The kind of man who cheats, and lies, and fools you into thinking he is capable of loving anyone but himself.
Andy is a treacherous, devious son-of-a-bitch, but he’s my son-of-a-bitch. I have no intention of giving him up. Love him, hate him, it doesn’t matter. They’re different sides of the same coin anyway.
Chapter 35
Louise
I love you, Andrew said. I always have, he said.
I make a face at myself in the bathroom mirror, mimicking Andrew’s voice beneath my breath. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you. This has been great. I’ve had a really nice time.
Stepping into the shower, I turn it to the coldest setting, and hold my face in the icy spray, furious with myself. How did I let myself fall for his bullshit yet again? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Andrew came to me for advice over his affair with another woman. That’s what he meant when he said he’d been a fool, not that he regretted leaving me. I’ve got to hand it to Andrew. It takes real skill to cheat on two wives at once.
The cold shower does little to cool my temper, but at least it dispels my hangover. Furiously, I towel my hair, and march back into my bedroom to get dressed. I’m sure Andrew didn’t come over here expecting to get laid, but it must have been a nice little bonus. He didn’t exactly have to sweet-talk me into bed. The thought of him smugly reclining in the back of his taxi, totting up the notches on his bedpost as he goes home to his wife, makes me want to bloody kill him.
Last time he left me to go back to Caz, he broke my heart. I probe my feelings now, tentatively testing them as if prodding an aching tooth. I should be devastated that he’s betrayed me yet again, and yet once more I feel oddly flat and unemotional. Irritated, certainly. Disappointed, even; but in the way a parent might feel about a child who’s let themselves down, rather than as a lover who’s been cruelly deceived. I can’t quite believe it, but I don’t think I care very much what Andrew does, or with whom. I think … I think I’m over him.
The realisation is exhilarating. My feet are wonderfully light as I go downstairs to make Tolly’s breakfast. Maybe last night wasn’t such a mistake after all. It took being slapped in the face one more time for me to finally realise I stopped loving Andrew a long time ago. I just didn’t know it till now. Perhaps this is what people call closure.
To my surprise I find Bella already up and dressed, leaning against the half-built kitchen cabinets and eating a bowl of Tolly’s Coco Pops. ‘What are you doing up?’
‘School,’ she says, as if talking to a simpleton.
I try to get a better look at the huge purple bruise that’s bloomed overnight on her forehead. ‘You don’t have a headache?’
She ducks out of reach, the cereal bowl still in her hand. ‘You’re the one who should have the headache, after all that wine,’ she says. ‘What time did Dad leave?’
‘Late,’ I say vaguely. ‘You could stay home today, darling. No one would mind.’
‘I’m fine.’
She certainly seems all right, I think, watching her spoon chocolate milk into her mouth. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen her eat such a good breakfast in months. Maybe I’ve been overreacting about her weight and her moods. She’s a teenager. It’s to be expected she’ll have ups and downs.
It suddenly occurs to me I still haven’t tackled her about the money she took from my account. I meant to discuss it after she got home from her weekend with her father, but it was late when he dropped the kids off on Sunday, and then of course we had all the drama of our trip to casualty yesterday. I’ll talk to her about it tonight, when we’re not in a rush. Whatever the explanation, she has to understand she can’t just steal money from me like that. Even if we could afford it, which we most certainly can’t, it would still be wrong, and she knows that. I thought I was doing a better job of raising her than this.
We leave the house early for once, since I haven’t had to drag Bella out of bed. Instead of haring down the lane in our usual fashion, I’m actually able to drive at a normal speed, well within the legal limit. Which is why I’m surprised when I see a police car pull out of a concealed track behind me, its blue lights flashing. For a moment, I think he just wants to get past me, but then his siren wails briefly and I realise with shock that he’s stopping me.
Bella looks up from her phone. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t speeding. Maybe one of my brake lights is out?’
I can’t help feeling nervous as he approaches, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s like when you go through the green channel at the airport: I never know whether to smile at the customs officials, or stare fixedly ahead and refuse to make eye contact.
The policeman looks about the same age as Bella. I wind down the window. ‘Can I help you, officer?’
‘Is this your car, madam?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Is it registered to you?’
I hesitate. ‘I’m not sure, actually. It’s my ex-husband’s car, and I don’t know if he’s put it in my name yet. But I’m insured to drive it,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s all above board.’
‘Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle, madam?’
‘I can call my husband, he’ll tell you—’
‘Please step out of the car.’
Flustered, I scrabble for the door handle, accidentally locking myself in. Bella sighs and hits the unlock button in the centre console. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, following the officer around to the rear of my car. ‘Is it my taillights, or something?’
‘Have you been drinking, madam?’
‘What?’
‘You crossed into the oncoming lane twice while I was watching, and—’
‘There’s only one lane,’ I say defensively. ‘It’s impossible not to go onto the other side.’
‘I have reasonable cause to suspect you have consumed alcohol,’ the officer says pleasantly. ‘I’m going to ask you to consent to a breath test. Do you consent?’
‘Alcohol?’ I exclaim. ‘It’s eight o’clock in the morning!’
‘I must caution you that it is an offence to refuse to supply a breath sample—’
He reaches ominously for his two-way radio, and I quickly backtrack. ‘Yes, fine, I consent. Of course I haven’t been drinking! I haven’t even had breakfast!’
Bella opens the passenger door and leans out. ‘Mum, what’s going on?’
‘Get back in the car, Bella.’
‘Mum—’
‘Get back in the car!’
‘If you could come and join me in my vehicle,’ the officer says. ‘Please have a seat there, in the front.’
I climb into the police car, my heart pounding. I’ve never been in a police vehicle before; I’ve never even been pulled over. I feel embarrassed and humiliated, like I’m some kind of criminal. Thank goodness we’re still in the lane, and no one I know is likely to see me. The whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t imagine why he stopped a mum on the school run at eight a.m. They must have some kind of silly quota to meet before the end of the month.