A barking dog or a car backfiring had woken her – Mackenzie wasn’t sure which – but part of her wished she’d died in her sleep. Her whole life was a mess.
Daylight poured into the bedroom, harsh and unwelcome, and with it flashes from the dinner party: postcards from hell – the stupid disagreement with Monica about children, spilling the wine, and the row with Adele. Somewhere in there, more disturbing than the rest was a vision of her screaming at Derek, attacking him. Mackenzie buried her head under the bedclothes feeling as bad as she’d ever felt in her life. The hangover was awful, the shame even worse.
All that mattered now was ending it.
She turned onto her side, trailing trembling fingers on the floor, searching for her bag and the mobile inside – unless she’d managed to lose the damned thing. The effort made her head spin and when her hand found the strap, she closed her eyes in relief and fell back, breathless and clammy and waited for the nausea to pass.
The number wasn’t in the directory, she’d memorised it. After a few seconds, a man answered and she lowered her voice. ‘Alec, it’s me. I need to speak to you.’
Derek was standing outside the door. He’d assumed she would be sleeping it off. Suddenly, the two Paracetamol and the cup of coffee seemed foolish. The conversation – one-sided though it was – wasn’t hard to understand. They were meeting in an hour. “Same place as last time.”
He turned and went back downstairs.
In the room, Mackenzie’s heart raced. What had she done? She wasn’t a brave person. Already doubt was eating her; she wasn’t sure she could go through with it. Sooner or later she’d have to face Derek. Be honest with him. Or settle for what she’d done so many times before – admit she was in the wrong and ask him to forgive her – promise it wouldn’t happen again and endure the familiar lecture. He’d ignore her for days, she’d accept it as part of her punishment, and things would continue as they had. But in the deepest part of her Mackenzie knew it had gone beyond that.
Since she was a child, at bedtime she’d folded her clothes over the back of a chair. This morning they were scattered all over the floor, signs of how drunk she’d been though her aching head and the emptiness in her stomach were all the proof needed. In the bathroom she turned on the shower and stayed under longer than usual. Then she dressed slowly and went down to face her husband.
Derek didn’t lift his eyes when she came into the lounge. Something was different. He spoke with an unexpected gentleness harder to bear than his anger.
‘You should ring Adele and apologise.’ Said without a trace of disapproval.
Mackenzie pulled on her coat. ‘I will. Later.’
‘Where’re you going?’ Asked casually, without interest.
‘Out. And so you know, I’ve come to a decision.’
So now he knew his name: Alec.
However much she denied it, however much he wanted to disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes and ears, it was true. The day in town had never had the slightest chance of changing anything between them. Not while there was another man in the background.
This morning of all mornings, after the fiasco she’d caused last night, when she should’ve been begging him to forgive her, the first thing Mackenzie had done was call this man. Alec…the name was enough to fill Derek Crawford with hate. And he wondered: once Alec had had her, did they lie together, naked, talking about him? Laughing at how easily she’d fooled him, asking questions about their sex life while his fingers casually played with her nipple?
Did she moan as it grew hard under his touch?
Derek pictured it and knew it would.
He balled his hand into a fist, put it to his mouth and bit down leaving bone-white indents on the knuckles. The images in his head tortured him, causing pain like he’d never known. Anger and jealousy were emotions any cuckolded husband would feel at a time like this. But he was shocked to discover another: lust. Like the day before in Buchanan Street: he’d wanted his wife, wanted to possess her, bring her to the climax of her life so she’d forget she’d ever seen her lover’s face or heard his name.
Derek fought to get hold of himself. Forgiveness was out of the question. He’d never forgive what she’d done, he was certain of that much. The bitch had betrayed him, betrayed him with a man called Alec.
He pulled on his jacket and went after her.
Sixty yards ahead Mackenzie walked purposefully, her high-heels clacking on the pavement. Derek’s longer stride closed the gap between them until he saw her get into the blue Vectra. Everything he’d felt drained out of him – there was no more anger, no more lust – only a desperate emptiness and a deep sense of loss as the car with his wife inside drew away. He turned and went back.
When he reached the house he was close to crying. Rage was the emotion now. He slammed the door hard enough to make the windows rattle, resentment spilling out of him. Who the fuck did she think she was? Had she forgotten how much he’d given her? The ungrateful bitch didn’t remember he was the one who’d rescued her, saved her from herself, loved her when no one else – even her own family – gave a fuck about her. And this was the thanks he got.
Derek thought about pouring himself a large whisky. No chance. They didn’t keep booze in the house. Mackenzie couldn’t be trusted not to finish the bottle. Just another example of how considerate he’d been with her many shortcomings.
He shouted at the top of his voice. ‘You bastard! You bastard, Mackenzie!’
So what if the neighbours heard? Fuck them as well. He lay on the couch, shaking with anger. After a while depression set in; he felt numb; useless. Looking round the lounge with its carefully-selected furniture he realised the house was too big and too quiet without her. His mind wandered, as it so often did now, to those early days – the good times – when everything had been wonderful.
The options were clear: cut her off without a coin and see how she survived without him, or win her back.
The shrill ring of the telephone brought him into the present. Reluctantly, he lifted the receiver and tried to sound his normal self. ‘Hello.’
‘Derek, it’s Adele. How’re things?’
‘Not good.’
‘She’s not still drinking, is she?’
‘I’m not sure. She’s not here. She’s gone out.’
‘Didn’t think she’d be in a fit state to go anywhere after her performance last night.’
He blew a frustrated breath down the line. ‘Well, she has. She was fired-up and waiting for me when I got home. No idea where she’s getting it. We had a huge bust-up. The worst ever. And she admitted the affair again. This morning I heard her on her mobile arranging to meet somebody called Alec.’
Mackenzie’s sister hesitated. ‘Is it him? Is it the man in Buchanan Street?’
‘Must be. She was whispering.’
Derek stopped short of telling how he’d skulked on the street like a dog abandoned by its master, spying on the wife who’d chosen another over him, his sexual confusion and the impotence of rejection.
Adele was sympathetic. Unlike Blair, she liked her brother-in-law and considered him too good for Mackenzie. ‘Oh, Derek, that’s terrible. I’ll speak to her. Get her to see sense. Time that lady heard a few home truths. Do you want me to come over?’
‘Too late for that. Told me she’d made a decision.’
There was nothing to say and for a minute they didn’t speak. Finally, Adele said, ‘My sister’s a silly bitch but she isn’t well. Honestly, Derek, she isn’t. Mackenzie loves you, even if she’s got a funny way of showing it.’
‘I’d like to believe that, I really would. But it’s gone too far. Hoped I’d never have to say this: she isn’t the only one who can make a decision.’
Alec ordered mugs of tea from the man behind the counter and they sat at a table in the café, away from the window. For two hours they talked, her speaking, him listening. Her hands shook, her stomach turned. Unhappiness poured from her, and when he described how much better the future would be, Mackenzie was in tears.
At the end of the conversation she was exhausted; saying it out loud had taken a toll on her. Before they went their separate ways he asked a question. ‘So, are we on?’
She baulked. ‘Don’t know if I’m strong enough yet. I’d hate to disappoint you again.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll take my chances.’
She put her hand on his arm, trusting him. ‘Just give me a little longer. I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Let’s keep things as they are.’
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. ‘Okay, but we can’t go on like this. Sooner or later you have to make a choice.’