I struggle upright. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost three. Sorry I’m so late.’ He kicks off his shoes and thumps onto the sofa beside me. ‘I lost track of time. Louise and I had a couple of drinks after Bella went to bed. More than a couple, actually. She’s going to feel it tomorrow.’ He yawns. ‘Were you waiting up for me?’
‘You didn’t answer your phone,’ I say tightly. ‘Or reply to any of my texts.’
He gets up abruptly and goes over to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a Scotch. ‘I told you not to wait up,’ he says, his back towards me. ‘My train was delayed because of—’
‘A security scare. I got your text.’
I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he tries to work out what I know, how much trouble he may be in. He must realise it would have been easy enough for me to check his story. ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big thing of this,’ he says finally, settling in an armchair on the other side of the room. Putting distance between us. ‘You knew where I was.’
‘Until three in the morning?’
‘You want me to text you every time I take a shit now?’
It’s a measure of how uncomfortable he is with this conversation that’s he’s so uncharacteristically coarse. ‘It would’ve been nice to know you’d got to Brighton safely,’ I snap. ‘Given there was a security scare.’
‘Look, what is this?’ he says irritably. ‘It’s been a long day at work, I’ve been worried sick about my daughter, and it’s late. The last thing I need when I finally get home is the third degree from you.’
I’m tired of the verbal fencing. Tired of his lies. ‘There was no security scare,’ I say coldly. ‘Your train wasn’t delayed. Why don’t you tell me what “this” is?’
He opens his mouth to bluster, and then I see him rethink it. He knocks back his Scotch. ‘I spent the evening with my children,’ he says defiantly. ‘I was worried about Bella, OK? I just didn’t want to get into it with you. You always make such a fucking drama out of it whenever I see Louise.’ His tone turns aggressive. ‘I wouldn’t need to lie if you didn’t make it all so bloody difficult.’
‘That ship has sailed,’ I say tersely. ‘You’ve made it very plain where you stand on the subject of Louise. She just has to snap her fingers, and you go running.’
‘Louise is the mother of my children,’ he says coldly. ‘Like it or not, she’s part of my life. You knew that when you married me.’ His expression is hostile. ‘She’s got far more reason to have an issue with you than you do with her, but she doesn’t give me this much grief.’
‘Saint Louise,’ I say bitterly. ‘I’m beginning to wonder why you ever left her.’
‘Yeah, well. You’re not the only one.’
A sudden silence falls between us. We stare at each other across a widening gulf, either unable or unwilling to bridge it. ‘I’m sorry,’ Andy mutters finally. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
I know I should let it go. It’s late, and we’re both tired. This isn’t the kind of conversation to have at three in the morning, but I can’t stop picking at the scab. ‘Where were you today, Andy?’
‘You know where I was,’ Andy snaps. ‘I just told you.’
‘I mean today, when you were supposed to have been at work.’
He’s suddenly very still. ‘I was at work.’
‘No, you weren’t. And you weren’t at work on Friday either—’
‘Have you been checking up on me?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Jesus, Caz. You know I wasn’t with Louise today, or I wouldn’t have had to rush down from London when our daughter ended up in hospital!’
‘So who were you with?’ I persist. ‘Your secretary said you were taking a personal day. How personal was it, Andy?’
He slams his glass on the coffee table. ‘Would you give it a rest!’ he shouts. ‘I’m investigating some very sensitive subjects – I don’t tell Jessica everything I’m doing!’ He rubs his hand through his hair, clearly trying to get his anger under control. When he speaks again, his tone is much calmer. ‘Look. Some of my sources are very gun-shy, OK? Occasionally I go off-book to talk to them. Can we please stop this now? There’s nothing going on, with Louise or anyone else, I swear to you on my life.’
I want to believe him. I hate him for turning me into the kind of woman I’ve always despised, jealous and mistrustful, going through pockets and checking emails. I’m so confused. Everything is smoke and mirrors, and I don’t know what’s real anymore. Maybe I’m just paranoid, I think desperately. I’ve let Louise get under my skin. I need to regroup and think this through when I’m less tired. I’m too drained to fight anymore. ‘I’m going up to bed,’ I say, without waiting for him to follow.
I strip off my clothes and crawl into bed, but I’m too wired to sleep. The door opens a short while later, and I hear Andy undress in the dark. I lie motionless, rigid with misery, as the bed sinks beneath his weight. He presses his body against the length of mine, his arm heavy as he drapes it across my waist. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers, propping himself up on his free elbow. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. I didn’t mean what I said. It was the Scotch talking.’
I’m still savagely angry with him, and yet the heat of his body pressed against my back makes my pulse roar in my ears, even as I fight to hold on to my rage.
He runs his hand over my hip, his voice low and hypnotic. ‘You’re right, I shouldn’t have lied to you. I just know how upset you get about Louise. I’m not trying to make excuses – I was wrong, and I’m sorry.’ His breath is warm on my neck. ‘She was a little crazy tonight, that’s why I stuck around. I’d forgotten how obsessive she can get. She seems to think you poisoned poor Bagpuss. I’m beginning to think she’s as unstable as you’ve said. Who knows what craziness she’ll come up with next.’ His fingers slip into the wetness between my thighs, and I don’t stop him. ‘She’s living in fantasy land. She’ll think we’re getting back together next—’
I pull away from him abruptly. He’s fucked her. Until thirty seconds ago, I wasn’t sure, but I know Andy too well, I recognise the way his devious mind works. That little speech was laying the groundwork for his defence if she ever comes to me and admits he slept with her. She’s crazy. Look at all the insane things she said about you. She’s obviously delusional. You can’t believe a word she says.
Andy puts a tentative hand on my shoulder, but when I jerk away again, he sighs theatrically, and rolls away from me. ‘I’m just going to have a quick shower,’ he says. ‘I won’t be long.’
I press the knuckles of my hand into my mouth. Salty tears spill onto my fingers, and I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing my sobs through sheer effort of will. Angie was right. My mother was right. All the naysayers and doubters who told me leopards don’t change their spots were right. What else did I expect? What kind of man walks out on his baby son when he’s a week old, no matter what his mother has done?