My Husband's Lies Read online

  Then Penny says it’s time to leave. That’s fair enough, she’s the driver, after all. Trying not to sway as she stands, Jen shakes her head at Ian’s knowing eyebrow. He helps with her coat and she steps outside. It’s colder than she thought.

  Apparently over his usual football malaise, Ian offers his arm to Penny and they walk ahead. Aware of Will behind her, she follows quickly towards the car, but his footsteps accelerate and he grabs her wrist firmly.

  ‘What’s up, Jen?’ he asks quietly. ‘You haven’t replied to my texts. Don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, talk to me. Please.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Dan

  Dressed in a jokey apron, Dan shoulders open the door to bring in the starters, two impressive platters of pink: king prawns, shrimps and salmon, brought by Will and Penny as their contribution to the meal. With the warm radiator, the candles and its colour, the room feels festive. Geri painted the walls a deep burgundy red when she was first made redundant. He realises with surprise he’s finally got used to it.

  ‘So, what’s your plan?’ he asked when she volunteered for redundancy.

  ‘Paint the dining room, then get pregnant,’ she replied with a firm nod.

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said, though neither idea had occurred to him before.

  Even though the baby is nearly due, he finds he’s still getting used to it. But this evening his agitation is mixed with other emotions he can’t quite describe, something similar to the fear and excitement he felt lining up for the Big One rollercoaster as a kid. But he’s tried not to mull, it’s too confusing when he does. Instead he’s kept busy, cleaning the oven with a surprisingly effective fat-buster, wiping the kitchen floor and setting the table while Geri napped: knives and forks in duplicate, place mats and side plates, even remembering the candles. But that’s when he noticed the crockery and cutlery were coordinated and new, not a mismatch in sight, so he went out to the shed, grateful to feel the slap of cold on his face as he collected wood for the fire.

  ‘From Costco, I’m afraid …’ Penny says, bringing him back from his thoughts.

  For a moment he stares, picturing her hollow face at the window, but the blurred image is replaced by Seb Taylor’s. Seb in his mum’s bathroom; Seb in the school showers.

  Geri’s voice breaks through. She’s asking for serving spoons, so he backs out of the room like a silver-service waiter, walks to the kitchen, leans against the sink and breathes. When he returns with the spoons, Jen turns to Ian. She’s been unusually quiet all evening, but her face suddenly animates. She tells a story about a big wheel and Holly. Everyone listens politely and smiles, but he knows they are missing the point. The point is her anxiety, which she’s striving to hide.

  He looks at Ian’s face, trying to focus on his voice, but thoughts of this morning edge in, rousing and dangerous. He’d felt the intensity of Seb’s gaze, but couldn’t look back. They took the steaming food from the microwave, perched in near silence at the kitchen island to eat it, then he left, his heart thrashing. He’s tried to keep his thoughts shallow, but his mind has wheedled with what if questions since.

  He wishes it would stop.

  Then there’s Geri’s bloody insight from earlier. ‘Forgot to ask. How was Seb?’ she asked when he got back from Wilmslow, content and carefree. ‘Was he OK? Do you think he’s been to the doctor?’ She looked pensive. ‘The end of a relationship is always hard. Most people go through a dry run or a weaning stage which tends to help, but when you live in different countries, I guess a clean and painful break is inevitable.’

  She reached up to his hair. Raked a few strands into place. He had to try hard not to stop her.

  ‘Still,’ she continued. ‘It doesn’t sound as though there was someone else for either Seb or Claudia. Betrayal makes it so much worse for people; duplicity by the person they trust most in the world.’ She gave a bright smile. ‘To be honest, I’m glad of the break from unhappy people for a while, and as for Seb, he won’t be single for long, will he? He is pretty gorgeous.’

  He didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t thought about that before.

  Reverting to the table, he tries to listen and laugh about cricket and catches. Then he clears plates and dishes, brings in more food, hears Penny’s breathless apology which moves on swiftly to muscled actors and beards, thank God. Dominated by Will, the conversation flows as his guests eat. Geri smiles politely, but he knows that it’s fixed. She’s had her hand on her stomach intermittently all evening. He wishes there was something he could do other than say, ‘everything will be fine’. He’s been saying it for eight months, wanting to guarantee its truth, fighting off the habitual impulse to pray.

  He stands again, clears the crockery, fills the sink with soapy water, brings in a pavlova he bought especially for Nick, makes a quip about birds’ teeth, remembers the cheese, offers tea and coffee. When he finally sits down, Lisa’s talking about Seb’s girlfriend, her accent stronger than usual.

  Her green eyes are wide. ‘Let’s face it, he won’t be single for long. He’ll find someone equally as gorgeous with a click of his fingers. He’s pretty stunning himself.’

  Will makes another joke in reply, but Dan keeps his head down, brushing biscuit crumbs into his palm. He feels hot, unsettled and irked by the speculation, even more so by Geri who joins in with her bloody theories. But then she stands up, saying she’s exhausted and needs to lie down.

  Following her upstairs, he perches on the bed until she’s finished in the bathroom. Feeling a surge of affection when she pads out in her pyjamas, he puts his arms around her and inhales the innocent smell of toothpaste and soap. He kisses her knitted brow, puts his hand on her stomach and uses that confident voice which isn’t his own. ‘You’re nearly due. There isn’t as much room for the baby to move, remember?’ He feels a kick and he laughs. ‘There you go! It’s a goal! Little Ronaldo is doing his best.’

  Returning to his guests, he tops up the coffee cups, wondering why he has such difficulty in equating that kick with a real living baby. Looking after a newborn won’t be plain sailing, he knows that. It’s just that he can’t imagine what it will be like at all. He glances at Ian and Jen, his usual thumbs-up for successful parenting, but tonight they seem absent; Jen hasn’t been as jovial as usual, she hasn’t spoken to Will at all.

  The fire peters out, Penny says it’s time to go, Lisa asks for a taxi number. He turns his attention to Nick. For a slight guy he can usually put away a surprising quantity of beer, but today his face is almost white and he’s swaying.

  ‘I think it might be better if I dropped you,’ he says, looking at Lisa meaningfully. ‘I’ve only had one glass seeing as I’m on call, so to speak, so I’m fine to drive. You’re only down the road. Wait here one minute while I sort out the back seat.’

  Outside, the sharp cold hits his face. Leaning into the car, he pushes the empty cardboard boxes to one side. Seb’s cardboard boxes. Stunning Seb Taylor who’ll find someone new. Trying to push the thought away, he looks up to the black sky littered with stars, then brings his focus back to his leaving guests. Lifting his hand to wave goodbye, he watches Ian and Penny climb into her four-by-four. Will catches up with Jen, holds her back to say something, but she pulls away and climbs in too.

  He checks his pocket for his mobile and nods to Nick and Lisa at the door. ‘Ready to go? It’s pretty cold.’ When they’re finally settled in the car, he turns to Nick with a grin. ‘Spin sensation? Bloody horrible, isn’t it. Maybe open the window? The fresh air might help.’

  Lisa chats as he drives, but Dan struggles to listen. His thoughts are too scrambled. The smell of toothpaste and soap. Empty boxes and sweet words. The kick of his child.

  When they arrive at the small semi, he watches Nick and Lisa walk unsteadily to their lit porch, waiting breathlessly for a few moments as they skirmish with the keys. When their door finally closes, he picks up his mobile and types in three words. He drops it like a hot potato on the passenger seat, then rests his hea
d against the steering wheel to wait for a reply.

  Only moments pass, but still he jolts at the sound.

  With a shaking hand, he opens the message.

  ‘Yes I’m up. Text when you’re here and I’ll let you in,’ it says.

  Lit by the yellow glow of the night light, Seb is waiting at the door of Oak House, his hands in his pockets, his feet bare.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, standing back to let Dan into the building.

  The lift is open. ‘I’ve got half an hour, I thought I’d—’ Dan replies, stepping in.

  The doors close and they’re glued, kissing and kissing, then find themselves outside Seb’s flat where they carry on lip to lip, hair tightly wrapped in taut fingers, bodies hard against the wall.

  When they finally pull away, Dan is reeling. Breathless and stunned and aching. Burning with desire he’s never felt before.

  Seb struggles to insert the key with his good left hand.

  ‘Let me,’ Dan says, though his fingers are trembling.

  They stand apart on the cream carpet, winded and staring. Seb’s wearing a white T-shirt and grey track pants, his erection quite obvious. His soft hair is ruffled, there’s a fine growth of stubble on his chin and his blue eyes are charged. Though Dan’s thoughts are shattered, he’s aware of one imperative, that more than anything right now he wants to continue kissing and touching this achingly beautiful man.

  ‘What now?’ Seb asks.

  Dan steps towards him, lifts the bandaged hand to his lips, then laughs unsteadily.

  ‘I really have no fucking idea,’ he replies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Nick

  Nick wakes with a jolt from a dream in which he’s not just shouting, but screaming at his mum. Again. He’s had the dream several times this week and he wakes up feeling guilty, still seeing her pale crumpled face. He turns over to Lisa, but her side of the bed is empty, which is a first when she’s not going to work. He looks at the radio clock, his brain taking a moment to adjust. Fuck! Twice in one week. It’s ten to twelve; he and Lisa are due at his parents’ house for lunch at twelve-thirty.

  Calling Lisa, he sweeps out of bed, but a pain in his head hits like a knockout blow. The bloody brandy last night; even as he drank it, he knew he shouldn’t have. He’s fine with beer, but he’s never been able to do spirits like Dan and Will, and mixing makes it worse. He’s usually more cautious, usually knows when to stop.

  He finds Lisa at the sink in their small bathroom. ‘Why didn’t you get me up? We’re due at Mum’s in half an hour.’

  She spits out the toothpaste bubbles before looking at him evenly. ‘You were sick when we got home, Nick, several times. You needed the sleep.’ She turns back to the mirror, pats the grey smudges beneath her eyes with her little finger, then picks up a soft brush and gingerly pulls it through her damp hair. ‘Besides, I’ve just phoned your mum and put it off until two-thirty.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Just that we’d had a late night at Dan’s. She said it wasn’t a problem.’

  He sits on the toilet seat, hangs his head and breathes deeply. The strong smell of Toilet Duck hits his nose, almost making him retch. Oh God, he remembers now, the vomiting last night. It went on repeatedly until nothing was left except bile. Lisa was very good about it; she went into chirpy nurse mode, encouraging him to drink water even though it came straight back up.

  He looks at her placid face. She’s right to postpone, but still. Sunday lunch at the Quinn household starts at one o’clock sharp at the table, it always has, hangover or not.

  Lisa rustles in the cabinet. ‘Here,’ she says, handing him a sachet of powder. ‘That’ll perk you up. Use a glass from the kitchen, this one’s dirty. And make me a cup of tea while you’re there. I’m flipping parched.’

  Swinging between irritation at Lisa’s interference and acknowledgement she was right to call his mum, he cautiously negotiates the stairs, enters the cold kitchen, adds water to the powder and gulps down the sweet liquid. Heading back to the bedroom, he remembers the tea. When he finally returns with a pot and two cups, Lisa turns from the hairdryer and glances at the tray.

  ‘Very proper,’ she says. ‘A mug would’ve done. No toast?’

  ‘You didn’t say you wanted toast.’

  ‘No matter. Probably haven’t got time and I can save my appetite for lunch. What do you reckon? Lamb?’

  ‘Look, I’m not that keen on lamb either, but Dad likes it, so we’ll be super polite and eat it up with a smile. OK?’

  Lisa pulls out a selection of clothes from the wardrobe. ‘It isn’t as though I’m ever not polite,’ she says quietly. She turns to Nick and watches him for a moment. ‘I can’t see you smiling anytime soon, though. Hadn’t you better get in the shower?’

  Nick makes for the door, moving his head to test whether the painkillers are working. Then he turns. ‘I had another bad dream. Shouting and screaming at Mum as loudly as I could. Wanting to shake her. They’re horrible. I wish they’d stop.’

  Lisa holds up two dresses and shrugs. ‘You’re still obsessing about that sister thing. You even announced it to everyone at dinner last night, which I thought was rich when you’d sworn me to secrecy about the whole bloody thing.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yes, and then Jen did her poor you, I feel your pain thing she does with her eyes and Will and Ian are nodding at her like those little puppy toys you see in car windows—’

  The headache’s still there. ‘I thought you liked Jen.’

  ‘She’s OK.’

  ‘Only OK?’

  ‘Well, she’s like the matriarch of the St Mark’s family. “Let me hold you to my huge bosom, boys, and make all your problems disappear.”’ She studies him for a moment. ‘Don’t look so surprised, Nick. I’m sure it was great at school having a second mum on call, but we’re all grown up now and you’re mine, not hers.’ She pauses, frowning. ‘She does it mostly with Will, mind. God knows how Penny puts up with it. She is one bloody saint.’

  Nick stands immobile in the shower, the sharp water blasting his face. He’s never thought of Jen that way before. Of course all three of them fancied her at twelve or thirteen; she was one of the boys, but with a pretty face and with tits which seemed to appear overnight, starring in wet dreams more often than was comfortable. There’d been a bit of a tussle between Dan and Will over who would win the prize, but he hadn’t bothered to enter that particular contest as he knew he wouldn’t win. But then nothing happened, all four of them stayed friends until the leavers prom in year eleven. Will and Jen finally got together that night. They had already been voted ‘the most likely couple to marry’ in the yearbook and there was a collective sigh when they eventually kissed on the dance floor. ‘Wish I’d been old enough to place a large bet,’ Dan quipped as he and Nick watched. ‘But then again the odds would’ve been really crap.’

  Refreshed by the shower, he returns to the bedroom. ‘So what exactly did Jen say?’ he asks, briskly rubbing his thick hair with a towel.

  Lisa shakes her head and smiles wryly. ‘Mother Hubbard thinks you should speak to Patrick. I guess the idea is that if it’s just you and him, he might be more amenable to spilling the beans. The annoying thing is she’s probably right.’

  When Harry Quinn finally reaches his front door, he does the usual before opening it, including the safety chain, but doesn’t greet Nick and Lisa. He turns away in silence, hobbles towards the dining room and sits pointedly at the head of the table.

  The room is stiflingly warm, two rectangular slices of pâté are waiting on the pretty patterned dishes Nick’s mother has used on Sundays for years. Removed from the plastic packaging, they curl at their edges.

  ‘Sit down and help yourselves to the appetisers,’ his mum calls from the kitchen. ‘The pâtés are new ones from Waitrose. Smooth Brussels and one with mushrooms Dad likes. Don’t wait for me.’

  Though the
place has been laid for Lisa, Nick sits next to his father, conscious his annoyance has stretched to not saying Grace. ‘All right, Dad?’ he asks, offering the basket of limp toast. He helps himself to two triangles and takes a chunk from each slice of pâté even though he still feels slightly sick. ‘What did you think about the goal, Dad?’ he asks. ‘No way that was a penalty.’

  He chats as though nothing is amiss. His father is slow to respond, but he eventually unwinds, opining on yesterday’s football results for several minutes. His mum is still in the kitchen, leaving Lisa excluded and silent her end, but the imminent need is to smooth his father’s irritation. It’s the way it has always been; he’s sure she’ll understand.

  His mum eventually sits at the table, helping herself to the remaining cold toast. She looks pink and flustered. ‘You haven’t poured the wine, Harry,’ she says. She turns to Lisa. ‘Red or white? Now tell me all about the honeymoon. We’ve heard Nick’s version, so you tell us yours.’

  Nick squeezes Lisa’s hand and keeps her glass topped as she chats amiably about the honeymoon, the soft shallow seabed and the water sports, the duty-free shops in Bridgetown and their visit to the exclusive Sandy Lane beach club.

  His mum nods her head. ‘I believe it’s lovely. I read that the guests put up a little flag when they need a drink.’

  ‘Well, that’s just plain lazy.’

  She ignores Harry’s comment. ‘Michael Winner always holidayed there. Several months a year, I’ve read—’

  ‘I think you’ll find he’s dead, Dora.’

  ‘Did I say he wasn’t, Harry?’ She keeps her attention on Lisa. ‘Did you see anyone famous?’

  ‘Funnily enough we did.’ Lisa smiles. ‘At the shop we saw an actor who’s on the television all the time, but neither of us can name him and it’s driving us nuts.’