at home,’ you say with a grimace.
‘Haven’t you had fun then?’
‘Depends what you call fun.’
‘Well I don’t call sleeping through lectures about computer algorithms fun.’
‘And I don’t rate being cold-shouldered by a sanctimonious prick who owns his own modelling agency.’
Your eyes are wide and glistening with tears. I take you in my arms and pull you against me. You clamp against my chest as if the world is about to end.
‘I ran into Jonah at the party,’ you murmur between sobs.
Did you really think no one would see you, Faye? I followed you, hiding in moonlight shadows. How could you disappear behind his shiny front door when you have a husband like yours? Handsome, in a solid way. Supporting you. Helping you with the children. I watch him through my binoculars whenever you leave the curtains open, hugging them and putting them into bed, reading them bedtime stories. I’ve seen him so many times walking up your drive with takeaways and flowers. Most women would give their right arm for a man like that.
How do you think your behaviour will affect your children? Do you know what it is like for children to have a mother go off the rails? Can you imagine what it was like for me?
And I am back. Remembering. My social worker visiting me in my second foster home. My foster mother flinging plates into the dishwasher, tidying up piles of washing. The social worker had only given us an hour’s notice. I helped her tidy up and by the time he arrived I was already drained and exhausted.
We sat opposite one another in the dining room. He sat hands together on his knee, mouth in a line. I knew something bad was coming.
‘Erica, your mother is dead.’
‘What happened to her?’ I spluttered, heart racing in my chest.
‘She died of a drugs overdose.’
There was a pause. ‘She was peaceful, Erica. She is living with God. Happy in Heaven now.’
Living with God, not with me? I felt empty. Bereft. I had always thought she would come back and care for me. Now I knew I was alone. I was too choked to cry. Bitterness pushed the tears away. Tears would have given me respite. Tears would have helped. But back then, nothing helped.
I am parked outside your daughter’s school in my lilac Jag, waiting to see you. It smells of leather and money. That is why I like it so much. A present to myself for my thirtieth birthday, with some of the money I had just received from my great-grandmother’s trust fund. Years ago I tried to let you know you would be better off financially if you chose me. Now so many years on, you are beginning to see sense.
You won’t be long. School starts in ten minutes. I watch other mothers sidling past, looking so grey, so colourless. In comparison to you they all look dumpy and plain. I watch their body language as they talk to their children with a pious air.
My body sings as you come into sight. Walking past, coated in skin-tight Lycra. I am ready for you, ready and waiting, blood pulsating through my body. Waiting for you to drop Tamsin off. Waiting for you to get in my car and talk.
I slip into the passenger seat of his car, Georgia fast asleep in my arms.
‘Jonah, I’m ashamed about what happened on Saturday night. We both made a terrible mistake. I expect you feel the same about our one-night stand. That it was a total one-off.’
He leans towards me, eyes gleaming. ‘I was rather hoping we could go on seeing each other. When you’ve had a taste of perfection it’s good to make it last as long as possible.’
I sit looking at his fine-boned face. His slightly effeminate good looks. How much had I had to drink? I have never previously found him attractive, but somehow suddenly he seemed so empathetic on Saturday night. Being with him felt so right.
‘Please, Phillip’s your friend too; neither of us want to hurt him. I love him very much. Let’s just forget what happened.’
His mouth twists. ‘Funny way of showing your feelings, shagging his best friend.’
‘I know. I’m appalled by my behaviour.’ Tears fill my eyes. ‘And I don’t want him to know what happened.’
Brown eyes darken. ‘It’s really not going to be that simple. I can’t just let this drop. I’m in love with you, Faye.’
Where are you going? Why are you turning in the opposite direction to my flat? I need to watch you even more carefully now I know how irresponsible you are. Where are you taking Georgia? She needs stability. She’s used to the crèche at your leisure club.
I reach for my coat, slam the door, and race down the stairs to follow you. The pedestrian crossing slows me down. The lights take so long. I wait at the crossing and see you walking in the opposite direction, further and further away from me. A car is trailing you. A shiny lilac Jag with a personalised number plate. You stop. The car stops. A blond head of hair leans out of the window. Your boyfriend, the blond guy from the party. Why is he meeting you at school? Is your relationship serious? Are you going to put your children through the trauma of coming from a broken home?
Back in the changing room, after my spinning class, reaching into my locker, I hear my iPhone buzzing. A new message. An electric current burns through me. Not him. Please not him. I told him I didn’t love him. I warned him if he told Phillip I’d deny it, and Phillip would trust me over him. But as I stepped out of the car eyes shining into mine, he said, ‘I like it when you play hard to get.’
My whole body stiffens when I remember the wolf-like look on his face, his usual veneer of sophistication dissolved away. I take a deep breath. If he causes trouble I’ll just have to deny it. Deny. Deny. Deny. No one can prove that he is right. The phone continues to buzz.
