‘Jason. This is Susan.’ She smiles, waiting for the stranger and me to make physical contact in the way of a hug or a handshake. I extend a hand and feel Vince’s firm dry grip. I realise immediately that this guy is no twin or double. He’s the man I’ve been sleeping with.
‘Hi,’ I say. I’m having trouble staying on my feet; my knees are knocking and my head is spinning. I sit down on one of the high stools while Vince, or Jason, or whoever he is, offers me his hand by way of assistance. I’m frightened I might be suffering a full-blown panic attack. Perhaps I’m dreaming and will wake up any minute, jolted violently back to reality. There’s a pounding in my ears; my heart is thumping as it tries to break out. Roger returns with the newly arrived guests and asks again if I’m okay.
‘Are you sure?’ He looks concerned and pours me a long glass of cold water. ‘You don’t look well,’ he says, putting the palm of his hand on my forehead to check for a temperature. ‘You’re definitely feeling hot.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. I came over a bit strange but I’m okay now.’
Lucas proceeds to step forward and kiss me, followed closely by his wife but I can’t concentrate on what is being said. I need to get a grip. Suddenly Tilly screams down from upstairs and I push past Roger.
‘I’ll go,’ I say. ‘You stay with the guests. I’ll be back down in a minute.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Roger replies, concern etched on his face.
I climb the stairs and put my head round the bedroom door. Noah has fallen asleep, slumped on top of his sister who is desperate for him to move.
‘Get him off me, Mummy,’ she demands. The popcorn cartons are empty with rogue traces of the sugary husks strewn over the bed cover but Tilly is still eagerly chewing her way through rainbow-coloured sugar shapes. I sit down and pull her close, squeezing her so tightly that she yelps. ‘Ouch, that hurts,’ she protests. I gently lift Noah up and place him in his own bed next to hers, pulling the duvet round his tiny body.
‘Just ten more minutes, Tilly, and then lights out.’ I close the door behind me, leaving it slightly ajar but I can’t go back downstairs yet. Instead I go into the bathroom and lock the door. What’s Vince doing in my house? Why is he with Caroline? He can’t be her husband, surely. He’s not married. Or is that how I had willed it to be?
My neck is exuding salty sweat which makes the back of my hair stick together in clumps. I stare at my face in the mirror. My eyes are enormous, bulging out of their sockets, giving the illusion of insanity. Perhaps I’m hallucinating through the first signs of madness. I hear a gentle rap at the door. It’s Roger.
‘Susan? Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Open the door, please.’
I hesitate because I can’t decide what to do. Perhaps Roger can sit round the table on his own, entertain the guests until the food is finished, and then make excuses to cut short the evening. But I know he won’t do this. He’s too kind and caring to leave me on my own, especially if he thinks I’m not well.
In a hoarse whisper, I tell him I’ll be down shortly.
‘Turn the oven off, please, I’ll be fine. I need a moment.’ Why am I lying to Roger? He’s the only one I can trust.
I throw water over my face and drag a brush through my hair, reapplying lipstick and a couple of blobs of colour to my cheeks.
Everyone is talking quietly, sitting by the open fire and drinking Prosecco when I reappear. Caroline is the first to speak.
‘Are you okay? You look dreadful. Is it flu?’ She seems genuinely concerned. ‘Listen, we’ll go. You look as if you need to get to bed.’ She’s a good friend or is she? What isn’t she telling me? I don’t know anymore. What hasn’t she told me? That her husband is unbelievably handsome, like some James Bond stand-in? What did I expect her husband to look like? I don’t know but certainly not like Vince. I wasn’t prepared for him to be Vince. I got to him first; I found him and he’s my lover, not hers.
‘I’m fine, honestly. Just a hot flush,’ I announce, putting an end to possibilities of their early exit. I want to find out what’s going on. I go back to the oven and busy myself with culinary preparations. The conversation behind me has started up again and levity has entered the proceedings, everyone relieved that the hostess is feeling better.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Vince (I can’t bring myself to call him Jason) standing beside Imogen and jealously notice her rapt attention as she coquettishly hangs on his every word. I haven’t yet dared to look properly at him. Lucas, Imogen’s husband, with his balding pate and thick-rimmed glasses pales into insignificance beside Vince. The kitchen feels unbelievably hot in the enclosed space. Caroline hands round the canapés in deference to my dizziness and then lifts the avocado and lobster salad starters on to the table. She asks me for matches to light the candles.
‘I love the smell,’ she enthuses as she bends over to light the wicks, inhaling the vanilla aroma. I watch her, relaxed, helpful and unconcerned, as she moves round the room and I’m momentarily startled at the similarity in her manner to that of Vince. Perhaps marriage has helped clone their personalities.
The dining area is soon in darkness apart from the candles with their romantic glow. Roger wants to turn the lights up, ‘See what we’re eating.’ He laughs companionably with Lucas. Imogen is clinging like a limpet to Vince’s side. The lights stay dimmed as we sit down at the table. The place names now seem ridiculously pretentious in their solid silver holders, an ostentatious attempt to showcase my worth as a hostess.
‘Sit where you like,’ I say. Vince’s place name is next to my own. Seeing the word Jason makes my stomach churn. I remember I felt excited to be meeting Caroline’s husband for the first time. I’d heard so much about him. Or had I heard anything? I can’t remember. Vince sits down, checking his name in the holder and smiles at me.
‘Jason,’ he says. ‘That’s me.’ He frowns in my direction, owning up to the little white lie. But it wasn’t a little white lie. It was an enormous whopper of deceit.
‘I’m beside Susan,’ he says, pulling his chair out. ‘Perhaps she’ll give me seconds.’ Everyone laughs on cue. The drink is relaxing the mood but as I glug from my glass, I fear it might push me dangerously close to the edge. What’s happening? I can’t work it out.
‘Bon appétit!’ Roger raises his glass, takes a sip, and waits for me to sit. I can’t eat. I push the delicacies round my plate, scared to put anything into my mouth.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Vince turns, encouraging me to relax and for one bizarre moment I think he might be in on events. But why? Why would he come along and risk blowing the lid off our affair unless he and Caroline are in on the ruse together? Caroline and Jason? Bonnie and Clyde? This is too preposterous. Roger has switched the music on in the background. Chopin nocturnes float softly through the air as a gentle hum of conversation fills the room.
‘I didn’t know,’ he says. Vince can read my mind. My initial instinct is to look over at Caroline but she’s talking to Lucas, engrossed in anecdotes pertaining to the legal court system; juries versus high courts. She isn’t looking at us. ‘I promise,’ he continues. I believe him. I’m jealous of his ability to eat. I watch his strong brown hands with their perfectly manicured nails work the food on his plate, cutting delicate mouthfuls one at a time. He finishes before I have started. Perhaps his ability to eat with such relish is a clue.
‘That was delicious,’ he says for everyone to hear. I catch Caroline’s eye. It’s a fleeting thing but she’s definitely been staring at me, watching my reactions.
‘It’s strange,’ Roger says when there’s a momentary lull in the conversation, ‘but Jason and I met only a week or so ago in Lincoln’s Inn. By pure coincidence.’ Roger’s putting his last mouthful of lobster to bed and is looking at Jason. ‘The City Flogger pub, I think it was,’ he says. Roger glances from one of us to the other. Is he jealous of Jason? Does he suspect? Or is he purely making polite conversation?
I think in my earlier shocked state, I
vaguely remember the two men laughing at how they had already met. What an amazing coincidence. They had been sitting at adjacent tables in a pub, Jason waiting for a friend when he had joined in a conversation Roger had been having with his secretary about the cost of living; fresh produce as opposed to ready-made meals. He had joined them in a drink.
Caroline is unusually quiet and doesn’t partake of the conversation. I wonder why. She’s keeping quiet in deference to Jason but it seems out of character. She is very verbal when we are alone.
I insist everyone stays at the table while I tidy up and serve the main course. I want the evening to be over, I need to think and work out what’s going on. Vince doesn’t obey my wishes but follows me into the kitchen.
‘Here. Let me help you.’ He brushes up close and I feel a desperate longing. I stand by the oven, close my eyes and imagine him hard inside me. He stands behind and teases me with his presence, coming back and forth from the table laden with dirty dishes. Perhaps we could escape unnoticed and have wild abandoned sex in the eaves of our attic. The thought makes the panic return.
Roger is soon pushing his way between us. ‘Jason. You go and relax and top up your glass. I’ll help Susan.’ Did Roger notice? What was there to notice?
He isn’t encouraging anyone to have a nightcap like he usually does. He asks me as soon as the dessert course is over how I’m feeling. He senses that I’m still not great and asks the guests if they would mind calling time as he thinks I need to get to bed.
‘I’m sorry,’ I manage. ‘I’ve not been much of a hostess but I’ll be better next time.’ My smile is weak, perpetuating the myth that I’m coming down with some seasonal virus and as everyone gets up to go, I watch Roger direct Caroline to the cloakroom.
‘Susan.’ Vince is beside me, and for a few minutes we are alone. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, gently putting his hand on my back. I feel the jolt of electricity. ‘I really didn’t know. You do believe me, don’t you?’ He’s looking at me, staring into my eyes or is it through me? I can’t be sure. I wonder what he didn’t know. That he was coming to our house for dinner? That Caroline knew me and Roger?
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I reply. ‘I don’t know who to believe anymore.’ I see Roger return and glance over in our direction. Vince has moved his hand from the small of my back and I’m worried Roger might have noticed. I move quickly into the hall to collect the coats and hear my voice, loud and chirpy, belying my supposed sickly demeanour.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I say. I tense, waiting for the goodbye kissing ritual.
Vince hangs back and waits for the other guests to cross the threshold into the night air. I close my eyes as he leans in to kiss his hostess on the cheeks. His smell is so familiar, strong and musky. He grips my arms and whispers in my ear. ‘I’ll call you.’
Caroline is watching. I can see her, over the top of Vince’s shoulder, as she rubs her hands together with the cold. Or is it in victory?
Suddenly Roger is by my side, extending his hand towards Vince. ‘Goodnight.’ There’s a sense of finality and coldness in Roger’s tone.
‘Goodnight, Roger, and thanks for a great evening.’ Vince turns his collar up and accepts Caroline’s outstretched hand as he catches up with her. For a moment I wish I was the one walking away with him.
The house seems strangely empty now the guests have left. Roger tells me to leave the clearing up until the morning after I’ve had a good night’s sleep. We go upstairs together and neither of us speaks until Roger finally makes a comment.
‘It seems a bit of a coincidence that I’ve met Jason before.’ Roger is brushing his teeth and spitting words out between strokes, using the activity to augment his air of indifference. White globules of toothpaste splat into the sink. ‘They’re a strange couple, don’t you think?’
‘In what way?’ I’m eager to hear his opinions; get an objective viewpoint. Perhaps he’ll be able to shed some light on Caroline and Jason’s relationship. Roger is astute. Also I’ve a faint inkling he might suspect something, but I can’t imagine what he could have gleaned from the evening’s events.
‘I think she wears the trousers. He seems rather weak and a bit vacuous.’ Roger wipes his mouth vigorously with a hand towel.
‘What gives you that idea?’ I don’t see Vince as part of a couple. Roger does.
‘She does most of the talking and he doesn’t add much. What does he do for a living? I don’t think he said.’ Roger looks at me as if I’ll know the answer.
‘I’ve no idea. Banking or something, I think. Caroline hasn’t talked much about him.’ This is true. I still have no idea what he does for a living, apart from investing in lucrative schemes with my money. I want Roger to stop talking but he carries on like a dog with a rat in its mouth.
‘He doesn’t half fancy himself. He looks as if he does nothing but work out and lie in the sun.’ Roger replaces the towel on the rail and straightens it neatly, rounding off the belittling finale with, ‘I suspect Caroline is the one with the brains.’
I lie in bed watching as Roger gets into his pyjamas and wonder how we might have appeared as a couple to Vince. Who does he think rules our roost? Roger climbs into bed and turns to kiss me as he does every night before clicking off the bedside lamp.
‘Goodnight. A great meal by the way.’
Five minutes later, he’s fast asleep, letting out gentle contented little puffs of air. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. Will Vince be snoring alongside Caroline or will they be making love, rounding off a romantic Saturday night?
As I lie next to Roger’s slumbering form, a dull wave of depression washes over me. He’s my partner, not Vince. I should be grateful for my lot but instead feel an overwhelming sadness that I’ve reached the future too soon.
30
Alexis
Although I’m moving with measured care, getting the cast off yesterday has lifted my spirits and I’m starting to feel more confident about attacking the future.
My first trip across the doorstep is to visit Olive, who has been watching over me from her vantage point by the window. I hobble down our driveway and up the short pathway leading to the Thompsons’ house. I relax when I reach the front door, lean against the frame and put all the weight on my good leg. I peer through the glass panels and press the bell. Olive usually comes on the first ring, spritely, eager for company, but today I watch as her frail body inches its way along the walls. She stops every few steps to catch her breath.
‘Coming. Just a minute.’ Her voice is faint and a hacking cough suddenly wracks her body. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of Bob. His car’s not in the driveway.
‘No rush. It’s only me, Alexis. Take your time!’ I yell back, cupping my mouth close to the glass with my hands.
I pull back while she unlocks the mortise and unfastens the chain.
‘Come in,’ she whispers, her smile weak, through dry cracked lips. ‘I hoped it was you.’
‘Oh, Olive. You look dreadful. Here let me help you.’ I step inside and taking her arm, we shuffle back towards the sitting room.
‘You need to see a doctor. That cough sounds as if it’s lodged in your chest. Let me go and put the kettle on. Is Bob out?’
‘He’s gone to the pharmacist to see what they’ll give him. I hate doctors. Lots of hot liquids should do the trick.’ She slumps into her chair and closes her eyes. Her eyelids twitch. I head for the kitchen but hear a faint mumbling sound behind me.
‘Listen, don’t try to talk. I wanted to pop by, now that my leg is out of plaster. It’s such a relief to be out of the house.’
Olive doesn’t answer but her laboured breathing filters through the quietness.
I return and set down a mug of tea beside her when suddenly she stretches out a frail hand and places it on top of mine. Her beady little eyes poke out from under the heavy lids.
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You need to take care of yourself.’ She looks at me, unblinking. It’s a warning. ‘Make
sure Gary stays with you as long as possible.’
‘He’s promised. Well, at least until he has to go to Spain in a couple of weeks. He badly needs a holiday.’
‘I’ve been watching out for you. I’ve seen Adam lurking around when you’re not about. Be careful. That’s all I’ll say. Stay alert.’ Wet pus oozes from the corners of her eyes, the left one red and swollen from an infection. I want to hug her, tuck her into bed and look after her. She’s like the mother I no longer have. She closes her eyes and seems to drift off into an uneasy slumber. It’s my cue to move nearer. I whisper very gently, ‘I’ll be careful. I promise. Get some sleep and I’ll check in on you later.’ I kiss her soft downy head before I thread my way, as lightly as my leg will allow, towards the hall.
With a glance backwards at her fragile body, I quietly close the front door behind me, reluctant to leave her but she insisted that Bob will be back soon and that he’s good in a crisis. She tried to smile at this thought but the effort brought the phlegm back up.
I wave through the window from outside in the garden, pressing my nose against the pane in case she’s watching but there’s no movement from the chair. She’s already fast asleep.
When I get back from Olive’s, I settle myself in the study and prepare to spend the rest of the morning sifting through emails and reconnecting with the outside world. I want to move forward, get on with the new business and my own life. Adam has become less persistent in his attempts to communicate and I’m hopeful, though not convinced, that he might finally have got the message that our marriage is over and I won’t be taking him back.
It’s been a couple of days since I checked my emails and notice straightaway that there are several notifications from Join Me.
Hi. It’s me again! I’m going up to London tomorrow on business and thought it might be a chance to meet up. Perhaps a quick drink at King’s Cross around midday – The Waggoner’s Arms? Eddie 300
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