I Made a Mistake

by Jane Corry

  When I got there, I had to walk on round the block to summon up the nerve to go in. Then, when I did, I sat in the reception hiding behind a magazine. By the time I saw the doctor, I was a bag of nerves. To my embarrassment, I found myself bursting into tears on the couch during the examination. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’ she asked. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all totally confidential here.’

  She seemed so warm and kind and understanding that I found myself telling her everything – including my guilt over Jane, which made me put up with Jock’s treatment. ‘It sounds like you have a lot on your plate,’ she said. ‘I can put you in touch with a counsellor if you want.’

  But I politely declined. I felt bad enough having told her already.

  Then I went back for the test results. ‘Good news,’ she said. ‘You’re clear. But I’d advise you to make sure that your husband gets tested too.’

  She clearly didn’t know Jock. He’d go nuts if I suggested such a thing.

  ‘You know,’ said Mum when I told her. ‘It’s not such a bad idea. Sometimes men like yours act all tough but are more vulnerable than they seem deep down. Tell him he was seen in Cross Lane. Tell him you were itchy and got yourself checked out. Pretend you’ve got something but that it’s treatable. Make sure you say the doctor says it’s fairly recent, so he can’t blame you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said, picking up Stuart to give him a cuddle but really to hide my blushes.

  ‘Don’t go all coy with me, girl. People talk. One of the women at bingo is the mother of that girl who worked for your fancy man.’

  ‘Dawn from the agency?’

  ‘That’s the one. Wasn’t very happy when she was told she wasn’t needed no more. Apparently, when she went round to get a jumper she’d left behind, she saw you and that fella Gary through the window. “Standing very close to each other,” was how she put it. So she left the jumper and went back another time. “I had my suspicions before they got rid of me,” she said.’

  My mother gave me one of her looks. ‘His wife was a friend of yours before she died, wasn’t she?’

  I went even redder. ‘Then why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Maybe because I could see you weren’t happy with that husband of yours.’

  ‘But you told me I had to keep my marriage together.’

  ‘That was before I realized what kind of a man you’d saddled yourself with.’ She sniffed. ‘’Sides, times are changing. It’s different now from my day. But you still don’t want to end up raising a kid on your own. It’s too bloody tough.’

  I could hardly believe her words. Mum was the last person I’d expected to show sympathy.

  ‘And getting involved with a married bloke was just damn stupid. His poor wife.’

  I wanted to be sick. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I whispered.

  ‘I’m not surprised. You can’t bring the woman back from the dead. But there’s still time to fix the mess you’re in right now. All you have to do is tell that Jock of yours that the doctor said he needs to get himself tested. He won’t like that. But he’ll have to. Even if he’s clear, it might make him think a bit more carefully about playing away in the future. You might also remind him that if any of this got out, it wouldn’t look too good for his reputation.’

  I hadn’t realized my mother could be so calculating. But she might be on to something here.

  For the first time, I felt the power balance in my marriage shift. That night I made one of Jock’s favourite dinners – pork chops and chips. I got Stuart into bed before his father came home. Both had been Mum’s suggestions.

  After Jock had finished his meal, he seemed in a better mood than he had for weeks. I took a deep breath. ‘I went to a clinic today,’ I told him.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of a clinic?’

  ‘It provides contraception.’

  ‘You get the cap from our GP, don’t you?’

  I tried to steady my voice and hide my nerves. ‘The thing is, this clinic also does sexual health tests.’

  He leaned forward. ‘A VD clinic? Are you trying to tell me that that Gary gave you something? I’ll track him down and wring his bleeding neck.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ I said truthfully. ‘We didn’t … we didn’t do it. If you really want to know, I’ve got thrush. But when I told the doctor what you’d been up to, she strongly advised that you got yourself checked out.’

  He rose to his feet, his face contorted with fury. ‘What the fuck do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t play innocent, Jock. You were seen! You were spotted coming out of that brothel in Cross Lane.’

  He looked winded, as if I’d just kneed him in the groin. His face went bright scarlet too.

  ‘Just imagine what the big boss at the factory would say if he knew you’d been visiting prostitutes,’ I continued. ‘He’s a real family man, isn’t he? Doesn’t look good if his foreman is doing that.’

  Now Jock was going pale. I watched fear flash across his face at the thought of all his promotion plans going out of the window. As I knew all too well, the worst thing that could happen to my husband was being criticized or made a fool of.

  But now I had the upper hand.

  ‘So here’s what’s going to happen, Jock,’ I said. ‘First, you’re doing to get tested.’

  ‘There’s no bloody way I’m going to the pox doctor,’ he scoffed. ‘Like I’m going to be humiliated that way.’

  ‘You’ll be more humiliated if I decide to tell my dad about what you’ve been up to. I reckon people at the factory would talk, don’t you? I might even get custody of our son if I divorced you for adultery.’

  His jaw dropped and his very body seemed to shrink into itself. Suddenly my husband had become a small boy.

  ‘You can go to a clinic where no one knows you, just like I did,’ I continue firmly. ‘There are things they can do.’

  He didn’t say anything and I took his silence as agreement.

  ‘And then we’re going to have an arrangement, you and I.’

  I waited dramatically. He continued to stare at me.

  ‘Play around as much as you like with other women. I’d advise you for your sake to stay well clear of any brothels, although it’s your business. But I never, ever, want you touching me again.’

  Still he said nothing.

  ‘Is that a “yes”, Jock?’ I said coolly, though my heart was thudding.

  Even though his head was bowed, I saw him nod.

  Then I stood up and walked out of the room.

  25

  Poppy

  I’ve been dreading going down to the caravan in Devon. I simply can’t afford the time away from work. There are always emails to answer and people to chase. Then there’s the worry about Doris, which is all my fault. The lawyer, whom Sally is liaising with, is still working out ‘how we should play it’.

  Meanwhile, the thing that’s pressing on my mind more than anything is waiting for Matthew to text me with a ‘time and place’. So far there’s been nothing.

  I try to hide all my worries as we drive down. Passing Stonehenge, I glance at the ancient stones, wondering if the people who used to worship there had their own tangled personal lives. My heart begins to thud again. What am I even doing here? I fall silent. Stuart, on the other hand, becomes increasingly talkative as we get nearer.

  ‘Mum and Dad came here for their honeymoon,’ he says enthusiastically, as if he hasn’t already told me this before. ‘It’s rather nice that we’re celebrating such a special anniversary in the same place, isn’t it?’

  But what if he wants sex? The subject probably won’t come up, I tell myself. It’s not as though he’s been interested for ages. But then again, it is our anniversary. It would be strange if it wasn’t on his mind. At times, I cannot believe we’ve been married twenty years.

  Before Matthew, I might have been as excited as Stuart about the holiday. But now I feel so guilty. To make it worse, an old schoolfriend of mine has just
been posting on Facebook about her wedding anniversary cruise and what a great time they’re having. The pictures of them arm in arm, clearly besotted with each other, makes me feel my life is a complete sham.

  Then we round a bend and I gasp at the sea glistening below and the huge rocks rising out of the water. It’s been so long since we’ve been down here that I’d forgotten how stunning it is.

  When the girls were small, we came down quite a lot. We used to explore the beach and visit all the local spots like A La Ronde (a stunning octagonal National Trust property) and Paignton Zoo. But as they got bigger, the caravan felt too small, and then Melissa started asking why we couldn’t go abroad like all her friends. So somehow the caravan just sat here. Stuart paid for someone to go in every now and then to check it was all right.

  Now, as we get out at the caravan site, I breathe in the clean air and marvel at the light dancing off the sea. My body relaxes as if someone has turned off the stress switch. I feel a surprising sense of peace. We unlock the door, open the windows to let out the musty air and put on the kettle. It’s really rather cosy.

  ‘How about a walk?’ says Stuart. ‘I could do with a stretch after that long drive.’

  Automatically, we head past the shop, down the slope past the fishermen’s nets and straight for the sea. ‘Go on,’ says my husband, kicking off his shoes. ‘Let’s have a paddle.’

  As the water washes over my feet (freezing, but strangely exhilarating!), I reflect that it’s been ages since we did something that was actually fun instead of part of the family curriculum.

  ‘I’ll cook some supper, shall I?’ I say as we walk back.

  ‘Maybe later,’ he replies, putting an arm around my shoulder.

  What? Stuart hasn’t touched me since he held my hand during Christmas shopping. I feel both guilty because of Matthew and also relieved. Does this mean my husband does care for me after all?

  His hand is massaging my shoulder, the way it used to in the days when we were closer. I should feel flattered. Isn’t this what I’d been wanting for the last three years? But now I’m deeply uncomfortable. We break apart when I open the door and head towards the cooker.

  Then I feel his arms around my waist from the back. ‘Supper can wait, can’t it?’

  ‘What’s brought this on?’ I say, turning round.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he says.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘It’s not as though you show me much affection any more.’

  ‘And nor do you.’

  It’s true.

  His eyes are on mine. It would be so easy to tell him everything. To come clean … But then what? Yet I don’t know if I can go on living with my guilt. Maybe I should tell him about Matthew after all, explaining that it’s all over now.

  ‘Actually …’ I say, taking a deep breath.

  ‘Maybe …’ he says at exactly the same time.

  ‘You first,’ I say quickly, my courage deserting me.

  ‘Maybe it’s because we’re here, without any of the stresses that we both have at home.’

  He has a point. It’s so beautiful and tranquil here; like being in another world, with the sea outside.

  ‘What were you going to say just now?’ he asks.

  ‘The same,’ I reply swiftly.

  He kisses me. Properly. I can hardly remember the last time he did that.

  Then he slowly peels off my jumper and leads me to the pull-down bed. He seems nervous. Almost as if he is doing this for the first time.

  If only that were true. What I would give to have a clean slate. But it’s too late now.

  Afterwards, I want to cry with self-loathing. What would my husband say if he knew what I’d done? I also want to weep because – I have to admit this – with Stuart there’d been none of that passion I’d had with Matthew in the Worthing hotel before common sense and morality had taken over.

  And there’s something else bothering me. Is it possible that Stuart might have made love to me out of guilt? He’d seemed like someone different. Maybe he was compensating for something? Or what if he was used to releasing that passion with Janine. So, without any other outlet down here apart from me, he’d …

  Stop it, I tell myself. All these ‘what ifs’ will drive me crazy.

  Instead, I kiss the top of Stuart’s head. ‘I love you,’ I murmur.

  He puts his cheek against mine. ‘And I love you, Poppy Page.’

  The next morning, after breakfast, we go to the village shop arm in arm to get the newspapers. I browse around the boxes of fruit and the packets of toffee, choosing a ‘thank you for having the kids’ box of shortbread for Betty and a ball for the puppy. It feels a relief to do something normal and I try to concentrate on these small actions instead of agonizing over everything else.

  Stuart and I have another lovely walk along the clifftops, gazing down at the sparkling sea below. I’m beginning to feel better. Brighter. All this is such a change from London that I can almost pretend I am someone else. ‘The air smells so different,’ I say.

  ‘Mum always used to say that when I came down as a child.’ He squeezes my hand. I squeeze his back. Then he kisses me. It feels safer and more doable than full-blown sex. After an hour or so, we stroll back to the caravan.

  ‘By the way,’ says Stuart casually, ‘I meant to mention something earlier.’

  ‘What?’ I say, not really concentrating as I search for the caravan key in my bag.

  His words come out in a rush. ‘That new patient of mine came back to the surgery the day before yesterday. Poor chap is in quite a lot of discomfort with those wisdom teeth. Afterwards, he said that he’d looked you up after I’d told him you’d been an actress too.’

  My mouth is so dry that I can barely speak. ‘Really?’

  My husband’s voice goes a bit odd.

  ‘The funny thing is that it turns out that the two of you had known each other after all.’

  I can hardly breathe.

  ‘Then he showed me this picture on his mobile phone.’

  I freeze. Unable to speak.

  ‘You won’t believe it,’ says Stuart, looking me straight in the eye. ‘It was of you and him.’

  My head starts to ring. My legs shake. My body feels so unsteady with pure, utter terror that I have to hang on to the caravan door handle to stop myself falling.

  ‘I got him to forward me a copy so I could show you. Look.’

  He waves his phone in front of my nose. I have no option.

  It’s me all right. And Matthew. But it’s us when we were twenty-one, in rehearsal for the opening night of the show I didn’t get to because I was in hospital. Not, thank goodness, the selfie he had taken without my knowledge in the Worthing hotel. I want to weep with relief.

  My husband is looking at me carefully. ‘Apparently you were at the same drama school together. I’m surprised you don’t remember him.’

  ‘There were lots of us there,’ I bluster. ‘You can’t remember everyone. Besides, he’s changed …’

  I stop.

  ‘How do you know?’ asks Stuart sharply.

  ‘I expect he’s changed,’ I correct myself quickly. ‘A bit like me.’

  Stuart shrugs. ‘We all have. He seemed quite nice, actually. You ought to get in touch and ask him over for dinner sometime.’

  Then he gives me another kiss; this time on my cheek. A cool one, rather like the type you might give to a distant relative. ‘Now, how about going out for lunch instead of making it ourselves?’

  ‘I’m not that hungry now,’ I say.

  He puts his arm around me. ‘But it’s our wedding anniversary, Poppy! We’ve got to celebrate. Haven’t we?’

  Somehow I get through a meal at a rather nice restaurant near Exmouth, although we don’t talk a lot. In the afternoon, we drive along the coast and then have an early night. Of course, I can’t sleep. Not after Stuart’s revelation about Matthew. So I get up just after 5 a.m. and go for a walk along the beach. A fisherman, pulling his boat up over the pebbles,
bids me good morning. A young father carries a toddler in a backpack. A seagull swoops overhead. The waves lap against the stones. I bend down to pick up a shell and tuck it in my pocket out of habit from long-ago childhood days.

  Everything seems so natural here. So uncomplicated. Why can’t my life be the same?

  I begin to climb a footpath that runs from the beach up to the top of a hill. Then my mobile reception, which has been dodgy in the caravan, suddenly has a breakthrough. There’s a message sent an hour ago from the girls and Betty, telling me what fun they’ve been having with Coco.

  And then one from Matthew.

  Did you like that old photo of us? Your husband seemed quite taken aback. Took me a fair while to find it from my stack of old drama school magazines. Shall we say the Embankment Gardens on Tuesday? 2 p.m.? And oh, by the way, congratulations on your anniversary. Devon is so beautiful, isn’t it?

  My stomach drops. My skin crawls. How on earth does he know where we are? I have never felt such hatred for anyone as I do for Matthew right now. What did I ever see in him?

  Then something that Betty told Melissa when a girl at school was being horrid comes back to me: ‘Find her vulnerable point, love. Everyone has one. Then go for it. Bullies will always go on unless you throw mud back at them.’

  It had struck me at the time as being very unlike my mother-in-law, who was such a kind, forgiving person. But now I’m beginning to think she has a point.

  Right, I tell myself, deleting Matthew’s message and striding up the hill to a bench with a renewed vigour in my step. That’s it. Two of us can play at this game.

  ‘Poppy Page,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s time to fight back …’

  But where to begin? Facebook, maybe. In fact, I should have done this sooner. Yet just as I open Matthew’s page, I hear a shout. It’s Stuart, waving at me from the bottom of the hill. He is coming up. ‘Mind if I join you?’ he says, getting nearer.