Julie

When I was a little girl, I used to dream about meeting the love of my life. I grew up with parents who adored each other – in an understated way, sure – but I always had that comfortable, secure feeling that my mam and dad were in love. That that was what a ‘couple’ looked like – always there for each other; easy, unquestioning loyalty and affection.

I didn’t understand the complexities of marriage. I certainly didn’t envision the compromises.

My biggest fear when I first began to suspect that Harry was unfaithful was that it would end up in us separating. That’s why I lived in denial for so long. I thought that once I’d actually caught him, he would say he didn’t love me any more and leave.

So I said nothing and Harry never left. Life went on.

Ignorance is bliss. Does that make me sound stupid? Naïve? Deserving of everything I got?

Perhaps. In reality, it probably made me like a lot of other women.

Two of my siblings were already divorced, I reminded myself. One had gone through an extremely acrimonious split and ended up with nothing, not even access to his kids. He was back living with our parents, at the age of forty.

I didn’t want that. I had a very nice life. I could be content with my lot.

One of Harry’s biggest problems, though, was restlessness. For him, ‘content’ equalled bored. I found that out with a bang.

It was a warm Friday evening in September 2004, and I’d just opened a bottle of Bollinger, my little heart skipping when the cork popped and the fizz swelled up in the glass. It never grew old, and it was the one luxury I’d never had to talk myself into.

I was managing my drinking better. I kept it to the house, mainly, and just at the weekend (that stretched from Thursday to Sunday). I squeezed all my teaching hours into Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Sometimes I met up with my workmates for nights out but, more and more, I drank at home. I’d gotten lazy.

I was sitting out in the garden that evening, the Indian-summer sun’s rays still warm, surrounded by the scent of late-summer blooms. That morning, I’d started reading the ridiculously entertaining Da Vinci Code and was absolutely gripped. I was thinking about planning a trip to Paris so I could enjoy that city again in the light of all the book’s revelations.

My phone rang and I picked it up to see Helen’s number flashing.

‘Well, hello, stranger,’ I answered.

‘Hello stranger yourself,’ she retorted. ‘I’ve tried to ring you twice this week already.’

I took the phone away from my ear and looked at it like there was a gremlin inside, hiding my calls.

‘Really? I didn’t see any missed calls.’

‘I rang the landline, you div’. I’ve free house-to-house calls. Ringing your bloody mobile costs a bomb.’

‘Oh, God. Sorry. Here, let me ring you back.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I’ve got you now. Listen, I just want to ask, are you coming down for Mam’s birthday on the sixteenth? It’s just, she’s determined not to have a party so I thought I’d book a dinner in that hotel she likes beside the river.’

I hesitated. If I said yes, I’d have to ask Harry to come down for the weekend, and he had this weird thing about making the effort for my family. He liked it when they came up to us, when he could be all flash and show off our home, bring them to restaurants which they never felt entirely comfortable in but where he was best friends with the maître d’. I knew it annoyed my lot, but I could see it from his perspective too. It was intimidating to be an extra in our noisy, large family. Especially so when you had no experience of that in your own background.

‘Julie,’ Helen said into the silence. ‘You could come down on your own if Harry is busy. Mam shouldn’t suffer.’

She could read me like a book.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘Of course he’s busy – he always is. But I’ll just get him to cancel whatever he has on. This is more important.’

‘Okay. Well, let me know if you want me to book you a room at the hotel or if you’re staying at mine. You’re always welcome, you know. And don’t put yourself out for the kids with presents. They don’t appreciate fancy gifts, pet. A big bag of sweets from the supermarket will do them rightly.’

I laughed and said ‘Fine’ before saying goodbye.

I heard Harry inside; he was home from work and fixing himself something in the kitchen. I didn’t look up from my book until he sat down on the rattan chair beside me and I heard a clink of ice in a glass.

Harry had a large tumbler of whiskey in his hand and a look of utter desperation in his eyes. I found the whiskey the more unusual of the two. He’d eased off on the drink in recent years, in direct contrast to my intake.

He’d been on edge all week, since returning from a business trip to Estonia. I hadn’t been able to work it out. Usually, Harry came back from these trips full of the joys. But this time he’d come with bags under his eyes and his face drawn, looking twice as old as his thirty-seven years and as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I didn’t want to ask what was wrong. The day had been perfect. I was happy. Why ruin it?

For better, for worse.

I sighed and put my novel down.

‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Is it trouble with that deal you were after? I knew when you extended the trip something was wrong.’

He shook his head.

‘The deal is fine,’ he said. ‘It should be, anyway. It’s costing a bit more, but it’s a good investment.’

I took a sip and eyed him over the glass.

‘Then what is it, Harry? You’ve being going around all week like somebody has died.’

He stared into the glass of whiskey, his silence sending little ripples of alarm through me. He raised the glass and took a gulp, then placed it on the mosaic-tiled table.

My husband leaned over and placed his hands on my bare, tanned legs. Horrible possibilities started to run through my head.

Was he sick? He looked fine, despite the haunted look in his eyes.

Oh my God. Was he about to tell me he was leaving me?

Or worse, had he fallen in love with somebody and got her pregnant?

My breathing quickened. It was that. That was the absolute worse thing that could happen.

‘You know I love you, Julie,’ he said.

‘Harry, you’re scaring me.’

‘I love you with all my heart. I would never, ever do something intentional to hurt you.’

‘Harry, I don’t want to hear it. Please. Don’t say it.’

I placed my hands on top of his, trembling. He took them in his own and squeezed them tight.

‘I’m in trouble, Julie. I have to tell you. This is serious.’

‘Why? Harry, what’s happened? Just pull off the plaster, will you?’

He took a deep breath.

‘There was a girl, in Tallinn.’

My hands were clammy. I pulled them away from his and wrapped my arms around myself. I’d started to shake. I was so tempted to put my hands over my ears. This was it. The moment I’d been dreading.

‘She accused me of something.’

‘What?’ That confused me.

‘Julie, she accused me of rape.’

He couldn’t look at me.

My mouth fell open.

‘W-what?’ I stammered.

‘Julie, you know me,’ he continued. ‘I would never, ever harm a woman. Never. We were having a party to celebrate the deal. It was a bit … wild. There were drugs taken. I fell asleep, and when I woke up she was in the bed beside me, screaming. This bloke and his friend ran in and started to shove me around. They said I’d assaulted the bloke’s sister. They were security for the Tallinn investors. They’d brought her to the party.’

His face was so desperate and angry.

‘I was set up,’ he said. ‘I didn’t touch her.’

I could feel that familiar feeling of relief – absolutely fucking ridiculous in the context – but this time … this time, it was tinged with something else. Shame.

I was an intelligent woman. This had to stop.

‘You were set up?’ I said, my voice incredulous.

‘Yes.’

I grabbed his hands again. Then I jumped off the cliff, before I could talk myself out of it.

‘Harry. Tell me the truth. I mean it. Did you sleep with that woman?’

‘What? No, Julie. Of course not. I was off my face on cocaine. You know I can get a bit … mad sometimes. Of course I didn’t sleep with her. I wouldn’t have been able to if I’d wanted to. I was out of it.’

‘So, what, Harry? How come you’re here and not over there in a cell? What did you do?’

‘I … Richard sorted it. He paid off the girl and the gang. I’d done nothing wrong. They just wanted money. It was easier to just make it all go away.’

I flinched. Richard Hendricks. Always just on the edge when bad things happened.

‘Well, if you did nothing wrong and it’s all sorted, then why is it still bothering you? Are you afraid of more blackmail?’

I didn’t even recognize my own voice. It was as though somebody else was speaking, somebody detached from the conversation.

He looked down.

‘Sort of. I … I’m afraid if anybody finds out then it will lend legitimacy to another claim, one that was made previously.’

I could barely hear what he was saying. My head felt like it was rushing through a tunnel of sound; there was a huge roaring in my eardrums as blood rushed into them.

‘Julie? Are you okay?’

I’d started to hyperventilate. I opened my mouth and sucked in huge gasps of air. None of it reached my lungs.

Harry told me to breathe, then rushed indoors and arrived back with a brown paper bag he’d found in the kitchen. It was a long baguette bag, not like the square paper bags you see when they breathe into them in the movies. The absurdity of it would have made me laugh if I’d had any oxygen to spare. I felt the hot air enter my body as I puffed in and out. The dizziness lifted. He knelt beside me and kept talking as I took great, shuddering breaths, tears streaming from my eyes.

‘Julie? Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Are you okay?’

‘Who?’

‘What?’

‘Who, Harry? What other claim?’

He stopped rubbing my back. He’d been massaging away at it like I had trapped gas. Like a back rub would make it all better.

I let go of the bag, letting it float to rest on the ground.

He looked down at it, not able to meet my eyes.

‘A woman in the bank – she claimed I tried to rape her. At a work party. Her name was Nina Carter. She followed me up to my hotel room and started kissing me as soon as I opened the door. We were both drunk, but I–’

I’d started to cry. I shook my head, again and again. I couldn’t bear any more.

‘I pushed her away,’ he said resolutely. ‘I’m a wealthy man. This stuff happens. Julie – what are you doing?’

I’d stood up quickly, sending him rocking backwards.

‘You need to leave,’ I choked, every bit of me quivering with anger and sadness.

‘What?’

‘You need to leave. Get out, Harry. Get out of the house.’

He took a step towards me but I held my hand out ready to push him away.

‘J-Julie.’ He spluttered out my name, his face shocked. ‘It’s not true. None of it is true.’

I turned and ran into the house and up the stairs. I locked myself in our room and stayed there while he banged on the door. I heard him slump down on the landing, heard him crying, and still I lay on the bed and refused to move. If I’d looked at him or let him talk to me, he would have won me round, and I was too angry.

What he’d told me had horrified me to my core. Even if I believed everything he said, this man, this version of him – I couldn’t believe that was my husband. I was a teacher, for crying out loud. He knew everything there was to know about my job, my life, and I knew nothing about him.

Who the fuck had I married?