“Is it an alarm clock?” I’d asked. “Does it make a slight sound, just before it rings?”
“No, it’s my phone. Hold on, though, let’s check.”
And he set his alarm for a minute’s time and we sat in silence, the two of us, leaning forward to listen, to check whether we could hear something, a sign that the alarm was going to go off. And then when it did, with a blast of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” I shrieked and jumped.
That evening I’d set my own alarm for the same time the next morning and I’d woken a few seconds beforehand, just as he did, and lay there in the soft darkness of my bed, with Tom lying beside me, still in a deep sleep. I thought of Harry in his own bed, lying next to Emma. I wondered whether they were lying close together, whether his arm had snaked around her waist in the night, or her legs were entangled with his. I turned to look at Tom, at his dark wavy hair, tousled on the pillow. He was lying as far from me as he could, and I’d been clinging to the edge of our bed in my sleep.
I’d felt a familiar stab of jealousy, deep inside, and wished I wasn’t here in this bed with Tom. I wished I was anywhere else. I’d known Harry for only a few weeks at that point and already I longed to go in to work. On Saturdays and Sundays I found the time dragged, and when Tom suggested a long weekend away, I turned it down. I didn’t want to be alone with him. I needed the distractions of everyday life to cope with living with the wrong man.
* * *
• • •
Now it was as though I was operating on automatic pilot as I drove down Sarah’s street and took a left turn, knowing that this would eventually take me to Harry’s house. I was last here the day after he was meant to leave home, when I still thought he’d come to me.
I sat in my car a few doors down from his house, on the other side of the street. The curtains were closed and the house was dark. His car was parked at the front, next to Emma’s red Mini, and I knew he was home, back from his holiday from real life.
And then dead-on six thirty, just as he’d told me, the light went on in one of the bedrooms and then another light lit up a small window at the side of the house. For a second my heart leaped, thinking that he and Emma were in separate bedrooms, but I realized the smaller room was a bathroom. Then the hall light went on and I knew he’d gone downstairs to make coffee. I could picture him there, waiting for it to brew.
I sat and watched for several minutes, my heart beating fast. Then the light went off in the bathroom. When the curtains in the living room at the front of the house were drawn back, I ducked down in my seat, though I knew I couldn’t be seen. My eyes were fixed on their house.
As the minutes passed, the bedroom light was turned off and I saw a blond woman at the window, drawing the curtains back. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew who she was. I’d seen her on enough Instagram posts. She didn’t look up and down the street. Why should she? When his car lights flashed, dead-on seven o’clock, I turned the key in my car’s ignition. I needed to get away, fast.
I got as far as the corner and stopped the car. I couldn’t resist taking one last look.
There on the step was Harry, his back to the street, completely unaware of me. His wife, Emma, stood in the doorway. He was wearing a suit; she was still in a robe.
As I watched from a safe distance, I saw him reach out and cup her face, then kiss her. Her arms came up around his neck and they stayed like that, their bodies close, for a few moments.
I put my foot on the accelerator and drove slowly away, but by the time I reached the end of the road, the impression of that tender embrace was emblazoned on my mind.
CHAPTER 22
Emma
Of course I knew Harry was carrying on with Ruby. Of course I did. What, do you think I’m nuts?
It had been obvious for ages. He would come home with a little pink glow on his face and a skip in his step, and for a while he suffered from that well-known disease that affects adulterers: mentionitis.
Every time he opened his mouth he’d tell me something about Ruby. That she was so clever. So funny. They’d been laughing all day. Great, just what you want to hear. She was married, he told me, and I shut him up a few times by asking him questions about her husband, a guy called Tom who worked in Sales. He sounded as bad as his clown of a wife, to be honest, but Harry was never interested in talking about him. Once, I asked whether he wanted to invite Ruby and Tom to our house for dinner. I thought I’d like to see what I was up against. He refused so quickly that I became even more suspicious.
At first I treated it as a bit of a crush. I remembered feeling like that when I was in school; there was always someone I’d had my eye on. I found my old school diaries when my parents moved from our family home into a bungalow, and quite honestly, it was as though I was permanently in heat during my teenage years. So after twenty years together, I wasn’t that surprised that Harry had had his head turned a bit. I put it down to the stress we’d been under, running two businesses and trying to get pregnant. I never thought he’d actually have an affair, though.
And then I missed the biggest signal of all. It was a rookie error on my part and I’ve been kicking myself for it ever since. You see, he just stopped talking about her. Her name was never spoken; it was as though she’d been spirited away and he’d had his memory wiped. And I fell for it. I almost forgot about her.
I should have known.
* * *
• • •
One Friday night in May, Harry came home from work later than usual. I’d already showered and changed into a dress and heels; we were going out for dinner that night. I went out into the hallway when I heard his car draw up outside.
“Hi,” I said when he came into the house. And it was so odd. He smiled at me but he looked different, somehow. His smile was just too polite and he didn’t quite meet my eyes. Now, we’ve been together through thick and thin, but he’s never done that before. Immediately I was on high alert.
He dumped his bag down on the hall table. “Hi.”
“Did you remember we’re going out with Annie and Patrick tonight?”
“Yeah, sorry I’m late.”
Still odd. Still no eye contact. My skin started to prickle. I went up to him and kissed him on his cheek. He stood still to let me, not responding with a return kiss. With a jolt I remembered his crush on Ruby and realized that that fear had never really gone away. I quickly glanced at his face for signs of lipstick, took an inward breath to detect a hint of perfume. There was nothing; this did confuse me, I admit. I have a pretty good scent both for perfume and for danger—or I thought I had—and I could have sworn there’d be something there. But no, all I could smell were the traces of his cologne from that morning, and his shirt was still crisp and uncreased.