‘Hi,’ I say. He’s in the hallway and I know he wants to go and hide in his study. ‘I bought you a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Come and open it so it can breathe.’
He walks towards the kitchen like a reluctant wild dog being offered scraps of meat. How has our love come to this?
‘So, we’re still pretending everything is fine,’ he says, wearily.
‘No,’ I answer, wounded. ‘But we can at least be civil. We can be friends, surely, while we work on our problems? We owe each other that, don’t we?’
‘Look …’
The phone rings and, although it’s expected, I still nearly jump, and my hand tightens around the chopping knife. I step towards the phone, but David blocks me as I knew he would.
‘It’ll be the clinic,’ he says. ‘I’ll get it.’
I keep my eyes down, chopping at the onion, my skin burning with nerves, as I listen. It’s time for his blissful little secret relationship to get as fucked up as this marriage.
‘Hello? Yes, this is David Martin. Oh hi … You wanted to confirm what? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I’m following. An extended guest membership?’
I turn to face him then, I have to, my face all innocent worry that he’ll be angry at my spending, that I have a friend I haven’t told him about. He’s not looking at me. Not yet.
‘For whom?’ He’s frowning.
Then I see it. The shock as he tries to take it in. The confusion.
‘Sorry, did you say Louise Barnsley?’ Then he looks at me, but he’s still trying to put everything in place in his head. His world just turned upside down and then got shaken all over again. ‘And this is an extension on a guest membership my wife arranged?’
I shrug at him, pleading, and mouth She’s a friend I made.
‘Okay, yes, thank you. That’s fine.’ His eyes fall to my mobile phone, and he’s reaching for it as he hangs up, before I can even make the pretence of going for it myself.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘She’s someone I met. That’s all. Just a friend. I didn’t want to say anything. I was lonely. She was nice to me.’
He’s not listening to me, but scanning through the texts in the phone, his face like thunder. I’ve kept most of them. Of course I have. In preparation for this.
He stares at me then, for a long moment, and he’s gripping my phone so tightly I think he might crush it. Whose windpipe would he like to crush most right now, mine or Louise’s?
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.
He’s pale, his jaw clenched tightly, his whole body trembling with pent-up emotion he’s fighting to contain. I’ve only seen him like this once before, and that was so long ago. I want to hold him. To tell him everything’s going to be okay. That I’m making everything better for him. But I can’t. I have to be strong.
‘I’m going out.’ The words are forced out between his teeth. I don’t think he’s even seeing me.
He storms towards the front door and I call after him, but he doesn’t even pause in his stride, a whirlwind of rage and confusion.
The door slams and I’m alone. I hear the clock tick in the silence. I stare after him for a moment and then pour a glass of the opened red wine. It should breathe for longer, but I don’t care.
I let out a long sigh after the first sip and then roll my head around my shoulders releasing the tension. Poor Louise, I think. I’m exhausted, but I try to shake it away. I still have things to do. See if Anthony has left the package where I asked him to for one thing. And then see what David is doing. My tiredness is going to have to wait.
After all, I can sleep when I’m dead.
31
THEN
They leave tomorrow. The month is over and there’s no reason for either of them to stay longer, star patients that they are. It’s a weird feeling, but Adele can’t help smiling as she packs. Freedom from Westlands, and David to marry at the end of his university term. Despite everything that’s happened, her future looks good. Her only worry is Rob. He’s making jokes about it, but she can see that he doesn’t want to go back to his sister, not at all. It hurts her to see him almost vulnerable. It also hurts to leave him. It’s her only sadness as she folds her clothes into her small suitcase, but it’s a sharp one.
‘Want to go down by the lake?’ she asks. He’s sitting on her bed, watching her pack and, for the first time since she’s known him, he looks like a little boy rather than an almost-man. His dark hair hangs over his face, but she can see the glint of the braces he hates so much on his teeth. His T-shirt is still ironed though. She’s never known anyone to press a T-shirt or their jeans before. Maybe he even irons his socks. Perhaps it’s one small bit of control he has in what seems like a uncontrolled life to Adele. One kink in his wildness.