‘We can dream.’ She lifts the brochure from my hand and replaces it with a silicone dish. ‘No hurry to bring it back.’
As she ushers me out to the hallway I start to ask about the raffle tickets but trail off mid-sentence as I notice a scarf hanging on a hook behind the front door: a blue cashmere scarf that looks just like Nick’s. I turn to Clare. She busies herself unlocking the front door, head lowered, hair falling in front of her face, but she can’t hide two pink spots, high on her cheeks.
Nick is speaking in muted tones and I hover outside his study, ear pressed to the door.
‘It’ll be longer next time,’ he says and there’s a pause before he continues. ‘No, I haven’t told her.’ A sigh. ‘I know, I know but it isn’t easy. Too much water under the bridge.’
My heart quickens and there’s a low humming noise in my ears.
I’m still standing in the hallway when the study door clicks open. I have one hand on the wall as though reassuring myself some things are solid. Reliable.
‘Who were you talking to?’
‘Richard,’ Nick says without a beat.
‘What were you talking about?’
‘I rang to invite him for lunch. I hope that’s okay?’
It would be if I believed him but I know my husband and the flush staining his neck tells me all I need to know. He is lying. Neither of us speak, conveying silent messages with our eyes. Eventually I say ‘fine’ and walk, head high, into the kitchen, where I clink open the fridge and pour a glass of wine, sipping it slowly while I try to put my thoughts into some sort of order. I need time to think things through properly, but if I don’t challenge him about the bouquet and the scarf, am I accepting his lies? Does that make me as bad as him? It takes a liar to know a liar and right now I’ve never felt closer together, or further apart from my husband.
I drain my glass of Pinot and turn to face Nick as he enters the room. ‘What time is Richard coming?’ I ask, and Nick’s face sags with relief. I’ve set the precedent. Pretended to believe him. Whatever happens now, I’ll only have myself to blame.
I pour another glass of wine.
Richard arrives forty-five minutes later, and I swallow back my surprise as we air kiss our hellos. Perhaps Nick really was talking to him earlier. Perhaps it is solely the ten-year anniversary making me jumpy and paranoid. I try to recall the conversation but my memory is alcohol-hazy. Lisa serves the frittata, and I pass the salad bowl. This could be any other friends-for-lunch gathering but the atmosphere feels charged somehow and I’m not sure if it’s the spark of suspicion warming my stomach, rendering me unable to eat, or if everyone feels it too. I watch Nick as he stabs his fork into a cherry tomato with more aggression than is necessary. Lisa stretches over and touches his hand.
‘Are you okay, Nick?’
‘Just tired.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Richard says. He glances at Nick and something invisible passes between them.
I feel I could cry. Is Nick having an affair? Does everyone know? I push my plate away and draw my glass nearer, cradling it between two hands.
The doorbell rings, and Nick raises his hand to signal he’ll get it. He pushes back his chair. Hushed voices drift into the kitchen and I strain to hear who he’s talking to but Richard fills the silence with his booming voice.
‘Lisa, I don’t know much about you?’
‘Not much to tell,’ Lisa says. ‘I’m a nurse.’
Nick sits back down, and I raise my eyebrows questioning.
‘Clare,’ he says. ‘She’s brought the raffle tickets stubs and cash over. I told her we’re eating so she’s scribbling you a note in the study. She’ll let herself out. Oh, she brought my scarf over too. I must have left it there when we were over the other night for drinks.’ He lowers his eyes and picks up his cutlery.
I try to remember if he wore his scarf when we went over. It was one of those rare spring evenings we could sit outside so I don’t think it was warm enough, but I can’t be certain. My head spins as metal clanks against china. I feel as though I’m at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, swimming against an undercurrent I don’t quite understand.
‘And you enjoy it? Nursing?’ Richard asks as though the interruption never happened.
‘I love it. The hours are tough. Shifts. And sometimes.’ Her brow furrows. ‘People die.’ She looks at me as she says this.
‘I can imagine that’s hard.’ Richard tops up his glass, and I tilt mine towards him.
‘And the money isn’t very good, of course, for nurses. Speaking of money. I didn’t want to bring this up but—’
‘You need some more? What for?’ Richard asks, and I think he should stay out of things that don’t concern him.
‘They’ve put the rent up on my flat.’
‘We have to be mindful of the ￡20k… limit, for want of a better word. We don’t want to complicate the court process when it comes to the parental order, do we?’ Richard asks, although it isn’t really a question.
‘Of course not,’ Lisa says. ‘Normally, I’d be okay with my overtime, but with this little one, I promised Kat I’d cut down on my hours.’ She pats her stomach. ‘I’d hate to have to move back to my mum’s house.’ Her lip begins to tremble. ‘I’d feel so trapped.’
As she says ‘trapped; her eyes meet mine and something skitters inside and I’m back in the community centre, back in the toilet, fighting to get out. There is the fleeting thought Lisa could have locked me in, but I dismiss it immediately. She’s my friend, isn’t she? But it suddenly strikes me what was odd about seeing Aaron. The fact that Lisa told me on New Year’s Day that she never sees him. Surely if he works at the hospital too it’s inevitable they’d run into each other occasionally? Why is it only now I am remembering the way she betrayed me before?
There’s a sense the world is moving too fast. I feel disjointed. Disconnected. After lunch I tell everyone I have a migraine and slink up to the bedroom, seeking out ten minutes of peace. It’s not exactly a lie. There’s a headache creeping behind my eyes and I press my fingers into my temple to massage the pain.
On the bedside cabinet is Nick’s phone and I can’t help picking it up. It feels weighted with secrets. My thumb brushes the screen, and it illuminates and, even as I kid myself I’m only checking the time, I swipe right but it asks for a lock code, and I know he must be hiding something. Nick’s never had security on his phone before. I try my birthday, his birthday, our house number, and I’m about to give up when I try the letters from his number plate, and I’m in. My hand starts to shake. Do I want to do this? Nothing good will come of it. Once I know, I can’t not know, and yet curiosity burns and I find myself opening his emails.
I scan the list. Work. Spam. Amazon. Nothing suspicious there and I tell myself I should quit while I’m ahead, but that doesn’t stop me from reading his texts. The top one is from a number, not a name:
‘So good to see you. Thanks for stopping the night x’
Something akin to a scream builds and builds. Not now. Not Nick. We’ve finally got a baby on the way. Everything should be perfect but it’s all crumbling around me, and I don’t know how to stop it. There’s a heavy tread of feet clumping up the stairs. Nick? I lock the phone and clatter it on the bedside table and dart over to the window as though I am just enjoying the view.