The Lie

“Well, so are you,” she snaps. “And you don’t see me on your bloody case about it, do you?”

Maybe things would have turned out better if you were, I think. If you actually cared.

“Jesus, Miranda,” I tell her. “When did this become okay?”

She raises her brows. “I don’t even know what you mean.”

I put my hand on top of hers. “This. This marriage. This distance. What happened to us?”

The last time we’d left the house together was a few weeks ago, and that was just to take Hamish to the park. I don’t think we spoke more than two words to each other.

It was that night I went to Natasha.

That night that I saw the truth.

Miranda stares at me curiously before slowly removing her hand and hiding it under the table, where I can’t touch her. “You are daft, Brigs. Absolutely daft. Nothing has happened to us. This is just us. This is just our life. It’s always been this way. Nothing has changed.”

But I’ve changed.

I’ve changed.

And this won’t do anymore.

“Please,” I say to her. “Come with me. Forget about your plans and your friends for once. Forget about taking care of Hamish. Forget about everything except your husband. Just this once. For me. Today. Please.”

I’m begging. I know she can see it in my eyes, hear it in the crack of my voice. This has to happen. I won’t go down on a sinking ship without trying to swim to shore.

She gives me a sour smile and shakes her head. “I told you,” she says, voice clipped. Final. “I’m busy.”

There’s only a table between us but it’s a million kilometers long.

I stare at her, hoping that she can at least see that I tried.

But she’s back to looking out the window, sipping from her tea with manicured nails, her mind already far away, onto bigger things, better things.

“All right,” I say with resignation. I get up. “I’m going to take the car out anyway.”

“Be back before twelve-thirty,” she tells me. “I’m not burdening Carol with Hamish on our lunch.”

“Right,” I tell her.

I stride out of the room, say goodbye to Hamish, kissing him on the head, grab my keys, and go.

I get into Moneypenny, the old Aston Martin, and hope she turns over easy. I need to get out of here, fast.

She coughs and stutters.

I slam my fist into the wheel.

“Fuck!”

I yell and yell, my face going red, spit flying out of my mouth. I throttle the wheel, as if I could strangle the car, the key digging into my other hand until finally she gives in.

My heart is racing. Sweat drips from my brow. I gun the car out of the driveway and onto to the road, nearly losing control on the sharp bend by Braeburn Pond. I drive and drive, taking the corners wide, cutting off cars, my mind caught in a whirlwind. Thoughts just tumble into each other without going anywhere, around and around and around.

Without even thinking, I end up in Natasha’s neighborhood, on her street. I pull the car over and stare at her building. I can drive off. I can go blow off some steam with Lachlan. I can drive and scream and wish to god that things were different.

But I don’t want to do it alone.

I get out of the car and head to her flat.

I knock on her door, wondering if she’s even in, if she might still be sleeping. It’s still early on a Saturday and we don’t see each other on the weekends without it being work related, such as seeing a classic film at the cinema. I hadn’t planned to talk to her until Monday, her last week of work as my research assistant before going back to London.

My heart pinches at that thought.

She’s leaving me.

What the hell am I doing?

But then the door opens slowly and she’s staring at me with wide eyes, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a fluffy robe around her body.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, immediately feeling bad. “Did I wake you up?”

She yawns. “Kind of, but I should be getting up anyway. What’s, um, up?”

I rub my lips together. “I…I wanted to know if you wanted to go for a drive?”

“Where?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Far away. But not too far. I have to be back by twelve-thirty for Hamish.”

“What time is it now?”

“Eight-thirty.”

She rolls her eyes. “And you were wondering if you woke me up. I should still be sleeping for at least another two hours.”

I nod, embarrassed at my enthusiasm. I’m being inappropriate. “I should go.”

I turn around, but she reaches out and grabs my arm, holding tight. “No, don’t,” she says quickly. “I want to go with you. Just give me five minutes, okay?”

I turn to look at her and she’s flashing me a persuasive smile.

“I’ll be in the car,” I tell her.

Somehow she’s true to her word. In five minutes she’s jogging down the steps of her building, dressed in jeans and a tank top that shows off the tawny warmth of her summer tan. She hasn’t touched her hair at all; it’s still up in that bedhead bun, and there isn’t a bit of makeup on her. She doesn’t need it. She looks joyful. She looks absolutely beautiful.