‘Well, like Steven always says, you can resist anything but temptation,’ I say lightly, trying to dispel my unease. ‘Though I’m not sure he said it first.’
We eventually buy a couple of wraps from a Mexican stall and wander up to the nearby park to eat them, settling down in the full glare of the sun. Carl lies down on his back, pillowing his hands behind his head, and I lie next to him, feeling his heartbeat where my head rests on his chest. ‘This is nice,’ I say quietly after a while. ‘Nice not to have to rush off.’
‘I know.’ His chest rises and falls in a sigh. ‘Sometimes,’ he says, ‘I wish we could just stay in one evening and, I don’t know, watch TV. Get a takeaway. Normal stuff.’
‘Well, we could do that.’ I know exactly what he means but, even as I speak, I know it probably won’t happen. Our time alone is precious, too short. We spend most of it in bed, and it feels like the opposite of normal.
He doesn’t answer but strokes my hair, his hand running idly up and down its length and gently pulling, teasing his fingers through the strands. ‘There’s a couple at the new office,’ he says at last. ‘They’re in their twenties, think they’ve only been going out for a few months. It’s funny, they hardly ever talk to each other at work. Don’t often go out for lunch together, even. It made me think there’s no way I’d be able to stay away from you, in that situation.’
‘You managed it OK,’ I say, ‘when we did work together.’
‘Well, not really,’ he points out, snorting briefly with laughter. ‘Not by the end. Anyway … it doesn’t matter. I just couldn’t help looking at them and thinking, you know. It wouldn’t be like that for me.’
I scratch my fingernails lightly down his abdomen, thinking about what he is saying. These days, more and more, I find myself trying to imagine what it would be like if we were a real couple. I think about the routine trips to the supermarket, the household chores, the aimless, rainy days when there’s nothing to do. ‘It wouldn’t be like this, either,’ I say. ‘You know that.’
I feel him breathing deeply, thinking. ‘No,’ he says finally. ‘I’ve got no idea what it would be like. To be honest, I don’t tend to second-guess stuff too much. I just take things as they come. You know – work, family, friends … my life’s not so complicated, really.’
I angle my cheek inwards, resting it against the warm rise and fall of his chest. ‘Apart from me.’
He makes some vague noise of agreement. ‘Our situation, certainly. But anyway,’ he says, ‘there isn’t much point going down that road, is there? Wondering about how we’d be together. As far as I’m concerned, you’re married, so there’s no decision to be made. That’s just the way it is, and I’ve always known that.’
His tone is without malice and the words are rational but, all the same, something in me rebels against the ease with which he seems to be able to shrug the thought off. I wonder, sometimes, if he even realizes how rare this dynamic between us is. He’s barely out of his mid-twenties, and he’s never had a serious relationship; a few months here and there with various girls, nothing that seems to have had a major impact on him. Unable to help myself, I sigh. ‘Well, that was easy.’
‘No,’ he says flatly. ‘It’s not.’
A cloud crosses the sun, and I press my face into his shirt, feeling suddenly cold. ‘Come on,’ I hear him say after a while. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
We stroll around the park, chatting, until it’s time for me to head back to the Tube and pick up Eddie from nursery. Outside the entrance he presses me back against the station wall and kisses me hard, biting my lip and thrusting his hips against mine. Our conversations are forgotten and we’re in the moment together, unable to see past it. ‘Three hours,’ he mutters. ‘Not sure I can wait that long.’
‘You’re going to have to,’ I say, but the truth is that I’m not sure I can either, and all at once lust is pulsing through me so powerfully I can barely speak. My hands are sliding up his back, exploring and teasing. I’m thinking about how it will be later, when we’re alone.
‘I want you so much,’ I tell him, as I curl my fingers around the loops of his belt and pull him hard up against me, and saying it out loud gives me a dizzying sense of pleasure. I’ve never been this honest with anyone. It’s shockingly addictive … so much so that, as soon as he’s released me and I’m walking away from him, all I want to do is run back and say it again and again and again.
Eddie is out of sorts from the minute I pick him up from nursery – scowling mutinously at the ground when I ask how his day has been, fussing on the bus for no apparent reason and dragging his feet all the way up the road. Five steps from the front door he trips and falls on his face, which sets him off into instant meltdown, screaming as if he’s being flayed alive. Bundling him through the front door, I examine his face, but there’s only the tiniest of red marks, barely visible.
‘It’s OK,’ I try to comfort him. ‘You’re fine. It’s all right,’ but it has no effect and he stomps off into the nursery, still wailing. Moments later, I hear the thwack of a toy being thrown against the wall, then a long, high-pitched scream of frustration before he calls for me, over and over. I hurry into the room, but there’s nothing to be done, and when I try to scoop him into my lap he almost growls, his little hands pushing me violently away. Breathing in sharply, I count to ten. My tolerance for these tantrums seems to be getting lower and lower, and my heart is thumping, warning me that I’m losing control.
Setting my teeth, I stride out of the nursery and into the lounge, seeking a few moments’ quiet. Francis is in his customary position on the sofa, slumped in front of the laptop with his headphones plugged in, barely glancing at me when I come in. He’s there, but he isn’t. His eyes are glazed and unblinking, hooded darkly in the light of the screen.
‘Good evening,’ I say sarcastically, though I know he can’t hear me.
With an expression of infinite weariness, he reaches slowly up and plucks the headphones from his ears. ‘What?’
‘That’s a nice welcome.’ In seconds, the relaxation of the afternoon has disappeared. I glance around me at the state of the room. There are toys everywhere, unwashed crockery piled up on the dining table, streaks of dust and dirt across the floor. I know Francis has had no appointments today. He’s simply sat here, surveying the carnage. ‘I’m so glad I came back,’ I spit.
‘No one asked you to,’ he points out, sighing, as if the five words are an unwillingly bestowed gift.
‘Yeah – because I’m sure you’d be coping really well with this situation if I weren’t here,’ I bite back, gesticulating towards the screams coming from the nursery.
He half turns his head, listening, his expression as vacant as if the noise were coming from another planet. ‘It’s you,’ he comments. ‘You make it worse. You wind him up.’ And with that, he screws the headphones back in and directs his attention to the screen again, the frown between his brows deepening as his lips silently move to the music, which must be so loud that it’s shattering his eardrums.