I look toward the front of the house, wondering what on earth is going on. “Jack!” a woman screams. “Jack!”
Jack’s hands go to his head and yank viciously, and he shouts, a carnal sound full of frustration. He glares at me, his eyes raging with fire. I turn to dust on the spot, cowering away. Then he strides off.
I look at Richard. Richard looks at me. “I’d avoid the front for a while if I were you.”
Of course, that means I just go right ahead and make my way out there, curious. Too curious. Dangerously curious. I find Jack halfway down the driveway and his wife waving her arms, looking deranged, while plenty of workmen look on. What on earth?
“Why haven’t you answered my calls?” she screeches.
Jack’s hands come up in a pacifying way, his body language now entirely different compared to when he left me a few moments ago. “I’ve been busy, Stephanie. I’m running a business.” He sounds calm, too.
“Yeah, it’s all about fucking work with you! What about me? What about your marriage!”
I watch on, rapt, as he seems to talk her down before taking her arm. She yanks herself free and shoves him away viciously, though Jack’s big body hardly moves at all.
“Daddy says I should be your priority! He says you’re selfish, and I’m inclined to agree!” Her final vomit of insults is delivered on a slight slur. Is she drunk? “Daddy”?
“That’s enough, Stephanie. You’re showing yourself up.” Jack grabs her arms and leads her to his car, but she pushes him away again, stumbling a little in her heels on the gravel. She’s definitely drunk.
“I’ll get myself in the car,” she spits, falling into the seat.
Jack looks back at me, his face a picture of stress. Then he shakes his head mildly at me and mouths, This isn’t over.
I take a backward step and find the nearest thing to cling to in order to hold me up.
*
I spend all weekend lost in work in an attempt to distract myself. It doesn’t work. And it’s not going to, when Jack’s been persistently trying to get hold of me. I’ve ignored him. It’s been hard, but I’ve managed.
On Monday, I stop off at the store on my way home to pick up dinner for this evening. As I’m traipsing up aisle after aisle trying to decide what I fancy, my phone chimes the arrival of a text. I reach for a paella as I open the message.
We need to talk. Meet me. Jack
My stomach drops. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that this won’t be about business. And it isn’t even a question. I start imagining what he wants to say, my mind going into overdrive, no matter how hard I try to stop it. This isn’t over.
My lips dry and my stomach flips. I delete the message quickly before I do something stupid…like reply. Why is he doing this? I need to quit Colin’s project. It kills me, but I have to. I can’t work with him. I shouldn’t work with him. I’ll just take on more projects, anything to swallow up all my time and take my mind away from my dangerous thoughts. That’s the plan. I just hope to God it works, because every time I see Jack, the deep ache inside of me intensifies. My want deepens, my heart splits with pain when he leaves, and when he holds me, I dream about him holding me every day, encouraging me every day, inspiring me every day. For the first time in my life, I’m imagining my world with a man in it. I’m imagining giving up some of my independence to make room for Jack. Because with him, it doesn’t feel like I’m giving anything up at all—only gaining. I’m imagining him poring over designs with me, offering advice, telling me constantly how proud he is of me. Ignoring all of these dreams is draining me. I’m all out of resistance.
Dropping my half-full basket to the floor, I abandon my plan to eat and rush home so I can dive into my office and lose myself in work. I finish drawings, e-mail them, call the structural engineer for his opinion on a few things…and draft an e-mail to Colin advising him of my intention to pull out of his project, but recommending some colleagues who will be happy to assist and see it through to completion.
I take a call from a potential client and schedule a meeting. It’s nowhere near the scale of Colin’s project, but it’s something else for me to get stuck into. I check in with Mum and Dad, reply to a text from Micky telling him I’m fine, so so fine, and even clean my bathroom. It’s been a productive day. The only thing that’ll finish it off nicely is clicking Send on the e-mail I drafted to Colin.
But as my cursor hovers over the icon, nothing I say to myself convinces me to click it. I close my eyes and will my finger to push down. Just press it. Just press that little icon and your problems will go away. I sit back in my chair, staring at the screen for a good ten minutes, searching for the will and sensibility to do the right thing.
Ding!
I look down at my phone and see Jack’s name, and though everything tells me not to open his message, my stupid fingers don’t hesitate to click down on that icon.
You don’t get to ignore me now, Annie.
A second later, my phone starts ringing, and I push myself away from my desk in my chair to put some space between me and it. “Go away, Jack,” I whisper.
As soon as it stops ringing, I quickly dial Lizzy, breathing my way through my panic. I’m going to cave soon. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Fancy a coffee?” I ask.
“Sure. I just got done. Usual place, twenty minutes?”
“See you soon.”
*
I spot Lizzy weaving her way through the tables up ahead, my eyes following her until she lands in the chair opposite me. “How’s work? Everything okay?”
“Yes, it’s all fine. I hardly see him actually,” I lie. This wasn’t the plan. I need distraction! I could never tell Lizzy I slept with him again, especially given everything she’s been through with Jason. I can never tell anyone. I’m a disgrace. A weak, pathetic woman. I also can’t tell her that I’m quitting Colin’s project. She’ll know why.
I plaster a smile on my face, feigning normality. “Besides, there’s nothing like a wife to realign things, is there?”
Lizzy laughs loudly, and for the first time I see the funny side. Because it’s actually quite fucking hilarious. I’m never overwhelmed by a man, and when it eventually happens, the bastard is married.
“Doesn’t the sanctimony of marriage mean a thing anymore?” I ask, truly exasperated.
“More marriages end than survive.” Lizzy picks up her teaspoon and points it at me. “And mostly because of infidelity. I had a lucky escape. I’m never getting married.”
“Me either,” I agree, feeling like I’m subconsciously kissing good-bye to my happily ever after, as well as my dream project.
“Fuck coffee,” Lizzy says. “Let’s get pissed. Call the others.” She grabs a menu and proceeds to order alcohol en masse.
“Now?”
“Yes, now. And hopefully you’ll get laid, too.”
She’s right. I need to get back into the saddle. “And you also need a good screw.”
Her eyebrows jump up.
“By someone other than Micky,” I clarify as I grab my phone to call the guys, my mouth now watering in anticipation for the mojito that will soon be landing on the table in front of me.
*