I shook my head. ‘You did but you chose to do nothing about it and I, like always, didn’t push the issue. It’s how it’s always been with the two of us, isn’t it? I stay quiet and keep the peace and you ignore your mother’s appalling behaviour.’
He looked down at the floor, which showed me that he agreed.
‘I won’t say anything,’ I said again, ‘but I suggest you don’t leave it too late to tell your mother yourself. We live in a small town and word has a habit of getting round.’ I opened the front door.
He remained in the hall. ‘You think she’ll find out about Rob?’ he whispered, panic etched across his face.
‘Of course she’ll find out. The woman’s a walking gossip column.’ I closed the door again as realisation hit me. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? That’s really why you married me. So she didn’t disown you like Lloyd.’
Gary’s silence and downcast eyes said it all.
I opened the door again. ‘I’ll text you or email you next week about the practical stuff and I’ll text you if your mother rings, but don’t get in touch with me. You’ve got what you want, but I need some time to get my head round the huge lie that our life has been and decide what I want.’
‘But—’
I raised my hand in a stop gesture. ‘No! Listen to what I’m saying for once in your life. I mean it. Leave me alone and this can remain amicable. Keep pestering me and things will turn nasty. That’s not a threat, by the way, it’s a statement of fact. I need time and I need space. Goodbye.’
The moment I closed the door, my jelly legs gave way and I sank to the floor, sobbing. It was a lie from the start. Right from the very start. Exactly what I’d feared the most. He’d never loved me, except as a friend. He’d just used me. And I’d let him.
It was cold by the front door. Making my way upstairs, I curled up under the duvet, shivering. What a mess. And all because of what happened with his brother. Nine years Gary’s senior, Lloyd had moved to London with his job shortly after I started seeing Gary. I remembered his mum being overly dramatic about it and sounding off about big cities being smelly, unsafe and far too multicultural. Gary once told me that she was terrified Lloyd would meet someone who wasn’t a white, middle-class, Tory Christian. She was therefore thrilled when he announced a year later that he was bringing his girlfriend, Zoe – a practising Christian – home to meet the family. What he’d failed to mention was that Zoe hailed from Jamaica. I could vividly remember sitting in Gary’s parents’ lounge with Gary and his dad, Malcolm, while Cynthia fussed round us, straightening doilies and handing out hors d’oeuvres. She was at a critical point with cooking lunch when the taxi pulled up outside so she couldn’t go to the door. When she returned to the lounge, Lloyd and Zoe were taking off their coats. ‘Darling!’ she cried, holding her arms out towards Lloyd. Then she stopped, the smile slipping from her face as her hand clutched her throat. ‘Good Lord! She’s coloured.’ Half an hour later, Lloyd and Zoe were in a taxi heading back to the train station.
I’d tried over the years to forget what I’d witnessed that day. I’d had no idea that anyone could possess such abhorrent views based purely on the colour of someone’s skin. My parents had called each other names, but it had been tame compared to the venom that exploded from Cynthia. Gary had tried to defend her later, saying it was just the surprise, but I knew her behaviour had shocked him to the core too. A few days later, Malcolm had a mild heart attack. A few weeks after that, he had a fatal one. Although she’d treated him like a minion, Cynthia had been devastated by Malcolm’s passing. She blamed Lloyd and Zoe for it. She wrote to Lloyd to tell him his father was dead, that it was his fault, that he was dead to the family, and he wasn’t welcome at the funeral.
After the coffin was lowered into the ground, Cynthia, Gary and I had all stepped forward and dropped a rose onto it. Cynthia turned to Gary, took his hand, and said, ‘Promise me you’ll never let me down like Lloyd. You’re all I have left now, Gary. Promise me you’ll be a good son and never break my heart like he did.’ Gary had remained silent. ‘Please, Gary. It’s only the two of us now. If you’re going to turn out like Lloyd, you might as well push me in to join your father.’ Gary had pulled her into his embrace. ‘I promise, Mum. I’ll be the perfect son. I won’t let you down.’
And he hadn’t. Instead, he’d let me down and he’d let himself down. He’d pretended to be someone he wasn’t to keep the peace and for what? He’d messed up his life, he’d messed up my life and Cynthia was going to find out sooner or later. And, when she did, I wouldn’t want to be around to witness it. For a brief moment, I felt sorry for Gary and actually understood why he’d done what he’d done. Then I reminded myself that he’d had a choice and that he should have been strong like his brother, sticking by what he wanted out of life. He should never have made that promise. And he should never have dragged me into it.
10
I woke up a little after nine the next morning. It felt strange knowing that Gary wasn’t in the house and hadn’t been there all night. I wondered where he’d stayed. It wouldn’t be his mum’s because that would lead to too many questions. His best mate Dean’s? Rob’s? I shuddered at the thought of the latter.
My eyes focused on the large wooden frame on the wall opposite the bed, filled with photos of us as a couple through the years. How could I not have known?
Rolling out of bed, I moved closer to the frame and squinted at each image, looking for some sort of clue to show me that Gary wasn’t happy, that he didn’t want to be with me, that he wanted to be with a man instead. Nothing. I shook my head. What had I expected? To see Gary holding up a rainbow placard stating, ‘I am gay’?
I turned and reached for the large framed photo on my dressing table. It had been taken on holiday in the Maldives and showed us clinking champagne flutes as we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. We looked happy and in love, didn’t we? I squinted my eyes as I focused on Gary’s face, then my eyes widened and my stomach churned. ‘His smile doesn’t reach his eyes!’ I whispered.
I dashed out of the bedroom and onto the landing where there were more large framed photos and snatched each one off the wall. Smiling, but not happy. Down the stairs. More of the same. Dining room. Lounge. Every image told the same story on the face of it; a couple in love, a couple devoted to each other, but scrutinise closer and it was clear that only one felt that way. It was subtle. Very subtle. But now that I knew our marriage had been a lie, I could see it.
Stumbling into the lounge, I dropped the bundle of frames on the sofa and, with shaking hands, grabbed at the sparkly silver frame on the mantelpiece. I stared at my favourite wedding photo of Gary standing behind me with his arms round my waist and his head nuzzled into my neck. Even on our wedding day. Smiling, but not happy.
‘How could you live that lie?’ I yelled at Gary’s image. ‘You said you realised when you were fifteen. That’s fifteen years. Fifteen years of lies!’ In a frenzy, I pushed open the clips on the back of the frame and tossed the velvet backing onto the carpet. I snatched at the photo and let the frame drop to the floor with a smash of glass on the hearth. A tear dripped onto the photograph then, sucking my breath in, I ripped it in half, then again and again. I threw the pieces up in the air and watched as they floated to the floor like confetti. How ironic.