by Daniel Hurst
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
The mood at the table has dropped drastically over the last few seconds, and I am aware that is my doing, so I should probably try and change that. But it’s easier said than done when all I can think about is my husband and his philandering ways.
‘I went to Sam’s office last week to show him the letter I got in the post,’ I say, watching the waiter carefully put the wine glasses onto his tray before he makes the journey back over to us. ‘But guess what I saw? I saw him leaving with some woman from his office, and they went into a bar together. He was laughing away as if he didn’t have a care in the world.’
‘What? Who was she?’
‘She’s called Maria,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t know that at the time, but I was having a look around on Sam’s company website yesterday, and I found her photo. Maria Garcia. Very exotic, hey?’
I know it was slightly stalkerish of me to go looking for Maria online so I could put a name to her face, but the sight of the two of them walking together and laughing together had been eating away at me. It makes it easier to dislike someone if you know their name.
‘Do you think he’s seeing this Maria?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘You didn’t hang around and see where they went after?’
‘No, I just wanted to go home.’
‘Fair enough. But you’re right. That is not the way you want your husband to behave if he’s supposed to be convincing you that he didn’t cheat.’
I nod my head while feeling pleased that the waiter is now walking towards us, his tray balanced in his hands and a look of concentration etched across his poor face. I’m positively parched by the time he reaches us, and my first sip of wine is a refreshing one.
‘But I don’t want to be a downer tonight so let’s not talk about me and my problems anymore,’ I say as I put my glass back down on the table. ‘Tell me all about you and Phil. Are you guys still going strong?’
Ally laughs, and it’s good to hear that sound because this night was in danger of becoming very depressing if I just talked about Sam for the duration of it. I’d much rather hear about my friend’s thriving love life than talk about my own dying one, and then after that, we can get to the small matter of the hen do planning.
As weekday nights go, this is shaping up to be a good one.
Who knows, maybe I can do this kind of thing more often when I’m single again. Girls’ nights could replace the old romantic Saturday nights with Sam on the sofa. That’s not what I wanted, but it seems it’s what is going to happen now. That’s because, as stupid as it may seem, I did give Sam a couple of days to prove his innocence to me. It’s stupid because he is waiting for some private investigator to do something for him, and it’s stupidity that makes me not want to tell Ally the full story. She must think that I’m gullible enough for falling for a man as deceptive as Sam without me telling her that I am waiting to see if some PI can pull off a miracle and prove my cheating husband right. But that two day deadline ends tomorrow and, so far, he has failed to come back with anything.
Of course he has failed. A guilty man can’t prove his innocence. Only an innocent man can do that.
And that is one thing my husband is not.
42
SAM
It’s weird being in the office so late at night. I’ve never worked beyond seven o’clock in the evening before, but now it’s almost nine and I’m still here. But it’s not as if I have suddenly discovered the elixir of hard work or anything like that. I’m still here at this time of night because I’m afraid to leave. That’s because leaving means going back to the hotel room. And the hotel room is a glimpse of the grim future that awaits me.
I was hoping to be presenting my wife with some form of evidence tomorrow that would prove to her that I haven’t cheated on her and that the woman at the door was lying. I had hoped to make that happen by getting a call from my private investigator with some news that would prove Alexandra’s guilt and my innocence. Was that too much to ask? I guess so because the clock continues to count down to tomorrow and I still have nothing.
Sliding a fifty pence piece into the vending machine in the staff room, I select the option that will deliver me a can of cola and watch as a mechanical arm picks it up from its tray and drops it down into the bottom where I can scoop it out. Cracking it open, I take several thirsty gulps of the fizzy liquid before wiping my mouth and heading back in the direction of my office, which is on the other side of the open-plan space where so many desks now sit empty and idle, their owners having long since logged off and gone home to where their partners are waiting to welcome them in with open arms. I’m sure they wouldn’t be quite so keen to leave work if they had nothing but a takeaway on a hotel room bed to look forward to, but it seems that it’s just me with that problem in this company tonight, so here I am all alone.
Walking back into my office, I close the door and slump down in my chair before guzzling the contents of the can and tossing it into the bin that sits in the corner about ten yards away. Just like everything else in my life recently, it seems I’m out of luck because the can hits the rim of the bin and bounces back out instead of going in, leaving the can to roll harmlessly away across the carpet to give the cleaner another reason to detest me when she arrives in the early hours of the morning.
Letting out a deep sigh, I stretch my arms out above my head before tapping on my keyboard to let my computer know that I am still here and willing to work in case it decides to activate the screensaver again and I have to log in, which would be annoying. If my computer could talk then I have a feeling that this one would tell me that I look pathetic and that I should call it a night and quit while I’m behind. But my computer cannot talk, so that voice comes to me only as internal dialogue, which is actually worse in a way.
As I sit there typing up an email that I should have sent yesterday, my eyes feel heavy, and it seems that my tiredness is negating the effects of the caffeine from the cola can I just consumed. But a loud bang in the open-plan office outside my door gets my attention, and I stand up from my seat to see what might have caused it. I am definitely the only person here, so it’s a little worrying that I just heard a noise like that, but then I realise I am wrong.
I was the only person here.
But not anymore.
Maria is walking across the office, her coat on and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder, looking like she is ready for another day of work. But the only problem with that is the working day is over. So why does she look like she is just starting?
Walking out from behind my desk, I open my office door and look out, and that’s when it’s Maria’s turn to almost jump out of her skin at a loud noise that she wasn’t expecting.
‘Sam! You almost frightened me to death!’
I would normally apologise for that, but the sight of her terrified face coupled with her panicked Spanish accent is actually quite funny, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course, I feel bad instantly and try to stifle it, but that only makes it worse, and now I’ve got the giggles. It must be the adrenaline running through my system after I heard the loud noise, or maybe it’s the caffeine from the cola kicking in, but now I am really laughing hard, and it’s not long until Maria has joined me.
By the time we both pull ourselves together, I have invited her into my office, where I have decided that it’s time to do something that I swore I would never do.
Drink alcohol in the workplace.
As Maria tells me about how she came back to the office to pick up a report that she had left behind, I open the bottom drawer of my pedestal and take out the bottle of whiskey that I won in the Christmas raffle last year. I’ve never been a big whiskey drinker, which explains why the bottle has sat in my drawer unopened for months, but there is something about tonight that makes me feel like saying what the hell. Tomorrow promises to be a terrible day when my PI tells me that they have nothing on Alexandra and
I realise I have not just blown a load of money on my silly pursuit of the truth but also blown any chance I had of getting Rebecca back in my life.
With that in mind, I might as well get blind drunk and add a hangover to tomorrow’s proceedings as well.
‘Fancy a drink in the kitchen?’ I offer Maria as I crack open the bottle and gesture towards the door.
‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea,’ she tells me, and I smile.
‘It’s definitely not a good idea, but you know me. When have I ever had a good idea in this place?’
Maria laughs and follows me out of the room, telling me that she will stay for one, which is all I need because at least I will have some company for the first of what will most likely be far too many drinks this evening.
I manage to procure a couple of cups from the kitchen cupboards while Maria takes a seat at the table where so many of our colleagues have their meals at a more respectable time than this. Then I pour two hearty measures of whiskey before slotting another fifty pence piece into the vending machine and getting another can of cola out of it so that we have something to help the spirit go down more smoothly.
‘Cheers,’ I say as I raise my drink, and Maria says the same thing as she bumps her cup against mine.
We both take a thirsty gulp, and it’s only then that I notice I have taken out our manager’s cup. Ed will not be happy if he found out that two of his employees were sitting in the office kitchen drinking whiskey, but he would be even more annoyed if he found out that one of them had been doing it while using his beloved Ipswich Town mug.
‘See, I told you things didn’t have to be weird between us after what happened the other night,’ I say to my colleague with a wry grin, and she bursts out laughing, which is the exact reaction that I was hoping to get from her.
‘Yeah, not weird at all,’ she replies sarcastically with a roll of her eyes, and I smile before taking another sip of my drink which is far too strong and will definitely be giving me a pounding headache in the morning if I have more than one.
‘Why do you like me?’ I suddenly ask, and the question is out of my mouth before I even have a chance to analyse it internally.
‘Sorry?’ Maria asks, clearly confused as to why I would ask her such a direct thing.
‘The other night when you tried to kiss me. I was just wondering why me? Why not any of the other guys who work here?’
Maria thinks about her answer for a second before giving me a deadpan answer.
‘How do you know I didn’t try and kiss all the other guys in the office first, and you were the last one left?’ she replies, and it’s a good answer.
I laugh and shrug my shoulders, admitting that she might have a point before she corrects me and gets serious for a moment.
‘I don’t know. I guess I’ve always liked you. Ever since we met here. It was in this room, actually. I was being shown around the office on my first day, and you were in here using the vending machine. Do you remember?’
I do remember it. I remember it well, and the reason for that is because of how Maria looked when I first saw her that day. She certainly didn’t look like any of the women I had ever worked with before. But I think it might not be wise to say that, so I just nod my head and let her continue.
‘You were polite to me, just like all the other guys around here were. But you were different in that you were obviously not just doing it because you found me attractive. You were doing it because you were nice. I could tell that from the second I met you.’
‘So that’s it? I’m a nice guy?’
‘Well, that was how it started. Then I saw how hard you worked at your job. I saw how kind you were with me when I was still learning how things worked around here. And I saw how beautiful your wife was in the photo in your office, and I guess the fact you were taken made me start to think about you even more.’
I’m aware that what started out as a light-hearted suggestion for a drink in the kitchen is now quickly descending into something much heavier, and I know I should nip it in the bud before it gets any further. But I don’t, and there’s a good reason for that. It’s because it’s been a while since somebody told me how nice I was. I’ve had nothing but my wife telling me how bad she thinks I am recently, so it’s fun to hear someone tell me that I’m not so bad. It’s particularly fun coming from a woman who looks like Maria.
Is the whiskey affecting me already?
It must be because now I’m not thinking about how bad Rebecca has made me feel anymore.
I’m thinking about how good Maria is making me feel instead.
‘I’m sorry I tried to kiss you the other night,’ Maria says to me, sitting forward in her seat and looking me in the eye.
‘I told you not to worry about that,’ I reply, but Maria shakes her head as if I have misunderstood what she means.
‘No, I mean I am sorry for trying because trying isn’t good enough,’ she says, her eyes looking down at my mouth now. ‘I should have kept trying until you kissed me back.’
With that, Maria moves forward and brings her lips towards mine and this time I don’t pull away. Our lips are only inches away from connecting when I feel the vibration in my pocket from my mobile phone, and it’s just enough to snap me out of my trance and drag me back to reality.
I was just about to kiss a woman who is not my wife.
What the hell am I doing?
Getting up from my seat, I apologise to Maria before waving my phone at her and telling her that I have a call to take. She looks annoyed but stays where she is sitting as I leave the kitchen and look down at my mobile to see who is calling me.
I’d have a hard time not feeling guilty if it was my wife.
But it’s not.
It’s my private investigator.
‘Erica!’ I say into my phone, my elevated voice reflecting how shocked I am to find out that she is calling me. ‘Have you got something? Please tell me that you have got something?’
There is a pause at the other end of the line before she replies.
‘I have got something.’
‘You have? That’s great! What is it?’
‘Alexandra is a woman who gets paid to break up happy marriages,’ Erica replies calmly, but calm is not a word that can be used to describe my reaction to that news.
‘She’s what?’
‘People hire her to break couples up. It seems she does it by spreading lies and planting false evidence. You and Rebecca were obviously one of her targets.’
‘What? Why?’
‘It would seem that there is somebody who wants to be with you, which means they needed to get rid of Rebecca first.’
‘Who the hell would do that?’
‘I have a name that I believe you will recognise,’ Erica replies, and I slump down into an empty office chair before she has time to say it. But I’m not expecting any more shocks now. That’s because I feel like I’m already looking at the woman whose name I am about to hear.
I keep my eyes on Maria sitting in the staff kitchen as I wait for Erica to tell me that it is my colleague who has been doing all of this to me and my wife so that she could stand a better chance of starting a relationship with me. It all makes sense. She has tried to kiss me. She told me that she had liked me since day one. She liked me even though she saw the photo of my wife.
But it’s not Maria’s name that comes out of Erica’s mouth a second later.
It’s Ally.
43
ALLY
I’ve spent the last two hours sitting with Rebecca listening to her talking about Sam, but that’s nothing compared to the years I have spent listening to her tell me all about the man who I wish was with me instead of her. Rebecca tried to change the subject a few times tonight, including when she asked me about my current boyfriend, Phil, but I was always able to steer the conversation back onto the only things that I care about.
Her, her husband and the current state of their marriage.
‘Stop me if I’m be
ing too personal but have you thought about what is going to happen with the house?’ I ask Rebecca before taking another sip of my wine.
‘I haven’t really thought that far ahead,’ she admits, and I nod my head in understanding but decide to add a few words of advice too.
‘Of course, I understand,’ I say. ‘But when the time comes and if you do want to stay, make sure you put the reason for divorce as adultery on Sam’s part rather than just saying it’s irreconcilable differences. That way, you have more chance of getting things you want when it comes to dividing things up with the lawyers.’
It sounds like pragmatic advice, sensible if a touch insensitive, but I’m not just doing it because I want to see my friend stay in her nice house. I am doing it because I am pushing the boundaries and seeing how serious Rebecca really is about divorcing her husband.
It’s not just me who needs to know. So too does the woman I have paid to get Rebecca and Sam into this perilous position right here. Her name is Charlotte, or at least that is the name she gave me when we first met after I found her on an online forum suggesting that she could help anybody get the man or woman of their dreams, no matter their current relationship status. To say I was sceptical would have been an understatement, but with little to lose at that point, I had made contact. I say I had little to lose because I’ve spent years watching my best friend date, marry and frolic with a guy who I love too.
I know Rebecca says that she fell for Sam the first time she met him on the London Underground, but I fell for him the first time that I met him as well. Unfortunately for me, that first time was when Rebecca was introducing me to him as she brought him to a friend’s party.
It was clear that my best friend was smitten with this new guy, and I couldn’t blame her. He was gorgeous, funny, smart, with a good job, great fashion sense and a wicked sense of humour. He was exactly the kind of man I was looking for. But my best friend had found him first.
I tried to tell myself that it was just some silly crush on my part and that it would ease off when I started dating my own men and looking for my version of ‘Sam.’ But it didn’t happen. As I went from one dating disaster to another, I watched on as Rebecca became more serious with Sam until he eventually popped the question to her and put a ring on her finger.