‘I’d kill for you,’ David says. ‘Do you know that?’
It’s a strange, mixed-up, almost clichéd thing to say. It’s supposed to convey a degree of romanticism, as if anyone would want that. But who would? It’s an incomprehensibly manic idea to love a person so much that killing someone else is somehow acceptable.
‘Why would you say that?’ I ask.
‘Because it’s true.’
For perhaps the first time in our relationship, I genuinely believe him. The doorbell sounds three times in rapid succession and I jump to my feet, spurred on by the urgency.
‘Don’t go,’ David says.
He trails me all the way to the door and, when I open it, Ben is standing there.
‘How’s it going, Morgs?’ he asks.
‘It’s been worse.’
He glances past me towards David and then pushes the door wider. ‘Shall we go?’
I take a breath and then step outside, where the rain continues to lash: ‘Yes.’
I quick-step across the pavement to his car and clamber into the passenger side, before clipping my seat belt into place. Ben slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. I slouch slightly, watching David in the doorway of my flat as we pull away. He stands unmovingly, leaning with one hand above his head, resting on the frame. It’s only a few seconds until we are around the corner and out of sight.
‘Are you all right?’ Ben asks.
‘I am now. Thanks for coming.’
We drive in silence for a while, following the road out of Gradingham until we reach the welcome sign. After that, the street lights are behind us and darkness looms.
‘Jane’s worried,’ Ben says.
I turn sideways to take him in, though his eyes are focused on the road.
‘What about?’
‘About you and David. She thinks he’s taking advantage. That he’s living with you rent-free and that you pay for everything.’
‘It’s not like that,’ I say.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘He works hard.’
‘Are you telling me, or yourself?’
I open my mouth to reply and then realise that I don’t know what to say. We both know that Ben’s right.
‘He was never one of my friends at university,’ Ben says.
‘Jane told me.’
‘I’d wanted to say something for ages. Jane and I talked about it, but the time never felt right. We figured you’d break up sooner or later. After a while, it was too late.’
‘Does it matter whether you were friends?’
Ben continues driving, missing a beat, and then says: ‘Maybe not. But if he lied about something your friends could easily disprove, then what else would he lie about?’
He leaves it there, though I’m not ready to cave on the point quite yet.
‘David’s just… misunderstood,’ I say. ‘He’s unorthodox.’
Ben takes a hand off the steering wheel and touches my arm. It only lasts a moment but, in that second, I know we both feel something. Almost as soon as he put his hand there, he removes it again.
‘Why did you marry him?’ Ben asks.
‘Why haven’t you married Jane?’
He laughs a little, but it feels more like deflection than anything humorous. ‘I’m sure we will,’ he says.
‘You’ve been together a long time.’
‘Maybe I’m not the marrying type…?’
‘You’re not answering the question.’
‘Neither are you.’
Ben reaches forward and adjusts the air conditioning. For a few moments, we sit and listen to the warm air firing through the vents and then I can’t take it any longer.
‘I didn’t want to be alone,’ I say. He doesn’t reply, so I continue: ‘Do you remember when I broke up with Gary? It was at Jane’s birthday party at your house. I’d lost my job, too and you told me that everything would come together.’
‘I remember.’
‘I thought everything was going to fall apart, but then I met David on your stairs and… it didn’t. Things got better.’
‘But was that because of him – or because of you?’
There’s quiet again as I wonder if he has a point.
‘Did you know him at all at university?’ I ask.
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘He was a weirdo. It didn’t help that he was older than everyone, but that wasn’t a problem in itself. It was more how he was. He’d have all these stories about how he was a great footballer as a teenager – but he was terrible. He tried out for almost every club. He was a great climber – except he couldn’t even get a quarter of the way up a wall. He’d been in a choir all his life – but couldn’t sing a note. He’d acted in numerous plays but fell out with everyone in the drama club. Most societies had stories about him. I thought he was probably lonely – but nobody’s going to make friends by trying to join clubs and acting like they’re an expert when they’re obviously not.’
I don’t reply. It’s hard to know whether it matters. Whether it would have made a difference if I’d known this when David and I first met. It probably wouldn’t, although, with all I know now, I suppose it’s hard to reach any conclusion other than that my husband is a habitual and compulsive liar.
‘He told me he was off to Newcastle one time,’ I say. ‘But then I found him at the service station outside Kingbridge. He was hiding because he was basically unemployed. I don’t know if he has a job at all. I’m never sure when he’s telling the truth.’
Ben sighs. He takes his hand from the wheel and, for a moment, I think he’s going to take my hand. I anticipate it, I want it – but then he grips the gearstick and changes down, before returning his hand to the wheel.
‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ he says.
We say little for the rest of the journey. The dark lanes soon become well-lit suburbs and then we’re into Kingbridge and the estate on which Ben and Jane live. Ben pulls onto the driveway, takes my night bag from the boot, and then unlocks the house to let me in. I wait in the hall as he locks the door behind us.
‘The spare bed is already made up,’ he says. ‘There’s a bit of a new paint smell in there – but it’s from weeks ago and shouldn’t be too bad. We’ve been leaving windows open, but it’s still taking ages.’
He puts my bag on the bottom step and then turns to the living room.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks. ‘There’s wine in the fridge, or whatever you want…?’
‘Wine sounds good.’
He ushers me into the living room and I wait on the sofa. Moments later, he comes in from the kitchen with a pair of glasses and a bottle. He sits next to me, before emptying a good third of the bottle into my glass. He fills his with the same amount.
‘Shall we drink to something?’ he asks.
‘Old friends…?’
He clinks my glass with his. ‘To friends. Old and new.’
We drink and then he presses back onto the sofa. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.
‘Not really.’
‘Is there something you want to watch on TV? We’ve got Netflix, plus there’s iPlayer and so on.’
I pause for a second. David controls the television in the apartment and it is perhaps only now that I realise how uncomplicated life is for Jane and Ben. No games. No tall stories. A normal life with normal people.
‘I’m not in the mood,’ I say.
We sit for a short while, each sipping at our wine; each too afraid to say any more. It’s Ben who finally crosses the divide. He puts his glass on the table and twists to face me.
‘Jane’s away until morning,’ he says.
That’s it. All he’s doing is stating a fact of which we are both aware – but we each know that’s not what he’s saying at all.
I put my glass on the table and turn to face Ben and we both know what happens next.