Strike a match. Light the touchpaper. Sit back.
Although, to be honest, I’m a bit disappointed she’s not going to storm in and confront him straightaway. That’s what I was expecting to happen. What I was hoping for. Who knew she would be so calculated? I didn’t think she had it in her.
That’s the thing about Paula. She has hidden depths. When I first met her I thought she was a bit passive, a bit wet. She struck me as the kind of woman who would doggedly wait it out while her husband screwed around and then be there like a doormat when he decided to come home again.
Except, of course, Robbie wasn’t meant to be going home again. He was meant to be moving in with me once the coast was clear. And by ‘coast’, I mean Georgia, and by ‘clear’, I mean she’d left home and gone off to college or wherever she’s going. You know what I mean. I never was any good at metaphors. Or is that a simile? Anyway, you get my drift. Once Georgia had safely left the nest, unscathed by parental drama, Robert was planning to leave Paula, I was planning to leave Josh and we were going to set up home together.
That was the plan anyway.
Until, that is, he told me it was over a couple of weeks ago. Just like that. Out of nowhere. It was just before their stupid ‘staycation’, as Paula insisted on calling it. The day before, in fact. We were at my house. Robbie always got a thrill out of being in Josh’s bed. He hates Josh. I, despite everything, do not. Joshie is a thoroughly decent man. He’s kind, he’s sweet, he loves me. He’s good-looking, there’s no doubt about that. He’s successful in his own way. He’s just not very … exciting. He’s safe. And, at one point in my life, I thought that safe was what I wanted. Now I know better.
Anyway, Robbie and I were lying in bed in the middle of the day. I’ll admit I was a bit unsettled. All that talk from Paula about how attentive Robbie was suddenly being. All the hints about how he couldn’t keep his hands off her. It made me feel sick to my stomach but I couldn’t stop pressing her for details. I had to know the worst.
That’s what led me to making friends with her in the first place, if truth be told. I really had no interest in meeting up with some strange woman who I’d only ever spoken to because she spilt her champagne down me, except that I realized as soon as she suggested it that it was a golden opportunity to get an insight into Robbie’s life. He’s always been very closed about revealing personal things.
Back to the point – we’re lying in bed. Post-coital, just so you can picture it. Notice he got one last hurrah in before dumping me by the way, haha! I was asking him about something, I can’t even remember exactly what. But I know it had to do with him and Paula – something stupid and humiliating that I should have kept to myself, like when did he last sleep with her and who initiated it – when he suddenly sat up. He looked straight at me and I knew something wasn’t right.
‘Sas, we can’t keep doing this.’
I genuinely didn’t know what he meant at first. Meeting at my house? Doggy-style? Eating Ferrero Rocher? (I forgot to mention we were eating Ferrero Rocher at the time. He was trying to help me with my weight gain, even though I knew he hated the whole idea of it.) I think I said something along the lines of ‘What do you mean?’
‘This. Us.’
It hit me then. You’d have to have the skin of a rhino to miss what he was trying to say. I felt a rush of adrenalin, but I knew I had to keep my cool. Robbie hates hysteria in any form.
‘What’s brought this on?’
‘I can’t deal with the fact you don’t trust me.’
I’ll come clean. Since Paula had told me about his newfound affection, I’d had a bit of a wobble. And even though I obviously couldn’t tell him what my suspicions were based on, I had started to badger him about his wife and why he hadn’t left her yet and, most of all, why he had agreed to spend time exclusively with her for two weeks at a point when we were both off work and could have seen each other every day. I’d even started to look at flats for us to rent together when the time came. Just until we could sort out our divorces and buy something.
‘It’s not that I don’t trust you. Of course it’s not. I just had a moment, that’s all.’ I couldn’t say what I wanted to, which was that I had it from the horse’s mouth that he and Paula were shagging each other senseless again.
The thing with seeing someone who has a wife – or a husband, I suppose – is that you have to accept that they’re having sex with their partner sometimes. That’s a given and anyone who tells you they’re not is lying. But there’s ‘I’m doing this because I have to’ sex and there’s ‘I’m doing this because I fancy the arse off them’ sex. And Robbie had always been very clear that what he was doing was the former.
Side note: Josh and I still make love in a very pleasant but utterly routine fashion about once a week. Probably not bad going when you’ve been married for eight years but I wouldn’t really miss it if it stopped tomorrow.
‘You’ve been going on and on about it. It’s as if, after all we’ve been through, you still think I’m choosing her over you.’
I couldn’t help myself. ‘Well, you are spending this ridiculous two weeks with her.’ I was dying to add, ‘She told me it was all your idea, she told me you were desperate for the two of you to spend some alone time together,’ but of course I couldn’t so I had to plump for looking like a paranoid bunny-boiler.
‘For fuck’s sake. This is what I mean. I’ve told you and told you there’s no way of getting out of it. It’s only two fucking weeks.’
‘It’s not just that,’ I said, but then I couldn’t elaborate on what else it was so I didn’t say any more.
‘What then? What are you accusing me of exactly?’
He was getting angry, I could tell. I could feel tears welling up and I tried to blink them away because I knew they weren’t going to help.
‘Nothing. I’m not accusing you of anything. Forget it.’
‘You can’t just keep making little comments and then saying, ‘Forget I said anything,’ he said, and I knew he had a point. I’ll be the first to admit I had been doing that a bit lately.
‘OK then,’ I said, trying to sound as rational as I could. ‘I’ve been worried you were going to choose her over me. I’m being stupid, I know. I won’t mention it again, I promise. Just give me another chance.’
Christ, no one likes a beggar.
‘I think we need a break,’ he said, getting out of bed and reaching for his clothes. ‘I’m not saying permanently, but let’s slow things down a bit.’
And then I don’t know what came over me. I saw red. I’ve always been a bit of a green-eyed monster. With blue eyes, haha. Before I could stop myself I said, ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’
He yanked his T-shirt over his head then, almost ripping the sleeve.
‘I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. I’m leaving now, OK, let’s just take these next two weeks to think about things. Don’t call me, OK? Really, Sas, I mean it. Don’t call.’
A noisy sob escaped before I could stop it. Robbie and I almost never call each other anyway. It was a decision we made early on. No calling, no texting. We see each other almost every day at work so our rationale was that phoning must only be for emergencies. He was furious with me when I broke the rules by sending him a text that time after I answered his phone and it was Paula on the other end.
I panicked and wanted to stop it ringing in case one of the runners heard it, I thought they’d come in and grab it for him to be helpful. I was naked on his sofa at the time so it would have been a bit of a giveaway. He was in the shower. Stupidly risky, I know. We just got carried away. Usually, we’re much more discreet. We both learned a big lesson from that one, I can tell you.
I was lying when I told him I didn’t check who was calling, though. Of course I did. I knew exactly who was going to be on the other end when I said hello. I just wanted to hear what she sounded like, that’s all. There was no way in a million years I was going to give anything away, I’m far too good an actress for that.
When I sent the follow-up text I’d had a big glass of wine and I was filled with adrenalin thinking about what might have happened. I suppose I just wanted to relive the moment with him. A bit of excitement. I knew as soon as I pressed send that I shouldn’t have, and his curt reply confirmed that. So, no more texting. We got away with it that one time and we both agreed we shouldn’t do it again.
‘Promise me,’ he’s saying now. ‘I don’t want to have to spend the whole time guarding my phone in case you do something stupid.’
‘I won’t. Jesus Christ.’
‘We’ll talk in two weeks, OK? I’ll call you from the golf club when I know Josh will be at work.’
‘Please just say it’s not over,’ I said. I know, I know. Pitiful.
He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. I angled my face up so our mouths met, and I knew from the way he allowed it to happen that there was still hope.
‘Two weeks. Then we’ll talk.’