By early evening, the party she’d thrown to celebrate my thirtieth birthday was in full swing. Our friends and neighbours had marched up the path like worker ants, carrying cheap French wine and trays of cling film–wrapped sandwiches.
Neither she nor Dougie were aware of anyone else’s presence. They faced each other, his hands on her hips and her arms draped around his neck, as she swayed drunkenly to the music.
Dougie had spent more time of late offloading his woes onto her than onto me. And in all honesty, I’d found it arduous listening to the complaints of a man who’d been deserted by his marital punchbag, so Catherine’s willing ear came as a relief.
But I hadn’t thought twice about their growing closeness until tonight. Despite the many distractions, neither of them lost eye contact – not when the song skipped, when the ABBA tribute act disbanded, nor when an excited Oscar began bursting balloons with his claws.
You’re reading too much into it, I rationalised, fiddling nervously with the new cufflinks she’d bought me. They’re friends. So I dismissed my insecurities and headed into the garden for a cigarette. When I gave it more thought, I knew all I’d witnessed were two pals sharing a boozy dance.
‘Happy birthday, mate!’ shouted my inebriated business partner, throwing his arm around my shoulder.
‘Cheers,’ I replied, and held my pint out in front of me to toast the occasion.
‘Baishali would never throw a party like this for me,’ Steven said. ‘She’d be terrified of what the house would look like afterwards. You’ve got a good girl there.’
‘I know,’ I said, smiling. ‘I have.’
He was right. I’d been a fool for having doubted her, even for a minute. I would go back inside to find her, give her a cuddle and thank her for her efforts. And I’d apologise for having put my work before her in recent months. I’d lost my sense of fun and spontaneity, and I knew it had created distance between us. I’d been selfish for ignoring it.
I stubbed my cigarette out on the path and went inside, but the corner of the room they’d dominated was vacant. My eyes combed the living room but Catherine was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the dining room and the kitchen before going back through the patio doors, into the garden and towards Roger.
‘Is Kitty out here?’ I asked.
‘No, mate,’ slurred Roger. ‘Do you want another beer?’
I shook my head, but as I turned to go back into the house, I was drawn to our bedroom window. I looked up to see the shadow of two figures behind the curtain before the lights went out.
I remained there for a moment, temporarily paralysed.
CATHERINE
14 March, 11.15 p.m.
I enjoyed spending time with Dougie. I understood why women fancied him. He was broad-shouldered and ruggedly handsome; he knew how to dress well and he was a great listener. If I were single, he’d probably have caught my eye.
And as Simon threw all his attention into setting up his business, and Dougie adjusted to his single life after Beth walked out on him, we’d both found ourselves in the same lonely boat together.
The children took up most of my time, but Dougie had nothing to take his mind off her. I hated to think of him rattling around his house without her. So he came to ours on weeknights for dinner with the kids and me. They adored their Uncle D because he chased them around the house pretending to be a monster from the Ghostbusters film and gave them the attention their father used to give.
After I’d packed them off to bed, Dougie and I might sit in the garden or around the kitchen table, unscrew a bottle of wine and wait for Simon to come home and join us. Invariably, we’d chat for a couple of hours – he’d complain about his directionless life and I’d moan about my lack of a husband. He’d always defend Simon, though, reminding me his long hours were a means to an end. I knew he was right, but occasionally I needed someone else to turn on the light at the end of our tunnel.
Despite our many conversations about Beth, Dougie never really explained why she’d left. Instead, he danced around the subject, making it clear he wasn’t ready to confide all in me just yet. I wondered if he’d told Simon, because my husband hadn’t said anything either.
‘Was there someone else?’ I’d asked him a week earlier, opening a second bottle of Lambrusco.
‘No, Beth would never do that,’ he replied.
‘I didn’t mean her.’
‘I’d never have an affair,’ he said, a little put out I’d suggested such a thing.
‘You don’t need to have an affair to want someone else.’
He knew what I was getting at. I don’t know why, but something in me wanted to hear him admit it was my husband he wanted. But instead I changed the subject to Simon’s impending birthday party.
We’d both begged him to take a Saturday night off for a knees-up – he’d have nothing to do but turn up to his own living room. But even that, he did reluctantly.
Making food for the buffet, blowing up balloons, organising a babysitter and rearranging the furniture by myself meant that by the time the party was in full flow, I was shattered – and drunk as a skunk by nine o’clock. But despite all my efforts to encourage Simon to let his hair down, his eighty-hour working weeks meant he found it hard to unwind. I playfully pulled at his arm to dance, but he yanked it away and chose another pint of beer instead of me.
Sod you, I thought and grabbed the next best thing, Dougie, to stamp my dance card.
I wrapped my arms around Dougie’s neck to stop myself from slumping to the floor, and he propped me up around my waist. As we danced, his thoughts and eyes were fixated on me.
‘You’re in love with Simon, aren’t you?’ I blurted out so suddenly, I even let out a surprised gasp. Then I held my breath as I waited for his denial.
But Dougie’s expression didn’t change. And for the next few moments, we just swayed, holding each other’s gaze. Without needing to put it into words, I told him I didn’t mind, and I read gratitude in his eyes.
‘Come with me and we’ll talk properly,’ he finally whispered.
Northampton, today
7.25 p.m.
She remained silent as she mulled over how to proceed.
He’d brought up her mistakes and stupid decisions she had long chosen to forget. She had no idea he’d seen her with Dougie in the bedroom. Of all the reasons he could have chosen to walk away from her, she’d never thought that to be the one.
She cleared her throat. ‘You think I had an affair with Dougie?’
He nodded and tapped his head. ‘I may have this thing growing inside me now, erasing my memories, but I know what I saw and I know what I heard.’
She looked towards her feet and brushed her hand through her hair. Her face felt flushed and her bottom lip quivered. Going up the stairs with Dougie was still the second biggest regret of her life. She was ashamed of what had happened between them and she never thought she’d have to talk about it with anyone, let alone her husband.
Then she shot him a look of absolute contempt.
‘You stupid man,’ she growled. ‘You stupid fucking man.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SIMON
Northampton, twenty-seven years earlier