I’ve rehearsed this so many times in my head (and out loud to Adam) that I should be word perfect, but seeing the worried look on Michelle’s face gives me stage fright. I have forgotten my lines.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
I know that her immediate assumption will be that I’m going to tell her I’m seriously ill or that I’m emigrating to New Zealand. I know I have to put her out of that misery quickly and into a worse one. Shit. Here goes.
‘You know when you thought Patrick was having an affair? Well he is.’ I say it all in a rush to get it out there before I bottle out. I watch as her expression goes from confusion to heartbreak via disbelief. She knows I wouldn’t lie to her. Ironic, isn’t it?
‘I’m so sorry, Mich. I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you.’
Her first reaction is to laugh nervously. It must be obvious from my face, though, that this is no joke. ‘I don’t understand …’
She looks so vulnerable I reach a hand over the table and take one of hers.
‘I saw him … them. He was meant to be at football practice – that time I was with Adam and you called me, do you remember? We were sitting opposite the Covent Garden Hotel and Patrick came out with a woman.’
‘That was weeks ago …’
‘I know. I’ve been agonizing about how to tell you. And I wanted to make sure it was true first. That I wasn’t imagining things. It seems like it’s an open secret in the industry …’
She crumples. ‘No, Tam …’
‘I’m sorry.’
Michelle looks up. ‘Who is she?’
I try to keep my composure. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t really see her, Adam did—’
Michelle dives on this lifeline. ‘So he might have misinterpreted. Or it could have been Vic …’
Vic is Patrick’s older sister. She couldn’t look less like Bea if she tried, with her red curly hair.
‘It wasn’t Vic. This one had long dark hair, I saw that much.’
‘How does Adam even know what Patrick looks like anyway?’
‘He doesn’t. I saw Patrick come out, and I knew he wasn’t meant to be there so I guessed something was up. I turned away so he didn’t spot me and told Adam to see if he could make out what he was doing. He saw a woman come out and, well, apparently it was obvious they weren’t just colleagues. He told me when it was safe to look, so I just saw the back of her. They were holding hands.’
Please God don’t let anyone be taping my testimony for use in court. It would never stand up to cross-examination.
Michelle lets out a sob. ‘And all these people who apparently know all about it, they have no idea who she is either?’
‘It doesn’t seem so. I think it’s true, Mich. I wouldn’t have told you otherwise.’
‘So all the evenings he’s working late …?’
I nod. ‘I think so.’
‘Do you think he’s with her tonight? All night?’
‘I don’t know. It looks like it. Where’s he meant to be?’
‘Manchester.’
‘Do you know what hotel he’s supposed to be staying in?’
She shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe he’d do this. There must be an innocent explanation.’
‘He came home that night, right? The night you called me when I was with Adam?’
‘Yes.’
‘So we could ring the hotel and see if he had a room booked. I mean, why would you book a room if you were only going to be there for a couple of hours?’
‘Oh my God,’ Michelle says, as if it’s just starting to sink in. ‘Do you think that’s what they do?’
‘God knows. But it’s worth a try.’
‘They’re not just going to tell me something like that.’
‘We can make something up – say we think he left something there …’
‘Hold on – what about when I was worried before and you called his office. It turned out we were wrong. How do you explain that?’
How indeed?
‘That must have been genuine. Same as some of his nights away probably are, I guess.’
‘We were going to have a baby.’ Big plump tears run down her face. I squeeze her hand.
‘I know. Awful as it is, it would have been worse to find this out after you were pregnant.’
Please agree with me. Please say yes, thank goodness for that lucky escape. No such luck.
‘Maybe it’s a one-off thing. Maybe it’s the idea of having kids. He just had a bit of a mid-life crisis or something. That might be it, mightn’t it?’
Shit. She’s going to try to find a way to forgive him.
‘I think it’s been going on for a while. And … I wasn’t going to tell you this bit, but I don’t think she’s the first.’
‘Why agree to the baby then? It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘No it doesn’t. I don’t know.’
‘I’m going to call him,’ Michelle says and she reaches for her phone. I need her to believe what I am saying is unequivocally true before he starts poisoning her with stories about me.
‘Hold on. Let’s try and find some proof first. What about his credit card bills?’
She sniffs. Thankfully sets her mobile back down. ‘He gets them online, I think. I don’t know his password. I never thought there was reason to ask.’
‘So phone the hotel it is, then. What’s the worst that can happen? That they won’t tell us anything? It’s worth a try.’
‘OK. You do it, though. I can’t.’
I google the number and then dial with the phone on speaker. I already know what I’m going to say, obviously, because this was all part of the plan. After a couple of rings a woman answers.
‘Covent Garden Hotel.’
I hesitate, not sure if I can carry this off.
‘Hi. My husband stayed with you a few weeks ago and he thinks he left something behind in the room. Is there any way you can check?’
‘Of course. What date was it?’
‘September the twenty-fourth.’ I have this date embossed on my brain.
I hear her clicking away on a computer.
‘And your husband’s name is?’
‘Patrick Mitchell.’
‘Ah yes, Mr Mitchell,’ she says, as if she only saw him yesterday. I hear Michelle gasp. She looks as if she’s about to be sick.
Click click click.
‘He was in room four two four, and there’s no record of anything having been handed in to us after he left. What is it he’s lost?’
‘His watch. To be honest he didn’t realize until a couple of days later so he could have mislaid it anywhere really …’
Now I just want to get off the phone and look after my friend.
‘Thanks for your help.’
The helpful receptionist isn’t having it, though. ‘I’ll certainly ask housekeeping if anyone remembers seeing anything. Is there a number I can reach you on if I have any luck?’
‘Oh … I’m going away for a few days … to a health spa where I won’t have my phone with me … don’t worry …’ Shut up, Tamsin.
‘Well, we have Mr Mitchell’s number on file, so I could always call him. Oh, I see he’s booked in again on Sunday. I’ll make a note for someone to let him know then if we find anything.’
I look at Michelle and she’s staring at me wide-eyed. I can’t get off the phone quickly enough.
‘Perfect. Thank you.’
I end the call without waiting for her response. Michelle breaks down in noisy tears. I get up and head round to her side of the table, leaning down to hug her. She sobs into my jumper.
‘He’s taking her there on Sunday,’ she says when she emerges. ‘He told me he had football again. I don’t think I can bear it.’
‘He’s a bastard. I’m sorry, but he is.’
‘What am I going to do?’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ I say. I can already see a plan forming. ‘Just bear with me.’