It surprises me when I pull up outside Tom’s apartment near the seafront in Brighton. I hadn’t planned to come here. In fact, I have no idea how I ended up here. I cannot remember making a conscious decision to do so.
What the hell am I doing? I run my hands down my face and then back up across my hair, which, amazingly, is still in the ponytail. I shouldn’t be here, but where else can I go? The seafront is a good place. I turn the engine on and put the car into first gear. I’m just about to pull away when the familiar blue BMW pulls in front of me, blocking my path.
I look up and Tom looks back at me. He gets out of the car and comes over to mine. Opening the driver’s door, he looks at me and, without saying a word, reaches in, switches off the engine and takes the keys out of the ignition. He leans over and unclips the seat belt, picking up my bag and the file. He gives it a glance, but still doesn’t say anything. Then, taking my hand, he guides me out of the car. He locks my car and walks me over to his car, sits me in the passenger seat and then drives into the underground car park.
We end up inside Tom’s apartment, still without saying a word, and he pours us both a brandy. We sip in silence and when I’m finished I place my glass on the table. Tom puts his arm around me and holds me to him. I don’t resist. I need human comfort. I need kindness. I need love.
Over the next hour, I relay the sequence of events to Tom and drink two more brandies.
‘I had no idea it had got like that,’ says Tom. ‘Alice seemed so, well, so …’
‘Nice,’ I supply. ‘Yeah, I know. That’s what everyone says.’
‘And Luke. I’m really surprised at him,’ says Tom. ‘He should be standing by you, defending you, not making you feel like you’ve done something wrong.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Unless, of course … No, sorry, ignore me.’
‘What were you going to say?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not my place.’
‘Tom, you’re one of my oldest friends. Of course it’s your place.’
‘No, leave it, Clare. I don’t want to make matters worse. It’s not for me to cause trouble between a man and his wife. God knows, I know what that’s like.’ He’s referring to his ex-wife Isabella and the affair that broke up their marriage.
‘It’s okay. You can say it. You think Luke is having an affair with Alice.’
‘Now, I never said that.’
‘No, but I know what you were thinking and, it’s okay, I’ve thought that too. The bastard.’ I feel the anger surge once more.
‘I’m sorry, Clare. It’s that bad, huh?’
I feel a tear leak from the corner of my eye, and then another. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my face. Tom cuddles me. He strokes my hair. He rubs my back. His tells me it’s okay and to let it out. And I do. For a good ten minutes. Then Tom produces a tissue from his pocket and dabs gently at my eyes, drying my face.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to get upset like that.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ says Tom. His voice is soft and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are physically. His head is almost resting on mine. At some point, I don’t know when or who instigated it, our lips meet and we engage in more than just a friendly peck. Instantly, I’m back at Oxford, we’re twenty-one again and Tom is comforting me when I’m upset that my search for Alice is futile. How ironic that we find ourselves like this again, but because Alice has been found. Or rather, she has found us.
I feel tired from thinking about it all. It hurts too much. It’s all so painful and yet, here, in Tom’s arms, everything feels familiar and right. It reminds me of those student days when everything was good in the world, when the future ahead was full of excitement and promise. When there were no adult responsibilities. No lost files. No pending court cases. No cheating husband.
Chapter 16
Something inside my head snaps me back into reality. What the hell am I doing? I wriggle out of Tom’s embrace. Thank God it hasn’t gone any further than a kiss, not that a kiss is okay, but Jesus, what if I’d ended up having sex with him?
‘Sorry, Tom,’ I say, smoothing my hair back, which has somehow come out of the ponytail. ‘I can’t. It’s not right.’
Tom leans in again and tries to kiss me. I pull even further back. ‘No. Seriously, Tom, I mean it.’ God, my head feels fuzzy. My limbs and arms are finding it difficult to respond, they’re sluggish and tired.
Tom looks at me. ‘You sure?’
I nod. ‘I’m sure.’
For the briefest of moments, I think I catch a glimpse of anger cross Tom’s face, but it’s gone in a flash and he offers what I can only describe as a sad smile. ‘That’s a shame,’ he says.