‘I’m just messing with you.’ Mel gives a throaty laugh. ‘Now can we stop talking about Tamsin, and start talking about how fabulous my new haircut is? You haven’t even mentioned it yet. So rude!’
I laugh, feeling so pleased that I decided to come over here. Whenever things get tough, I know Mel will always be there for me, cheering me up with her silly banter, and vice versa. In fact, we’re more like sisters than friends. We share everything. As I reach up to get the sugar bowl out of the cupboard – Mel takes three sugars – I notice a pair of white wraparound sunglasses in her fruit bowl.
‘Are these Dom’s?’ I ask, picking them up.
Mel follows my eye line and I see her expression falter for a moment, her mouth falling open. She stutters, ‘Nope, don’t think so. Must be Chris’s.’
I know she’s lying. Her ex isn’t sporty and there’s no way he would wear a pair of non-branded glasses like these. ‘Yes, they are. They’re Dom’s. He wears them for cycling. He’s been looking all over the place for these. What are they doing here?’
‘Uh, no idea.’ She turns away and reaches up to get a couple of flowery plates from her duck-egg-blue Welsh dresser. When she turns back around, her face is more composed. ‘Maybe he dropped them out the front, and one of the kids picked them up, brought them home. They’re like a couple of magpies, those two. Always bringing back random crap – stones, leaves, ring-pulls. Syringes – joke.’ She rolls her eyes – an attempt at nonchalance.
But I’m not buying it. I’m not laughing either. Dom’s been round here, and it wasn’t at the weekend, because he lost his sunglasses last week. ‘Don’t lie, Mel. Just tell me, are these Dom’s glasses?’
She drops the act and nods.
‘So why did you lie? Was Dom round here last week?’ All my earlier good humour is disappearing fast.
‘I’m sorry, Kirstie, I can’t tell you.’
For a second, I think she’s joking, until I realise she isn’t. My pulse quickens. ‘What do you mean you can’t tell me? Of course you can. You just open your mouth and the words come out.’
‘It’s… It’s not my place to say,’ she says, her face reddening. ‘You’ll have to ask Dom. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry?’ Heat floods my face. Why is she refusing to say any more? ‘Just tell me what the big secret is.’
Mel shakes her head. ‘I can’t.’
My throat tightens as I remember how Mel and Dom were whispering in the hallway over the weekend, and also how Dom defended Mel when I told him about her borrowing money. ‘Are you having an affair with my husband?’ the question pops out before I can stop it. Silence hangs between us for a moment. Daisy babbles happily in Mel’s arms, unaware that her mummy’s heart is being twisted.
‘No!’ Mel cries, a look of outrage on her face. But of course she would deny it. ‘Speak to Dom,’ she repeats.
I grip the counter top as my head begins to swim. Not this again. I can’t faint. Not here, not now.
‘Are you okay?’ Mel asks.
I’m far from okay, but I shake her off, unable to even look at her. I take a steadying breath, stride over and retrieve Daisy from her arms. ‘I thought you were supposed to be my best friend! I’ll let myself out.’
‘Kirstie! Please. It’s not what you think. Just stay and have some tea.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ I stomp down her hallway and out of the front door, slamming it behind me, hoping the vibrations rattle her bones. I let out a growl of frustration.
Why wouldn’t Mel tell me why Dom’s sunglasses are in her kitchen? What reason would he have to be at her house? Yes, they’re friends, but Dom’s never gone over there on his own to hang out and chat. I mean, I don’t suppose I would mind if he did, but why would they keep it secret? That’s the part I can’t understand. There’s no explanation I can think of other than the obvious one – Dom and Mel must be having an affair. But he wouldn’t do that to me, would he? Not after last time. Not now we’ve got a daughter together. Would he? Would she? If they have, I’ll kill them both. I’ll… Truth is, I don’t know what I’d do.
Tears of hurt and anger burn behind my eyes as I march back towards to my house, Daisy wriggling in my arms. So much for going over to Mel’s and clearing the air – it’s more toxic now than it’s ever been. I want to call Dom this minute and demand answers, but I also want to see the expression on his face when I ask him if he’s sleeping with my best friend. That’s the only way I’ll know if he’s telling the truth and I can’t do that over the phone. Why does he have to be away on a bloody course today of all days? How am I going to wait until tomorrow? I stand in the hallway of our house, panting, a space opening up inside me like a vast black hole.
Twenty-Seven
A night and a day of waiting and stewing and pacing and biting my nails and jumping out of my skin at every creak of the house and cry from Daisy. A night and a day of ignoring my husband’s text messages and phone calls. A night and a day of not eating, of rolling tears and black thoughts.
And now, finally, the wait is almost over. It’s Tuesday night and Dom will be driving back from his course.
Daisy is asleep upstairs while I sit downstairs, curled up on the lounge sofa like a cat who appears relaxed but could spring up at any moment. Could fight or flee with a wail and a screech. But for now, I wait in the dark with TV on and the sound turned off. I wait, anticipating the conversation to come, but also dreading it. Dreading it so much it makes me feel physically sick.
My body tenses as I hear Dom’s car pull into the driveway.
My stomach turns in time with my husband’s key in the lock.
Click.
The hall light comes on and I take a breath. Try to work out what I’m going to say. Try to anticipate what his response will be. Is my marriage over? Will I be a single mum? Maybe it really is nothing. Maybe Dom and Mel aren’t involved and it’s my brain making unwanted connections. But if it’s nothing bad, then why wouldn’t Mel tell me what was going on? Why did she tell me to speak to Dom? Why didn’t she come over to see how I was doing?
‘Hey, Kirst!’ The lounge door swings open and I see him standing there, illuminated in the doorway. He already looks different, already distant. Not the Dom I’ve known for most of my life. My husband, the stranger.
‘Hi,’ I reply, the word almost jams in my throat.
‘Why are you sitting in here with the light off?’ he asks. ‘I missed you guys. How’ve you been?’ He puts his keys on the hall table and steps into the lounge. ‘Is there something wrong with your phone? I’ve been texting and calling.’ He switches on the light.
I squint and look down at my fingers twisting in my lap.
‘Kirstie?’ he says, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
‘How was the course?’ I ask, sure that Dom will notice my voice is too high, too bright.
He gives me a quizzical look before answering. ‘Yeah, it was okay. Learnt a couple of new sales techniques, but nothing earth shattering. You know, the usual. They could probably have condensed it into two hours. Dying for a beer. Want one?’
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘Breastfeeding, remember?’ I get up and let myself be kissed, follow him into the kitchen.
‘You haven’t said how you and Daisy have been?’ he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of Peroni.
‘Fine.’
‘Feeling any better… you know, since going to the doctor’s?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ I shrug.
‘Oh. Good. Well, how’s our little girl?’
‘She’s fine.’ Dom can’t fail to notice that my voice is becoming sharper.
He takes a bottle opener from the drawer, pops the cap and takes a long slug from the bottle. ‘Look, Kirst, I wanted to say I’m really sorry. About… you know, the whole taking Daisy out shopping while you were asleep thing. I should’ve made sure you heard me explain. I knew you were half asleep when I was talking to you. I really am sorry that I worried you like that. But it was a genuine mistake.’
I nod, my lips tight. He thinks I’m angry about that. But he’s wrong.