The Right Time (16 page)

Evie let Craig do the talking, she had nothing to say anyway. The woman ‘Crystal' – like that was her real name – offered to give them a tour of the house, and Craig jumped at it with an eagerness that turned Evie's stomach even more. Crystal relieved them of their cooler bag – you had to bring your own to this shindig: selling or even supplying liquor without a licence was illegal. Evie found it ironic that they were so concerned with legalities. However, they did provide a cheery barman, who took the cooler bag from Crystal and promised a drink would be waiting on their return.

‘So through here . . .'

She led them into a large living room with a massive flat screen on the wall playing porn, predictably. A curved leather modular lounge took up most of two other walls, where several people lolled about and there was some kissing and fondling going on. It reminded Evie of the parties she'd been to as a teenager, except for the porn. Crystal ushered them across the room and opened the sliding doors to outside, where a steamy spa was crammed
with eight people, all naked. Well, Evie assumed they were; the women's bare breasts were bobbing away on the surface like melons floating on water.

‘Hey,' Craig said to her, ‘maybe we can have a go in there later?'

‘I didn't bring my swimmers,' Evie said flatly.

Crystal laughed. ‘You don't need your swimmers, love.'

Evie tuned out after that, as Crystal continued the tour upstairs to the bedrooms. She remained resolutely in the hall while Craig happily followed Crystal into rooms that were . . . in use, so to speak. ‘If you leave the door open,' Crystal explained, ‘that means you're happy for others to join in, or you can close it if you're happy as you are.'

The place smelled heavily, and sickeningly, of scented candles, sweaty bodies and something chemical. Then it occurred to Evie it was probably lubricant. Yuck.

They went back downstairs where their drinks were waiting on the bar.

‘Well, have fun!' Crystal said. ‘That's why you're here, remember,' she added, with a rather pointed look at Evie.

Evie slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and quickly gulped down a few mouthfuls of her wine. Maybe she should just get really drunk and then she might not care. But they hadn't brought enough wine with them for that.

Craig perched himself on the stool next to her, turning immediately towards a couple sitting further along.

‘Hey, I'm Craig,' he said, ‘and this is my wife, Evie.'

They introduced themselves as Cheryl and Steve, and then the three of them rearranged their stools so that they could all face each other. Evie stayed where she was, leaning heavily on the bar. Cheryl immediately commandeered Craig's attention, yabbering away in an annoying, tinny voice. Evie could feel Steve watching her. She gulped down some more wine.

‘First time?' he asked.

‘Is it that obvious?'

He smiled kindly. ‘You get used to it.'

‘I don't want to get used to it.'

‘So it was all his idea?'

She nodded glumly.

‘Well, we all seem to be getting along,' Cheryl chirped. ‘Shall we go find a room where we can relax a bit, have some privacy?'

‘No!' Evie cried.

They all looked a little taken aback by her outburst.

‘Come on, hun,' Craig cajoled. ‘You said you'd give it a go.'

‘I'm here, aren't I?' she hissed. She turned away from the other two. ‘For godsakes, Craig, we've been here barely fifteen minutes.'

‘You just need more time then?' he asked hopefully.

‘You said I didn't have to do anything.'

‘I'll stay here with her,' Steve offered. ‘Why don't you two go along?'

‘Is that all right with you, hun?' Craig asked.

No it wasn't, of course it wasn't! What kind of a buffoon had she married? One that would leave his wife sitting with a strange man and go into a room alone with another woman and do God knows what. Evie felt her heart breaking; she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to beg him not to go. But here she was, in a stranger's house, with all of these ‘consenting adults' who were so open and mature and comfortable within themselves. Evie had never felt so uncomfortable, less of an adult, more powerless. But she had agreed to come . . .

So she said, because she felt she had no choice, ‘Go ahead.'

Craig reacted like a giddy schoolboy who had been given permission to raid the lolly jar. That's what she gleaned from his voice anyway, because she couldn't look at him. He leaned over to kiss her, but she turned her cheek, and he went ahead and planted an exuberant kiss, oblivious to her distress. Evie kept her eyes downcast as he walked away, she presumed arm in arm with Cheryl.

‘Are you okay?' Steve asked after a while.

Evie breathed out. ‘Look, if you think you've got a chance with me, you're wasting your time. It's not you . . . really, you should go and talk to someone else.'

She heard a deep chuckle and looked across at him.

‘You think I don't know you're not interested?' he said. ‘I'm not going to try and come on to you, Evie. I'm happy just to sit and talk, if you don't mind.'

Evie lifted her gaze to meet his. His eyes seemed genuine.

‘Would you like another drink?' he asked.

She nodded.

He gestured to the barman. ‘Could we have top-ups here, please?'

After their glasses had been refilled, Steve turned to her. ‘Your husband shouldn't have forced you to come.'

‘He didn't force me,' she returned. ‘I came of my own free will.'

‘But you'd rather be anywhere else but here?'

She glanced around. ‘Surely there are a lot of women who come along reluctantly.'

He nodded. ‘My wife for one.'

‘Who, Cheryl?'

‘Yep.'

‘Well, she seems to have got over it.'

‘Yes, she has, admirably.'

‘So this was your idea, but you're happy just to sit and talk?'

‘You have to understand, we've been coming for a long time,' Steve explained. ‘The novelty's worn off a little.'

Evie was intrigued. She wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. Maybe this was some sort of come-on line, to lull her into a false sense of security so she'd trust him. ‘Why would you keep on coming if the novelty's worn off?'

‘It hasn't worn off for Cheryl,' he said. ‘Not one bit. Funny, I had to talk her into it, and she was reluctant the first time. Maybe not quite as reluctant as you, there was a tiny bit of curiosity there that helped her get over the starting line.'

‘Whereas me? No curiosity at all,' said Evie, sipping her wine.

‘No kidding,' he grinned.

She looked at him. ‘I suppose you think I'm frigid or something.'

‘Of course I don't,' he scoffed. ‘A lot of people wouldn't be into this, they can't all be frigid.'

That was nice of him to say. It made her feel normal in a completely abnormal situation. ‘So what was your first time like?' she asked.

‘Like I said, it was my idea, so I was champing at the bit,' he said. ‘But I had to restrain myself, give Cheryl a chance to get used to it. Surprisingly, for both of us, she enjoyed herself. We hardly did anything, mind you, just a bit of kissing and touching . . .'

Evie suddenly got a mental picture of Craig and Cheryl and she recoiled.

‘. . . she was less reluctant the next time, and by the time after that she was beginning to get enthusiastic. It used to excite me. For the first year –'

First
year
? How long had they been coming?

‘– I was on an absolute high,' he said, somewhat wistfully. ‘But then when you're coming month after month, sometimes more often, a funny thing starts to happen. You start to lose interest in sex on tap, or at least I did. That's weird for a guy, right?'

‘I don't know,' Evie shrugged. ‘Doesn't sound all that weird to me.'

‘Maybe. Most people who become regulars, I reckon they must get addicted to it.'

‘But you didn't?'

He shook his head. ‘It was there for the taking, all the time, whenever I wanted it. There was no chase, no emotion, no excitement any more, nothing. Just sex.' He paused, taking a drink. ‘But Cheryl couldn't get enough.'

Evie didn't know what to say.

He shrugged. ‘Ah, but I've got no one to blame but myself. I couldn't very well insist she give it up when I was the one who suggested it in the first place. I just had to let her get it out of her system.'

‘So how long have you been coming?'

‘Five years last summer.'

Five years and his wife still hadn't got it out of her system? Is that what Evie could expect?

‘You should be really clear with your husband before it becomes a habit too hard to break.'

Evie sat for a while, sipping her wine. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

‘Listen,' said Steve, taking out his wallet. ‘I'll give you my card, in case you ever want to talk.'

‘Oh no,' Evie shook her head, holding her hand up to stop him. ‘I couldn't.'

‘Evie, I swear to you I'm not trying to come on to you,' he insisted. ‘But how many people can you talk to about this?'

He was right. She couldn't talk to anyone, not her sisters, not her friends. That's why she'd been going so crazy.

She took the card. ‘Thanks.'

‘Hey you two,' said Craig, coming up behind them. ‘What's going on here?'

‘Nothing much,' said Evie, crossing her arms and hiding the card.

‘Where's Cheryl?' Steve asked him.

‘Oh, she met someone she knew . . .' Craig shrugged. He looked awkward and disappointed at once.

Steve nodded, almost as if he expected as much.

‘So, you wanna get going?' Craig asked Evie.

‘Really?' she said, relieved. ‘You've had enough?'

‘Oh, yeah, for now.'

Evie jumped off the barstool, she was so grateful to be getting out of here. ‘Nice to meet you, Steve,' she said. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.'

‘My pleasure.'

As they drove off, Evie rested her head back, feeling the tension that had built up over days, and much longer, glide away. She knew it wasn't over yet, but at least it was for now.

‘So what was that Steve giving you when I came back?' Craig asked after a while. ‘It looked like a business card.'

‘It was.'

‘What'd he give you that for?'

‘Just if I ever want to talk . . .'

‘Why would you want to talk to him?'

‘I don't know, I probably won't anyway,' she said, gazing out the window.

‘Okay, then toss it.'

She glanced back at him. ‘What?'

‘Get rid of his card.'

‘No, why should I?'

‘Well, because, you're a married woman and you've got another guy's phone number in case you want to “talk”. It's weird.'

‘You think that's weird?' said Evie, sitting up. ‘We just went
to a swingers' club and you went off to a room with some other guy's wife.'

‘We didn't do anything.'

‘Oh, really?'

‘We didn't, just a bit of canoodling, and then some other guy came in –'

‘Stop!' she said loudly, holding her hands to her ears. ‘I don't want to know. And you don't need to know anything I get up to.'

‘That's not how this is supposed to work,' he said.

‘Well, you should have thought about that before you opened this can of worms, Craig,' said Evie, feeling emboldened. ‘Because now you're going to have to be prepared for whatever crawls out.'

Ellen reversed out of her parking space and steered the car towards the gates of the school. She was so glad to get out of here. It had been a hell of a day, a hell of a week for that matter. But it was Friday afternoon of her weekend with the kids, and that always made the preceding week bearable. She loathed the weeks leading up to Tim's weekend. She mulled over it the whole time, dreading the coming weekend, often becoming irritable, even picking on the kids, she'd noticed. Suddenly she couldn't stand Sam's perennially untidy room, his dirty socks strewn around the house, Kate cluttering up the bathroom with empty shampoo bottles and old razors and always leaving her hair straightener turned on. It was as though Ellen had to make herself glad to see the back of them. But she never was.

Ellen especially hated Friday nights on her own. Their regular treat of ordering pizza and watching a DVD held no attraction solo. She'd end up drinking too much and sobbing over some soppy film she'd rented, then collapsing into bed in the small hours of the morning and waking up with a hangover. Weekends without the kids were something to be endured. She realised that
all her energies before the separation had been focused on the kids, and how they would cope. She hadn't prepared herself at all.

She pulled up at a red light. Ellen didn't like leaving work this late, she only wasted time sitting in traffic, bumper to bumper, almost the entire way home. She glanced at her watch; she was late, Sam would be finished football training by now, and she was still fifteen minutes away.

The lights turned green and Ellen put the car into gear, accelerating gently. But nothing happened. She applied more pressure to the pedal but it was as though someone had cut the cable, the car wasn't responding at all. She heard a horn sound and she raised her hand to indicate to the car behind her that she wasn't daydreaming. Flustered, she put the gear back into neutral, and then into first, accelerating again, but still the car didn't respond. More horns started beeping impatiently. Was the engine even running? She tried the ignition; nothing. She hadn't felt the car stall.

She wound down her window and waved the cars around as she flicked on the hazard lights, watching helplessly as the lights turned orange and a cacophony of horns sounded in response. What did they think, that she was doing this on purpose to annoy them? The lights had turned red now. Okay, she had time. She breathed deeply, in and out, then calmly tried the engine again. Nothing happened. She checked the temperature gauge. It was normal. What the hell was wrong? Her heart started beating faster. This was ridiculous. There had been no indication, no warning; the car hadn't rattled to a stall, it hadn't overheated, there was nothing ominous like smoke coming from the engine. Ellen had no clue what was wrong.