Authors: Charlotte Oliver
I didn’t dare look at Tam but I’m sure he was as mortified. “Fine,” Sharon said, after a moment of silence that lasted a little too long. Was there a touch of sadness in her voice? I couldn’t quite tell.
My taking charge of the situation had turned Jack from a raging predator into a pussycat. Now, having snaked one arm tightly around my waist, he was visibly preening—pleased beyond description that Tam had come out the loser once again.
“Don’t bother coming back to work, Thomas,” Jack said sweetly. “I think we’ll get along fine without you from now on.”
What a bitch he is,
I thought numbly.
What a horrible, petty little person.
“Goodbye,” Tam breathed as he passed me, following Sharon out of the lobby back into the sunshine of another perfect day in paradise. I felt a lurch when his scent met my nostrils—that fragrance of summer, of abundance.
“What do you say to something bubbly, darling?” Jack chirruped, clearly delighted at his victory. “Something to celebrate us turning over a new leaf?”
I realised, then, that I’d left my body. I should have been angry. I should have been furious. But all I could think was,
when did Jack turn into Hooray Henry? And does he have to overuse the word ‘darling’ like it’s the only term of endearment available?
“Sounds lovely.”
In the dining room, he ordered Veuve Clicquot—a rosé one. Nice; not too dry. “To a short trip back home, first thing tomorrow,” Jack smiled, as he raised his glass. I returned the toast.
Crab with lemongrass and lime butter. It was good. I ate it sedately, but my mind was chattering endlessly with new plans, new thoughts, new memories, new realisations. I had crossed the Rubicon into a strange land, and I needed to get my bearings fast if I had any hope of negotiating this terrain.
Towards the end of the meal, I noticed I was gripping the cutlery so tightly my knuckles were white.
That night was hellish. Looking back, I cannot understand how on earth I managed to lie next to him, sleepless, for that many hours. The only mercy was that Jack accepted my feigned tiredness, and didn’t demand his usual sexual dues. I would have been sick if I’d had to sleep with him—knowing that all along, he’d been bonking Jemima, using me as a masturbatory aid whenever she wasn’t available.
Did you ever lie in bed as a little girl and think no-one would ever marry you? And wonder what you would do when you were big, and all alone with no-one to love you? I did. It wasn’t helpful not having Dad around, either. This sounds like a cliché, but I used to be terrified that I would never fill the hole that was left in my heart.
That night all I could see was that hole. It became an abyss. I danced on the edge of it, on the edge of despair; when sleep came close, I jerked awake immediately, terrified by the sensation of falling, of being engulfed by it.
Even crueller were the brief snatches of forgetfulness. My body, exhausted with emotion, occasionally managed fitful, dreamless sleep. Inevitably something would wake me, and, for a moment, I would be unaware. I would turn over to find Jack next to me in bed. And I would be happy! Blissful, even—seeing the contours of his sleeping face, knowing he was close to me. And then I’d remember, and the hurt would overwhelm me all over again.
I was so angry with him—for the first few hours, at least. It had been so difficult to keep up a facade the whole day; to pretend that I knew nothing, that I trusted him. That he had won. I had to wrestle my pride for every second of that day. All I wanted to do was scream at him:
I know what you are now! I know what you’ve done . . . you can’t hide the truth from me anymore . . .
But, somehow, I managed not to.
Instead I saved up my rage and sorrow, almost lovingly. Those emotions were all I had left of my old life, so in a bittersweet way, I savoured them.
I chose the darkest hours of the night, when the silence was heavy and the only sound was the ocean, to recall the Jack I’d once believed in and now was obliged to mourn. The pain was terrible—so deep it really did seem physical. I winced at the memories of our first night together, the seduction that had seemed so thrilling, so honest. Lusty, even. Now I saw it for the calculated thing it really was. Why had he chosen that night? Had Jemima given him an ultimatum of some kind? Or had he planned it from the very start, knowing from the beginning that I would be halfway to loving him by then?
When he peeled off my clothes and whispered passionate nothings to me, was that what they really were? Nothings? Or had he meant them, if only in the grip of lust?
And then, to be so cynical that he could marry me without flinching? I silently thanked God that we hadn’t had a proper wedding in England. Knowing that he’d made false vows in front of my family would have crushed me.
So many questions. There were times when I had to restrain myself from waking him right there and then, to shower him with questions and accusations. But I resisted; I knew, despite how I felt, that I had to keep my head if I had any chance of learning the truth. I had to watch him, this new animal, this person I’d thought I knew. Once I’d done that for a while, once I’d sussed him a little better, then it would be the time for retribution. Then, all my questions would be answered.
As the first tendrils of the dawn reached over the horizon, my focus shifted away from Jack, and instead I began to obsessively replay every word Jemima had ever said to me.
I raged at how thinly they’d disguised their affair. I recalled her laughing introduction to me, the comment I’d naively taken as a compliment: “
You have no idea how much you’ve simplified Jack’s life . . .
”
Well, she was right about that. I certainly didn’t have much of an idea. Now I did—for better or worse.
I fumed helplessly at that for longer than I’d care to admit. How dare she? How
dare
she play little private tricks on me, for the amusement of her—of her lover? (That word nearly broke my spirit.) Overwhelmed by my emotions, unable to examine the past any longer, I began to think of the future. How I was going to humiliate her—crush her, like she had crushed me.
I wasn’t long on that train of thought before I had to leave the bed for the bathroom, to cry in peace. I had to rein myself in before I went mad.
I sat, shivering, on the edge of the bathtub, tears pouring from my eyes. I cried silently—not the heaving, desperate sobs of my last weeks in London with Jack, or of my time in Cape Town without him. These were different tears.
You know how sometimes, you feel like you’re crying something
out
of yourself? Sort of like being in a sauna, and you’re sweating out your toxins? That’s how it felt as I sat in that beautiful bathroom at four o’clock in the morning. I began to believe, slowly but surely, that one day soon I’d feel clean again. I just had to hang on for a little bit longer. I just had to be brave.
When the tears stopped, I drew myself up and turned to look into the enormous mirror that overlooked the marble double basins. As I washed my hands and smoothed the cool water on my face, I watched my reflection carefully.
I looked very tired, and puffy from the tears. There were violet circles under my eyes that made them look bruised. My nose was raw from being wiped with countless tissues.
I didn’t look very nice, of course. No-one looks pretty after a few hours of crying. But as I looked at myself, I felt a flicker of hope, a flame that couldn’t be smothered. I was going to get through this, live to tell the tale. In a few years, it would be ancient history. In a few years, maybe I would be married again—or not even married, necessarily. I would be satisfied with being loved. Just the way I was.
The memory of Tam peeling prawns for me glimmered, jewel-like, in my mind, and my reflection broke into a grin. There I stood, alone in the bathroom, smiling to myself—but after a moment, tears came to my eyes again. Tam. I’d hurt him: I’d tried to use him; I’d taken the word of his brother over him when he had risked so much to be honest with me. Would he forgive me eventually? It was impossible to tell.
Right now, I just had to be brave. I just had to get through the next few hours.
I was up before seven, but not because that’s when I’d woken; more because if I rose earlier than that, it would have seemed that something was afoot. I had to make sure that everything appeared perfectly alright.
“Morning, darling,” I cooed when Jack shuffled into the sitting room of the suite two hours later. On the outside, I was all sweetness and light. Inside, thunderbolts of adrenalin were charging down my spine. Today was going to be the day he was going to understand what he’d done to me.
“How long’ve you been up?” he mumbled, frowning at the brightness of the sunlight. He hated mornings; it was a trait I used to find endearing. “It’s early.”
I smiled warmly. “It’s already after nine. We need to get going in a minute.”
He yawned. “You’re right. We do. I’ll get the front desk to start the online check-in and we’ll set off after breakfast.”
To his surprise, I’d already ordered it—eggs Benedict for him, a grapefruit and black coffee for me.
“Nice to see you’ve kept your eating in check,” Jack said approvingly. “I was a bit worried when you ordered the crab yesterday.”
Fucker,
I thought in reflex, but I smiled at him, full-beam. What difference did it make what he thought, anyway? Why fight it? Demurely, I ate a few segments, chewing for aeons before I could bring myself to swallow them. Anticipation had made my throat clench shut, and food seemed like dry concrete in my mouth.
On the drive there, in the hire car, I had a wobble. I thought about how lonely I was going to be back in England, with no friends, no husband, no job, no plans. How would I survive?
Mia’s still alive, isn’t she?
I was heartened after that. Yes—that’s what I would do. Move back in with Mum, sign on for a bit, and drink my jobseeker’s allowance with my sister for a few weeks.
No matter how sad that sounded, it was heaps better than the alternative. Jemima’s face flickered across the screen of my mind, but I pushed it aside angrily. I would not be distracted. This was not about her—I was
not
going to be one of those girls on Montel who screech like scorned harpies at the Other Women, but put their husband’s indiscretions down to ‘boys will be boys’. This was his fault, the evil fucker. He was going to be the one to pay for it.
My body gave a throb for Tam. Would we see each other again? Would it be better if we didn’t? I couldn’t say.
I barely remember anything after we got to airport, except passing through the car rental place in a red haze.
This must be what it felt like for those poor soldiers who still had to do hand-to-hand combat,
I recall thinking.
Knowing what was coming, but walking onto the battlefield regardless.
Our luggage having been checked in, we settled in for the wait. The first-class lounge was straight out of a James Bond movie, of course. Wraparound glass fronting, looking out onto the tidiest bit of the runway. Dozens of people in orange jumpsuits, safety glasses, and headphones ran around outside, busily waving little paddles and shooting suspected terrorists and whatever else it is they do.
A variety of smoothly upholstered seats were dotted across the white-carpeted floor. After the pigpen heat of the departures area, the air-conditioning was heavenly; I breathed in the cool air.
And then, just like that, I decided it was time.
“How’s Jim?”
Jack snapped his head around so fast, he looked like he’d need some physiotherapy for it.
I smiled sweetly at him while the silence hung between us like a pall. Now that I’d started it, now that I’d set this in motion, the exhilaration threatened to overwhelm me—but if I was serious, I had to keep my head.
He found his feet in moments.
What a pro.
“Fine. Fine, yes, great. Jim’s fine. In—Frankfurt.” He smiled back at me, his mouth just ever so slightly pinched in one corner; he was good at this. The only thing that really gave him away was his eyes—empty and unsmiling.
For a moment I thought he was going to be smart, but his curiosity was just too much: “Why do you ask?”
“Why not?” I raised my eyebrows pointedly. “Surely I would ask after my own husband’s business associates?”
Then his eyes narrowed. He knew I was asking the wrong questions; now he had to work out why, without alerting me to anything I didn’t already know. This was going to be interesting to observe.
“But you’ve never met—Jim,” he pressed. I watched his face. He was wondering if he had gone too far. He was worried. This felt good.
“Haven’t I?” I affected a puzzled look. “Didn’t we visit with Jim one weekend? At a country house somewhere?”
Jack’s face instantly turned white. It was dawning on him now that he may be in more of a fix than he thought.
Squirm!
I screamed silently.
That’s right! Let me watch
you struggle as you try to dodge
this
bullet.
“We did not.” He enunciated each word very carefully.
Don’t try to bide your time
, I crowed, wishing I could scream all my thoughts out loud without risking the deliciousness of my revenge.