let me out here?’
‘Of course not,’ Steve answered, unthinking. ‘I’ll take you right to the door.’
‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I …’ She was thinking of the group of mothers on the church hall steps, watching her.
Steve glanced at her face and then he drew in to the side of the road. His hands stayed gripping the steering wheel.
‘I’m sorry,’ Annie said softly.
Steve was silent, looking out at the suburban street. Annie wanted to whisper his name, to lay her head against his shoulder, but she made herself sit rigid.
‘When will I see you again?’ he asked her.
‘I don’t know. As soon as I possibly can. Will … the daytime be all right?’
‘Come at any time you want, my darling.’
‘I’ll … come to you, this time.’ She said the words very quietly, almost with distaste. She was thinking, then we’ll be committed to the lies. Or else to making all the hurtful steps towards the truth.
Oh, Steve, don’t go and leave me.
Go now, why don’t you, and leave us in peace?
She felt herself torn, the pain from all the ragged pieces as severe as any of the physical hurt she had felt in the darkness.
‘All right, then,’ Annie said wearily.
Steve took a little square of pasteboard from his wallet and gave it to her.
‘That’s my address. And my number. You can always reach me there.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She opened her handbag and slipped the card without looking at it through a tear in the lining, where it could lie safely hidden.
She lifted her head to look at him then. His face was soft, and his eyes were clouded with sympathy. Not a despoiler at all, Annie thought. Why was I thinking that of him? She leant forward very slowly and touched the corner of his mouth with her own. For a second they held together, burning, motionless. Then, as stiffly as an old woman, she sat back again.
‘Goodbye,’ Annie said.
He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face.
Annie fumbled for the door catch and stepped out on to the kerb. She raised her arm in an awkward wave and then she began to walk, too fast, heading for the church hall nursery.
Steve watched her until she was out of sight, but she never turned to look back.
‘Can I do this puzzle?’ Benjy asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, already tipping the pieces out of their box.
Annie glanced briefly over her shoulder. She was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.
‘All right. Remember that there isn’t much time before bed.’
‘I want to.’
‘I said yes, Ben. Just don’t get cross if it isn’t finished before you have to go upstairs.’ Annie’s response was patient, automatic. She wasn’t listening, because her thoughts were busy elsewhere. Benjy spread the pieces out over the table and stared fiercely at them.
‘I want you to help me.’
‘I can’t, love. I’m busy now. You do it.’
Benjy reached out across the table and with a lazy sweep of his arm he tipped the puzzle pieces over the edge and on to the floor. They fell with a satisfying clatter.
Annie threw down her potato peeler, the second clatter like an echo. ‘What did you do that for, Ben?’
The little boy gazed at her, his face a pucker of defiance. Then he asked, ‘Why are you always busy?’
Annie stood still, holding on to the sink edge, staring at her children.
Thomas lifted his head from his drawing. He said, as if he were stating the obvious for his brother’s benefit, ‘Because she’s a grown-up.’
They watched her, the two of them, accusing and vulnerable at the same time, their uncertainty clear for her to see.
‘Oh, Thomas,’ she said.
Annie went to them. Benjy slid off his chair and wrapped his arms around her legs. Thomas stood up awkwardly, his shoulders hunched, feeling that he was too old to run into his mother’s arms. She held them out to him and then she hugged them both, burying their faces against her so that they wouldn’t see her own expression.
‘I’m sorry,’ she managed to say. ‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been very much fun, lately.’
I’m doing this all wrong, Annie thought. I’m thinking about myself, and Steve, every minute of the day. Instead of my kids. It would be better for them if I weren’t here. If I just went, and left them, would they be happier in the end, than if I took them away from their home and their father, to a stranger? Suddenly, she was almost overcome by the physical pull of her love for them. She drew them closer, smelling their warm, grubby scent, her cheek against Thomas’s hair.
I can’t leave them, she thought. If I go, they must come with me.
‘I love you both,’ she whispered. ‘You know that.’
She hugged them one last time, and then let them go. The button on her cuff caught against Thomas’s ear and he clapped his hand to it, yelling, ‘Ow!’
‘Baby,’ Benjamin said sternly and then the three of them were laughing, the tension breaking up like mist.
‘Come on,’ Annie said. ‘It’s bath time.’
Another day negotiated, she thought, as they went up the stairs.
The boys were asleep before Martin came home. He was tired after a meeting with a particularly exigent client, and he came into the kitchen wearily rubbing his hand over his eyes.
‘Was it a bad day, then?’ Annie asked.
Martin pecked her cheek, reaching past her for the wine bottle at the same time. ‘Mmm? Only fairly bad. Dinner smells good. How was your day?’
‘Oh. Usual,’ Annie said carefully.
Martin poured himself a drink and took the evening paper over to the sofa at the far end of the room. He cleared a pile of clean washing out of the way and sank down with a sigh of relief.
‘Thank God for peace and quite,’ Annie heard him murmur.
She stood at the stove, poking unnecessarily at a saucepan with her wooden spoon. She was thinking, If I say something now, will it sound as if I haven’t been able to hold it back? If I don’t mention it till later, will it come out sounding contrived? Annie frowned down into the bubbling casserole. Lying didn’t come easily.
‘Martin?’ she said, too loudly.
