass isn’t any greener on the other side, then.”

  He smiles. “Do you have children?”

  “Two. A boy and a girl.”

  “Even more reason to keep your mouth shut. If I were in your position, I’d fight for what I have.”

  Oh, I’ll fight for what I have. Don’t worry about that.

  “Thank you. That’s very wise.” I raise my beer and we clink.

  We’re leaning back, saying deep things about life, our hands cupped on the edge of the table behind us. I feel his little finger inch closer to mine and it sends a strange shiver down my spine. He doesn’t move his hand away, and neither do I.

  “And when you do find out who it is,” he says, “you could boil her in a cauldron full of bats. That’s what we do where I come from.”

  I snap my head around. “Where do you come from?” He does have the most beautiful eyes, green with specks of gold, and they’re nicely offset by his dark hair.

  “Ireland. I’ve never lived there, I was born here, but my grandmother tells me these stories. I should have done it to my ex.”

  My mind is too frazzled to compute that and I stare at him, vaguely wondering where I could get bats.

  He bursts out laughing. “I was joking.” Then he adds, “We don’t use bats. We’re not savages.”

  I chuckle, and my gaze falls to his chest. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and I get a glimpse of black, coarse hair. I wonder what it would feel like, to touch someone other than Luis. Then I wonder if he thinks about me when he touches his floozy, and whether she has nice breasts. I bet she does. I bet they’re perky and pert. Like mine used to be before I had his kids.

  The Irishman reaches behind him and lifts a bottle of Prosecco. “Come with me.” I do as I’m told and when we reach the corridor he takes my hand and leads me around a corner and into an empty office. I reach blindly for the light switch that I assume is near the door but he cups my hand and whispers, “No, don’t.”

  My skin feels tingly and I shudder. His tongue is on my lips, slow and soft like velvet. I’m about to argue, apologize if I gave the wrong impression, but then I think of Luis and I part my lips slightly. He undoes the buttons of my shirt and slips his hands behind my back, unhooks the clasp of my bra.

  “Take it off,” he whispers.

  I’m shaking. I slip my arms out of my sleeves and let my shirt and bra fall to the floor. He has pulled his own shirt off and we stand against each other, my breasts against his chest, then we are on the floor and his mouth is on mine and his hand slides under the belt of my skirt.

  “Wait!”

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Give me a moment.” I fling my arm over my eyes and feel him pull away.

  What on earth am I doing? My head is spinning and a flash of light bursts behind my eyelids. What’s that sound? A digital shutter. Photo?

  I open my eyes quickly and sit up. In the dim light I see him smiling at me, his phone in his hand. I spring upright and reach for it, panic making my voice shrill. “Did you just take a photo of me?” But before he answers there’s a movement behind the door, and a shadow interrupts the sliver of light beneath it. I put one finger on my lips to indicate we should be quiet. I hold my breath, then I’m sure I see the doorknob turn slowly, even though it’s dark.

  I scramble for my shirt and bra. Irishman is giggling. “Shut up!” I hiss. I throw his shirt at him. “Get dressed.” My heart is thumping in my ears. I will whoever it is to go away as I manage to hook my bra back on and put my shirt back on. There’s silence on the other side and I picture someone listening, one hand cupped around their ear against the door.

  Finally the shadow moves away and I bow my head in relief as I get my breath back.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, suddenly furious with this man for having put me in this position. I open the door an inch, check that the coast is clear.

  He puts his hand on my arm. “Wait.”

  I shrug him off. “I have to go.” I march down the hall, back to the party. A few stragglers are convened in the corner near the cheese board. Geoff is nowhere to be seen. I snatch my bag that is still hanging off the back of a chair and leave quickly, almost running to the car park.

  Only then do I remember the photograph he took. I’d meant to get him to delete it immediately, but in that moment of almost getting caught out, I forgot. I start the car, and I see him as I drive out. He is standing on the sidewalk, his arms out wide in disbelief. I want to stop, to get him to delete the photo, but the traffic is moving and it’s too late.

  I bite my lip so hard it bleeds as my stomach clenches into tight knots the whole way home. When I get back I turn off the ignition and sit in the dark with my forehead against the steering wheel. I can’t believe what I did back there. What was I thinking? That being unfaithful was going to help me get my husband back? I don’t give a shit about the promotion. Not when my marriage is at stake. My family is the most important thing to me and to think I would risk it so foolishly makes me hit my head with a closed fist—like that’s going to put some sense back into me.

  I lean back against the seat. It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Tomorrow, I will go and see him and ask him to delete the photo. Then I will concentrate my energy on my family. Maybe if I can figure out who Luis is having an affair with, I can warn her off. It’s just a fling, surely. Luis loves me, I know he does. And he is the most devoted father, and the most devoted husband.

  Isn’t he?

  Eleven

  The following morning I walk straight into the Law buildin
g, through the tiled entrance, down the corridor and upstairs to the office where I was the night before. I am determined. I tell myself I have every right to demand he delete that photo. I am desperately trying to work out what I’ll do if he refuses.

  The door to the office is open but instead of him, I come face to face with a woman with short gray hair and a birth mark on her left cheek. She is sitting behind the only desk in the room. She looks up over her glasses, startled. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m… I’m looking for—” I don’t know who I am looking for. I don’t even know his name. “This is your office?”

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “There was a…” I am stuttering. I can’t put words together to form a coherent sentence anymore. I try again. “I was at Professor Bashki’s retirement party last night.”

  “And?”

  “I’m looking for a man. He has a beard and green eyes.”

  She frowns, giving a small impatient shake of the head, understandably. She makes me feel like a schoolgirl tracking down the boy she kissed last night. Except I am almost forty years old.

  She returns to her task. “I have no idea who you’re talking about, I’m sorry. Try Admin down the hall.”

  “Okay. Thank you. My mistake.” I walk back out, surreptitiously scanning the floor on the way out in case I left anything behind last night. Like my bra. Or my self-respect. I walk briskly in the direction she pointed me to and after a couple of wrong turns, I spot the sign that says Student Services – Administration.

  The door is open and immediately I see the back of him. He is bending slightly at the water cooler. He turns around at my approach, a cup of water in one hand, and a grin spreads over his face.

  “Well, hello there,” he says, with a slight sneer that makes a shudder run down my spine, and not in a good way. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s nice to see you. You ran off very quickly last night.”

  My eyes dart around the room to see who might be listening. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” Two women at opposite desks look up.