Antidote to Infidelity (56 page)

“
I
know
that, hon.
What I’m saying is,
he
would, and the way you’re feeling, it’s easy to get swept along. I
knew
you
’
d take the call, I
knew
he
’
d take you out and I
knew
you
’
d pick Sinatra
’
s. I know you better than you
know yourself.”

At the moment,
that’s not difficult.

As Liselle, Amy and
Rowan nod in sombre agreement, my swirling guilt intensifies. All night long I
’
ve been trying to ease my
conscience, telling myself that I’d
never
have slept with Mike, that a
kiss isn’t cheating, that I was blinkered by Becky. When I close my eyes I see
Will, walking out the door, never looking back.

Feeling an
overwhelming rush of love for my husband, for all the great, good things he is
and the unbearable bad things he isn
’
t, I grab Amy
’
s hand, sending her sticky
lolly bobbling to the floor.

“Oh
God
.
What if he never
comes back? Huh?” I ask. “What then? What if Mike was right? What if he
’
d sooner switch teams and watch
footie than be with whinging, whining me and his delinquent brats?
”

Enveloped in
irrational panic, I wail on,
“
What if I wake up in
three weeks
’
time to divorce
papers on the doormat and invitations to singles
’
night at Asda?
What then? It’s a
jungle
out there, survival of the fittest. I don’t
want that, I want
Will
. What if he doesn’t want
me
?”

“
You
’
re off
again
!
”
Liselle laughs, rushing over
and shaking my shoulders.
“
You
’
ve got to get a
grip
,
Sally. Stuff these silly insecurities and realise you
’
re Will
’
s
world
.
”

“
She
’
s right,
”
Amy agrees, wafting a burning
incense stick under my nose.
“
I know it
’
s been a tough three weeks, but
we
’
ve got
sooo
much to look forward to
if
you don
’
t fuck it all up.
”

Going green around
the gills at the stench of incense, Rowan runs for the bathroom, shouting over
her shoulder,
“
You
’
ve got your prince, Sally. Stop
trying to swap him . . .
huuurrrggghhh
. . . for a frog . . .
bbbllluuurrrggghhh
.
”

As Amy trots after
her, ginger biscuits in hand, Bi - seemingly oblivious to the pitiful puking
sounds wafting in from the next room - attacks my tear-streaked face with a
bronzing brush.

“
If I
’
m his world, why isn
’
t he here?
”
I sniff.
“
Why won
’
t he come home?
”

“
How can he?
”
Bi asks earnestly,
“
When every time he calls, you
’
re with another guy? It
’
s driving him
crazy
, Sally.
He thinks you won
’
t settle until you
’
ve paid him back for Becky.
Christ, it
’
s like the poor guy
’
s standing with a noose around
his neck waiting for you to flick the trapdoor.
”

Hating the lucid
image my brain is conjuring up, I say,
“
But he
did
cheat on me.”

“
Yes, and he
’
d give his
right nut
to
turn back the clock,
”
Bi insists
impatiently.
“
You
’
re putting him in the same
bracket as Troy and Howard and he
’
s just
not
.
Will
’
s a
good guy
.
He made one mistake, Sally.
One
. You need to set the record straight.
”

“
The record? What record?
”
I ask as Amy and a
peaky-looking Rowan emerge arm-in-arm from the bathroom.

“
Will called me last night,
”
my sister sighs.
“
When he couldn
’
t reach you on your mobile. He
was a
mess
, Sal. I think he
’
d been drinking.
A lot.”

Oh-oh. That’s not good. Most
definitely not good.

“
Oh,
please
tell me you
didn
’
t drop me in it,
”
I beg, burying my head in my
hands.
“
Tell me you didn
’
t say I was with Mike . . .
”

“
He kinda guessed,
”
Amy winces.
“
I said you were with Liselle
so, naturally, he rang
her
and
she
was out with Phil. He sort of
put two and two together and called back to say . . .
he knew
.”

“He
knew
?
”
I ask desperately, rolling my
hand for the rest.
“
Then
what did he say?
Was he upset? Was he
angry
?
”

“
Then nothing,
”
Amy says bluntly, tossing me a
pack of my favourite Lotus biscuits like they
’
re
some kind of sweet consolation.
“
He just groaned and
hung up. I’ve not been able to reach him since. I
’
m
sorry, Sally.
”

“
It
’
s a bit bloody late for that!
”
I snap, wriggling out of my
robe.
“
Oh, I don
’
t
believe
this. So he
’
s walking round wherever he is
thinking I
’
ve shagged Mike? Oh
Christ, this is
not good.
Oh, I know this is all my fault but you really
should have
lied
better.
”

Pulling my mobile
out of my bag then remembering it
’
s dead, I snatch Bi
’
s proffered phone and tap in
Will
’
s number. As the
answer machine kicks in, I slam it down on the lamp stand, frustrated.

“
Uuurrrgh! No! I
really
need
to talk to him. Bloody-useless-phone!
Now
what am I supposed to do?
”

Amy and Bianca
exchange head shakes. Suspicious glances follow. I sense my sister
’
s about to tell me something
before Rowan steps on her foot.

“
Girls,
please
,
”
I beg, in no mood for
charades.
“
I don
’
t know what
’
s going on and I don
’
t care. But if you know where
Will is, I need you to tell me. Right now. Because I need to tell him I
love
him.
”

“
We don
’
t,
”
Bianca insists quickly as Amy
’
s eyes fill up.
“
All you can do is relax, Sal,
sit tight and wait.
”

Huddled together in
a tight-lipped bunch, my friends stand silent and united.

“Well thanks,
thanks a lot
,” I say. “
It
’
s great to see where your
loyalties lie.
”

Missing Will
enormously
,
so much so that I just want to melt into his warm embrace and shut out the
world, I drop my robe on the couch and run out of Bi Unique without another
word.

Jogging blindly
across the square, I zig-zag between the morning traffic
’
s queuing masses, ignoring a
chorus of angry horns as I scuttle clumsily up the muddy embankment onto Cow
Island in my creased evening gown and broken strappy sandals.

As the freezing rain
blends with my tears, soaking my clothes in seconds, I glance across the Square
at Will
’
s dark, empty
office, realising just what an idiot I
’
ve been. Over the
business, over Becky, over Mike - over
everything
. And now I
’
ve got a horrible feeling it
’
s going to be too late to make
amends.

A wise man once
said: if you cry enough tears, eventually you
’
ll
drown.

Mmm.
What he
didn
’
t
say is, if you
’
re daft enough to fall asleep
in the rain with your mouth open, the same bloody thing
’
ll happen.

For some crazy
reason, be it sleepless nights, mental exhaustion, anguish or guilt, I’ve
managed to zonk out in the middle of a monsoon with my arms wrapped tightly
around a concrete cow.

What a sight to
behold for the passing motorists.

Choking on a
mouthful of gritty water, I awoke with a start moments ago thinking I was
floundering at sea, before realising I simply needed to sit, spit and I
’
d almost certainly survive.

The downpour’s
subsided now - and I
’
ve composed myself -
but the alarming thing is, unless it
’
s reeked havoc with
my watch, I seem to have lost over
two hours
since stomping out on the
girls. Which is a disaster in itself considering I need to call Will
immediately
and tell him that I didn’t sleep with Mike.

I won’t go into too
much detail, of course. I’d like to retain some dignity.

Deciding the sensible
thing to do is head home, peel off my sopping dress and take a hot bath to
avoid pneumonia, I slide down the muddy embankment on my bum, landing
ungracefully on the pavement below. Settling into a purposeful (if a little
wonky) stride, I ignore the assuming glances and try my best to casually blend
in.

Naturally, I don
’
t. I stick out like a sore
thumb. Clad in a wet-and-wild frock with smudged mascara, uneven shoes and
frizzy curls spiralling out like I
’
ve stuck my finger
in a plug socket, I resemble a reject from
Disaster Movie
as I hang my
head and hail a taxi. Unsurprisingly, they don
’
t
all flock at once but I finally manage to thumb a lift with my fatal charms . .
. on the twenty-seventh attempt.

Shivering and soaked
to the bone, I
’
m more Medusa than
mistress material, and as I drop into my seat the wary cabbie studies me
intently in the rear view mirror. I don’t care. He can think what he likes. I
just want to go home.

Finally, as we skid
to a halt on Oakham Close, he plucks up the courage to quip,
“
Blimey, looks like
you
got lucky last night, eh luv?
”

“
You know what mate, I bloody
well did,
”
I shudder.

Pondering over,
quite possibly, the understatement of the
century
, I smile wearily and
wobble out onto the garden path I’ve been led up one too many times.

***

Once inside, I rush
into the kitchen, plug my mobile into its charger and call Will. Or rather, his
answer machine. We
’
re getting quite
close. I truly don
’
t want to talk to it
but what choice do I have? He
’
s obviously avoiding
me like the plague.