Page 27 of Behind Her Eyes

He looks back as he leaves, a quick glance over his shoulder. A last look. It makes my stomach fizz with a surge of happiness, and then it twists in jealousy. He’s going home to her for the weekend. Does he think of me at all on those days? I know he must do sometimes because he’s turned up at my door on a Saturday before, buthowdoes he think of me? Does he consider leaving her for me? I wish I knew what I am to him. Where this is leading, if anywhere at all. Surely he should be talking about that by now? It’s not as if we’re kids. I feel cheap all over again and I slump back in my chair. I should end it. I know I should.

I look at the clock. It’s coming up for five. I look away and look back again and the time remains the same. I need to clear out the coffee, finish some admin to leave for Monday, and then it’s time to go home myself.

I think about going for a jog this evening, but I’m so tired from my broken sleep that I know it’s not going to happen. I pinch myself. ‘I am awake,’ I mutter.

22

ADELE

Even though we spent the evening at home like any other couple – dinner, TV, minimal conversation – David still slept in the spare room last night. He blamed it on the warm weather, but this is a big old house and the thick walls keep the airy rooms relatively cool. He didn’t look at me as he went up to bed. It wasn’t entirely unexpected but I still felt stabbed in the guts with a shard of my own broken heart.

When I heard him moving around this morning, I got up and went to the gym to avoid facing him across the invisible bitter split in our marriage. I had to let out some of my pent-up emotions and I ran hard on the treadmill and then did heavier reps on the machines than I’ve done before, but I didn’t take any pleasure in it. It all feels like a waste of time. What does it matter? What doImatter any more?

I got home in time to make us both a light lunch, and then he was gone. Off to his outreach work. Some badly-dressed lump of a man picked him up in an old car. They all look the same, do-gooders. That’s a thing that hasn’t changed since Westlands days. As if dressing badly somehow makes them more worthy. At least the outreach work hasn’t been a complete lie, even though I know he’s used it as an excuse to go and see Louise at least once.

After he’d left I thought about texting her myself to see if she fancied a coffee somewhere – I suddenly felt lonely in the house – but then decided against it. I don’t know where he goes on these days, and even though it’s a busy area we live in, coincidences do happen. I can’t risk everything on him spotting us from a car just because I’m feeling down.

Instead, I cleaned the house for an hour or two, scrubbing the bathrooms until they sparkled and I was breathless, and then I was interrupted by the Saturday post clattering – late as usual – through the letterbox.

When I saw the envelope, the familiar company stamp in the corner and neatly handwritten address, I was glad I hadn’t started an argument today. It would have been too much and it isn’t needed. This will be enough to unsettle him. In my mind’s eye the past is like quicksand and David’s stuck in it, slowly, slowly sinking. It makes me sad again.

I open the envelope and stare at the columns of description and expenditure and glance over the cover letter. Nothing unusual or surprising there, but then there never is. We don’t go back to Fairdale House and no one has lived there since the one wing burned. I reread the letter. A few repairs done on the main building. Fences maintained. Security cameras all working. No new damage to the property. Gas and electric still connected and fees paid. Drainage is fine. Rents are being paid on the outlying fields. The summer report is always cheaper than the winter one. No need to run the heating so much against the Scottish cold. To be honest, I think most people have forgotten the estate is even there: Sleeping Beauty’s castle behind the hedgerows.

I put the letter and the bill down on the kitchen side where David will see it. I place it so it looks as if I’ve casually tossed it there. That will annoy him too. I shouldn’t have opened it. I should have put it on his desk when I saw the company stamp. It’s addressed to both of us, but everyone knows he’s in charge of the money. I’m only the pretty puppet: the tragic wife who needs looking after.

The solicitors have stopped asking us if we’re going to sell the estate. We could never sell it. Although, maybe, in the future … my stomach flips with the potential of everything. With the possibility of our secret being out in the open and allowed to crumble to dust and then nothing. To be free of it. The thought is dizzying, but it also strengthens me.

I look at the clock. It’s eight thirty. Outside the summer day is beginning to fade. David will be out until ten. He didn’t want dinner waiting, so I don’t have that to worry about. I do have a place to go, however, and there’s no point in putting it off for longer. I need to be prepared. I need to be ready. In some ways I’m actually looking forward to it.

I just have to be very, very careful.

23

LOUISE

‘Dude! Are you high or something? I mean, this is a real shit-fest you’ve got yourself into. Even I can see that, and you know how I like a good mess.’ Sophie’s disapproval comes through loud and clear on the phone, and I wish I hadn’t said anything.

‘What have you been thinking? And why didn’t you tell me already?’

‘I’ve been busy,’ I mutter. What gives her the right to be so judgemental? She’s in no position to be.

‘No shit. The boss thing aside, this is not good. As much as I’m happy you’re getting yourself out there, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.’ She’s trying to temper her point by being funny, but I still flush as I pace around the house. She’s only called me because her plans for the evening fell through and she’s stuck at home with Ella. She probably hasn’t even noticed that I haven’t been texting her.

‘I know, I know,’ I say. ‘And I will end it.’

‘End which? Her or him? I feel like you’re shagging both.’ She pauses. ‘Areyou shagging both?’

I smile a little at that even though I’m annoyed with her. ‘No, of course I’m not. It’s just … I don’t know – every time I try to end one or the other, I can’t.’

‘You want my advice?’ Sophie says, before a small voice interrupts in the background. ‘Hang on, Louise.’ Her voice quiets as she turns away from our call. ‘What?’ she says, irritated. ‘I told you Ella, Mummy’s on the phone. Go and ask Daddy. Well, ask him again.’ She comes back into my ear. ‘Sorry Lou. Bloody children …’

My throat is tight. I’m not sure I do want her advice. What I really want is for her to laugh and tell me it’s all fine, and isn’t it so exciting? I have a feeling that’s not coming. I’m right.

‘If you want my advice, honey,’ she continues, ‘ditch them both. You can’t be her friend because you’ll always have shagged her husband and that’s shit, and you can’t be his lover because he’s married to a woman you’ve been friends with, and that’s also shit. Having an affair is a big enough secret and not one I think you’re really cut out for – and that’s a compliment. You’re better than this, Lou. Get on Tinder or something. There are lots of hot men out there – trust me. Single ones and everything. I swear to God, if you haven’t got a profile set up by the next time I see you, there’s going to be trouble. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ I say, lying through my teeth to make her happy and get rid of her.

‘I’ve got to go, Lou – Ella’s about to go into meltdown. But keep in touch. I’m here if you need me.’

---