from Debbie’s history.’
‘What do you mean?’
She sits up and reaches for a tissue to wipe away the fresh tears.
Dad’s heavy footsteps are on the stairs.
Monica leans over and puts a hand on my shoulder.
‘Please don’t tell your dad I told you anything, will you? He’d kill me if he found out I mentioned anything.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. You’ve hardly said anything.’
She leans against the back of the chair.
‘I loved her, you know. She was like a sister to me.’
Dad turns the handle of the bedroom door. I put a smile on my face, so that when he opens the door, he’ll think everything is fine.
I put the key into our front door, and remember the letter hidden in Jack’s wallet. I have spent the past week worrying about it, but barely thought of it today. Does that mean I don’t care about him any more? I need to confront him, but that would mean admitting I was snooping again. I can’t have him think I’m not coping. It can’t be like last time. I nearly lost everything.
I let Sophie in through the door before me. She looks so small in her little grey school pinafore – her cute little legs. I can’t lose my little girl; I must keep it together – pretend everything is okay. But I make a mental note to go through all of Jack’s contacts on Facebook to see if there’s anyone by that name – there can’t be many. I have never met anyone called Francesca.
I reach into Sophie’s school bag and take out her reading book. She skips through to the kitchen and sits at the table next to Jack. I place the book in front of Sophie and she begins reading quietly to herself.
‘You’re back early,’ I say.
I glance around the kitchen. Jack’s put all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and the empty beer bottles into the recycling. The worktops have been wiped clean and the bin has been emptied.
There’s a carrier bag of food on the counter. I peek inside: ingredients for a spaghetti bolognese and a bottle of red wine. I kiss the top of Jack’s head and we almost clash as he jolts in surprise.
‘Did you remember at last?’ I say to him.
‘Remember what?’ He winks and walks out of the kitchen, coming back seconds later with a bouquet of flowers and a small gift bag.
‘I’m so sorry, Anna,’ he says. ‘I’ve had the present in the boot of my car for days. I was mortified when I got to work this morning, saw it, and realised the date.’ He hands me the bunch of roses. ‘I got these as an extra – to say sorry.’ He strokes my cheek. ‘Are you going to open your present?’
‘I might save it for later – when I can really appreciate it.’
He’s smiling for the first time in weeks – I don’t want to spoil it by mentioning anything about love letters from strange women. He’s still looking at me, but his eyes glaze over.
‘Are you all right?’ I say.
He tilts his head to one side, blinking his thoughts away. ‘I was about to ask you the same thing. After that email—’
‘I’m fine.’ I don’t want to talk about it in front of Sophie. I nod in the direction of our daughter, her little head down in concentration.
‘If you put Sophie to bed,’ says Jack, ‘I can nip out to the storage unit and get that box of things you were looking for the other day.’
‘That would be great. Thank you.’
It seems I’m not the only one pretending we’re all right. I know he’s tried to make it better with the flowers, but I know there is something he’s hiding from me.
It was four years ago when I first searched Jack’s belongings. Sophie was asleep, and Jack had nipped to the bathroom. He’d just used his phone and the pin number wasn’t needed so I picked it up. There were several texts from a woman.
Jack caught me looking, though I was hardly subtle. I was standing in the middle of the living room with his phone in my shaking hands.
‘What are you doing, Anna?’ he’d said.
‘I was just borrowing your phone – mine’s out of battery.’
I didn’t look up. He walked towards me quickly, holding out his hand for me to give him the phone, but I held on to it.
‘But we’re at home,’ he said. ‘Use the landline.’
‘Who’s Samantha?’
‘What? Give me the phone, Anna. You can’t just go through people’s things.’
He lifted his hand to grab it, but I put my hand behind my back.
‘You’re my husband, Jack. We shouldn’t have secrets.’
He folded his arms slowly.
‘There are boundaries, Anna. People have boundaries. Haven’t you learned that from what happened with Gillian Crossley?’
‘That’s nothing like this. And you said we’d never mention it. It was two years ago.’
He tilted his head to the side.
‘I know. But sometimes I get scared you’ll do something like that again. She said you were stalking her. It’s happened one too many times.’
‘That’s below the belt, Jack. You know I wasn’t well. I had counselling. I know the signs, when to get help.’
He stared at me.
‘You’d tell me if things were getting on top of you, wouldn’t you? I love you. I’m not your enemy.’
I glanced at the photographs on the wall: of Jack and me, of Sophie.
‘I know. I’m just tired.’ I brought my hand round and handed him the phone. ‘But who is Samantha? I’m sure any wife would want to know who the woman texting her husband is.’
He shook his head, grabbing the phone from my hands.
‘A new solicitor at work. And if you’d read the texts properly you’d have seen that.’
My face burned.
Later, when he was asleep, I checked his firm’s website and there she was: Samantha Webster, Solicitor – her arms folded in a serious pose for the camera.
I look at him now, listening to Sophie read, and you wouldn’t think he was hiding something. If I were to admit I had searched his wallet, he would accuse me of relapsing. But what happened all those years ago has taught me one thing: two can play at that game.
Monica used to say that if a boy caused you so much heartache, then they weren’t the right one for you. My first
