His Other Lover (6 page)

I went downstairs and discovered she’d weed everywhere, so I cleaned her up before shutting her out in the garden. Once
everything was tidy downstairs, I went back upstairs and looked at the mess there.

His office was devastated. Not merely trashed—totally flattened.

That’s when it occurred to me that when Pete got home and saw the mess, he would know that I’d found out. I’d forced his hand, backed him into a corner. We were going to have to talk about it. It was all going to come out.

And the thought of that was suddenly terrifying.

I realized with a jolt that I had never properly imagined being without Pete, not having him as part of my everyday life. Not having the right to go up and fling my arms round him and kiss him when he walked into a room. Not being able to pick up the phone and call him when something happened. Pete is the first person I call when something good or bad happens to me. Who would that person be if it wasn’t him?

And what if this was just the excuse he’d been waiting for? Suppose he’d been trying to decide what to do—if he should stay, or leave me and go to her? The night before, I’d chosen not to wake him up and yell at him to get out. For all I knew, the choice about what would happen next might not actually be mine at all.

If he got home, saw the mess and then I had to tell him that I knew, would he deny it? Would he
want
to stay with me, or would he say, “Actually, you’re right, there
is
something I want to talk to you about. I’m so sorry, I never wanted this to happen but it has, and I just want to be with her?”

I tried to imagine life without Pete as I stood there in the mess of his office, but since I met him he has been pretty much the first thing I think of when I wake up, the last thing I think of at night and, quite often, the thing I think about in between,
too. He’s the structure that my family and friends—my life—is woven into. He’s the someone I come home to who has somehow always been there and I don’t really remember what it was like before him. He is my best friend, the person who knows me better than I know myself.

He just
can’t
be that with someone else. It doesn’t make any sense. Where would I live? What would I do? I don’t think I could even afford the house on my own. I’d have to start again.
Really
on my own.

The steadily rising alarm in my chest started to pound on the inside of my ribs. I looked wildly round the room and decided then and there that he simply couldn’t see what I had done. I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole: weddings, children, couples, houses, all whisking past my outstretched fingers. I knew I had to do something to cover up what I had done or I’d be trapped by my own hands in a future that I didn’t want, one that wouldn’t include him.

And that’s when the idea leaped into my head. A burglary…that would cover it up. All I had to do was total the rest of the house too, so it looked convincing.

My first deception.

A
t least you weren’t at home when he came calling,” said the younger of the two policemen, trying to be helpful. “You should see what can happen if people disturb raids in action…”

His thickset, older colleague gave him a tired look. “But there’ll be no need to worry about that now. He’ll be long gone. I think he was an opportunist, madam. He didn’t take anything other than the two items of jewelry?”

I curled my fingers tightly around the brooches in my pocket. “That’s right,” I said a little jerkily. “Two brooches that were my grandmother’s.”

“You see, if he’d have really known what he was doing, he’d have taken a lot more than that. I know it feels horrible to think of a stranger going through your things, but I really think this was a one-off, probably a kid.” The policeman smiled at me kindly but obviously wanted to finish things up so he could go and have some lunch. “We’ll do all the paperwork and here’s your crime reference number, but other than that…” He tailed off.

“Thank you for your help,” Pete held open our front door, “and we’ll certainly look into getting that alarm fitted.”

I watched the policemen walk down the drive and get into their car, my hands still in my pockets—jewelry in one, the ripped-up pieces of her card to Pete in the other. I’d have to remember to get rid of those.

Pete closed the door as they drove off, turned to me and said, “Come here, you!” as he pulled me to him. He said lovely things like, “You poor baby, you must have been so scared” and, “Thank God you’d taken Gloria out for a walk. You’re so brave finding that on your own, and being ill as well…”

I stand up and move quietly to the window, picking up the edge of the curtain and looking out on to the quiet street and the same drive that the policemen sauntered down yesterday lunchtime. It is starting to get light. I don’t have much longer to wait. Pete will be getting up soon. I let the curtain drop and move back to the sofa, being careful not to kick over the full, now cold, mug of milk that is still sitting on the floor at my feet. Even if I
had
drunk it, I’m sure it wouldn’t have helped me sleep. I pick it up and inspect it. There is a disgusting skin over the surface that bulges slightly as I tip the contents gently to one side, not quite enough to let the milk underneath burst through.

I think about my saying to Pete yesterday in a strangulated voice, “I
was
scared Pete, I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my life,” and I set the cup down unsteadily. Thankfully it doesn’t fall over.

Pete had had to hold me tightly for at least a full five minutes after the police left, soothing me worriedly. He started by whispering things like, “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here, I’m here—I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” but that made me cry harder,
and I sobbed into the lapel of his jacket with his arms round me as if my heart would break.

Eventually he pulled away and led me into the sitting room. Shoving a pile of crap off the sofa, he gently sat me down and bustled off into the kitchen to make me a hot, sweet tea.

It was an overwhelming relief to have him next to me, gently rubbing my back as I sipped the tea in silence. I didn’t want to say anything in case I gave myself away, so it was left to him to suppose out loud that we ought to start clearing everything up.

He stood up, took off his jacket, pulled his tie loose and hung them both over the banisters. Looking around him he whistled and shrugged rather helplessly. “God, I don’t know where to start!”

How about with where you met her? Or what she’s got that I haven’t? How long has it been going on? Do you love her? Has she been here, in our house?

“We could use some help really, couldn’t we? I’d ring Mum and Dad but they’ll be in Africa by now.” He glanced at his watch, as if that was going to tell him exactly what time Shirley had touched down on another continent. “What about your mum, shall I call her?”

I shook my head dumbly. “She’s in Miami, isn’t she?”

“Shit! I’d forgotten about that. What stunning timing on both their parts.”

“Just one of those things,” I said, totally exhausted. I wondered dully if he was thinking about her right now…it felt so odd. Sitting silently with my hands wrapped round a scalding cup of tea, thinking that I could be throwing it at his head. I could be opening my mouth, having it all out, screaming and shouting…

By the time he started going on about how much mess the burglars had made and not understanding how someone could
be so heartless, I wasn’t really listening. All I was thinking about was how if it wasn’t for her everything would be okay. She danced through my mind in her little flapper slapper dress, smiling nastily at me and I loathed her for it.

Shaking slightly, I tried to calm down, making myself grip the burning hot cup, trying to drag my thoughts away from her and on to the heat of my hands instead. Something to focus on would stop me going to pieces.

As we got dustbin bags and began to clean up, Pete chattered away to me to fill the silence, shooting me worried glances every now and then. I just listened to him, not really hearing the words. The easiest thing to do was to play along and act like I was very shaken up—which wasn’t much of a stretch.

When I tripped over the edge of a chair that I’d flung across the room only hours earlier, he shot out a hand to steady me. I grabbed back at his arm and he smiled and said, “It’s okay, you’ve got me!”

I just managed not to laugh hysterically, but against my will tears started to slip out of my eyes again. He pulled me to his chest. “Oh, baby! You’ve got to stop it. Come on! Otherwise they’ve won.” A sharp little stab dug into me when he said that, and I saw her face grinning back out from the pages of the program, laughing at me. I could smell his tangy lemon aftershave mixed with the washing powder we always use as he held me to him. “Hey!” he went on. “It’ll be okay, we’ll sort this!”

I clung to him for ages because I didn’t know what else
to
do and he waited patiently until eventually he had to prise himself away from me. “Come on, soldier!” he smiled. “I’m here, the perimeter is secure!”

The rest of the day passed slowly and painfully. We carried
on clearing up and he made us sandwiches that we had on our laps in front of the TV. An item came on the local news about an old couple celebrating their golden wedding anniversary. Looking at them so happy, so contented, I felt jealous—of an
old
couple. That was all I wanted: togetherness, trust, honesty, not both of us sitting here with dirty secrets.

Then I heard the bleep of his phone from the dining room.

A text message.

My heart thudded.
Was that her
?

He’d heard it too because he subtly removed his arms from around my shoulders. But he didn’t get up, he just carried on watching TV. Then after a little stretch and a yawn, he reached for his glass and pretended to be surprised to find it empty. “I need another drink,” he announced, getting up. “Want one?”

I shook my head silently.
Liar!
He didn’t need one at all, he was off to the dining room to check his phone!

Pete walked casually out of the room and I sat stiffly on the sofa, trying to look as if I was focusing on the TV. All I could think was, “it’s her, it’s her.” He came back in with a full glass of water and I forced a bright smile. “Who was that?” I asked. “I heard your phone go.”

He didn’t look me in the eye but sat down on the sofa. “No one important,” he said. “Just a message that someone had called for me at the office.” He yawned tiredly. “We should make a start on upstairs. Are you sure you feel well enough to help?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t we tackle your study next?” I said quietly.

“Oh I can do that later,” he replied calmly. “More important to get the bedroom sorted so you can have a nap later if you need one.”

“Well, you go and get started then and I’ll be right up, just need a wee.” I managed to smile at him and he squeezed my hand, hauled himself up and trawled upstairs.

Sitting frozen on the sofa listening intently, I heard the floorboards squeak. He wasn’t in our bedroom, he’d gone straight to the office to make sure nothing was lying around that shouldn’t have been, just as I knew he would. I walked quickly into the dining room, grabbed his phone from the table and slammed into the downstairs loo, locking the door sharply behind me. Moving fast, I located the inbox, clicked on it and there it was. Top of the list—
Liz.
The office my fucking arse. It read:

I wanted to scream, punch the wall, kick the door and flush the phone down the loo all at the same time. What the
fuck
had it got to do with her? It was
my
house and
my
dog and
MY
boyfriend! How
dare
she? “U ok?”
Fuck off!
It’s not
her
that makes sure he’s okay, it’s
me, ME
! I hurled the phone on to a towel on the floor in disgust.

My blood pumped madly, making my scalp prickle. I was wired with hatred for her, a balled-up energy that had nowhere to go. In the tiny downstairs loo, still half tiled, I couldn’t even pace. I was boxed in totally. Looking at the phone screen, staring furiously at the words, I could have killed her, I swear to God. Instead I just thumped the wall with the flat of my fists and leaned my head against the spiky peaks of the chipped grout.

I heard Pete shout, “You okay?”

He must have heard the thump. I jerked my head up and listened carefully. Was he coming downstairs? He
couldn’t
catch me with his phone. I flushed the loo, picked up the mobile and
cautiously opened the door. I heard the creak of the boards again as he moved from the office to our room. He must have heard the loo and was making
his
way back. It was like being stuck in a bad spy movie, only not funny at all, just utterly horrible.

“Be right up!” I shouted and adjusted the phone so it was back to the screensaver. I put it back on the table and ran upstairs. Then I slowed down again as I remembered I was supposed to be ill.

He was making the bed as I went into our room. I walked round to the other side and grabbed the opposite corners. In a practiced routine we smoothed the duvet together, then he plumped the pillows and I got the cushions from the floor. We moved in silence until I broke it.

“Hadn’t you better call work?”

He frowned and looked puzzled. “Why?”

“You said you had a message that someone had called for you?”

“And?”

“Don’t you want to find out who?”

He started to gather up underwear from the drawers that I had pulled it out of earlier. “No, the message told me who it was that called.”

“Oh, I see—who was it then?”

He straightened up and looked at me. “A bloke about his conversion. Why the questions?”

Bloke about a conversion…bitch called Liz, more like. How dare she ask him if he was all right?

“Just interested…making conversation.” As I spoke, I realized that in order for her to have been asking if he was all right, he must have already told her about the break-in. That’s how close they were…she was looking out for him…she knew
what was going on in his life. It was definitely not just some one-off shag.

“Hey! Sweetheart!” Pete snapped my attention back. “I said we’ve just got time to go and buy some new frames for the pictures, and I think all they really broke in the kitchen was some cups and plates. Thank God they didn’t do the TV, eh? You well enough to come into town or shall I go on my own?”

What, and have you call Liz the second you leave? I thought quickly. No chance.

“I’ll come. Maybe we could go to the cinema afterward, watch something fun. I’d like to get out of the house. I just don’t want to think about anything for a couple of hours.” There was no way he’d be able to get messages or anything in the cinema.

He looked a little surprised but said okay, if that was what I wanted. I sorted Gloria out with water and some food and watched her leap about excitedly, thinking she was getting a walk. I didn’t want to be near her—she just made me think of Liz.

Pete wandered back in and patted his pockets like he’d forgotten something. “Oh! Wallet and phone,” he said absently, making for the door again.

“Leave them!” I interjected quickly. “My treat for the cinema and I’ll get the other stuff too. Anyway, you don’t need the mobile, you’ll have to have it switched off anyway at the cinema.”

He couldn’t argue with that, it would have looked obvious. So he just smiled a slightly tight smile and said, “Come on then! Let’s get you medicinal ice cream and popcorn.”

And off we went, just like any other normal, happy couple.

The trip was sadly not a success. I tried to hold his hand in the cinema and he pulled it away to rummage for some pick-and-mix and didn’t put it back in mine afterward. I tried to lean my
head on his shoulder but the armrest got in the way and it felt awkward. I knew I was reading into everything with far more significance than it probably held for him, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted a sign—any sign—that he still loved me and not her.

In the car on the way back, he was very quiet and withdrawn. Totally different to how he had been earlier, as if he was deep in thought. He was barely monosyllabic and the harder I seemed to try, the more absent he became.

I kept looking at him, wondering what he was thinking, if she’d called him while we’d been out. I was silently devastated when he didn’t automatically curl his fingers around mine and hold my hand when I rested it on his lap as he drove. He just left it sitting forlornly on his knee and I felt pathetically needy, hating myself for willing him to pick up my hand. I had to tell myself he needed two hands to change gear and hold the wheel, that it didn’t mean anything. Forty-eight hours earlier, I probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d put
his
hand on
my
knee.

Then I tried to ignore the fact that he didn’t seem to notice I was only just managing to hold it together next to him, and focused on looking out of the windscreen instead, like I used to when I was much younger and car sick. “Just stare straight ahead,” my mum would say. “Don’t look left or right, just straight in front of you, and keep breathing. No, darling, we can’t stop just yet. Let’s get home before it gets dark. Just keep breathing, in and out. Good girl.”