At home I’d made a point to not look at either Harry or Emma online. I knew Tom would be all over it if he’d noticed. And to be honest, I wanted to pretend she didn’t exist. I didn’t want to think of Harry at home, chatting to her, watching those movies with her. I felt sick at the thought of catching him out in a lie, where he told me he’d had an early night, only to see her post that they’d been out for a meal with friends. It’s a head-in-the-sand approach, I think, which you need to have if you’re having an affair with someone who’s married. You can’t let yourself think about the reality, that they are living a life separately from you, and that is not only their real life, it’s their choice. You don’t tend to find photos of married men in handcuffs or chained to walls in cellars with their wives standing guard over them. Or not on the sites I go to, anyway.
When evening came and darkness fell, I knew he wouldn’t be coming. I felt so hemmed in, in that hotel room. I had to get out, to get some air. And of course, though I told myself I was just going for a drive around, I knew where I was going. I went out to my car, where I’d hidden it away the night before. It was still packed full of bags and boxes. As I said, sometimes it’s best to avoid reality, so I angled my rearview mirror so that I couldn’t see any of my things, and set off.
I’d never been to Harry’s house before, never driven past it, even in the early days. I’d been too scared, for one thing, worried I’d be seen and he’d think I was stalking him. And then after I knew I loved him, I didn’t want to go near, to see the life he lived with another woman. Now I was nervous but determined to take the risk. I glanced around. The road was lined with chestnut trees and his house was large, about thirty years old, and separated from the sidewalk by a large lawn.
When I saw there was a light in their hallway, I put my foot down and drove quickly to the end of the road. I stopped there for a while, my heart beating fast. He was inside; I could knock if I wanted to, and I’d see him. I’d be able to ask him what had happened, where he’d gone to. And then I thought of his wife, Emma, standing behind him. I could picture her now, giving me that sassy stare. My stomach clenched as I thought of her saying, Who is it, darling? What would he reply? Suddenly I realized I didn’t know what he’d say. What he’d do. Would he embrace me or deny he knew who I was?
It was a quiet neighborhood and no one was around. I started my car and slowly drove past their house again. And then I realized. Her car was there: a little red Mini that I’d seen her in one day when she picked him up from work. His wasn’t there. I knew it wouldn’t be in their garage; we’d talked one day about how everyone just filled their garages with junk.
I turned the car round and stopped just short of his house. It looked as though she was at home, perhaps in the kitchen at the back. Then it dawned on me. She was at home. He was out. Had he come to see me? Had he left her?
Quickly I drove to the end of his street and turned onto the main road. My heart was almost in my mouth as I raced back to the hotel. I parked in the first space I saw and ran into the lobby. The receptionist looked up at me and smiled. She started to greet me, but I dashed into the elevator. I hadn’t a moment to spare. I grabbed my key card from my pocket and swiped it until I could open the door.
No one was there. I stood in the room, sweating and panting, my heart racing and my mind in a whirl. Where was he?
I looked everywhere for a message, some sign he’d been there, but there was nothing.
I collapsed onto the armchair. Had he only just left when I got to his house? Would he turn up here soon? I went to the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror, my hair damp and wild, my face red. If he arrived now, he’d recoil, I thought, and held a cold, wet washcloth to my face until I calmed down.
He didn’t arrive that night and for the rest of the weekend I waited there, too nervous to go out in case I missed him. I paced the room, counting my steps, wishing almost for the reassurance of my Fitbit. And then I’d shake myself and sit down again, try to watch a movie or a game show, anything to take my mind off the fact that Harry hadn’t shown up.
Of course I still felt the pressure to look good when he did get here, so though I was staying in, my face was made up, my hair brushed, and I wore my nicest clothes. But deep inside I think I knew by then that he wouldn’t come, and by Sunday night, my shoulders were slumped and no matter how much makeup I had on, the dejected air I wore took the shine off my face.
CHAPTER 7
Ruby
By Monday morning I was desperate to see Harry. I still had faith in him, still believed something had happened to prevent him from coming to me. If only I could see him, all would be explained.
I hadn’t drawn the curtains the night before in case I overslept, and woke at five o’clock as the first flickers of dawn stole into my room. I leaped out of bed and showered, blow-dried my hair, and ironed my dress for work. By six I was sitting by the window, waiting impatiently for him to arrive. I’d been sure he’d come to the hotel early that morning, to explain what had happened. We’d be interrupted at work, I knew; we wouldn’t be able to talk privately until Sarah left to pick up her kids and this sort of conversation was too important for internal messaging. I tried to think of his diary and whether he had any meetings today, but for the last week I’d been working on automatic pilot and now I couldn’t remember any of his plans. But at least I’d be able to see him. To know he was all right. And to ask him when we’d be together.
Gradually I realized Harry simply wouldn’t have time in rush hour traffic to get here to talk to me and then get back to work, so at seven o’clock I picked up my jacket and handbag and left the room, checking again with reception whether anyone had left a message for me. Nobody had. Of course they hadn’t; I had my phone with me, fully charged and silent as the grave. Before I left the room I stuck a note onto the mirror just in case he turned up while I was out. Call me, it said. I left my number to remind him, though he’d sworn he’d never forget it. Call me anytime. I love you x
* * *
• • •
The car park at Sheridan’s was half-full. I couldn’t see Harry’s car there. I looked at my watch. He was usually here by now. My anxiety ramped up and I drove around a couple more times. He definitely wasn’t here. I parked away from the rest of the staff; I didn’t want anyone to notice that my car was crammed full of bags and cases.
I saw my friend Sarah in the distance and hurried toward her. We walked into the building together.
“Good weekend?” she asked. She knew nothing of my affair with Harry, of course. Nobody did.
“It was okay.” I tried to keep my voice bright. I thought of the hours and hours I’d spent staring into space, waiting for the click of the door, for my phone to ring. For anything, really, to tell me what the hell was going on. “I was a bit bored, actually.”