Distractions (5 page)

That had been over an hour ago. The sun had set. And still Emma slept. The room was much
darker than the world outside, beyond the glass, which was luminescent. A bluish-white glow was softening the landscape, blurring the lines, accentuating the shadows.

Emma’s first thought on waking was that the sound she’d heard must be David getting ready for work, then she remembered where she was. The noise was Sally. But as she opened her eyes and found that the room was dark, she thought it strange that Sally would potter around the place with no lights on. She felt something sticking into her side and shifted ever so slightly to remove whatever the object was. Sally’s dildo. She lay still again. She felt nice and cosy under the blanket.

Emma closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

She woke later when she heard Sally and her husband Mark talking. Some lights were on now. She was uncovered and naked. She wanted to pull the covers over herself but didn’t want them to notice her, so she lay still and listened. They were both ineffectual whisperers.

‘How long have you been here?’

‘About an hour,’ he said. ‘I was lucky not to disturb her. It was still light when I got here.’

Emma heard feet padding across the floor towards her, then hastily padding back.

‘Why didn’t you cover her up?’

‘She’s the one lying around nude for the whole world to see. I didn’t want to wake her. It would be embarrassing.’

‘She’ll be
more
embarrassed now knowing you’ve been here all that time.’

‘What have you two been up to? I found this.’

‘That’s Emma’s. Give me that! Oh, how embarrassing. Don’t say anything, will you?’

‘I won’t say a thing. Here’s the plan. I’ll go outside and wait ten minutes while you pretend to come home again and wake her. Then she won’t know I know anything about it.’

‘Good idea. Go outside. I’ll wake her.’

Emma lay still and pretended to sleep while her friend drew the blanket over her then went back into the kitchen and proceeded to make lots of noise putting away the groceries. Emma lay with a smile on her face for some time, wondering exactly how long to wait before ‘waking up’.

‘Sally! What a racket you’re making!’ she said, eventually.

‘I’m sorry I was so long at the mall. Quickly now, upstairs, the boys will be here any minute.’

No shit Sherlock, thought Emma as she ran up the stairs stark naked. Sally could sound twenty
years older than she was when she was in her mother-mode.

After a quick shower Emma entered her bedroom to find Mark standing at the door.

‘You look well, Mrs Benson,’ he said, nonchalantly.

Emma pulled the towel firmly into place under her arm. Thankfully it was large and reached to her knees.

‘As well you might know,’ she said, not willing to keep up the charade with him.

‘So you know, do you? I thought you might,’ he said, stepping into the room. He had the air of an intimate.

‘Do you mind? I have to change.’ She leant over and switched on the bedside lamp. Till then only the white light from the en suite lit the room. Now she could see him more clearly. Though she was acting tough she was a little nervous.

‘I don’t mind,’ he said, drifting over to the dark window but keeping his eyes on her.

‘I meant—’

‘I know what you meant, Emma,’ he said, interrupting her. He was a very handsome man, but
he was small and a little too fashionable standing there so self-assured in his dark suit and shirt, open at the neck. Exactly the type Emma had secretly predicted Sally would end up marrying. He was the sort of man some women will fall in love with if they saw him up on the big screen, but who seems too petite in real life. Emma had always tolerated him. He was her best friend’s husband, and till now he’d never acted out of character, that is, the role of the best friend’s husband.

He raised an eyebrow saucily. ‘You knew I was here?’

‘I knew.’

‘But you pretended to sleep.’

‘Yes,’ she said, lying. Curiosity had the better of her.

‘I could tell you were awake when I turned on the lamp. I watched you so intently. I was right up near your face. You’re not very good at pretending. Your breathing was all wrong. Then I knew you wanted me to do something. I pulled back the blanket. I didn’t expect to find you naked. How lucky I was. You didn’t move or flinch. You just let me look.’ He paused. She could see words stuck on his lips. Her breathing quickened. ‘Had you been masturbating? With that thing?’

Emma couldn’t believe what he was saying. She felt like calling for Sally and the both of them throwing him out of the house.

‘You’re a very beautiful girl, Emma.’ He waited for some response, but quickly discerned she wasn’t about to thank him. ‘You know what I was thinking as I looked at you? I was thinking, the four of us might, you know, play around this weekend. Wife swap.’

Silence.

He was unperturbed. Silence was better than a rebuttal.

‘Enough games, I want you, Mrs Benson. I want to fuck you now.’ He took a step forward, but she raised her hand and he stopped dead.

Emma let the towel drop and saw his eyes open wide. She liked that. Men like Mark had one sure value, they were fun to tease. She liked that he liked her so much to be so bold. But she didn’t like
him
. She didn’t like his eyes, or his lips. She didn’t like the tone of his voice or the shape of his hands. She had toyed with him. Why not? She didn’t like him. She had been sleeping. He had made the first move. He had crossed the border under his own steam. He was in foreign territory and he had had the gall to assume too much of her. He did not
know the local customs, nor the language, and his behaviour was that of a cliché, an American tourist with a loud voice and even louder shirt.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Mark, but you can’t fuck me, nor will you
ever
fuck me. I like to be clear on these issues. I don’t want to hurt you but I am just not interested in you.’

‘You prefer my wife?’

‘That is between Sally and me.’

He stood there fuming. He wasn’t hurt, he was vexed. He wasn’t absolutely sure this wasn’t another part of the game. She
was
still naked, though she now began to dress casually as if he was some eunuch slave of no account.

Emma smiled secretly to herself for he just stood and watched. He had been bettered. She liked the attention but made no effort to encourage him. She was being as banal as she could be. She had no idea what she would do if he had found the courage to advance.

There was really no way of hurting a vain man, nor was there any chance of putting him off with any finality, he would always suspect there were other reasons for the refusal. Having no interest in him was simply not possible.

‘Surely you don’t mind me trying?’ he said,
calming down a little. He felt sure now that the game would continue, he would have his way soon enough.

‘I would never want to stifle someone’s self-expression, but you might want to think whether you
ought
to have done what you did.’

‘You mean with regard to Sally’s feelings?’

‘And mine.’

‘Yours? What have I done?’

‘Apart from sexual assault?’

‘You’re joking. I didn’t touch you.’

‘Infidelity.’

‘Now I know you are.’

From downstairs both heard Sally call out that David had arrived.

‘Well, what shall we do about it?’ he asked.

‘About what?’

‘This.’

‘There is no this. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mark. But I don’t find you in the least attractive. There. Will that do?’

‘For now,’ he mumbled as he left. He went to Sally’s room and jumped in the shower.

EIGHT

The highway north through Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park had changed over the years. The road itself had been updated and improved, making for smooth, high-speed driving, but sadly not updated fast enough. The traffic had increased, the speed limit had been repeatedly reduced and the police presence was now oppressive. David had particularly enjoyed the crossing of the Hawkesbury River and the winding climb out of the valley but things had changed. The bleeding hearts had won out again. When did they not? Once it had been such a fine road on which to drive. Now it
was tedious. His BMW was impotent on Australian roads. He’d travelled comfortably in a lesser BMW at 200 kilometres an hour along Italian motorways, roads like this one. Wasted. An excellent machine had been reduced to the capabilities of a 1970s shit-box. If everyone had a BMW there would be no road fatalities. Safest car there was. That’s democracy for you – less is more. At least the leather seats were comfortable. They needed to be, too, for the drive was taking much longer than he remembered.

The day had been hot. He’d left the city early to beat the rush north for the weekend. The herd from the outer suburbs were heading for their little slice of paradise. Why was he going? He
lived
in paradise. He could be swimming at Balmoral Beach right now. The frustration! Why was Emma behaving so irrationally? He was sure somewhere in the traffic sat Sally’s spiv of a husband. He’d have to sit around being sociable with that idiot when all he really wanted was Emma.

The traffic from Wahroonga had been heavy but moving. Now he ground to a halt, a long line of red brake lights stretched out up the highway before him. The sun was setting already. He wouldn’t arrive in time for a swim in the surf after all.

David’s week alone had been a long, lonely one. After a year or so of marriage he was unused to solitude. Or at least the kind of solitude Emma left in her wake. The contrast was the thing. Life was less without her.

Gone were her talk, her love, her consideration, her caresses, her cheek and her stubborn will. Not even a week had passed and he was angry at her for her desertion. The house was large and inhospitable when so empty. Empty. Emma-ty. Without Emma. Emma-ty.

Her sudden departure had hurt him. Something had happened in her other life, the life she lived while he was busy working. Whatever it was, she had chosen Sally not her husband to confide in. Sally must certainly be privy to that other life. The life he knew instinctively not to question.

He was not a stupid man. He was not entirely ignorant of the other Emma. For David the other Emma was like a dark and forbidding thunderstorm sitting on the southern horizon, ready to ruin a beautiful day, but wild and exciting and full of potential nonetheless. He preferred not to focus on her past either. She was different. None of his rules applied to her. She wouldn’t have adhered to them anyhow. He loved her because she was different.

He had chosen her because she was who she was. She was a wild force and the thought of breaking her in, of corralling her, was to take from her her allure. She brought a worldly sensuality with her to his bed. She brought with her all that was in her history. No ex-lover was exempt from their bedroom. No past act was left waiting in the hall. She was a compendium of fuck. When he fucked her, he fucked a lifetime of debauchery and devilry. She was a bad girl and bad girls make the best lovers – no matter what rubbish good girls tell you. A cocktail of infidelity, unparalleled tenderness, doubt, love, fear, lies, truthful eyes, half-truths, insincere avowals, warm knowing smiles, made for uncertainty and kept him on his toes. The thought that this might be the last fuck they shared together, this might be the last time she spoke to him, heightened his pleasure. Made him work harder, made him appreciate his opportunity and forced him to concentrate all his attention on the devil woman he had married.

But this week spent alone had given him time to wonder about Emma’s secret life. He wondered who her lover might be. David’s gut instinct calculated that there had to be another satellite orbiting Emma. He imagined a shadowy figure
in a shadowy world – the reverse of him – single, poor, a misfit of sorts. No more than that. He had no damning proof that she had a lover, just her personality, her overt sexuality and her opposition to a fixed moral position that certainly lent weight to the possibility. Her smiling eyes had always made a mockery of his attempts to discover the truth. How light and intangible she could make herself when pressed. ‘What?’ she seemed to say then. ‘Ah, darling, but don’t you know? I orbit you!’

He would love to believe that. But the brightest stars have the greatest mass and he knew he was but a lump of rock by comparison. So he was never bold in his questioning, he’d only nudge her softly. For, though a temptation, the truth was not wholly welcome.

He brooded now over the possibility that she might have a few lovers. Not just one, but three. That was balanced, too. Four satellites orbiting around a celestial beauty. His house might have a revolving door and his wife might be fucking half the neighbourhood behind his back. He ran through his friends, business associates … A week of this kind of thinking can send a man mad.