Page 23 of A Clean Sweep
As she picked up her phone and scrolled through the directory, something caught her eye. Sitting on the coffee table, partly covered by that morning's newspaper, was Michael's phone. He'd obviously put it down while having his daily fix of coffee and headlines and not noticed it when he left.
Celeste put down her own phone and picked up his. It was an older model in a rather battered black leather case but he'd insisted it was good enough and resisted her attempts to get him to upgrade it. She pushed the button and the screen sprang to life,prompting her to enter the passcode. She hesitated, even though she was pretty sure she knew what it was. Whenever they holidayed anywhere Michael liked to pop their valuables in the room safe – passports, her jewellery, his iPad and so on – and he always keyed in the same four-digit number. 1066. Michael was a bit of ahistory buff and prided himself on an encyclopaedic knowledge of key dates, The Battle of Hastings being just one of them.
She trusted him completely, had never been one of those women who felt compelled to rifle through their husbands' pockets or scrutinise their credit card statements for unexplained purchases. Likewise, she was sure Michael would never stoop to snooping through her things, although she had recently changed her laptop password. But only because she was fiercely protective of her book, not because she thought for one minute that Michael would go near it.
Celeste realised she'd been holding her breath. She exhaled loudly then typed in the passcode. Up popped all the colourful icons, including the one they now shared with their his and hers fitness bands. She pushed away her feelings of guilt, reasoning that she was just curious about how many steps he managed on a regular basis. She touched the icon and looked at bright orange wedge which displayed his grand total for today. 4,927. That didn't seem a lot considering he'd been out walking now for several hours. She scrolled back through the preceding days. A couple around the 8,000 mark, one at almost 11,500 – that was the day they'd hit the big shopping mall on the outskirts of town. She'd certainlyfeltlike they'd covered a lot of ground that day. But it had been well worth it, garnering her a few new outfits and a set of golf clubs for Michael. Maybe the phone and band had to be in close proximity to record the steps? No, she was pretty sure that wasn't the case. When was his last epic walkabout? She racked her brains. It was the day she'd chatted to Emily about the chimney episode. Exactly one week ago. She located the relevant date with the backwards arrow. 3,072 steps. That simply didn't make sense. Unless …
Celeste sat down hastily on the sofa, still clutchingMichael's phone. Her heart was beating too fast, to the point she felt sure her band would start vibrating and flashing to warn of imminent cardiac arrest. There had to be a reasonable explanation, she told herself. Perhaps the band had come loose – Paul had told her they were sometimes prone to undoing themselves, although usually during the night if the wearer tossed and turned a lot – and he'd forgotten to put it back on. She thought this unlikely, however, given his dedication to the bloody thing. Maybe it was faulty, but she dismissed this possibility instantly. Michael would have noticed the discrepancy in the step count and been down the shop to have a word with the ever so obliging Paul. No, there was really only one answer that added up. Michael had been doing considerably less walking than he claimed. Which begged the question, whathadhe been doing instead?
Just as Celeste was thinking the unthinkable, she heard the front door open then slam shut. She hastily shoved his phone back under the newspaper, pasting on a broad smile as Michael entered the room.
'Hello, sweetheart. How are things? Sorry I was gone so long, decided to try a new route and got a bit lost so it added a bit to my schedule. Never mind, at least I'll have a pretty decent step total to add to my tally!' Michael beamed back at her, exuding rude health and the demeanour of someone with absolutely nothing to hide. Except, Celesteknewthat something was amiss but was struggling to accept that Michael – her lovely, dependable,faithfulMichael – might be hiding something from her. Something, orsomeone.
'I'm fine, darling, just been pottering around here. Oh, and I decided if you can't beat them, join them so I bought this.' Celeste thrust out her wrist, watching Michael's reaction at her new purchase. 'I know I need to get more exercise so now we have matching fitness bands and I fully intend tomove more and get in shape. Maybe we can start walking together!'
Was it her overwrought imagination or did Michael pale slightly at this suggestion? If so, he quickly regained his composure and gave her a kiss on the cheek. As he bent down to do so, he spotted his phone peeking out from underThe Times. He picked it up, looking abashed.
'I didn't even realise I'd forgotten this today. Goes to show how walking focuses the mind, clears away all the clutter of technology and those interminable beeps and pings signalling someone is after you for something. The only satisfying noise I want to hear these days is when this clever toy – he gestured to his band – tells me I've reached the magical 10,000!'
Which clearly hasn't happened recently, aside from their shopping expedition. She was still struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation, batting away dark thoughts of treachery and deceit as they crowded her brain.
'I expect it must have produced a fanfare today, you've been gone for ages! I had visions of you slumped over somewhere. In fact, I was about to call you but that wouldn't have done much good, would it?' she said, nodding at his phone. Although maybe he wouldn't have answered it anyway, not if he was indeed in a horizontal position, blood pumping through his veins as he… Stop, Celeste. She had absolutely no proof that Michael was up to anything underhand. But if the numbers weren't lying thenhewas. She just had to find out why.
Michael had retreatedto his study, telling Celeste he had some paperwork to deal with and the promise of dinner out that evening. He'd been taken aback by her surprisepurchase, even more so at the suggestion they become fitness band buddies. Of course, thereweredays when he genuinely went walking. He liked stepping out in the fresh air, each mile covered clearing away the mental clutter of day to day life. But many of his alleged outings in recent weeks had been to meet up with Sophie and that was something he simply could not share with his wife. He could not even begin to imagine her reaction if she learned of their secret assignations. They had always been honest with each other; it would be like lobbing a hand grenade into their relationship. And he was far from sure it would survive the explosion. Not to mention the fact that Sophie loathed Celeste and blamed her – at least partly – for his decision to keep his distance all those years. Which he didn't think was entirely fair. No, he was the one who should have stood firm and insisted on seeing his only child. Celeste might not have been happy about it but it would have been the right thing to do. And given time she maybe, just maybe, would have grown fond of Sophie too. It wasn't as if shedetestedchildren – she'd always been fond of her niece, Tabitha, in a detached kind of way – she simply didn't have a maternal bone in her body. And Sophie was painfully accurate when she described him as weak and spineless. Whereas she at least was trying to mend some bridges even if they seemed beyond repair at times.
Michael could feel the beginning of a headache spreading across his temples. He didn't have the faintest idea what to do for the best. All he knew was that he had to keep seeing Sophie and her boys. And try to figure out a way to prevent his rock-solid marriage from crumbling apart. He could start by taking Celeste to her favourite restaurant and generating some enthusiasm about her newfound zest for pounding the pavements. Mind you, he'd believe it when he saw it. She had a positive allergy to exercise and would hop in the car just topop to the corner shop. Getting wearily to his feet, he made his way upstairs for a shower, shave and a couple of paracetamol.
'So,when are we going to go on our first walk together? Not that we haven'twalkedtogether before, of course. I just mean now that we both have bands and can see how we're each getting on. It says on the app that there's nothing like a bit of support to spur you on. We can add each other as friends and track our progress. It'll be fun!'
Michael had just speared a garlic butter-oozing escargot into his mouth and narrowly avoided spitting it back out. How to dodge this bullet and come out alive, he wondered. He wasn't sure Sophie would be overly keen if he suggested they started taking long walks together. They generally met in unassuming little cafés, as far away as possible from potential prying eyes and wagging tongues.
'That's a sweet idea, my darling but it smacks a little of a competition and that's not how I see the band, for me at least. Of course, we can go for walks together but I don't really see the need to compare notes on who took the most steps or had the deepest sleep. Anyway, my ego would be deeply wounded if you racked up more steps than me!' Michael hoped his response came across as convincing and not too callous. Judging by the way Celeste's eyes narrowed and she savagely speared an olive with positive venom he feared not. As she popped it into her mouth her expression lightened and she smiled.
‘OK, it was a silly idea. Forget I even mentioned it. It will be enough if we get to spend more time together and perhaps it'll help me shed a pound or two. Although I don't think there's much danger of me overtaking you in thestepping stakes!' Celeste dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, reaching across to squeeze Michael's hand. 'Still, I'm going to drop by the sports shop again and treat myself to some new trainers. Can't be getting into this fitness malarkey without the proper shoes, can I? What do you suggest, sweetheart? In terms of brand, I mean. Aren't Badedas meant to be good?’
Back home and Michael bid Celeste goodnight, citing fatigue after his long walk combined with a slap-up meal and a half-bottle of decent plonk. She'd pecked him on the lips, assured him she'd be up just as soon as she'd checked her emails.
She booted up her laptop but had no interest in the latest offers from M&S or John Lewis. She just needed a little quiet time to contemplate her next course of action. A trip to see Paul and get herself kitted out with appropriate footwear was a given. Maybe some comfy jogging bottoms too, and an all-weather lightweight jacket. Then she'd wait until Michael announced he planned a solo walking outing. Which she had no doubt he would, very soon. Except, this time Celeste would – quite literally – be following in his footsteps.
Chapter 15
Emily was floating in a most delicious way. Suspended between sleep and wakefulness, reluctant to open her eyes and discover it had all been a figment of her imagination. Which, if ithadbeen, showed her imagination was capable of positions and strange noises her real self would struggle to conjure up. She stretched out an arm, made contact with something warm and breathing. Another person was in the bed with her. And had just rolled over and pulled her into an embrace that told her she wasn't dreaming, that all her torrid thoughts had been grounded in reality. Joe. She raised herself up on an elbow and dared to look at the man she'd spent the night with. And not thefirstnight by any means. Since Bibgate, as they’d dubbed it, they’d seen each other many times, each one as wonderful and memorable as the one before. Which didn’t stop her from continuing to marvel at waking up next to him.She prayed she didn't have a serious case of pillow face and cursed the fact she hadn't taken her make-up off. She’d been otherwise occupied, but smeared mascara and eyeliner did not bode well for morning seduction skills. She hadn't even combedher hair before they'd tumbled into bed. Emily was normally a stickler for pre-bed routines, and knew she'd failed spectacularly. Ah well, maybe his eyesight was a bit dodgy too. Doubtful though, given his youth and vigour. Maybe she could sprint – or at least shuffle – to the bathroom for a quick repair job and…
'Good morning, beautiful. How are you today?' Joe kissed the tip of her nose, hands sliding through her hair which probably had more knots than a macramé basket. Ouch! She wiggled away a little, still keeping her torso as close to his as possible. It was like a magnet, her bits drawn to his bits and quite unable to break the attraction. She'd thought last night's multiple couplings would have satisfied her for at least a decade, given the drought of recent years. She'd been wrong.
'We've been looking to expand the business. Cleaning chimneys brings in a decent income but it's not exactly sexy, is it?'
Youcertainly are, thought Emily dreamily as he ran a finger along her collarbone, sending shockwaves through her body.
'So, me and my dad – his name's Steve, by the way – did some research and found a great opportunity to expand. We've taken over a place called Where the Hearth Is – OK, another naff name – but it's working out well so far. They design and install really cool fireplaces. Even in homes where they don't think they've the space for one. Honest, Emily, you have to come and see for yourself. Meet my dad – I know he'll love you – and Adam. He manages the place and has a real talent for matching people with their needs and wishes.' By this point Joe was tracing butterfly kisses down her torso. She could barely recall her own name, never mind anyone else's. Right now she didn't want to think about life outside these four walls. Joe was now gently parting her thighs and,if she died right now, she'd be the happiest dead person on earth. Although the undertakers might need to manipulate her rictus grin into something more decorous.
Some twenty minutes later and Emily was lying back replete, Joe next to her with one arm coiled round her waist, the other smoothing her hair back from her face. She really should get up and get on with things. Like paying bills, doing the laundry and tackling a weightier than usual manuscript that had landed in her inbox. Strangely, she couldn't give a rat's arse about any of it. She was under no illusions that this was a long-term thing, but right here and right now was precisely where she wanted to be.
'Big plans for the day?' asked Joe. He was now nibbling her right ear in a provocative fashion. If she replied she'd be quite content to stay under the duvet for several repeat performances he might think she was a nymphomaniac. Or someone with nothing better to do with her life than experience multiple orgasms. Not thatthatsounded so awful, compared with tackling the ironing mountain or giving the toilet bowls a scrub. Neither of which had ever made her moan out loud with pleasure.
'Nothing exciting, just boring chores. What about you, don't you have lots of jobs to get to?' She fervently prayed that the answer was no, that every chimney in the vicinity was immaculately swept or that his dad was dealing with today's rota.
Joe leaned over her and looked at the bedside clock. 'I'm afraid I've got to get going soon. I've a few calls to make then I'll be working with Dad and Adam in the afternoon. There's a new consignment of fireplaces arriving and we need to figure out the showroom layout. But I've got time for a quick nibble … breakfast, I mean!' He planted a smacker on her lips before clambering out of bed and heading off to retrieve the trail of clothes they'd discarded last night. Emily watched his departing bottom with unbridled lust. She pinched herself hard in the thigh – ouch! – just in case she was in the middle of yet another torrid dream. It was all too much to take in. And she was about to wake up to discover she was alone and had been sucking at the pillow all night. Nope, Joe was back – now fully dressed – and holding out a hand to her. 'Come on, lazy bones. After all that exercise, I'mstarving!'
