To Have and to Hold (26 page)

She knows, and she needs to know. Right now, as sick and scared and horrified as she feels, she wants to know. For the first time ever, she
has
to know.

         W
hen Joe calls her later that night Alice doesn’t pick up the phone. She sits where she has been sitting for hours, in the armchair, cradling a vodka, too numb to speak.

The only thing that keeps running through her head is “What am I going to do? What am I going to do?” Over and over and over.

And still it doesn’t feel real. Still she thinks that perhaps it was a bad dream, perhaps this is like the night fears, she will fall asleep here, sitting in this armchair, and when she wakes up she will discover it isn’t real.

It’s only when she hears his voice on the machine that she finally breaks down, finally gives in to the tears, because she knows that this is it. She knows how different they are, how far apart they’ve grown, and now she can’t pretend any longer.

She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is the end of their marriage. She’d never considered the prospect of being on her own at thirty-six, had never thought that her life as she knew it would so suddenly and so finally be over.

“Bastard!” she screams at Joe’s voice as he smoothly tells the machine he loves her and says he’s going to bed.

She waits until he hangs up then goes straight over to the phone, picks it up, and dials the apartment in Manhattan. No one is less surprised than she when the phone rings six times before the machine picks up.

“Bastard!” she whispers, putting the phone down and sinking to the floor in tears. Snoop runs over and puts his front paws on her shoulders, trying to lick her tears away, trying to make it better, and Alice puts her arms around the little dog and sobs for hours.

         W
hen Joe phones on Saturday morning, Alice is prepared. She cried last night until there were no tears left, and then made herself a cup of tea, pulled a jacket on, and went outside to the terrace to lie on a lounger, looking up at the stars to think about what to do.

Alice was shivering, even though the night was warm, but the vastness of the sky and the brightness of the stars were soothing, and as she lay there, her mind a jumble of thoughts, she began to realize that their marriage had probably ended a long time ago.

She thought back to their life in London, a life that seemed a million years away, and remembered how very unhappy she had been. Her life’s mission had been to make Joe happy, but in doing so she had suppressed her own desires so much she had forgotten who she was.

She runs their life together through her mind almost as if watching a videotape. From the wedding that wasn’t what she wanted, to the clothes he insisted she wear, to the Christmas tree he patronized and laughed at.

And she knows that this woman, this JosieJo, isn’t the first. Lying here remembering, she’s forced to admit she has always turned a blind eye, hasn’t believed it because she hasn’t wanted to believe it.

But of course she knew. All the late nights, the unexplained absences, the business trips staying in hotels and refusing to give her the number. The couple of times the phone had rung at home and been immediately put down. Alice, whatever Joe might have thought, isn’t stupid, has never been stupid.

She just didn’t want to know.

At five o’clock in the morning she calls Emily. It would be ten
A.M.
in England, and on a Saturday Alice knows Emily will most likely be in bed having a lie-in. They still haven’t spoken properly, but Alice still writes, and now that Alice needs her, she knows that Emily will be there for her, that however much Emily professes to hate her, this is too big to ignore.

The answering machine picks up.

“Em? It’s me. Alice. I need to talk to you. I . . . Joe’s having an affair. . . .” She blurts it out, and as she says the words out loud a sob escapes her throat, closely followed by more. “Oh God,” she hiccups into the machine. “I thought I was all cried out. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Alice?” A shocked Emily picks up. “Alice? What’s the matter? I heard you on the machine. I was in bed. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“He’s having an affair.”

“Oh God.” Emily is immediately sympathetic, immediately Alice’s best friend again, there to support her and help her through. “Oh, Ali. I’m so sorry. When? I mean, how? How do you know? Are you sure?”

“I found e-mails. Oh God, Em. I just feel sick.”

“Start at the beginning,” Emily croons. “Tell me what happened.”

And so Alice tells her about the unanswered phone calls. Tells her about growing apart. And finally about the e-mails.

“It’s over,” Alice says eventually. “We’ve just grown farther and farther apart. He looks at me sometimes and I think he hates me.”

“Don’t be silly, of course he doesn’t hate you.”

“I swear to you, Em, I think he does. I know he loved the me he tried to turn me into, the blond glamorous Alice who looked so good on his arm, but I swear he hates the real me. I catch him looking at me sometimes and there’s such disdain in his eyes.”

“You mean you’re not blond and glamorous anymore?” Emily’s intrigued.

“I have almost three-inch roots of natural glamorous mouse color, I can’t be bothered to go to the hairdresser and have my hair straightened so it’s curly again, and I’m spending my life in the garden so I basically wear filthy old jeans and boots.”

Emily can’t help herself. She starts laughing. “Alice, I don’t want to say anything, but the picture you’re painting isn’t exactly the kind of woman I can see Joe going for.”

“But that’s the point. Em, I’m so happy living here. I just love it so much, and I love not having to dress up and play the stupid part of some stupid society trophy wife. I love being in the garden and not wearing makeup and not caring about what I look like. And I’ve been up all night thinking about things, and I can’t see how this could work. Even if I could forgive him, even if we could put things behind us, I can’t see how our marriage could survive.”

Emily doesn’t say anything. Just waits for Alice to continue.

Alice sighs. “Em, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not, and Joe can’t pretend to love the real me when it’s not what he wants.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“No. He phoned last night and left a message saying he was at home and going to bed, but I called back immediately and I knew he wouldn’t be home.”

“And he wasn’t?”

“Of course not.”

“So now what?”

“He’ll call this morning and pretend he’s had a great night’s sleep, and I’m going to tell him I know.”

“On the phone?”

“Yes. And I’m going to ask him to come down here and get his things.” Alice hadn’t planned to say that, hadn’t even thought about that, but the words came out, and now she knows it’s the right thing.

“Jesus, Ali. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Alice says slowly. “This is it. He has to go and I need to be on my own.”

28

         T
he rocking motion of the train somehow seems to help calm Joe’s racing mind, still the panic in his heart.

He still can’t believe he was so stupid as to leave e-mails on his machine that Alice could find, and more to the point he still can’t believe Alice went looking.

         H
e phoned her this morning, on his way back to Josie’s from the deli, armed with bagels, lox, and fresh coffee, mobile phone cradled under his shoulder as he made his regular Saturday morning call to Alice.

“Hi, darling,” he started. “I tried to call last night but you didn’t pick up. Did you have an early night?” There was a silence from Alice, and he knew, instantly, that something was wrong.

“Alice? Darling? Are you all right? Are you there?”

He heard her sigh.

“What is the matter, Alice?”

“Joe, we need to talk.”

His heart started pounding. “What about?”

“You need to come here. I’m not going to do this over the phone. I want you to get on a train and come to Highfield this morning.”

Joe stopped walking and stood stock-still. “What are you
talking
about, Alice?”

“You can get a cab from the station,” Alice continued. “But I’m going to assume you’ll be here by lunchtime.”

“Alice . . .”

“No!” Alice cuts Joe off with a shout. “Joe, I know. Okay? I know. I found the e-mails. I know about Josie. I know about all of it. I will talk to you when you get here.” And she puts the phone down, without giving Joe a chance to defend himself.

Joe stands immobile, the color draining from his face as his feet feel rooted to the spot. “Shit,” he whispers. “Oh, shit.”

He doesn’t go back to Josie’s, can’t handle talking about this, explaining it, seeing her. He knows he just needs to get to Highfield, to reassure Alice, to think up some excuse, some plausible reason, something to help her forgive him.

And here he sits, on the train, trying to think of an explanation. The best he can come up with is that Josie is a flirtation, that nothing real has happened, that it’s like virtual sex and he’s only indulging because Alice is never around, and he’s lonely.

It could be true. After all, Alice is never around, and he’s a normal red-blooded male. Naturally he’d never do anything to hurt Alice, but he’ll tell her that all he was doing was indulging in a little flirtation that may have gone too far. Of course he isn’t having an affair, he’d never do that to Alice, and even as he thinks up his excuses his expression becomes contrite, apologetic, and he knows that he can win Alice over as he has always done.

J
oe walks in and finds Alice sitting on the sofa. Snoop beside her, his head resting on her lap, his eyes closed. Snoop raises his head when he hears the front door open, looks at Joe with baleful eyes, then drops his head again as Alice continues stroking his ears.

Alice doesn’t say anything. Just looks at Joe, and Joe realizes how strange it is to see Alice, who is always on the move, doing nothing. There is something so unsettling about this that he doesn’t know quite what to say, and then he wonders if he may have misjudged the whole situation. He realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t know Alice anymore, doesn’t know who she is, what she’s thinking.

Joe is used to being the one in control, but he cannot control Alice any longer, and with a shock his confidence disappears and he falters just inside the doorway, not knowing what to say.

And then he sees the bags. On the other side of the front door are two suitcases, not yet zipped, and inside he can see the few clothes he keeps here, his office files, some books, his toiletries.

Oh, shit.

Joe sits on the sofa opposite Alice, and suddenly he feels like a little boy. He feels guilty, and scared, and he doesn’t know what to say. For the first time in Joe Chambers’s life, words have failed him completely.

And so they sit, these two people separated by so much more than a mere coffee table. Alice continues to stare into space, and Joe looks at the floor, the silences punctuated only by Joe sighing or a large yawn from Snoop.

Alice is the first to speak. She has gone over and over this moment, imagined herself screaming at him, raging, venting all her fury and humiliation, but now that he’s here all she feels is a deep sadness. He looks so lost sitting opposite her, unable to meet her eyes, that she almost feels sorry for him, but most of all she feels sorry for her marriage.

He belongs in another world, she thinks, looking at his clothes, his watch, his shoes, knowing how important these things are to Joe, how vital it is to be seen wearing the latest status symbols, with the trophy wife, or mistress, at his side.

And she realizes that she is about to break the habit of a lifetime. At thirty-six years old Alice finally knows who she is, and Alice finally
likes
who she is. Having spent her entire life trying to please other people, Alice now knows that the only person she wants to make happy is herself.

She expected to feel so angry, but the anger left her some time during the night, washed away with the tears, and she’s too tired to shout, or even to discuss. She doesn’t want to hear an explanation, or an apology. It’s too late for that. Perhaps he will say that it’s not what she thinks, that he hasn’t done anything wrong. Perhaps he will blame her, saying that she is never around, she hides away in the country and who can blame him for a harmless flirtation? Perhaps he will admit to a full-blown affair and either tearfully apologize or tell her it’s over.

That would be the easiest, Alice thinks. If he were to admit it, and tell her he was leaving her. Of course she’d be devastated, but she knows, as surely as the sky is blue, that the marriage is over, and now she just has to find a way to say it out loud.

“This isn’t working, Joe.” Alice is the first to speak, both her voice and the words sounding unnatural and strange in the echoey silence.

Joe looks up. He had expected many things, mostly to have to calm her down, reassure her, explain, but he hadn’t expected this, and this is the one scenario for which he has no plan, no explanation, no defense.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this. Us.” Alice closes her eyes. “Oh God, I sound like such a bloody cliché, but our marriage. It’s not working.”

“Alice, I know what you think, I know what you must have thought when you read those e-mails—”

Alice stops him. “No, Joe. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“But it does, Alice. I need to explain. Josie is just—”

“No! Joe, you don’t understand. I don’t care.” And Alice is as shocked as Joe when those words emerge. Joe because he has always thought that Alice loved him more than he loved her, and Alice because she realizes the truth in her words. She no longer cares.

“But . . .”

Alice shakes her head. “No, Joe,” she says sadly. “I don’t need an explanation. I don’t care enough to hear what you have to say. Admit it. Neither of us have been happy for a long time. Maybe this was supposed to happen, to help us realize how far apart we’ve grown.”

Joe is silent. He could have dealt far more easily with tears and anger and recriminations. He could have dealt more easily with soothing her wounds and carrying on as they had always carried on, in the pattern that is so familiar to him, that is all he has ever known.

What he cannot deal with, what he was not prepared to deal with, is the truth.

“Joe. I just can’t see the point in pretending. I’ve been up all night thinking about things, and I love you, but I’m not what you want. Not anymore. And you’re not what I want either. I can’t bear the way we look at one another, the way we struggle to find things to talk about, and I don’t want us to stay together just because we’re married and it’s a habit, and we don’t want to rock the boat.

“I am so happy here.” Alice gestures around her. “I love my house, I love being in the country, I love living in a small town and knowing my neighbors. And I know how much you hate it. You hate it as much as I hate being in the city, and neither of us can pretend to be something we’re not.”

There’s a silence as Joe digests what she has said. There’s nothing to say. She’s right.

“So that’s it? It’s over?” After a while Joe points to the bags. “I see you’ve packed my things.”

Alice nods slowly. “I want to be able to say it’s just having some space, that we need some time, but it’s not working and I can’t see the point in putting off the inevitable.”

Joe looks at Alice for the first time then. He wants to tell her that it could work, that if she reverted back to the old Alice it could work again. See how she’s barely mentioned Josie, she’s already forgiven him for the affair. It could still work. He opens his mouth to say this, but stops.

She’s right. He knows she’s right. He changed her once, when she was much younger, much more adoring, was willing to do anything to make him happy. But she won’t do it again. They’ve both come too far to try to turn the clock back to the way things used to be.

“I can’t believe our marriage is over,” Joe finds himself whispering as tears start to prick his own eyes.

“Please don’t start crying,” Alice says gently. “I couldn’t bear it if you started crying too.”

“Can we at least talk about this some more? Maybe when we’ve had a bit of space? Can I call you?”

“Why don’t we leave it for a couple of weeks, let’s just try and adjust.” Alice is amazed at how calm she is, how normal her voice sounds, but she realizes that she’s only able to maintain her composure because she can’t quite believe it’s really happening.

Joe leaves half an hour later. Packs his suitcases in the trunk of the cab, turns to Alice to try to say something else, but Alice just shakes her head.

“We’ll speak soon,” she says sadly. “There’s nothing else to say right now.”

Joe tries to put his arms around her, but Alice’s body language stops him, and instead he leans down and kisses her on the cheek. Alice doesn’t respond.

“Take care,” he whispers, turning quickly away so Alice doesn’t see the tears, even though she hears them in his voice.

Alice watches numbly as the taxi disappears up the driveway, watches the back of her husband’s head as his own tears start to fall. He had always thought he was invincible. That he would never be found out. And most of all he had never expected Alice to throw him out.

J
oe refuses to talk to anyone for four days. Josie phones but he switches his mobile phone off, unable to deal with talking to her. He calls in sick to the office and works his way methodically through his wine cellar.

A ’90 Latour, an ’86 Haut-Brion, and a ’63 Petrus. Drowning his sorrows, he stops drinking only to sleep or to order pizza.

A few times he picks up the phone to call Alice. The floor of the library is covered with old pictures. Joe and Alice looking tanned and happy, arms around each other’s necks as they sit on a sunbed at Cap Juluca, grinning as a passing waiter takes their picture.

Alice looking chic and beautiful, snapped at a restaurant opening for
Hello!,
her blond hair scraped back into a chignon, a low-cut white silk shirt showing off her golden skin.

Joe and Alice together again, sitting on a squashy golden sofa at a friend’s house in the country, both of them sipping Pimm’s, Joe with an arm around Alice’s bare shoulders, Alice so elegant in a black halter neck and diamond stud earrings.

Joe studies these pictures through his drunken haze and picks up the phone, imagining that his beautiful Alice will pick up, that he will somehow be able to phone the Alice in the pictures, bring her back to the present.

But as the days pass and he sobers up, he looks again at these pictures and sees how much Alice has changed.

When was the last time he saw Alice looking as she did in these old photos? When was the last time her hair was ice blond and sleek as silk, her clothes a mix of simplicity and sophistication so stylish as to have several articles written about her in the English papers?

What would those same journalists say if they saw her now?

Joe snorts to himself with amusement as he thinks of them secretly snapping Alice in her garden. “From Gorgeous to Grunge,” he imagines the headline. Her muddy jeans, quilted sports coat, and Timberland boots hardly epitomize the aspirations of
Daily Mail
readers.

You can take the girl out of the garden but you can’t take the gardener out of the girl, he thinks wryly, dropping the last wine bottle into the waste bin just as the buzzer rings in his apartment.

“Mr. Chambers?” It’s the doorman.

“Yes, Brandon?”

“There’s a Josie Mitchell to see you.”

Joe just looks at the buzzer. Is he ready for this? Can he handle it?

“Mr. Chambers? Are you there?”

“Yes, Brandon. Send her up.”

“
G
od. You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Josie. You look wonderful, but what else is new?” Joe turns and walks back into the living room, Josie following him as anger finally threatens to show itself in her voice.

“Joe, what the hell is going on? You left to get breakfast and never came back. Your mobile phone’s been switched off for four days, you haven’t been at work, and you haven’t returned any of my calls. And you look awful. What’s happened?”

Joe shrugs and smiles. “If you must know, my marriage is over.”

Josie’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything. What, after all, can she say? How awful for you? I’m so sorry? Hooray?

“So that’s why I’ve been at home,” Joe continues. “I’m sorry, Jose, I should have called, but it’s taken me a bit of time to adjust, and if you must know the truth I’ve been feeling a bit shit. I mean, it’s not every day your wife finds out about an affair and kicks you out.”

“Oh.” Josie sits down hard on the sofa. “She found out about us?”

“Yup. She found our e-mails. But she didn’t even seem to care. She said it hadn’t been working for a while and neither of us were happy and there wasn’t any point.”

“And is that true?” Josie speaks quietly, well aware she is treading on dangerous territory, and not quite sure how to play it, this situation being entirely new to her. It was one thing being a mistress, but quite another being a mistress who split up a marriage. Although she couldn’t help but feel a thrill at Joe finally being single and available for her, she could see it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. She could see that Joe was far more devastated than he was letting on.