Page 57 of The Girlfriend

“No, you’re not. You’re thinking of yourself.”

“Okay, yes, mostly I am. I’m unhappy, aren’t you?”

Laura didn’t dare answer; she didn’t want to admit it.

“It’s been years, Laura. How long are we supposed to go on?

Do you want to spend the rest of your life living like this?

The two of us barely functioning together?

Don’t you think you’ll look back and think it was time—valuable, precious time—wasted?

How much longer do the two of us even have?

In a few years, I’ll be sixty. Sixty! If I can’t do something about it now, when do I change things?

When I’m seventy? Eighty? But, also, I think you’re unhappy too.

If I go, it leaves you free to change things. Maybe find someone else.”

Anger burned in her. “I don’t need your relationship counseling, thanks. I planned for the first marriage to work.”

He looked at her sadly. “So did I.” Then he stood. “I think it’s better if I don’t stay. For what it’s worth, I was at a conference. Marianne came to see me this morning at the office.”

Of course, it would be that the one time she confronted him on his infidelity, he was innocent. Laura hated the whole sorry situation. She wanted to kick and scream at the unfairness of it all.

He picked up his jacket. “Has Daniel been in touch?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

There seemed nothing else to say. Howard went into the hallway. Laura waited, then, urged by a need to see him leave, maybe to hope he wouldn’t, followed.

“Are you all right?”

“Fantastic, considering my husband’s just left me.”

“You can divorce me. You have the grounds. But, actually, I meant, are you all right about Daniel?”

Tears burned in Laura’s eyes. She wanted to say no, wanted him to come and comfort her, for them to have a relationship where this could happen. But they didn’t, and loneliness swamped her and made her bitter.

“Seems he takes after his father in choosing the wrong woman.”

She’d meant Marianne, but too late realized it could have been her.

Humiliated, she turned and went back into the kitchen.

She waited until she heard the elevator descend to the basement and knew Howard would be getting into his car.

Sure enough, she heard the vehicle elevator rise.

Somewhere out there, he drove off to the woman he loved.

She picked up her wine and her hand shook.

Was this all part of her punishment? Had she started herself along this long, awful, destructive path? The wine stuck in her throat.

I am a liar.

* * *

The house seemed very big and very empty when Laura got up the next morning.

For the first time since she’d moved in, she didn’t feel entirely comfortable in it.

She suddenly “saw” it, was conscious of doors, walls, and furniture.

Things that she’d been so used to that they were comfortingly invisible suddenly appeared odd, as if she didn’t quite recognize them.

A chair in the corner of the living room.

Mirrors reflecting her face back at her.

She was keen to leave it and get to work as quickly as possible.

She got a cab, which took her as far as Drury Lane.

There was some disruption up ahead, the traffic was solid; and even as they waited, an ambulance wailed behind them, desperate to reach its injured charge, but unable to move.

Cars inched up onto pavements. Laura decided to walk the rest of the way.

In the time she’d paid the driver and left the cab, the ambulance had edged forward only another few meters and she felt for the person who was waiting for it.

Never be in an emergency in London, she thought ruefully.

You could lie bleeding to death and no one could get to you because of the congestion.

She headed in the direction of whatever crisis was taking place, planning to turn down a side street.

Just before she veered away, she looked up toward the incident.

Two or three cars had obviously made contact—she could make out some crushed doors and a ruptured hood.

Then, awfully, a man, a cyclist lying in the road.

His bike was a short distance from his feet, the back wheel mangled.

She was about to go and see if she could help, but there was an ambulance car already there, with two paramedics obviously waiting for their backup.

The police were holding people back. She shuddered and hoped he was okay.

He looked young; he had a backpack on. She thought about his mother when the ambulance finally went past her, lights flashing frantically, a desolate wail every now and then to remind people to get out of the way.

She turned off down a narrow street, then another, and headed toward the office.

She walked quickly; the accident had unsettled her even more and she wanted to get to work.

The show was gearing up for filming and the heads of departments—art, costume, makeup, camera, and the director—would start prepping in a couple of weeks.

When she thought about that, she got the familiar surge of excitement, mixed with an anxiety-infused thrill at what they were about to begin, the juggernaut of production, all for a few minutes a day caught on camera.

She had to go and visit some locations today and later meet with the casting director to view tapes of auditions for some of the secondary characters.

Laura’s right shoe was sticking to the pavement, so, in disgust, she stopped and lifted her foot behind her.

Chewing gum! Yuck! As she was trying to scrape it off, there was a noise, a cough.

Someone behind her had stopped as well. She lowered her foot and stood there for a minute, fear seeping in as an acknowledgment of her stupidity crept up on her.

She was in a sort of quiet backstreet, enclosed by buildings on both sides, a link between two thoroughfares.

She sensed the tension of someone holding their breath.

Her heart started hammering and she saw there were only a few yards to the end of the street.

People crossed in front of her. People who wouldn’t know if she was attacked in this narrow alley.

She suddenly ran forward, her foot feeling tacky, holding her back, as she grasped for the exit, certain someone was following her.

She burst into the road and ran wildly away from the alley, only stopping when she was a good distance away.

There were plenty of people around her now. Only then could she look back.

There was no one there. No one except for busy commuters and meandering tourists, who were all intent on their own agendas and took no notice of her.

She stared at the opening to the alley, but nobody came out.

She waited for what seemed an age, made herself stay a bit longer, then wondered if she should go back and see if anyone was loitering in there, but she shrank at the idea.

No, she wanted the sanctuary of her office and to immerse herself in her work.

It was the only thing that could take her mind off her worries. She turned and hurried away.