‘Why didn’t you say anything about this before?’
‘I didn’t think you’d believe me.’ She could tell he didn’t now and it made her frustrated. She looked at the letter again. ‘How did you get this, anyway?’
‘It arrived this morning.’
‘And you just happened to drop by and be there to comfort her. I thought you were supposed to be on a work conference?’
‘Laura, I want a divorce.’
Something clamped round her heart and stopped it. ‘What?’
‘Marianne’s leaving her husband.’
‘How nice for you.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what? You want me to congratulate the two of you? I’ve had to stand by and turn a blind eye for years while the two of you . . .’ she exploded.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re thinking of yourself.’
‘OK, yes, mostly I am. I’m unhappy. Aren’t you?’
Laura didn’t dare answer; she didn’t want to admit it.
‘It’s been years, Laura. How long are we supposed to go on? Do you want to spend the rest of your life living like this? The two of us barely functioning together? Don’t you think you’ll look back and think it was time, valuable, precious time wasted? How much longer do the two of us even have? In a few years, I’ll be sixty. Sixty! If I can’t do something about it now, when do I change things? When I’m seventy? Eighty? But also, I think you’re unhappy too. If I go, it leaves you free to change things. Maybe find someone else.’
Anger burned in her. ‘I don’t need your relationship counselling, thanks. I planned for the first marriage to work.’
He looked at her sadly. ‘So did I.’ Then he stood. ‘I think it’s better if I don’t stay. For what it’s worth, I was on a conference. Marianne came to see me this morning at the office.’
Of course, it would be the one time that she confronted him on it, he was innocent. Laura hated the whole sorry situation then. She wanted to kick and scream at the unfairness of it all.
He picked up his jacket. ‘Has Daniel been in touch?’ he said quietly.
‘No.’
There seemed nothing else to say. Howard went into the hallway. Laura waited, then urged by a need to see him leave, to hope maybe he wouldn’t, followed.
‘Are you all right?’ he said.
‘Fantastic, considering my husband’s just left me.’
‘You can divorce me. You have the grounds. But actually I meant are you all right about Daniel?’
Tears burned in Laura’s eyes. She wanted to say no, wanted him to come and comfort her, for them to have a relationship where this could happen, but they didn’t and loneliness swamped her and made her bitter.
‘Seems he takes after his father in choosing the wrong woman.’
She’d meant Marianne but too late realized it could have been her. Humiliated, she turned and went back into the kitchen. She waited until she heard the lift descend to the basement and knew Howard would be getting into his car. Sure enough, she heard the vehicle lift rise. Somewhere out there, he was driving towards the woman he loved.
She picked up her wine and her hand shook. Was this all part of her punishment? Had she started herself along this long, awful, destructive path? The wine stuck in her throat. She was a liar.
The house seemed very big and very empty when Laura got up the next morning, and for the first time since she’d moved in, she didn’t feel entirely comfortable in it. She suddenly ‘saw’ it, was conscious of doors, walls and furniture. Things that she’d been so used to that they were comfortingly invisible suddenly appeared odd, as if she didn’t quite recognize them. A chair in the corner of the living room. Mirrors reflecting her face back at her. She was keen to leave it and get to work as quickly as possible, so called a cab. They got as far as Drury Lane, where there was some disruption up ahead. The traffic was solid, and as they waited, an ambulance wailed behind them, desperate to reach its injured charge but unable to move. Cars inched up onto pavements. Laura decided to walk the rest of the way. In the time it took her to pay the driver and leave the cab, the ambulance had only edged forward another few metres and she felt for the person who was waiting for it. Never be in an emergency in London, she thought ruefully. You could lie bleeding to death and no one could get to you because of the congestion.
She headed in the direction of whatever crisis was taking place, planning to turn down a side street. Just before she veered away, she looked up towards the incident. Two or three cars had obviously made contact; she could make out some crushed doors and a ruptured bonnet. Then, awfully, a man, a cyclist, lying in the road. His bike was a short distance from his feet, the back wheel mangled. She was about to go and see if she could help but saw an ambulance car already there, with two paramedics obviously waiting for backup, and the police were holding people back. She shuddered and hoped he was OK. He looked young. He had a backpack on, and she thought about his mother. The ambulance finally went past her, lights flashing frantically, a desolate wail every now and then to remind people to get out of the way.
She turned off down a narrow street, then another and headed towards the office. She walked quickly: the accident had unsettled her even more and she wanted to get to work. The show was gearing up for filming and the heads of department – art, costume, make-up, camera and the director – would start prepping in a couple of weeks. When she thought about that, she got the familiar surge of excitement, mixed with an anxiety-infused thrill at what they were about to begin, the juggernaut of production and all for a few minutes a day caught on camera. She had to go and visit some locations today and later meet with the casting director to view tapes of auditions for some of the secondary characters.