The One That Got Away (28 page)

Dan says nothing and rather curtly stalks off to the bar. Pearce doesn’t notice however, he’s got other stuff on his mind.
‘Look at him,’ he says to me, lowering his
voice – but not as much as he thinks he has – as he nods over at Antony. ‘Acting the big happy cheesy chief. I bet he isn’t
going to have to apply for his own job. He makes me sick.’

‘Shhhh,’ I take his arm and pull him gently away from the group of clients closest to us, ‘people will hear you.’

‘Shhh!’ Pearce whispers back elaborately. ‘Because we can’t have that, can we? MediComma isn’t really the scum of the earth
everybody.’ I think a doctor overhears because he whispers something to his colleague and they both glance over at us curiously.
‘Urgh. I hate my life.’

‘Pearce,’ I hiss. ‘This isn’t the time or the place. You’ll get into trouble.’

‘Who’s in trouble?’ Dan says, not missing a beat as he reappears and hands over the drinks.

‘No one is,’ I say quickly and look warningly at Pearce, ‘everything’s fine.’ I take a big gulp of drink. It’s pure apple
juice. Great.

To my relief however, Pearce nods, takes his whisky and raises it to us. ‘Your wife is a very wise woman. Cheers Dan the man
…’

Unfortunately he stumbles slightly and jerks some of his drink over Dan’s arm. ‘Shit,’ he exclaims in dismay. ‘I’m so sorry.
Let me go and get a cloth.’ He weaves off. Dan just stands there, shaking his dripping arm.

‘It was an accident,’ I say quickly.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘Stop looking so worried, I’m not going to deck him.’

I smile, lean over and kiss him. ‘I love you.’

He kisses me back, mollified. ‘Love you too.’

‘Excuse me,’ says another slightly slurred voice in front of us. I turn and see a perplexed, balding and rather useless-looking
doctor standing where Pearce was moments ago, clutching a now empty wine glass. He sways very slightly as someone bumps into
him on their way to the bar. ‘You look very familiar to me, but I’m afraid I’m having a terrible time placing you.’

But I can’t help him because I have lost the power of speech. It’s all I can do to stand there clutching my drink uselessly.
I know exactly who
he
is—

He’s the doctor who examined me after the condom broke.

The colour must have drained from my face completely because he looks slightly taken aback and says ‘I’m afraid I take so
very many meetings with medical reps, you must think me very rude, I’m so sorry.’ He offers a hand to Dan. ‘Dr Jonathon Hubbard,
pleased to meet you.’

‘Dan Greene,’ Dan smiles warmly, ‘Molly’s husband.’

‘Molly Greene,’ Dr Hubbard repeats, it clearly rings a distant, mulled wine dulled bell somewhere. ‘This is awful. I must
be going senile. Put me out of my misery, Molly, what have you sold me?’ he smiles openly at me and his glass dips slightly.
‘We’ve definitely met at my surgery, that much I’m certain of.’

‘I …’ I exhale. My breath has become jerky, my heart is thumping and crashing in my chest. I can’t think of a single thing
to say. ‘I er …’ I can feel my face growing hotter and hotter by the second.

Dr Hubbard and Dan are still waiting. Dan turns to me, bemused by my apparent struggle, and Dr Hubbard’s convivial smile begins
to slip slightly. He might be several glasses up, but he’s realised something is not quite right. Unable to stop it happening
I watch it dawn on him that he has made a mistake, I’ve never met him in a professional capacity, I am in fact one of his
patients. Then I see him sift through a rolodex in his mind and land on a late Thursday afternoon only three and a half weeks
ago. ‘Ahhh!’ he says and smiles generously, thinking he now understands. ‘What a bumbling old fool! Now, we shan’t tell anyone
here I’m
your
doctor,’ he attempts to whisper, reaching out and putting a comforting hand on my arm. ‘You were in very recently weren’t
you? I remember now.’

I must look absolutely horrified, because as I begin to stutter interruptions, he then says, ‘Oh, please don’t be embarrassed.
It happens all the time, I promise.’ He gives a gentle laugh, designed, I can only suppose, to lighten the tone. ‘So,’ he
twinkles daringly, buoyed up by the party atmosphere, ‘had any more problems with rogue broken condoms then, you two?’

I go into freefall. I’m not sure if the ground is under my feet or if I’m still holding my drink.

Dan looks at Dr Hubbard, confused. ‘Condoms?’ he repeats. ‘But we’re trying for a baby.’

Cheerful noise continues around us. I hear someone laugh. Only we three are locked in a dreadful silence. The room begins
to revolve as if I am stuck on the inside of a zoetrope. We are static pictures, only beginning to flicker and appear to move
like real images as the drum – and Dan’s thoughts – begin to gather speed. ‘
Broken
condoms,’ he repeats.

Dr Hubbard’s empty glass looks like it’s going to fall completely from his fingers, his mouth is hanging open uselessly with
horror, at what he now realises was an inadvertent and foolish drunken assumption that the incident happened with my husband,
but is in fact a devastating breach of patient confidentiality. I can’t inhale, my lungs won’t expand. Petrified, I look at
Dan who is now staring at the floor, his breathing beginning to quicken with hideous realisation.

Dr Hubbard struggles to say something, ‘I, I’m so sorry. I thought …’ he grips the slipping glass so tightly it must surely
break anyway. ‘Forgive me,’ he pleads, ‘I …’

Dan jerks back away from the doctor’s woefully inadequate words. He wobbles, then turns on his heels, and pushes urgently
through a small throng of several people in conversation behind us, jogging their drinks and making them say ‘Hey!’ in mild
surprise as, affronted, they watch him spin out of the room. I think I drop my drink on the carpet as I rush after him, clutching
only my bag, leaving Dr Hubbard crushed and standing alone as he looks after us.

I slam out into the dark car park, lit only by cosy light spilling over from the bar inside. Dan’s there, both hands clasped
on top of his head in total disbelief, suit sleeves rucked up exposing his earlier optimistic clean shirt. He’s pacing in
a small tight square, clouds of breath surging around his head.

‘Broken condoms,’ he says again like some sort of mantra. ‘Never mind we’re not even using them, we’ve
never
broken a condom. That’s the sort of thing you’d remember if it happened to you, isn’t it? Especially if it was “very recently”.’
He turns to look at me and involuntarily I moan in distress.

I have never seen the look on his face that I can see now. His eyes are wide and frightened, anguished.

He continues to stare at me wordlessly, which is worse than shouting, worse than accusations. I can see it all in his face.
He knows. The hurt and pain is so naked, I
actually cry out again. My legs won’t hold me up and I sink to the concrete. My breath starts to come in sharp fits and I
can feel hot tears of shock streaming down my face.

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’ It’s me, my voice repeating over and over again.

‘Who is he?’

‘I never meant—’ I’m incoherent on my knees in front of him. I have no excuses, no lies that can save this; the facts are
inescapable and undeniable.

‘
WHO IS HE
?’ he yells so loudly I wince.

Then he takes two violently fast steps to me and grabs my wrists, pulling me to my feet. ‘Tell me who he is,’ he cries again,
so close to my face I cringe. ‘And don’t say it doesn’t matter, because it does.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ I sob. ‘I was drunk, I was—’

‘Was it at our house?’

‘No, no!’ I cry. ‘I’d never – at the conference …’

‘The conference,’ he repeats slowly. ‘Windsor? When you had that crash?’

I hear a door bang behind me. ‘Everything all right out here?’ calls a male stranger’s voice suspiciously. ‘Is he bothering
you?’

I spin round, two big-bellied blokes are standing on the step clutching pint glasses. ‘I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘He’s my husband
– we’re OK, really.’

There’s a doubtful silence and then they nod and disappear back inside. I turn back to Dan who has snatched up my handbag
and is rifling through it furiously. He pulls out my work mobile, backing away warningly, staring
intently at the screen. His face then scrunches up savagely. Flinging the phone to the ground he yells out with rage and shoves
past me. ‘What are you doing?’ I cry in horror but he ignores me and absolutely pelts back in the direction of the hotel.

Confused, I grab the phone from the floor, look at the screen and my blood runs cold.

Sorry. Didn’t mean it. Shouldn’t be a c**t to you. See you Wednesday night. Will be on best behaviour. Promise.

Oh my God. Pearce.

I drop the phone again and make for the hotel, everything is jerking around, the door handle slips in my hand, I shove past
people I barely notice, trying to get to the private room before it’s too late.

I nearly trip in my haste, blundering to get there in time and stop it, but I’m just pushing in through the doorway when I
hear a scream and the sound of a smashing glass as the room suddenly falls quiet. I elbow my way through to the bar and find
a small space has already magically cleared. Dan is standing over Pearce, who is sprawled on the floor in a puddle of amber
liquid, amidst glittering green chunks of a beer bottle, clutching his hand to his nose with a surprised look on his face.
Sandra is looking down at her dress which is covered in red wine, it’s all over her hands and dripping from the hem.

‘Get up!’ shouts Dan. Stunned, Pearce just lies there
and so Dan reaches out, drags him to his feet and before anyone can stop him, thumps Pearce again. There’s a sickening sound
of crunching knuckles, cartilage and shocked gasps as Pearce crumples to the floor. ‘She’s my WIFE!’ Dan shouts hoarsely.
‘My WIFE!’

‘What the …’ Pearce drunkenly touches his nose, which is now streaming blood. ‘I haven’t touched her!’

At that, Dan tries to go for him again, but by now, other people are switching back on and becoming involved. A couple of
men I don’t know reach out and grab Dan, pulling him back. He struggles furiously and shouts. ‘So what happened at the conference
in Windsor then? You lying fucker!’

‘Windsor? What are you talking about? He was with me!’ Sandra shrieks. ‘Tell him Pearce.’ She looks over at me angrily.

Before Pearce can say anything, Antony shoves in through the small crowd, desperate to stop this seedy domestic drama unfolding
in front of our clients. He looks first at Pearce mumbling on the floor, waving a hand, still trying to get up, then at Dan,
being restrained …

… and then straight at me, standing there between the two men, and as I drop my head in shame, thinks he instantly realises
the situation. ‘I understand, pal,’ he says soothingly to Dan, stepping in to take control, shooting a disgusted look down
at Pearce, ‘but he’s just not worth it. Leave it – for Molly’s sake. This isn’t helping anyone.’

He begins to determinedly push Dan back. ‘Come on – let’s get some air.’

‘Antony,’ Pearce says, voice muffled because he’s holding his nose. ‘You know what, on balance I’ve decided I
will
accept your voluntary redundancy offer.’

Antony whips round and points a warning finger at him. ‘Now’s not the time to get smart, sunshine, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Tessa!’ he bellows grimly and his wife appears magically from nowhere.

‘Oh Pearce!’ she scolds lightly as if a bloody nose is no big deal at all and the stuff of a playground scuffle, nothing serious
in the slightest. Antony begins to lead Dan away. ‘Look at the state of you!’ She gets a Kleenex out of her bag, as good as
licking it before wiping his face. ‘Did you know you were tonight’s entertainment then? Let’s clean you up shall we? What
a bit of luck that we’ve got a lot of doctors here! I think we could all do with another drink and a little bit of music couldn’t
we? Thank you, oh you are kind, yes please
do
take a look at him. It
was
a bit, wasn’t it?’

I follow after Dan and Antony hastily. Dan has broken free of Antony’s grip and is walking determinedly ahead. He bangs out
through the door but instead of making for the car, he turns left, disappears out of the car park and marches off into the
freezing night. I start after him but Antony takes my arm. ‘Leave him,’ he instructs. ‘Let him calm down.’

I turn to Antony desperately. ‘What happened – it’s not what you think,’ I plead, ‘Pearce wasn’t—’

‘Don’t.’ He can barely look at me. ‘I don’t want to know. Just go home, OK?’

I look around wildly for my bag, but I left it on the car park floor and of course now it’s gone. I tell Antony and he sighs.
‘Wait here.’ He strides back off to the hotel.

Alone in the car park I stare desperately up at the cloudless night sky. It is bitterly cold and the stars are shining sharply.
This cannot have just happened. Like this?

Antony bangs back out, incongruously clutching my bag. Miraculously, not only did someone hand it in, the keys and my purse
are still in it, along with my phone, somehow still working despite Dan having hurled it at the floor.

‘Right, well, we’ll talk tomorrow or something,’ Antony says. He pauses reluctantly, like there is more he wants to add, but
thinks better of it. There’s nothing either of us can say really. Nothing can make this all OK.

He gives me a final look of utter disappointment, turns and walks back into the hotel.

By eleven-thirty Dan has still not come home and he’s not answering his mobile.

I cannot believe what has happened … and I thought Leo would say something, would push the button? Yet just as he cuts his
losses, doesn’t want to play any more –
this
.

Frozen, my joints stiff and aching, but my face puffy from crying, I eventually get off the linen box in the bedroom and come
away from the window, shivering as I climb into our bed to wait.

I jolt alert a couple of times thinking I hear something, but it’s wishful thinking, not Dan. It’s actually gone midnight
when I hear feet crunch over the gravel drive and then his key fumbling in the lock. Then nothing.