The Affair by Sheryl Browne
For Paul-Jon, who is nestled safe in an angel’s wings.
To Drew, my son, who is the inspiration behind my next book. I love you.
Prologue
I had never imagined what it would be like to hold a life in my hands. Once, I would have been shocked by the realisation that I was an inch away from killing someone. No more. Strangely, I feel nothing, as if I, too, am in a state of limbo, suspended in this moment, somewhere between life and inevitable death.
We’re fifteen long floors up, the muted throb of the city, lit up at night, reaching me as if from another dimension. The ground below, hard and unforgiving, looms closer for an instant, as if silently urging me to let go.
Can I? I waver. Am I capable? I’d imagined, in my darkest hours, when dreams only ever came to haunt me, how lost love could drive a person to acts of despair or even madness. How cold-blooded murder might have its basis in love, or unrequited love. In being unloved, spurned or wronged. There is no other way.
I feel it, the undiluted fear emanating from the individual over whose future I have control. This person is petrified, literally: dissociated, yet aware, unable to speak, move or control their own body. Incapable. Powerless. Mine to do with what I will. We think that we’re immortal, that nothing can touch us, but in reality, we’re fragile creatures. Flesh and blood. On impact, the skull will smash like an eggshell.
Obliquely, I wonder what thoughts will occur as the body plunges, its downward trajectory stopped suddenly, violently. It’s said a person’s life flashes before their eyes when close to death, because the parts of the brain that store memories are among the last to shut down. Some who’ve had near-death experiences describe a loss of all sense of time – life events that last for a second or a century. They relive moments of sublime happiness and extreme pain, feeling also the pain they’ve caused others around them. I’ve heard it described as close to purgatory. Will this person live a century in purgatory? I hope so.
One
JUSTIN
Pulling wearily into the drive after a double shift on call at the hospital, Justin was relieved to see Alicia hadn’t yet left for work. They rarely argued, preferring to talk things through. They’d come close to arguing last weekend, though, and hadn’t yet resolved the issue. His issue, he’d realised. Justin hadn’t much liked himself for acting like a suspicious prat and obviously upsetting her. He’d been sure he’d heard her crying in the bathroom, and that had gutted him. At the time, given he’d been inwardly fuming, he’d thought he’d been quite restrained. But thinking about it since, no matter how restrained he’d imagined himself to be, the unspoken accusation had been there, and that was bloody unfair. The last time she’d cried heartbroken tears, it had been for him, when his family had been so senselessly murdered. She’d been there unstintingly for him ever since.
She was there whenever he relived that awful night in his dreams, sweat pooling at the base of his neck and saturating the sheets beneath him. Unable to contact his parents or his sister, he’d gone to their house and let himself in with the key he still had. The first thing he’d noticed was the smashed mirror on the hall wall. Justin closed his eyes, feeling afresh the cold fear that had settled in the pit of his stomach when he’d realised the blood at the epicentre of the fractured glass belonged to his sister. She’d tried to run. Her assailant, not fit to be labelled an animal, had left her bleeding out from her knife wounds on the hall floor.
He hadn’t been able to cry. He’d been numb, incapable of processing his emotions, unable to reach out to Alicia, until she’d forced him to, holding him like she would never let him go and crying with him. He had no idea what he would have done if she hadn’t been there for him then. They’d not long been married. He’d been so wrapped up in his grief, he’d shut her out. She’d had every reason to walk away, yet she hadn’t. He needed to apologise, end this awkwardness he’d caused between them. Grovel, if necessary. Luke was only six months old, for Christ’s sake. Her sister’s birthday party, which she’d needed some persuading to get dressed up to go to, had been Alicia’s first night out after a complicated caesarean section that had nearly cost her and Luke their lives. What in God’s name had possessed him to end up spoiling it for her?
‘Whoops, sorry.’ He found himself apologising prematurely as he opened the front door and narrowly missed hitting her with it.
‘My fault.’ Alicia shuffled around from where she was strapping Luke into his carrier. ‘I’m a bit disorganised, as you might have gathered. We’re running late, as per usual.’ Pressing a kiss to Luke’s soft, downy head, she smiled up at him, somewhat guardedly, Justin noted, which made him like himself even less, and then got to her feet.
‘There are croissants in the oven. Still warm, just about. Don’t forget to eat,’ she said, heading for the kitchen, and then back-stepping to call up the stairs, ‘Sophie! Clock’s ticking.’
‘I’m coming!’ Sophie yelled from her bedroom. ‘Do you want me to go to school naked or what?’
That would be minus her make-up, Justin gathered. Shaking his head amusedly, he crouched down to say hello to Luke, who jiggled happily and offered him a delighted, gummy smile.
‘Pandemonium reigns.’ Justin gave him a conspiratorial smile back. ‘So, how’re you doing, little man, hey? Keeping a low profile, I hope.’ Catching hold of one excitedly flailing hand, he marvelled again at the miracle of their surprise arrival. He was doing well – healthy and strong after a worrying premature birth. His mind drifted to the baby who’d undergone a complicated procedure in the early hours of the morning. Would she be strong enough to survive, he wondered? Admitted with an extradural haemorrhage caused by a head injury, and with no paediatric surgeon available, Justin had had no choice but to drain the blood off, thus reducing cranial pressure, himself. The next twenty-four hours would tell. She was a fighter though. All Justin could do now was pray she didn’t succumb to any infection.
Reminding himself of all he had to be grateful for, Justin stroked Luke’s peachy cheek in lieu of giving him a cuddle and got to his feet.
Massaging his aching neck, he turned tiredly to the stairs. His fifteen-year-old daughter was descending, clearly disgruntled about school days that started at such an ungodly hour they didn’t allow time for her morning beauty regime.
‘Good morning,’ said Justin, as she stomped past to pick up her schoolbag.
‘It’s not. It’s raining.’ Sophie huffed moodily.
Justin smiled and waited, and sure enough, Sophie back-stepped to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Morning, Dad,’ she said, with a sheepish smile. ‘Oh.’ Looking him over, her forehead creased into a concerned frown. ‘Fun night, I take it?’ she enquired, obviously noticing his weariness.
‘I’ve had better,’ Justin admitted, and reached to give her shoulders a squeeze. ‘You’d better get a move on or you’ll be getting a black mark.’
‘Again.’ Sophie mumbled, hitched her bag over her shoulder and turned to the front door.
‘Do you think you could help carry something, Sophie?’ Alicia called after her, emerging from the kitchen, Luke’s juice in one hand, handbag and baby bag in the other. ‘I’m running out of hands.’
Sighing, Sophie turned back to relieve Alicia of the juice, rolling her eyes as she did.