With other things occupying my thoughts, I completely forgot that my car still hadn’t come back from its service, and it’s not until the morning that I realize I can’t drop Olivia over to Beth’s house like I normally do on a Saturday.
“Is there any chance you can pick Olivia up from here?” I ask when I call her.
“Mmm, it’s going to be a bit tricky,” she says. “Is Nathan there?”
“Er, yes,” I say absently, wondering when, and if, I’m going to be brave enough to ask him about the earring.
“So, can you not borrow his car to drop Olivia over?” says Beth.
“I guess so,” I reply, wondering why she can’t pick up from here, just this once. “Actually, I might see if Nathan can drop her over. I think he’s got a few things to do out and about this morning.”
There’s a muffled silence at the end of the line. “No, don’t worry,” she says, suddenly. “I’ll come and get her, but can you have her ready to come out? I’ll text when I’m outside.”
“Yep, sure. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just running really late and I’ve got a million and one things to do.”
“Okay, well if you’re sure you don’t mind. I’ll pick them up after dance class and drop Millie back.”
“Thanks,” she says. “That would be great.”
I’m in the hallway, helping Olivia with her shoes, when the doorbell goes.
“Oh God, that’ll be Beth,” I say as I struggle with the buckle. “Quick, get your ballet shoes. They’re in the bag in the utility room.”
I swing open the door to find a beaming woman standing on the other side, peering through the foliage of a huge bouquet of flowers.
“Are you the lucky lady?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, though my brain is working overtime as it tries to recall today’s date and its possible significance. Have I forgotten our wedding anniversary, or the day we met? Both of which we normally celebrate.
“I guess so,” I say, holding out my hands.
“Mind, they’re heavy,” she says. “There’s been a fair few quid spent on these.”
I don’t need her to tell me how generous the sender has been. That much is obvious. “Thanks,” I say, as I take the weight in my arms.
She’s already in her van and pulling away by the time I’ve opened the card.
To my darling Rachel
Sorry, please forgive me.
I love you.
x
I re-read the card a couple of times in confusion, but the message is too short for me to have misread.
“Blimey, what have you done to deserve those?” asks Sophia sleepily as she comes down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. I quickly shove the card into my jeans pocket.
I smile tightly at her, my lips pressed firmly together. “I have no idea.”
My phone is pinging with messages from Beth to say she is outside.
“Go, go, go,” I say to Olivia as she rushes past me in the hall, only to get to the front door and turn around to come back and give me a kiss.
“See you later,” she says. “Love you.”
“Oh, you really didn’t have to,” jests Nathan as I walk into the kitchen, the flowers weighing heavily in my arms. I watch him closely as he looks at them, waiting for some kind of recognition. “I don’t even think we’ve got a vase big enough. What’s the occasion anyway? Who are they from?”
I look to him, to Sophia and back again. She must see the expression I’m trying so hard to disguise as she grabs a banana from the bunch going brown in the fruit bowl and scoots out of the room.
I resist the temptation to fix myself a stiff drink, even though I could kill for the shot of confidence that alcohol usually gives me. I reluctantly fill the kettle instead.
“Oh, by the way,” I say flippantly, though inside I’m anything but. “Thanks for letting me use your car yesterday.”
Nathan looks up from his iPad and waits for me to continue.
The earring is burning a hole in my pocket. “I’m not sure what it is, but I found this in it.” I fish around in my jeans and hold it up in front of him.
He looks at it quizzically. “I’d suggest it’s an earring.”
“Well, yes, I appreciate that, but whose is it?”
He looks to me then back at the earring. “I don’t know.”
“Well, who’s been in your car? Perhaps we can narrow it down that way and get it back to them.” I’m aware of an edge creeping into my voice and try harder to keep my tone neutral.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re implying here.”
“I’m not implying anything,” I say. “I’d just like to get the earring back to its rightful owner.”
“Perhaps it’s Sophia’s,” he says.
“No, I’ve checked with her.”
“Well, it’s probably one of her friends’ then.”
I watch as his brain goes into overdrive, much like mine has done for the past eighteen hours, the only difference being, he must know the answer.
“Have any of them been in your car?” I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders.
“You know what it’ll be,” he says suddenly. “I bet it’s the valet parking company at the airport.”
Funny how our minds think alike.
“You hear all sorts of crazy things going on with them; some cars get taken home by the staff for the weekend or even worse, get written off by some nineteen-year-old employee who thinks he can handle a three-liter engine.”
I nod, unconvinced.
“So, who are they from?” he asks, tilting his head in the direction of the flowers.
“You, I guess,” I say, bluntly.
He smiles. “If I’d known what kind of mood you were going to be in this morning, I can assure you I would have sent them to put a smile on your face, but alas, I’m not a psychic. Maybe they’re from lover boy.”
I look at him, momentarily bewildered.
“David Phillips.” He smiles. “Crikey, how many possibilities are there?”
I pull the florist’s card from my pocket and throw it across the worktop toward him.
“Who’s Rachel?” I ask tersely.
He shrugs his shoulders. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Where did this come from?”
“You must think I’m stupid,” I hiss.
“What on earth…” he starts, as I snatch the card from his grasp.
“Please forgive me,” I mimic snidely. “I love you.”
He looks at me as if I’m mad.
“What have you done wrong, Nathan? Why do you need to apologize to Rachel?”
“This is ridiculous. What the hell has got into you?”
“Don’t make this my problem,” I say, unable to stop my voice rising. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
He makes a good show of looking baffled and I can almost hear his brain whirring. “I have no idea who Rachel is or what you’re going on about.”
“So, these flowers—” I pick them up and throw them back down angrily—“have absolutely nothing to do with you? That’s really bad luck on your part if they’ve inadvertently been sent to your wife instead of your mistress.” I laugh sarcastically. “You couldn’t make it up, could you?”
“Are you honestly being serious?” He attempts to laugh. “Where is all this coming from?”
I snigger derisively and shake my head. “So you’ve no idea who they’re for or who they’re from?”
“No,” he says eventually. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll give the florist a call—see what’s going on.”
“You do that,” I snap.
Sophia gingerly puts her head around the kitchen door and I immediately hate myself for giving in to my insecurities, knowing that they will only manifest themselves in her as well. I pack my anxieties away and resolve to only reveal them when she’s not around.
“I’m going into town with Megan,” she says quietly.
“Do you want me to drop you at the station?” asks Nathan. “I’ve got to get the car cleaned anyway.”
And check it for any other jewelry? I say to myself.
“Can we get Megan on the way?”
“Sure,” he says, and Sophia offers a smile before heading up the stairs.
I busy myself with wiping down the worktops. “If I haven’t got my car back in time, I’ll need you to pick the girls up from ballet and drop Millie back to her house.”
He groans. “Do I have to? That means I’ll get stuck talking to another nutty mum from school.”
“It’s Beth,” I say. “She’s as far removed from a nutty mum as you can get.” Though if he knew her life story he might beg to differ. “She’s the one I go out with.”
“You see her a lot, don’t you?”
I nod. “We get on really well. She’s the only mum at that school who is remotely on my wavelength.”
“Yet I still haven’t met her?” He poses it as a question, and when I look at him, he raises his eyebrows as if he expects an answer. “For all I know, she could be a completely fictitious figure that you’ve invented as a cover story.”
“What?” I say, incredulously. “Do you want to come on one of our girlie nights out?”
“Well, how do I know that’s where you’re really going? You could be doing anything. You certainly claim to see ‘Beth’ a lot.” He puts her name into speech marks with his fingers.
I can’t help but laugh.
“It sounds preposterous, right?” he says.
“Absolutely.”
“So imagine how I feel when you bandy ridiculous accusations around. It wouldn’t ever occur to me that you’re doing anything other than what you tell me. I trust you with all my heart and I thought you did me.”
I bow my head, almost embarrassed for the way I’ve behaved. I’m not a vulnerable teenager in a tempestuous relationship. I’m a grown woman who has never questioned Nathan’s loyalty in the nine years we’ve been together. So, why am I so quick to now?
“I’m sorry,” I say, going toward him and cupping his face in my hands. “I don’t know what I was thinking. The earring and then the flowers…”
He kisses my forehead. “Why don’t you take some time out this morning?” he says, with a look of genuine concern on his face. “Have a breather—sit down and put your feet up?”
Maybe that’s exactly what I need. How could I have believed, for just a second, that Nathan would be unfaithful to me? I chastise myself for allowing my drug- and, if I’m honest, alcohol-addled brain to think the worst. I have enough neurosis to deal with—I can’t afford to let paranoia, created by the very poisons that I take to dull my nerve endings, overwhelm me. How pathetically ironic.
“Okay, let’s go, Sophia!” Nathan says, as he stands up and reaches for his car keys on the worktop.
“See you later, Mum,” Sophia calls out, just before the front door slams.
Overcome with relief, I sit at the kitchen island and contemplate the jobs I need to do with a renewed sense of purpose. There’s the washing, the food shop, and all the other wonderfully banal chores that Saturday mornings bring. But first, I should let Beth know that Nathan is dropping Millie back home.
I text:
Thanks for coming to get Liv this morning. Hope you’ve caught up with everything you needed to do. Just to let you know that Nathan will be dropping Millie back after ballet x
Even as I type it, I feel a little uneasy, after the conversation I’ve just had with Nathan. Of all the days for him to finally meet Beth, he goes and implies that she might not even exist!
I receive a message back from Beth almost immediately.
No, don’t worry—I’ll grab the girls x
Me: It’s honestly not a problem x
Beth: I’ll drop Olivia home, but can’t stop x
Me: Okay, if you’re sure x
Beth: Yep x
I leave a message on Nathan’s voicemail and then call the florist to let them know of their mistake. I’d hate for poor Rachel to be none the wiser about the olive branch that was being offered by whoever had upset her. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.
“Hello, Roses Florist, how can I help you?” I can hear Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” playing in the background.
“Oh, hi,” I start. “I’ve had some flowers delivered today, but they’ve come to me by mistake.”
“Oh goodness,” the woman on the other end of the line says. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“It’s no problem, I just want to make sure they get to the right person.”
“That’s very kind of you. Most people wouldn’t bother and would keep them for themselves.”
Really?
I give her my name and address and listen as she hums along to the song. I imagine her running a finger down a list.
“Ah yes, here it is,” she says. “24 Orchard Drive. That’s the address I’ve got.”
“That’s my address,” I say. “But there’s no Rachel here.”
She hums a little more. “Well, I don’t know what’s happened there then, but they’ve definitely gone to the correct address.”
“Well, do you have the sender’s name? Perhaps you could give them a call to make sure they’ve given you the right address?”
“The sender is a Mr. Davies, but I don’t seem to have a phone number for him. Oh, that’s annoying.”
“Wait,” I say, as a buzzing sound rings in my ears. “Nathan Davies sent them?”
“Yes, do you know him?” Her voice is hopeful, eager to solve the mystery.
“He’s my husband,” I say, ignoring the band of pressure that is tightening around my head.
“Well, there you go then,” she says happily. “They have gone to the right place.”
She has no idea what she’s just done.
Tears fill my eyes as I end the call and stare at the phone in disbelief. Nathan must have ordered them to go to another address, but they’ve sent them to his billing address by mistake. I imagine how furious he must have been at their faux pas, and how well he kept his emotions in check while he was professing his undying love for me.
I take the stairs, two at a time, to our bedroom, feeling like a drug addict desperate for a fix. I want to numb the pain, but I know that once I find what I’m looking for, it will only multiply it tenfold. It doesn’t stop me though—I have to know.
Nathan’s wardrobe looks like a display in an exclusive men’s boutique. A row of identical white shirts hangs above a shelf of neatly stacked handkerchiefs, a separate pile for each color.
I realize I don’t actually know exactly what I’m looking for as I carefully lift the lid of his watch box. I pull out the miniature drawers and finger his cufflinks; I recognize them all. His underwear drawer reveals nothing new and I even find myself looking at the bottom of his shoes, though for what, I’m not quite sure. Do I really believe my sleuthing skills are so advanced that I would be able to determine the ground type from the tiny pitted indents on his soles? And from that, establish that he visited a particular hotel, with a certain type of woman? I laugh hollowly at how insane this all is.
I bend to pick up the laundry I’d left by the door, and just out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Nathan’s overnight holdall. It will be empty by now; he’s been home for three days and it’s not in his nature to leave things in there. He wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of them getting creased. I drop the washing again and wander slowly toward the bag lying beside his shoe rack. I’m filled with a sense of foreboding, as if I already know that something incriminating is lurking in there. I almost wait for it to jump out as I approach, willing it to, so that I know my suspicions are warranted. Why would any wife wish that on herself?
I unzip the various compartments, saving the inner pocket, the section most likely to harbor a secret, until last. I pull out a small bundle of Japanese yen, folded around a piece of paper. If I knew my world was about to implode, I wonder if I would’ve just slipped it back in, zipped it up, and walked away.
The headed paper is concise enough; The Conrad Hotel. I smile as I read Room Service Breakfast, imagining him sat at a table in front of a floor to ceiling window, eating his eggs benedict, overlooking the vast metropolis of Tokyo below.
I think I’d already seen the x2, printed beside the a la carte breakfast, before I’d even pictured him. I guess it’s the brain’s automatic attempt to derail us; to un-see what’s already been seen.
I gaily carry on tracing down the bill with my finger, in staunch denial of what I know to be there. I smile as I see he’d had five of his favorite G&Ts during his stay, but choose to ignore the four cosmopolitan cocktails. I marvel that he’d had time to get a full body massage in the spa, yet pretend not to see the word “couples” written in front of it.
I make sure to fold it neatly, just the way it was, and fight against the overwhelming heat that is rising up from my toes. I try to stand, but feel giddy and collapse back down. I’m sure it doesn’t say what I think it said. I must be mistaken. Perhaps I’ll take another look later on, just to make sure I didn’t see what I know I saw.
I’m not going to cry, but a ball of fear is pushing itself upward through my stomach and into my chest. Once there, I know I won’t be able to stop the tears and crushing feeling it will bring.
I look numbly at the washing on the floor. Nathan’s socks are entwined with his handkerchiefs, and my autopilot kicks in. The laundry still needs to be done, regardless of whether its owner is being unfaithful or not. I pick it up and force myself to sing a song as I carry it down the stairs.
It’s only after I load up the machine, set it to an express cycle and press start, that I allow the desolation to engulf me. I slide down the wall of the utility room, put my head in my hands, and sob.