‘I think I’ve had enough of this, it’s making my throat dry,’ he said, dabbing his cigar out on the wall, while I did the same. ‘Enough Cuban for one night – let’s go inside and get pissed on my mother’s gin and blame it all on Dan.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I’d said, following him through the garden, suddenly feeling more light-hearted, more hopeful than I had for months. Jamie wasn’t just a brother-in-law, he was more like a good friend. I was incredibly fond of him. I still am.
So we went to the villa, opened the door and I’ll never forget it. Everywhere was deathly quiet, all the lights turned off, so Jamie lit a few candles that made our shadows dance around the room. Then he poured two large glasses of gin, and we sat down on the floor by the empty fireplace redundant in a Greek summer. I wrapped myself in one of Joy’s expensive pashminas that she’d left on the sofa. It wasn’t cold, but I felt so relaxed in the candlelight as he told me about his latest travels.
‘Every country I’ve ever been to has shaped me,’ he said. ‘I know it’s a cheesy thing to say, but the names of those cities are scratched on my heart, like graffiti.’
‘Yeah… that is a cheesy thing to say – but it’s lovely too.’ I smiled, thinking how different he was from Dan. He was younger, easier, lighter somehow, with his easy charm and quick wit.
He told me about his plans to spend the next summer in Penang, and I remember the faraway look in his eyes as he talked of the beaches and the little fishing boats. I knew he’d be off again soon; he always said he couldn’t stay in one place for too long. I assumed he’d always be like that, the nomadic brother always moving on. He was like an addict, just one more trip, one more continent to conquer, one more little scratch on his heart. He didn’t just bring cigars back with him from his travels, he brought excitement, describing to me those faraway places I’d probably never see, other than through his eyes.
‘So why did you really run outside tonight?’ he said quietly, as he handed me a second glass of gin and sat back down next to me on the floor. He smelt of bonfires and musk.
I didn’t answer straight away, wasn’t sure if it was fair to confide in Jamie before confronting Dan. Then again, who was playing fair – Dan certainly wasn’t. I took several gulps of gin. Aromatic, citrusy, it burned my throat but also anaesthetised the pain, and I told him what I’d heard Dan saying on the phone about leaving me.
After a while, I looked up at him. ‘Don’t try and tell me there’s a reasonable explanation, Jamie, because there isn’t. It’s clear what’s going on.’ My throat was tight with tears and, in the dark, I saw tenderness in his eyes. In that moment, everything changed. He wasn’t Dan’s little brother who made me laugh, who teased me mercilessly and who I saw like my own little brother. He was Jamie, a good-looking younger man, with a wealth of experience, a weakness for women and a hint, just a hint, of danger.
I didn’t know what he was going to do next, but when he leaned in and kissed me, I didn’t stop him. Sex with Jamie was like nothing I’d ever experienced – I felt free, and so, driven by gin, hurt and desire, I completely lost myself. That night with Jamie, I wasn’t an exhausted mum of two juggling everything and just trying to get through the week. With him, I was gorgeous, sexy – whatever I wanted to be – and most of all I was desired. Jamie desired me and I couldn’t fail to respond. I lay back as he took me a million miles away from the night shifts, the baby sick and the unfaithful husband. I tried not to think of Dan while his brother thrust into me, but, in a perverse way, it was delicious; every thrust was a punch to Dan’s faithless gut. I hated him, and this hate swirled around with the lust and created an erotic cocktail of feelings that made me cry out in ecstasy. Always aware of the next door neighbours, and later the children, I’d never cried out during sex in our semi-detached with Dan. But there, with Jamie, it was different. I’d felt unloved, vulnerable and lonely in my marriage, and now on the floor, wrapped in nothing but Joy’s expensive pashmina, I felt wanted for the first time in a long time.
And at dawn, I lay there, still awake, still wrapped around Jamie, and I wished Dan would walk in and find us. I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me, but most of all I wanted him to know that I was desirable, and if he didn’t want me, there would be others.
But the guilt soon stifled any kind of happiness or pleasure.
I remember Jamie stirring next to me and opening his eyes and, realising it was me, he smiled. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a thing for you,’ he said. ‘Even on your wedding day, I envied Dan taking you back to the hotel bedroom.’
I told Jamie that he mustn’t talk like that. ‘That can’t ever happen again,’ I said.
And it never did. But even now, I think about the sexy smiles that start in his eyes, the way he says my name, unfamiliar, yet intimate, and the way he brings the sunshine with him from wherever he’s been.
The following day, I felt dreadful, conflicted, guilty, yet over breakfast with the family, no one would have guessed. Jamie was teasing me, throwing the kids in the air, charming his mother, making everyone laugh, and I was joining in. I wonder even now if Jamie did have feelings for me, or if he was just another opportunist, a womaniser like his brother.
And when he left only a couple of days later on another adventure, we all said goodbye to him, as we had many times before. He’d changed me in ways he’d never realise – but I knew I hadn’t made a dent on him. Did I have feelings for Jamie, had I fallen a little bit in love? Perhaps, but once he’d left I cleared my head, tried to move on and do the right thing – work on my marriage.
After Jamie had gone, I felt able to confront Dan about what I’d heard. He was contrite, said the woman, Carmel, was a random air stewardess, a silly, stupid girl who’d got obsessed with him. He said he’d just told her he was leaving me to placate her.
I didn’t really believe him, but after a while it was too hard not to. If I faced the fact he was a lying cheat, I’d have to do something about it and I didn’t have the energy for that. For now I had to stay put. He’d never done anything like this before and swore he never would again and after a while I felt ready to forgive. But I found it harder to forgive myself. My hypocrisy, my own betrayal, tied me in knots. What I did was ignited by Dan’s phone call, but that was no justification. But, whatever happened, I knew I had to live with this – I could never tell him, or anyone else. Jamie and I had agreed that. The fallout would have been colossal on so many levels; it would involve the whole family and ultimately my children. My marriage would be over, the Taylors would excommunicate me because they’d see it all as my fault, not Jamie’s, or Dan’s. In Joy and Bob’s eyes, this could never be due to the careless, selfish ways the Taylor boys got their kicks.
So there we were, having returned from Greece, trying to recover from Dan’s affair with ‘the stewardess’, as Joy referred to her. Our marriage was still rocky, and I was secretly recovering from the emotional turmoil of a one-night stand with his brother. I couldn’t bear to be near Dan, and he naturally assumed this was my reaction to his betrayal, but actually it was the guilt of my own betrayal.