‘Sometimes,’ said Angela cautiously. ‘Not always. Things haven’t been …’ she left the sentence hanging, not sure herself quite what she wanted to say.
‘It’s not easy when you’re apart a lot,’ said Penny, understandingly. ‘Santiago’s gone for months at a time on cricket tours, or doing promotional stuff for sponsors. I long for him to come back, but as soon as he does we start getting on each other’s nerves almost immediately. He calls it the “bumpy re-entry period”. It doesn’t mean you don’t love each other.’
‘No,’ said Angela. ‘I suppose not.’
She suspected that her twenty-plus-year union with Brett, complete with all the scars of his many betrayals, bore little resemblance to Penny’s honeymoon-stage marriage with England cricket’s most lusted-after hero. But it seemed ungracious to say so, so she didn’t.
As if reading her mind Penny said: ‘Listen, I was married to a complete shit before Santiago. It wasn’t Paul being gay that I minded. It was him being a selfish, heartless, cheating liar. Not to mention a skinflint.’
‘He sounds terrific.’ Angela smiled over her mug of Earl Grey. ‘A real winner.’
‘Yes, well, he gave me two lovely children. Or one lovely child and Emma, depending on how you look at it.’
Angela gasped, ‘You can’t say that!’
‘Oh yes I can,’ said Penny. ‘Believe me, Logan’s little stunt at Wraggsbottom is nothing compared to some of the shit Emma’s put us through. If I didn’t have Sebby, I think I’d have wound up in a loony bin long before now.’
It was awful, but Angela felt better hearing someone else complaining about their children, especially someone as lovely as Penny.
‘What about Santiago? Doesn’t he support you?’
‘He’s lovely,’ Penny sighed. ‘But you know, I’m a realist. He’s a lot younger than me. Girls throw themselves at him all the time. And he’s away a lot.’
‘You don’t trust him?’ Angela was surprised. She’d always thought that Penny and Santiago de la Cruz were the epitome of marital bliss.
‘I do trust him,’ said Penny after a pause. ‘But I don’t rely on him, if that makes any sense. At a certain age, and after you’ve been burned once, or more than once … I think you develop a certain self-sufficiency. Wouldn’t you say?’
Angela nodded.
Later, walking home with an exhausted but visibly chipper Gringo, she thought again about what Penny had said. Am I self-sufficient? she wondered. Or do I still rely on Brett? I might fantasize about it sometimes. But would I really survive without him?
She realized she had no answer.
Back at Furlings, Brett sat at the desk in his study, a full tumbler of whisky in his hand. He was drinking too much. At some point he’d have to get a handle on that. But not today. Not now.
Angie wouldn’t let him touch her. She jumped and shuddered whenever he came near, as if his fingers had turned into red-hot pokers. Downing his drink in three swift gulps, Brett poured himself a second, then a third, nursing his hurt feelings like a parent nursing a child. Outside it was growing dark, the gathering twilight reflecting the creeping blackness in Brett’s heart. The oak trees lining Furlings’ drive looked bleak and sinister in the shadows.
Brett turned back to his computer.
He wasn’t sure what time it was when he heard the front door open and close again, indicating that Angela was back.
Brett walked downstairs to meet her, gripping tightly to the banister rail for support. He was fully drunk now, conscious of the adrenaline coursing through his veins and of Furlings’ grand hallway spinning like a fairground ride around him.
‘Where’ve you been?’
It was an accusation, his tone ugly and raw. Angela looked up. She could tell immediately that Brett had had too much to drink. His dishevelled hair, flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded, scowling expression all spoke volumes. Her heart sank. She hadn’t seen this side of him in quite a while, and had dared to hope it might have been gone for good.
‘Out for a walk,’ she said briskly, letting Gringo off the lead. ‘Gringo ran off. It took me forever to find him.’
‘You’ve been gone for hours.’
‘I just told you. The dog ran away. I found him having it off with Penny de la Cruz’s bitch and we ended up having tea together.’ She resented the fact that she was forced to explain herself. So much for self-sufficiency.
‘Why are you lying to me?’ Brett had reached the bottom of the stairs by now and stood swaying in front of her. He looked curiously vulnerable, like a young tree in the wind. ‘You never used to lie to me, Ange.’
‘I’m not lying to you,’ she replied, with a calmness she didn’t feel. ‘Don’t do this, Brett. It’s degrading to both of us.’
‘Don’t do what?’
‘You’re drunk.’
‘Are you having an affair?’
She almost laughed, but the furious look in Brett’s eyes stopped her.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’