My mobile phone rings. Oliver’s name flashes up. My heart sinks. It’s never good when one of the kids calls me during the day.
‘What’s up, love?’
‘Mum, I forgot my games kit. We’ve got cricket this afternoon and I’m going to be in such trouble. Please, Mum, will you drop it into school?’ His voice trembles. This is Oliver’s first year at senior school and the transition has not been easy. He has moved from a small local primary where he was a big personality, well liked by all, to a big private school with kids from all over, and although my two are day children because we live nearby, half the pupils at the school board. He has two or three close friends, but he has definitely become more reserved over the past year, and I worry about him.
‘All right,’ I say, knowing that Adam would be livid if he finds out that I have helped Oliver out of a mess of his own making again. ‘I’ll wait outside the main gate in half an hour. Have you had lunch?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Don’t miss lunch, Ollie. You need to keep up your energy.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ he says, with a drawl. ‘See ya.’
It will take me a good fifteen minutes to get home and then another ten minutes to drive to school, so I haven’t got long.
‘I’ll be back within the hour,’ I say to Nicky as I hurry out of the offices.
I drive home quickly. There’s little traffic at this time of day, but when I turn into the driveway of our beautiful eighteenth-century farmhouse, I’m surprised to see Adam’s Bentley parked outside the front door. I wasn’t expecting him to be home.
I unlock the front door, kick off my shoes and take the stairs two steps at a time, rushing up towards Oliver’s bedroom – the smallest of our six bedrooms. Goodness knows what sort of mess it will be in. Our lovely cleaner, Daria, comes twice a week, but her daughter was sick on Monday, so the house isn’t looking it’s best. At the top of the stairs, I turn left onto the upstairs corridor, past the modern abstract paintings that Adam bought three years ago at obscene expense, and then I glance down and notice that my toenails desperately need a new coat of nail polish when I run slap bang into…
‘Marianne? What the hell?’
She takes a step backwards, a look of absolute horror on her face. She has one of our large blue towels wrapped around her torso, her sunbed-bronzed legs and arms are bare, and her hair is wet. It is quite obvious that she has stepped straight out of the shower.
I stand stock-still and stare at her. Marianne is meant to be my friend. We have known each other most of our lives. She is married to my business partner.
And she is having an affair with my husband.
‘It’s not what it seems,’ she says pathetically, but the flush on her face, her oscillating eyes and the squirming of her hands betray her words.
‘You! You’re having an affair with my husband! How could you do that! How could you betray me?’
I know I’m shouting, stabbing my finger at her, but I don’t care. How dare she stand here, in my house, with my towel wrapped around her surgically enhanced bust!
‘Adam,’ I spit.
‘He’s in the shower. Please, Lydia. Please don’t create a fuss. I’m sorry that we hurt you, but Adam said you’re getting divorced and–’
‘Because he’s been cheating on me with you! That’s why we’re getting divorced. I thought he’d have better taste than…’ I change tack. ‘Ajay! Does your husband know? Does Ajay know that you’re a lying, scheming, unfaithful bitch?’
Tears spill down her cheeks. I don’t care.
‘I’m sorry, Lydia. We didn’t mean to fall in love.’
‘Get out of my house!’ I spit the words out.
‘Please, Lydia. Please don’t tell Ajay. I’ll tell him soon. Don’t break his heart.’
‘You might have thought of that before you banged my husband,’ I say, pushing her against the wall as I walk past. I stride into Oliver’s room, trying to control the shock, the pain, the humiliation. Fortunately, his cricket whites are still in his games kit bag, so I grab the bag and rush out of his room. Marianne has disappeared.
‘Fuck you, Adam!’ I shout at the top of my voice as I career back down the stairs. I shove my feet into my pumps and slam the front door behind me. As I pass his Bentley, I kick his front tyre. ‘Fuck you, Adam,’ I say, more quietly this time.
I get into my car and burst into tears.
I suspected that Adam had been having an affair. Or, if I’m honest with myself, I knew. It’s not the first time. It’s not even the second time. It got to the point where I didn’t want to know. We’ve been sleeping in different rooms for months. And now I just want him out of my life.
But sleeping with Marianne. That’s such a betrayal. She is my friend. Did they not stop to think how much pain they would be causing Ajay and me? And it’s not even as if she’s a younger, prettier version of me. One year my junior, she’s a self-absorbed stay-at-home mother, whose children have fled the nest. I have no idea what she does all day. Ajay doesn’t often talk about her, but I had no reason to think their marriage was also in trouble.
‘I hate you, Adam Palmer!’ I scream as I let the tears flow.
Shit. How am I meant to get through this? I wipe my eyes and glance at the clock. I’ve got to get a move on; otherwise Oliver will get into trouble.
I don’t know how I drive to school without crashing the car. I can barely see out of my tear-clogged eyes. I suppose I’m on autopilot. My mobile phone rings. Adam’s name flashes up on the dashboard. I kill the call. A minute later, it rings again. I switch the phone onto silent.
I pull up just before the zebra crossing and turn on the car’s warning lights. I wipe my nose and eyes and take a deep breath. Oliver is waiting on the other side of the gate, peering at the car. I rush out, his sports bag over my shoulder.
‘Here you go, love,’ I say, shoving the bag through the railings.
‘Are you okay, Mummy?’ he asks, frowning.
‘Yes, sweetheart. Not sure if I’m coming down with a cold or am allergic to something in the office. Off you go. You don’t want to be late.’ I shock myself how good I am at lying.
‘Thanks, Mum!’ He turns around and runs at full pelt towards the school. I stand watching for a moment and then I hear a teacher’s strident voice.
‘Oliver Palmer, it is forbidden to run!’
I sigh. I hope he doesn’t get an order mark. He takes school punishments so seriously. I turn around and walk slowly back to the car.
When I’ve climbed in, I pick up my phone. I have four missed calls from Adam and three text messages.
‘I’m sorry you had to find out like that, Lyd. Please don’t tell Ajay.’
‘Please answer the phone.’
‘I know you’re hurting but we need to talk.’
‘Fuck off!’ I say out loud, and chuck the phone onto the passenger seat. It bounces off and lands on my craft bag. I’ve always got a knitting or crocheting project on the go that I leave in the car to fill up the time I spend waiting for the kids.
I drive. Around and around town, out onto country roads. I consider calling Cassie or Fiona, my two closest friends, but they will both be at work, and I don’t think I can handle sympathy right now. But it’s hard to think straight when I imagine Adam having sex with Marianne in our home. I pull up on a lay-by and sob. After ten minutes or so, the anger takes hold once again. I grab my mobile phone and scroll through my messages.