A Question of Love (20 page)

‘But that’s a categorical denial—so why don’t you feel reassured?’

‘Because the situation has remained the same. Every Tuesday and Thursday Mike “works late”, but cannot be contacted and will not tell me where he’s been. He’s out tonight, for example. That’s why I was able to come and meet you because I knew he wouldn’t be home until nearly ten. It’s always the same story.’

‘How weird. And have you looked at his credit card statements?’

She nodded, guiltily. ‘I’d never done it before. It had simply never
occurred
to me to snoop on him.’

‘And?’

She shook her head. ‘Zilch. But he could just be paying for the Agent Provocateur and roses with cash.’

‘Any alien scent on his clothes?’

‘No. But I’m
convinced
he’s got a mistress,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘There’s no other plausible explanation for where he is, or why he’s so reluctant to explain, plus his odd mood when he gets home, plus we’re coming up for the seven year itch.’

‘Well…it does sound a bit odd.’

‘My guess is that Mike can’t bear to admit the affair, even to himself, because he
is
a decent person, so instead he just
lies
to me.’ We were silent while the waiter took away our plates. Hope’s lamb was almost untouched. ‘They say that a wife’s instinct is never wrong,’ she continued miserably. ‘They also say that you just can’t tell—about
any
man,’ she added with a painful shrug.

I thought of Tom, and of how decent he is, and of how, despite this, he’d behaved so callously.

‘I mean,
you
could never have imagined that Nick would do what he did, could you?’

‘No. I can safely say I never saw
that
coming.’

‘You read these stories all the time,’ Hope went on. ‘About these women who say, “I never thought for a
second
my husband would stray. He just didn’t seem the
type.
” Or they say, “I thought I
knew
my husband—but now I feel that our whole marriage was a sham.” Why should
I
be immune from that, Laura? Why should
I
be lucky? Lots of people suffer—I mean,
you
did—’ her eyes had filled again—‘so maybe now it’s simply
my
turn. Anyway, ‘ she croaked as she fumbled in her Kelly bag for a tissue, ‘that’s what’s been going on in my life.’

‘Hmm…’

She looked at me. Her eyes were pink-veined and her mascara had run. It was strange to see her looking so
distrait.
‘So,’ she said quietly. She was fiddling with the stem of her wineglass. ‘So…’ she said again. ‘So…’ she repeated with a sigh. Why did she keep saying that? ‘So what do you think I should do?’

‘Oh…’ I was taken aback. As I say, Hope has hardly ever told me anything personal, let alone sought my advice. To be honest, I found it rather scary. That Hope, whose entire adult life had seemed as unruffled as her salon-smooth hair, now had personal problems for which she needed my help.

‘What should I
do
?’ she repeated.

‘I don’t…know,’ I replied truthfully. I didn’t want to say what I thought—that Hope’s instincts were probably right. That’s why Mike was behaving so strangely at the christening, I now saw, because being in church reminded him, uncomfortably, of the marriage vows he’d made six years earlier. He was being aggressive because he felt bad.

‘Will you help me, Laura?’ she said quietly. I stared at her, shocked. She looked about twelve years old.

‘Well—of course I will,’ I stuttered. ‘You can talk to me about it any time—day or night—you know that.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’

I looked at her. ‘What
do
you mean then?’

She blinked a few times, then took a deep breath. ‘I want you to follow him.’

‘
What
?’ My heart sank to the soles of my shoes.
‘Don’t
ask me to do that,’ I murmured. ‘I really don’t…’

‘Please, Laura,’ she interrupted. ‘I
need
you to.’

I shook my head. ‘I couldn’t bear to.’

‘Why
not
?’

‘Because if he
is
having an affair, I do
not
want to be the person to tell you, Hope. It could affect
our
relationship for the rest of our lives.’

She was shaking her head. ‘But I’d rather hear it from you than from anyone else. And because we’re sisters, I feel we could survive it.’

‘I’m not sure about that—this kind of thing can be a minefield.’

I felt uncomfortable seeing Hope like this. I found her sudden vulnerability disturbing when she’d always seemed unassailable.

‘Look, Laura, I need your support, and it’s not something I could ask of a friend. And, I helped
you
didn’t I?’ she added.

I had been so hoping that she wouldn’t say that.

‘You did help me, Hope—but that was very different. All you had to do was write me a cheque, which I repaid as soon as I could. But if I did
this
for you, I might end up paying a terrible price psychologically. Can’t you see that? If you want Mike followed you should ask someone who’s neutral—preferably a private detective.’ She shook her head. ‘Whynot? You can afford it.’

‘It’s not the money.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s the
humiliation
! Having to explain it to a total stranger—plus you can’t be sure they won’t blab. But I know that you’d be discreet. Unlike Felicity.
Please
Laura,’ she begged. ‘I was going to phone you, but it’s much easier asking you face to face. I’m glad Luke had to abandon you tonight as it’s given me this chance to talk to you.’

‘Couldn’t you follow him yourself?’

‘
No.
‘ She shuddered. ‘It would be…awful. In any case, I’d give myself away. He’d spot me—I know he would—because he’d somehow
sense
that I was there, because of our emotional connection, but for that reason, I doubt he’d see you. Please, Laura,’ she added.
‘Please
. I’m in turmoil.’ I looked at her anguished expression. I so wanted to help.

‘I’m sorry, Hope. But the answer is no.’

I like facts. I find them comforting. Facts make you feel somehow secure. You can usually rely on facts in the way that you can’t trust opinion and conjecture. Facts won’t let you down. I don’t just mean the ‘Riga is the capital of Latvia’ kind of fact, but facts in the broader, human, sense. For there were certain facts about Mike’s behaviour, for example, which led painfully, but inexorably, to one conclusion. Which is why I refused to do what Hope asked.

If I’d thought she was barking up the wrong tree, I would happily have agreed to her request, in order to have the pleasure of proving her wrong. But I didn’t believe that she was. For why else would Mike be behaving in such an odd way? If he was doing something quite innocent—going to the gym, or to an evening class—he’d be open about it. If he was having dinner with clients, he’d say. If he was going to see his parents, or his sister, he’d tell her, and in any case she always goes too.

It
was
possible that Mike was doing something that, for whatever reason, he felt self-conscious about. Seeing a shrink, for example, or going to church, or attending Weight Watchers (not that he’s fat) or Alcoholics Anonymous (not that he drinks), or going to a lap-dancing club with some of his racier colleagues. But if that were all it was then he’d admit it rather than let Hope continue in the destructive belief that he was having an affair.

But he’s refusing to enlighten her in any way about his activities, whilst continuing to come home late twice a week. So the facts do, unfortunately, seem to support Hope’s growing belief that Mike is ‘embroiled’. That’s why she was in such an unsympathetic mood I now realized. And
that’s
why she was so tough on Luke. She was transferring all her anger and negativity about Mike’s behaviour on to him.

Even so, I felt awful refusing to help.

‘I’m sorry, Hope,’ I said again. ‘But I just can’t do it.’ I fiddled with my napkin.

‘I know why. You’re refusing because you’re angry with me for criticizing Luke. Aren’t you? Because I didn’t say what you wanted to hear.’

‘That’s not the reason at all.’

‘Yes it is. That’s
just
what you were like when we were kids. You’re trying to punish me.’

‘No I’m not.’

She picked up her bag. ‘Anyway, I’m going home. Kindly do
not
mention what we discussed tonight to
anyone
.’

‘I won’t. You know that, Hope.’

‘Yes,’ she said frigidly. ‘I do at least know I can rely on your discretion—even if I
can’t
rely on your support.’ She gave me an ‘
Et tu, Brute
?’ look and then left.

So, to confirm to myself that I had made the right decision, I imagined doing as she wished. As I sat there, sipping my espresso, I imagined following Mike from work, on foot, or by taxi, keeping a safe distance, hoping that I wouldn’t be spotted by him, or by anyone else for that matter given that my face has become familiar through the quiz. I imagined watching him enter his girlfriend’s house, or some faceless hotel, then having to hang around until he emerged, hair ruffled, tie askew—quite possibly with
her.
Hope would no doubt want photographic evidence. Now I imagined presenting her with a photo of them kissing perhaps, or holding hands. No, I said to myself again. No
way.
I’d happily give Hope one of my kidneys, my blood, my bone marrow, or my life savings—but I wasn’t prepared to give her bad news.

For what if she confronted Mike with the evidence—evidence that
I
had gleaned—and he then, at last, confessed? What if they got divorced? For the rest of my life I’d have to live with the knowledge that
I
had helped them go down that road. What, alternatively, if Mike ended the affair, they went to counselling and everything was tickety-boo? That would be great, wouldn’t it—except that they’d forever associate
me
with that horrible time. I’d be the chink in their marital armour. They’d resent me—especially Mike. And even if Hope forgave him, I’d almost certainly dislike him—it would be bound to turn relations sour. So I knew that I had to keep out of it but, as I say, I felt very bad. And I was just sitting there, replaying it all in my mind for the fourth or fifth time, and wondering what I
could
do to help her, when Luke called to say that he was on his way back, and would pick me up. So I paid the bill, then, feeling utterly wrung out, decided to repair my appearance before he arrived. And I was just making my way down the stairs when I glanced to my left and saw that the bar, which had been deserted earlier in the evening, had suddenly become busy.

There was a group of twenty-something women sitting in the window, two men in the middle, and a couple in their late thirties sitting at the end, nearest to me. Judging by the static crackling between them—and the champagne chilling on the counter—they were clearly on an early, but getting serious, date. The man was laughing and talking, and the woman was gazing at him, her face radiating interest and excitement. It was as though he were a film star, and she his number-one fan.

From time to time she lightly touched his forearm, or threw back her head, exposing her throat. His own body language was similarly ‘open’ and positive. His knees were practically touching hers. Now I saw him lean forward and touch her shoulder, then slide his hand downwards, almost stroking her breast, while she gave him an encouraging smile. They were the very picture of a couple in the throes of pupil-dilating attraction, oblivious to the rest of the world. So engrossed were they that I could have walked right past them and they probably wouldn’t have noticed. But, as I knew them, it wasn’t a risk I could take. And I was just hovering on the stairs, wondering what on earth to do, when, with characteristic courtesy, Hugh resolved my dilemma for me. He paid the bill, helped Chantal Vane on with her coat, held open the door for her, and then they left.

SEVEN

We’re not doing very well on the marriage front, my sisters and I. All three have either failed already, like mine, or seem to be in danger of imminent collapse. I thought of how horrified Mum would be—not that I’d be telling her—she and Dad had their fortieth anniversary last year. As I drove back with Luke I remembered seeing Hugh talking to Chantal at the christening. She’d probably had a thing for him for years. And now, detecting marital fatigue, like a hyena detecting exhaustion in an elderly antelope, she’d seen her chance to close in.

Luke didn’t notice how distracted I felt—he was fired up about Magda, going on about how difficult she was and how it hadn’t been necessary for him to go over there, and how she’d only done it to spoil our evening, and about how she’d had a huge row with him and had made Jessica cry which was quite unforgivable.

‘She has no
self
-control,’ he snapped as he parked outside his house. ‘Yet she thinks she controls
me
! Well she
doesn’t
!’

‘Of course she doesn’t,’ I replied as his mobile trilled again and he shovelled his hand into his pocket.

‘
Yes
Magda,’ he hissed. ‘
No
Magda.
Yes
Magda.’

Three bags full, Magda.
I decided I’d take advantage of his negative mood. As we were getting ready for bed, I asked him if he could take her clothes out of his wardrobe and return them to her. His toothbrush stopped in mid-stroke.

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It will only provoke her.’ He bent his head to the tap, then spat neatly into the plughole. ‘She’d feel I was rejecting her.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘I know.’ He began to pull floss through his teeth. ‘But she likes to have everything both ways. And she’d only tell Jessica that I’d “thrown” her things out of the house, and then Jessica would get upset. Anyway, whether or not some of Magda’s stuff is still here doesn’t matter, does it, Laura?’ He took my hands in his, then gave me a minty kiss ‘What matters is that we’re together again. So can’t you put up with it?’