Every few minutes, Molly peered carefully over the gate, frustration growing as she saw him move back to the doorstep and lean against the door. Maybe she should go over and confront him, explain that what had happened had been simply a moment’s madness.
He was obviously intent on waiting for her. Squeezing her eyes shut, hot tears pushed through to trickle down her cheek. Jack was usually home by six fifteen. If the man didn’t leave, he’d meet him. Would he tell? What would he tell? Your wife tried to kiss me, she seemed up for it.
At six, she peered over the gate again. She couldn’t put it off any longer, she’d have to speak to him. Damn it, she’d say anything, do anything, to prevent Jack finding out how incredibly stupid she had been. She could have told him yesterday; could have made a joking reference to a handsome guy she’d met, brushing it off somehow. Now, no matter which way it came out, it sounded worse than it was. Their relationship had been a little shaky recently, she didn’t want to be the one who tipped it over into the realms of seriously rocky. Not over something so stupid… so meaningless as this. She gripped the edge of the gate, preparing to open it and step out. Then, to her relief, she watched the man push something through her letter box before taking a final look up and down the street and heading away.
She waited five minutes to make sure he’d gone, then opened the gate and hurried across the street, a taxi blaring its horn as it braked to avoid her. Her breath was coming in ragged gusts by the time she opened the front door. She slammed it shut, pulled all the post from the letter box cage, found a single folded sheet of paper and jammed it into the top of her open handbag.
She heard Jack’s key in the lock and hastily pinned a smile in place. Seconds. That’s all she’d had to spare. ‘Hi,’ she said, dropping her eyes to the post, hoping the slight tremble in her voice wasn’t obvious to him.
‘Hi yourself,’ he said, dropping his briefcase on the floor and his coat on the banisters. ‘You’re late home.’
‘Oh, someone was leaving and there was a bit of a do in the office after work. I felt obliged to pop in for a few minutes.’ Yet another lie falling glibly from her tongue.
He took her explanation without comment. ‘Mine?’ he asked, nodding at the letters.
‘Yes,’ she said, handing them over. ‘I was expecting an invoice from Freya’s university,’ she added. It might have been true; all the invoices for both Freya and Remi’s universities were addressed to her for convenience.
He frowned. ‘Didn’t you pay recently?’
‘It was for extras.’ She shrugged without elaborating.
Throwing his post, unopened, onto the hall table, he shook his head. ‘They’re going to cost us a fortune.’
It was impossible to miss the underlying worry in his words. Molly opened her mouth to ask him if everything was okay, giving him an opportunity to tell her what the problem was, but before she could get the words out he’d walked away and into the kitchen. Following him, she watched as he took a beer from the fridge, swigging from the bottle as if he couldn’t wait to get the alcohol into his system.
Her handbag was in her hand, looking down she could see the top of the sheet of paper. She was desperate to read it, and yet afraid to. What could the man possibly want with her?
‘Bad day?’ she asked, standing by the door.
‘Usual,’ Jack said shortly. ‘What’s for dinner?’
The wonderful Rebecca had always left something ready for them. All they had to do was pop it into the microwave or oven, following whatever instructions she left. We’ll eat out more often, Jack had said when she’d pointed this out to him, but during the week they were rarely in the mood to leave the house once they’d come in from work.
She’d planned to stock up with quick frozen ready meals but so far she’d not got around to buying them. ‘There’s pizza,’ she said, opening the freezer door.
‘Again?’ he muttered.
Clutching the door, she pressed her lips together. There was no point in getting into a row about who was responsible for dinner. ‘Or we could go out?’
He finished the beer and dropped the bottle on the counter. ‘Yes, good idea, let’s go back to O’Dea’s, the food was good last night.’
She shut the freezer, her hand resting on it for a moment before turning with a bright smile. ‘Fine, I’ll change into something more comfortable.’ He’d go as he was; he was as comfortable in his suit as in casual clothes. On the rare time they went out during the week, she preferred to change, to have that distinction between work and her social life. Tonight, it was more of an excuse for a few minutes’ privacy.
She shut the kitchen door quietly after her and forced herself to take the stairs slowly, when what she wanted to do was take the steps two at a time, desperate to see what was written on the sheet of paper. Closing their bedroom door, she pulled it from her bag and took it into the en suite. With the catch on the door, she sat on the toilet seat and unfolded it. It was badly written… childish almost… a spelling error in the six words that were sprawled across the page in a single line, no punctuation, no capitalisation.
we need to meat ring me
And underneath a mobile number.
She crumpled the page in one hand and held the other over her mouth. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered before smoothing out the creases to read again. The six words didn’t appear in any way threatening. But why on earth did he want to meet her?
He had looked so disgusted when she’d tried to kiss him… surely, he wasn’t thinking of blackmail. Apart from humiliating herself, she’d done nothing wrong. But was it a story she’d want told to Jack? Of course, it wasn’t.
She stood and flushed the toilet, in case Jack had come upstairs. But when she opened the door, the room was empty. Reaching for her handbag, she felt inside until her fingers closed over her phone. She took it out and returned to the bathroom.
A minute later, after a few attempts, she had composed a text she was happy with.
I’m sorry I misread the signals. I don’t want to meet you. Please don’t come to my house again. I’ve told my husband how stupid I was. Now I want to forget it happened.
She looked at it for a moment. It would do, wouldn’t it? It said she wasn’t interested in meeting him and hinted that there was no point in trying to blackmail her as her husband already knew. A convenient lie that looked convincing. Holding the page out, she keyed in the phone number and taking a breath, pressed send.