by Ruth Heald
Back downstairs I can’t sit still. I pace up and down, not sure what to do with myself.
This can’t be happening to me. It just can’t be.
Matt wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t.
But then I think about how secretive he’s been lately. All the things he hasn’t told me. All the late nights. I’m not confident about anything I thought I knew about him.
When I mentioned that someone had been in our bedroom to Matt, he’d tried to convince me I’d imagined it. But he must have been there himself, with Sarah. Sarah must have swept my personal things off the bedside table, wanting to remove the traces of me from our bedroom while she slept with my husband, taking my place. I wonder if she meant to put them back, or if she’d left them hidden deliberately. Has Matt told her about all the things I’ve been forgetting? Did she plan it, so I’d think I was going mad?
I think of all the ways I’ve felt uncomfortable in my own house. Has Sarah been watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to steal Matt from me?
My thoughts are spiralling out of control. I’m not sure if this is really happening or it’s just the paranoia talking. Matt wouldn’t cheat on me, would he? I’m going round in circles, not thinking straight.
‘Hello?’ Ruth is at the living room door, holding Olivia. I’ve no idea how long she’s been standing there. Or how long I’ve been downstairs.
I wipe my red-rimmed eyes with the back of my hand.
‘Claire…’ She pauses mid-sentence, seeing my tears. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ I say. I can’t tell her what Matt’s done to me. I can’t face it myself. I manage a half-smile. ‘It’s just emotional, that’s all, seeing you clear out your mother’s things.’ The excuse seems feeble and I know Ruth sees right through it.
She pauses for a moment, as if carefully considering what to say next. ‘Do you want me to take Olivia for a bit? Give you a break?’
I’m too shattered to worry that she thinks I can’t cope. I need some time alone, to work out what I’m going to do.
‘Yes, please. That would be great.’
‘OK, well I’ll bring her back in a couple of hours. You get some rest. It looks like you need it.’
The door shuts behind Ruth and the house is eerily silent. I don’t know what to do now. I should confront Matt. Chuck him out. But what if it’s all in my head? What if the scarf doesn’t belong to Sarah at all and there’s a reasonable explanation?
I wish I could talk to my mother about this. She would have calmed me down, made me think rationally. For a second I wonder if I could call Miriam. We supported each other through so many difficult break-ups. I know she’d understand.
I’m getting ahead of myself. Why am I even thinking about breaking up?
But I need to talk to someone. I pick up my phone and ring Emma. She’ll understand, after everything she went through with Dan.
I pace the room as her mobile rings. Maybe I’m wrong about this whole thing. Maybe it’s all a silly misunderstanding and Matt and I will laugh about it this evening.
Or maybe not.
I look at the unopened boxes that surround me. I should have unpacked them. But how soon will I be packing them back up again? If Matt and I split up, will Ruth and Jack even let me stay in the house? I don’t mean anything to Ruth without her precious son.
Emma finally picks up and I jump.
‘Claire? Is everything all right?’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who to call.’
‘Don’t be silly. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Matt. I think he’s been cheating.’ When I say the words out loud, the weight of what’s happening sinks in. I start sobbing down the phone.
‘Are you at home?’
‘Yes,’ I manage to splutter.
‘Stay where you are. I’m coming over.’
* * *
By the time Emma arrives I have once again convinced myself that there must be some kind of reasonable explanation.
When I open the door she throws her arms around me and presents me with a box of chocolates and some flowers.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘I thought we could share these.’ She hands me the chocolates. ‘And the flowers will brighten up the house. They smell nice too. I always like the scent of lilies. This type anyway. They really cheer me up.’
‘You know you shouldn’t have,’ I say, as she walks through the doorway. I suddenly feel embarrassed. What if I’ve made a fuss about nothing?
She looks at me, concerned. ‘You’re not allergic, are you?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s just such a kind gesture, that’s all. Thank you.’
I take the lilies from her, run water into the sink and then cut off the bottom of the stalks. We have our own vase somewhere in a box waiting to be unpacked, but I settle for one of Pamela’s and arrange the flowers.
‘The room looks brighter already,’ Emma says. ‘Now, can I make you a cup of tea?’
I think I might prefer some neat whisky right now, but I know that’s not an option, so I nod. Emma pulls out some mugs as I switch on the kettle. She’s at the house so often that she doesn’t need to ask where anything is any more.
Emma pours the tea and carries it through to the living room.
‘So,’ she says, taking a sip. ‘What happened?’
I explain how I found the scarf.
‘Maybe there’s another explanation,’ I say, looking at her hopefully. I want her to say it can’t be true, that I’m missing something obvious.
But instead she sighs. ‘I need to tell you something, Claire. I should have told you weeks ago.’
‘What?’ I ask, my heart sinking.
‘I was browsing the shops in Oxford the other day and I saw Matt with Sarah. He was buying a bracelet. At first I thought it was for you and that maybe he was asking Sarah to help him choose. She was trying on the different bracelets, you see, and I thought that it was just to see how they looked on someone. I didn’t believe…’
‘He was buying it for her?’ I say incredulously. Matt knows we’re trying to save every penny we can so we can move out of Pamela’s house.
‘I didn’t want to believe that at the time. But it looked that way. He handed the package over to her at the end. I’m sorry, Claire. I really should have told you.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ I think of all the suspicions I’ve had about Matt and Sarah. If only she’d told me, that would have confirmed it.
‘I suppose I wanted to believe the best of him. When I saw him hand the bracelet to Sarah, I told myself it was probably a gift for her hard work. But I didn’t really believe that, if I’m honest with myself. I’m so sorry, I should have told you. I just didn’t want to split you up. I wanted Olivia to have her father around. Everything that me and Lizzie don’t have.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say, bursting into tears.
Emma puts her hand on my arm. ‘What a horrible thing to do, leaving the scarf there like that.’
‘I guess she must have wanted me to find out. So she could take Matt from me. You know, I don’t think she ever met anyone else after Matt left the village years ago. She wanted him back.’
The reality of my situation hits me once more. A wave of anger takes me over and I can hardly breathe. How could he? How could he sleep with her? In the bed where I breastfeed our child.
‘I want to punish him,’ I say.
‘Don’t let him come back,’ Emma says. ‘Don’t ever let him come back. You deserve so much better.’
Emma finds a bin bag and I start stuffing Matt’s clothes into it. Polo shirts, trousers, underwear. I crumple each item into a ball before shoving it into the bag. When it’s full, Emma and I put the bag on the porch in the rain.
I feel better already.
Emma gives me a hug. ‘Well done,’ she says. ‘You’re so brave. I wish I’d done that with Dan the first time I discovered he was cheating.’
I manage a small smile, not feeling brave at
all.
‘Where’s Olivia?’ Emma asks.
‘She’s with Ruth,’ I reply. ‘I’d better go and get her.’ I don’t want Ruth using Olivia as some kind of bargaining chip when she finds out I’ve chucked Matt out.
Emma and I walk over to Ruth’s, and she gratefully hands Olivia back to me.
‘Are you feeling better?’ she asks.
‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, glancing at Emma, before we make our excuses and hurry out the door.
When we get back, Emma helps me craft a text message to Matt.
I know what you did. Don’t bother coming home tonight. Your stuff’s outside.
‘Why do you think he cheated on me?’ I ask.
‘I have no idea. Why does anyone cheat on anyone? There are so many amazing women out there who’ve been treated like this.’
‘I thought we were good together,’ I say. ‘Me and Matt. We’ve been struggling a bit since Olivia’s been born, but I still thought we were good together.’
I want to ask her if she could see the cracks in our relationship. If it was obvious to everyone but me.
‘I thought you were good together too,’ Emma replies and I’m relieved. ‘But you had your doubts about Sarah, didn’t you?’
‘Maybe a bit. I can’t bear the thought of him with someone else. If he leaves tonight he might go to her.’
I check my phone, desperately wanting to see a reassuring text from Matt. A text that explains how I’m mistaken. That everything’s going to be all right.
But there’s nothing. My face flushes and my body tenses as I fill with rage. He clearly doesn’t think it’s important to check his phone. What if something had happened to Olivia?
I want to scream at him. Ask him why he cheated, why I wasn’t enough for him. If he doesn’t love me any more.
My phone beeps and I jump.
What are you talking about?
No apology. I reply:
You know what I’m talking about.
My phone beeps again.
We can talk about this tonight.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes before they cascade down my face. He hasn’t even tried to call. He should be rushing home from work early to try and fix things. But he’s not. Instead he’s staying with Sarah at the surgery.
My resolve hardens.
Like I said, your stuff’s outside.
I show the texts to Emma.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says reassuringly. ‘I’ll stay with you until he comes back. You won’t have to deal with him alone.’
I’m relieved, afraid that if I see Matt, I might crumble. If he apologises, I’ll fall into his arms and forgive him. I don’t want that.
When I hear Matt’s key in the lock, I freeze. He tries it several times, pushing on the door before he shouts through the letter box.
‘Claire?’
I come to the door. ‘I’ve bolted the door,’ I say.
‘What? Why?’
‘Your stuff’s outside.’
Emma comes up beside me and touches my arm.
I hear Matt pick up the bin bag and rifle through it.
‘Claire? What’s going on?’
‘You know what’s going on. You’re sleeping with Sarah.’
I realise I’m shouting. It is so quiet round here that my voice echoes.
‘That’s crazy. What are you talking about?’
‘Just leave.’
‘Claire. I’m tired. I just want some rest. Let me in and we can talk.’
‘We’re not talking about this, Matt. If you wanted to talk to me about our relationship, then you should have done it before you slept with her.’
He is quiet for a moment.
Emma takes my arm and we go back into the kitchen.
For the next twenty minutes Matt bangs on the door, shouting my name again and again. Finally he gives up and leaves. In the silence, all I can hear is the screeching of the foxes.
She picks up the phone after two rings and I’m relieved to hear her voice. I’m always scared that someone else will pick up when I ring the helpline. I only want to speak to her.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘It’s me.’
There’s a moment’s hesitation and I worry I’ve been presumptuous, that she won’t recognise me. She must take dozens of calls a day. I’m just one of many to her, but she is my only lifeline.
‘Hi. How are you?’ I can hear the smile in her voice and I smile too, reassured.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d know who it was,’ I confess, with a nervous laugh.
‘Of course I do. I’m always glad when you call.’
My heart lifts. It’s something a friend would say.
‘How are you?’ I ask. I’m curious about her, about her life outside our conversations.
‘I’m good,’ she says. ‘You know, busy.’
‘You work long hours on the helpline.’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment, so I’m on a lot of shifts.’
‘It must be hard work.’
‘Sometimes it’s tiring.’ She sighs. ‘But that’s not what you called to talk about. How are things going?’ I’m disappointed she’s changed the subject, that she doesn’t want to tell me about herself.
But there’s a reason I’ve called today. There’s something that’s been playing on my mind. She said that men like my husband were always the same, that they often have a history of abusive behaviour.
‘It’s my husband,’ I say. ‘Someone’s accused him of sexual assault.’ I hear her intake of breath.
‘What have they said?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. He’s been vague about the details.’
‘Do you believe them?’
I breathe in deeply, it’s hard to form the words. I feel like I’m betraying my husband, betraying my marriage vows. But I’ve thought about this again and again. I can’t get the images out of my mind.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I believe them.’
Twenty-Two
Olivia’s screaming. I roll over in bed drowsily and check my phone. Three in the morning. Time for her feed. I reach over towards Matt’s side of the bed into the empty space. I’m on my own now. Just me and Olivia.
I pad over to Olivia’s room and lift her out of her cot, pulling my nightdress down and holding her to my breast. My arm aches under her weight. Using my other hand, I check my phone. The screen is lit up with messages. Fourteen missed calls from Matt from last night. Two voicemails. I ignored them yesterday, unable to face them.
I listen now. The sound of Matt’s voice makes me well up. He says I should call him, that he loves me, that he doesn’t know what he’s done but he’s sorry. His voice breaks as he rings off.
Without letting myself think, I call him back. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I need to hear his voice, need to know someone’s at the other end of the phone.
He picks up after two rings. ‘Claire? Are you all right?’
‘Yeah.’ I haven’t thought about what to say. I just want him to wrap his strong arms around me and tell me everything’s going to be OK. But I know I have to be brave. He cheated on me. It’s over.
‘Claire,’ he says softly. ‘What happened last night?’ I hate that gentle voice he’s using. He’s trying to calm me down, as if I’m a child.
‘I found Sarah’s scarf. Under our bed.’
He pauses before he answers. ‘Are you sure it was Sarah’s?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’m sure.’ For a second, a doubt crosses my mind. I only saw the scarf once when Sarah came round to clear the pond. But I dispel the thought. I know what I found.
‘And you’re sure it was under the bed?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I feel disappointed anger rising inside me. I’d hoped for an apology. Instead he’s questioning everything I say.
He sighs. ‘I don’t know why it would be there, Claire. I’m sorry, but I don’t.’
‘What about the bracelet?’
‘What bracelet?’
/> ‘The one you bought Sarah.’
‘Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He thinks he can lie his way out of this. I wonder if he’s with Sarah now, if they’re both laughing at me.
‘Where are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m at Mum’s.’
‘Oh.’ I try to keep the relief from my voice.
‘Claire – is there anything I can do to make this better? You’ve been unwell. I just want to be with you to help you.’
I hate him then, turning this on me, making me think I’m going crazy. I know that’s not what’s happening.
‘Forget it. I’m fine on my own.’
I hang up the phone, sighing with frustration, as Olivia continues to suckle.
I wish he’d just apologised. At least that would be a start. But he thinks he can just deny everything.
I try to distract myself by browsing the internet, but as usual I find myself looking at Sarah’s Facebook profile. She still hasn’t accepted my friend request. Now I know why.
Her old photos are still the same, but this time I see them differently. There are a couple with another girl, who must be her sister. I didn’t realise they were the same person at first. In one photo Sarah and her sister smile at the camera arm in arm, young and vibrant and ready to take on the world. In the second picture they are still smiling, but the sister has aged, and is wheelchair-bound, the left side of her face lopsided with paralysis. I remember how upset Matt was when he told me Sarah’s story and I feel an unexpected flicker of sympathy for her. The photo must have been taken between the accident and her sister’s death.
As I look at the photograph, something bothers me. My instincts are telling me that there’s something not quite right about Matt’s explanation of the accident.
I take Sarah’s sister’s name from Facebook and google it along with the word ‘accident’. Eventually, after pages and pages of irrelevant results, I find a newspaper article.
September 1998. ‘Tragic accident for local family.’