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The written phrases make my vision swim.Shouldn’t have done it. We were drunk. It was great but it can’t happen again.
Emily fucked her boss.
I toss the iPad down, not wanting to touch it. She drunk-fucked her boss for a promotion. My Emily. Holier-than-thou Emily. She cheated on me. No wonder she was so shitty during the holiday. Was it because she was struggling with the guilt?
A second, more awful thought dawns on me. The drinking on holiday when she was pregnant and hadn’t told me. In the long weeks she was in the coma, I’d fought those niggling questions in my head about why she’d been drinking if she thought she might be pregnant. Why she was so moody. Now the answers are coming to me with crystal clarity.
The miscarriage she had in the hospital. The pregnancy I grieved for.
Was that baby even mine?
80
Freddie
Fucking bitch fucking bitch fucking bitch.
Have I ever known her at all? Emily the blackmailer. Emily the liar. Emily the cheat. I drank more whiskey and went to bed at about two but only managed maybe forty minutes of restless sleep, then got up early and came back downstairs again. I can’t be near her. The walls of the house are more comforting, like a protective womb around me.
I pour myself a third cup of coffee from the machine, my nerves jangling as the rumbling pipes overhead come to a stop. She’s out of her shower, and that’s my cue to start her breakfast. I need to stay calm. I need to figure out my plan with a cool head. I have to be kind to her just in case she talks to anyone. She needs to think I still love her. I still care. Idocare. I care about that one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. On top of the life insurance, that will leave me very comfortable. Maybe I could move to France for a while. Spend time with my mum’s French family. They’ve always wanted to see me more since her death. I could start a little bed-and-breakfast there maybe. A life with no stress.
There’s a friendly knock on the door as I’m about to start chopping the peppers, onions, and mushrooms Emily says she wants in her omelet, and it’s Merrily Watkins there, a big smile on her ruddy face. Another wave of irritation passes through me. No wonder she’s smiling. Emily happily gave her a twenty-five-grand job. Why would she do that? Is she thinking she can kick me out with nothing? Pay the mortgage herself?
“Sorry to bother you.” Merrily cuts through my thoughts. “But our Portaloo hasn’t turned up yet. Not going to be here until the day after tomorrow. Will it be all right for us to pop in here when the need takes us? I’ll tell the boys to take their boots off.”
“Of course, no problem. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Help yourself.”
“Excellent. We’ll get on. Hopefully we won’t be too noisy for you.”
“Great.” I smile but don’t encourage any more conversation or offer any drinks, and she treks back toward the wreck of our garden.
I grip the waxy green pepper tight, but still the small paring knife slips as I try to cut into it so I swap it out for one of the larger, sharper knives and start to slice. I have no appetite myself. It was bad enough finding out about the money, but the thought of Emily cheating has destroyed me. How could she do that? What happened to the Emily I fell in love with? How much did she want that promotion?
There have been times over the months when I’ve wondered if maybe I nudged her over the edge when we were on that ridge, but I know I didn’t. Deep down I know I didn’t push her and I did my best to grab her hand. God, if I had that time again.
The words keep going round in my head,Fucking bitch fucking bitch fucking bitch, and they mix with the buzzing of the bees and I chop harder and harder.
Marriage is teamwork, Emily, I think.It’s time you played your part.
“Freddie.” She breezes into the kitchen in a pretty dress and with makeup on. What’s all that for? She looks happy,smug, as she comes up close to me and touches my arm. “We need to talk.”
This is it. The woman who cheated on me is now going to say she’s divorcing me.Fucking bitch.All thoughts of keeping her sweet vanish from my mind.
“I know about the money, Emily,” I growl as a red mist comes over me. “And I know you fucked that wanker behind my back, youdisgusting slut.” A red mist the same color as the red room walls, as if it’s crept inside me overnight. “You’re a fucking bitch.”
Her eyes widen as I step closer, at first confused, and then horribly surprised.
“What?” I say. And then I look down.
81
Emily
“Freddie.” I virtually bounce into the kitchen, almost without a limp, and get right up close so he can see I’ve made an effort. I wanted to do this last night but he was tired after work and clearly not in a great mood, but this morning is different. He’s cooking me breakfast even though I’m too excited to eat. I thought I wouldn’t sleep last night, but I was out like a light so I’m fully refreshed. I’mglowing.
I’m wearing a dress, one that I last wore on a date night before I did that awful thing—a different life ago. I smile at him, unable to contain my happiness. I was thinking of hiding one of the three tests I’ve taken in a row—I had to be certain this time—somewhere he’d find it, but I want to look him in the eyes and share the news. Maybe I’ll even be honest about the other thing. I want to go into this with a clean slate, and maybe if I tell him how much I instantly regretted it, he’ll forgive me. Secrets are the death of trust. I’ve kept the tests though—they’re tucked away in the back of my underwear drawer for now. Mementos already. I’m so excited. He’s going to be so happy. I go up close to him and touch his arm. “We need to talk.”
It’s only now that I’m inches from his face that I can see that something’s wrong. His arm is so tense under my fingertips that his muscles might snap. His eyes are dark and angry. More than angry. He looksmad.