“He’s a lucky man,” he says.
I can tell by the lengthening of his consonants and the slur of his vowels that the whiskey is beginning to turn him into someone he wouldn’t normally be. I’ve spent my life actively avoiding people like him, so I’m not going to sit here and watch as the alcohol loosens his propriety, likely setting off a chain of events we’re unable to come back from.
“I really should get going,” I say, stepping off my bar stool. “He’ll be wondering where I am.”
“Stay,” says Jacob, his mouth close to my ear.
Despite myself, my nerve endings catch fire, making my fingertips tingle. “I … can’t,” I say, unable to believe how difficult it is to refuse his request. “I really can’t.”
“Please,” he begs, his blue eyes boring into mine. “Stay with me tonight.”
The way he says it and looks at me leaves no room for doubt. I cough as I struggle to compose myself, stalling for time.
“It wouldn’t be a good idea,” I say, though I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if I did. I imagine his fingers trailing down my cheek before he gently kisses my neck; his soft beard setting my skin alight.
The thought of showing him how sex is supposed to feel, rather than the torturous ordeal he’s grown accustomed to, makes me giddy with delirium. I picture my hand on his as I gently guide him to where it needs to be. I can see the look on his face as he realizes for the first time how it feels to make love for the pure joy of it, without recrimination or punishment.
“Just for a little while,” he says, as his fingers intertwine with mine, sending a pulse of electricity through me. “I just want to hold you.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and butterflies wait to take flight in my stomach at the first sign of me changing my mind. It used to feel like this with Leon, in the beginning, when we were still exploring each other. I’d wanted to bottle that spine-tingling sense of anticipation, desperate to cling on to it once the newness had worn off, knowing that the months and years that followed would invariably be filled with the void of what we once had.
When had that excitement drained from our relationship? When had we lost that spontaneity? Had it happened overnight? Leaving behind the depressing possibility that the only way we could relight a flame inside ourselves was by meeting someone new. Someone like Jacob.
“I’m married,” I say, as if it’s the only reason I’m turning him down. Though now I think of it, I can’t come up with another.
“I’m not asking you to do anything to jeopardize that,” he says. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Jacob, I—”
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he blurts out, as if saying it faster will lessen the gravitas of his admission.
I look at him and a switch flips in my head, though I can’t help but flinch that it’s my reputation rather than my marriage that has made me see the light. I pull myself up, standing tall in the hope that he can see me for who I am, rather than the savior he’s made me out to be. “Listen, I know that’s how it might feel at this moment in time,” I say. “But you’re just out of an abusive relationship and you’re looking for someone to make you feel safe again.”
“You do that,” he says. “I can be myself with you.”
“But you’ll feel that way with lots of people once you leave behind the scars of your marriage.”
He shakes his head.
“Believe me,” I say, taking his hand in mine. “You’re a good man, with so much to offer the right woman. But don’t confuse our relationship for anything more than what it is. I’m your therapist who is helping you out in your time of need.” The words sound brutal on my tongue, but sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.
“So all this time you’ve been leading me on to appease your ego?”
“What?” I say, aghast. “Of course not. I—”
“The way you look at me, the things you say…”
“If I have ever given you cause to think there was more to this than a professional relationship, then I am truly sorry.”
He buries his head in his hands and laughs cynically. “There’s a name for women like you.”
“Don’t,” I warn. “That’s not fair.”
“You’ve led me on and left me high and dry,” he says, getting up from his stool and pushing it back.
“Is everything OK here?” asks the barman, reading the palpable juxtaposition of our body language.
“Fine,” I say, tightly.
“Piss off then,” says Jacob, throwing a hand in the direction of the door.
“Jacob, please.”
“I don’t need your pity,” he slurs. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t,” I say, desperate to stop the pendulum swinging between one extreme and another. “I’m proud of you, there’s a difference. I’m proud of everything you’ve achieved and everything I know you’re still to achieve.”
“I thought you liked me,” he says.
“I do.” I dare to go toward him. “But not like that, and in time you’ll meet someone who you really care for and realize that whatever feelings you had for me were superficial.”
He looks at me sadly. “But this feels different.”
“Anything will feel different after the relationship you’ve just come out of,” I say. “But give yourself some time and space to be alone and work out what you want.” I smile at him cautiously.
“I’m sorry,” he says, falling back onto the stool and putting his head in his hands on the bar. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“It’s not a problem,” I say, as I shrug on my leather jacket.
“Can I still come and see you on Wednesday?”
“Of course, but I won’t take your money if you’re going to spend the hour imagining a relationship we don’t have.”
“I’ve made a real fool of myself, haven’t I?” he says.
“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
“Can I call you if I hear from Vanessa again?” he asks.
I go to say yes, but I shouldn’t give him any more reason to think this is something that it isn’t. “If she contacts you and threatens you in any way, you need to call the police.”
He nods, but I can’t help but wonder if I’ll have cause to ring the police before he does.
6
My brain is still running over the day’s events as I turn in through the gates of Tattenhall, the nerve endings sparking off each other as I weigh up how much danger both Jacob and I are realistically in. Him from the wife he has dared to leave. Me from the people I’d once called family.
I choose to push aside the added complication of what has just happened between us, knowing that if I acknowledge his misplaced perception of what we shared, I will also have to accept the role I’ve played in encouraging it.
I should never have gone. I should have left when he was two drinks in, knowing the effect whiskey has on the brain. I should have known that the fourth was likely to have impaired his judgment. The man I’ve just left isn’t the man Jacob is. Alcohol can turn you into someone you’re not. Just look at my father.
Flames are flickering in the lanterns that hang from the flint pillars on either side of the entrance and, as I drive onto the estate, with the gravel crunching under my tires, I still can’t get my head around the fact that we actually get to call this place home.
Both Leon and I had long been fascinated by the estate, so living deep within the grounds was a dream come true. And for the first month or two, it felt like the novelty would never wear off. Yet now, although we’ve never been so physically close to each other, it feels as if we’ve never been further apart.
I need to tell him about my father, but he’s only ever known half the story and now is not the time to burden him with the rest.