Her Best Friend's Husband, page 24
‘Why are you going to lose your job?’ She ignored the rest.
‘Long story,’ I replied. ‘Look, why are you here? Haven’t you heard I’m to be shunned?’ I was as blunt as I could be, no space in my soul for politeness at the minute.
‘Claire, I have no idea why you did what you did, but I’m not going to judge you for it.’ She studied the wine in her glass, swirling it around. Seemingly having reached a decision, she continued. ‘I want to tell you something I haven’t told anyone before.’
I indicated she should go on.
‘I told James I was leaving him the night before he died.’
I was shocked, for I had no idea she had even been considering it. How had it come to this? She had never hinted at a rift so great she wanted to end her marriage. I opened my mouth to speak until she raised a hand to stop me.
‘Please, I need to tell you this in my own way. I was desperately unhappy in my marriage for a long time. James was difficult in the extreme and for the last year or so, he’d become so controlling it seemed I was going to suffocate. He put a tracker on my phone and lied about our finances.’ Her eyes had taken on a faraway look and I noticed she was grasping the stem of the glass so firmly her knuckles were white. ‘There’s more, but I can’t relive it. I’m still recovering.’ She fell silent, and I could tell by the haunted expression in her eyes she was replaying what had happened.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ It burst out of me, even though she’d asked me not to interrupt.
‘I was humiliated. I told no one. You never know what’s going on behind closed doors, do you?’ I shook my head and she went on. ‘I didn’t even recognise it myself for a long time, then it dawned on me one day. Coercive control. A toxic relationship.’
She held my gaze before saying, ‘And now the reason I’m not in a position to judge you, Claire. I was sleeping with Sam when James was alive.’
‘That’s it?’ I replied without thinking. ‘You’re comparing your set-up with mine? You had a control freak of a husband and found a saint. I have a saint and slept repeatedly with my friend’s husband. It went on for over a year, Laura. I don’t deserve your understanding or your kindness.’ My voice shook with the effort of admitting it.
Suddenly it was vitally important someone understood my reasons, when everyone else had recoiled at my actions. ‘You said you had no idea why I did it. She bullied me at school. Vicky, or Tori as she styled herself then, was part of an exclusive group of bullies and I was an easy target as I was unattractive and shy. When we moved here, I recognised her straight away. However she didn’t know me as I had changed so much from school. I despised her initially, but bizarrely we became part of the same group of friends. Then the dinner dance at the Melville Hotel last year. Do you remember? Vicky and I both wore red dresses. She looked as fantastic as ever, and I felt a pale imitation beside her and it all came flooding back. I went out to the foyer to get some air, and Tom appeared from nowhere on his mobile.’ Even now, the memory of the look he gave me made my insides melt. ‘It started as a flirtation, nothing more. Well, you know exactly how it ended. She’s playing the victim, leaving me to pick up the pieces.’
Laura said nothing for so long I began to worry she too believed I’d fabricated it all. Then she said, ‘I believe you, Claire, though it’s hard to think of Vicky as a bully. Do we ever really know anyone?’ She shook her head as if to shake off the truth. ‘I’m truly sorry you had to put up with that. I do wish you’d felt able to confide in me.’
Now I shook my head, for if I had, would she have believed me? I’d never know.
A comfortable quiet stretched between us as we sipped our drinks, broken only when Laura said, ‘Vicky seemed to have it all, didn’t she. Looks. Brains. Money. Tom.’ I smiled in agreement. ‘It was another thing we couldn’t admit to. We pretended we confided in each other, but it was smoke and mirrors. I hid my appalling secret and you hid yours.’
We sat in a silence for a time, until I offered to replenish our drinks.
‘Top it up. Sam will come for me whenever I ring him.’ She held the glass up until it was full.
‘You seem different, Laura,’ I commented, retaking my seat and tucking my feet up beneath me.
‘I am different. Do you notice how I’m no longer preoccupied with Robbie?’ The side of her mouth lifted ruefully. ‘James was riddled with jealousy about his son. Couldn’t for the life of him understand why I missed him so much when he was in Scotland. Hated him for it, I think. Jealousy is at the root of so much unhappiness, isn’t it?’
‘Yes it really is. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? My reason for destroying everything?’ I urgently needed someone, anyone, to believe me about Vicky. To validate what I’d done and my reasons for it.
‘Claire, I’m going to say this as a friend. I believe you about Vicky and your past, and I’m incredibly sorry about what you went through. I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you chose to do what you did, as it’s hurt Will so badly. You need to stop drinking and start on the road to recovery.’ She said it firmly while maintaining eye contact, until I looked away. ‘Your girls are furious with you, but they love you and they’ll come round.’
‘How do you know? They think I’m the worst mother ever.’ I almost shouted, heartache consuming me.
‘Because Robbie and Eva are in a relationship.’ She smiled grimly at me, and I could tell she regretted that she was the one divulging this piece of information, and not my daughter. ‘She’s been at our house quite a bit over the past week. And I mean Sam’s house, not the one in the village. That’s why I’ve not been round here until today. I’ve been staying with Sam and supporting Eva.’
I started to weep then, for that was certainly what Eva had wanted to tell me. I’d been so engrossed in my own life I’d failed her. And she’d never confided in me her childhood friend was now someone important to her. She’d relied on Laura to guide her through this difficult week.
Laura leaned forward to take hold of my hand, before squeezing it reassuringly. ‘She loves you, Claire. Children find it almost impossible to acknowledge their parents are people in their own right and not simply Mum and Dad. You need to pull yourself together, or Eva and Poppy won’t rush to see you again. Isn’t it time to forgive yourself as well as everyone else?’
I disregarded that particular gem of wisdom for the time being. Tears leaked from my eyes. Perhaps I was less unlovable than I had supposed. I held her hand tightly. It was hard to believe I had dodged such physical expressions of friendship a few short weeks ago. Now they felt like a lifeline to redemption. Suddenly comprehension hit me full whack in the face.
Laura knew the secret me, the one I had painstakingly hidden behind my façade, and she had not discarded me like Annie and Kate. She saw me for who I really was and stayed anyway.
‘Please tell Will I’m sorry and I love him.’ I whispered it as she nodded.
‘What are you going to do for Christmas?’ she asked then. ‘You can’t stay here on your own.’
So the girls weren’t going to forgive me before Christmas. With a start, I remembered it was the day after tomorrow. I’d stopped going into the living room with the tree, the gaudily wrapped presents nestling under it mocked me ceaselessly.
‘I’ll go to Mum and Phil’s. Will you take the girls’ presents for me and please ask them to at least reply to my messages so I know they are safe?’
‘Yes I will. I need you to promise me you’re going to stop drinking and start eating properly. And, Claire, you need to see the GP. From everything you’ve been saying, it sounds like you need proper help, not a bottle of gin.’
Her words cut through my stupor and made perfect sense. She was right. I needed professional help and as much I was self-medicating with alcohol, it was a perilous road with only one possible outcome.
‘Menopausal madness.’ We said it at the same time and gave a small laugh. Some sort of madness anyway.
She persuaded me to shower while she cooked me some delicious concoction from the contents of my cupboards. She then poured me a large glass of tonic with plenty of ice. Unexpectedly I discovered I was famished and devoured her concoction hungrily. It would take more than a hot meal and a shower to make me whole again, but knowing I had a true friend to help me went a long way towards restoring my faith in friendship and the future.
All I needed was for Will, Eva and Poppy to forgive me and allow themselves to trust me again.
It seemed like an unachievable dream.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
My family continued to vent their anger towards me by mostly ignoring me. I’d messaged Will and the girls on Christmas Day, and received short texts from Eva and Poppy. Other than those, my phone remained unbearably silent. No ping from a message. No ring from a call. My broken heart was crushed further that freezing December morning when I sat alone in my beautiful house and sobbed over the unopened and unwanted gifts piled under the tree. Laura had taken the girls’ presents with her, leaving the over-the-top gifts I’d ordered for Will unclaimed.
I had a subdued Christmas dinner with Mum and Phil, drinking Shloer while eyeballing the wine. Liz, Pete and Max had popped in for a quick visit and I began to process the true meaning of family, as no judgement was passed on me, nor condemnation voiced. Liz had taken me aside and I readied myself for a torrent of abuse.
Instead she surprised me by pulling me roughly into a hug and whispered, ‘Clare, you’re a complete eejit, but I sort of understand. Wish I could have seen that bitch Tori’s face when you told her who you were.’ It was small crumbs of comfort, and my shoulders had sagged with both relief at her words and disbelief at her empathy. While not condoning my behaviour, she wasn’t spitting nails with horror and outrage either.
I unlocked my front door after our turkey and ham and called out in the vain hope I would get a reply. Only the echoes of Christmas past greeted me as I succumbed and opened a bottle of wine.
The following day I surrendered to the unshakeable urge to go for a drive, ignoring the torrential rain which had rolled in over the hills on Boxing Day morning. The road climbed high above Belfast and I drove into Cave Hill country park. Rain-laden clouds spread above me, so close it seemed I could reach out and touch them. The car park was empty, no one despairing enough to leave the warmth and dryness to venture out. I was soaked through by the time I had walked to Napoleon’s Nose, my hair drenched, my hands freezing.
I stood a few metres from the edge, surveying the city, which lazed about far below me, colourless as far as the eye could see. My mind raced about uncontrollably, but the relief was profound when I realised I had no desire to step over the edge. Wearily I lifted my eyes to the heavens and let the rain teem over me, mingling with futile tears. Eva and Poppy had saved me once; I couldn’t let my own girls suffer any further as a result of my selfishness. I trudged back to the car and drove home, determined not to drink to ease the burden of my pain.
At the beginning of January the girls agreed to visit me. They remained perplexed by my behaviour, and I had no enthusiasm to once again attempt to explain or justify what I’d done. It was a new beginning as we steered our way through our burgeoning adult relationship. I was no longer merely Mum. I became a fallible person who had made an irresponsible, stupid mistake. Their anger had softened into something more malleable, and I knew by their sidelong looks, they shared a willingness to mend our relationship.
I desperately wanted to ask Eva about Robbie. However I bit my tongue, for fear her face would close down and she would retreat. Hopefully in time, she would confide in me.
Will sent the occasional message requesting I leave the house while he came by to collect more clothes and things he needed. I always replied immediately, my heart in my mouth, nervous he would follow it with something ghastly. Like he wanted a divorce. Each time he was due, I would drive off and park close to where I knew he would pass on his way to the house. A speeding glimpse was all I got, never enough, always yearning for more. When his car passed me on the return trip, I would dejectedly drive home. There I sobbed at bare drawers and empty hangers. His toiletries now sat on a shelf in his parents’ home, his clothes filled their drawers and all I was left with was faint hints of him.
I’d made an appointment at the start of January with my doctor, who had prescribed medication and counselling for my shambolically muddled mind. It was difficult not to blur the edges of my misery with drink, but my resolve outweighed the desire. As my mental health improved I felt the occasional spark of optimism I would survive. I would not blame the past year on hormones, or anxiety, or menopausal mayhem, though it was possible they had played some small part.
Imelda my boss had contacted me the week after the festive holidays to inform me I could resume work after a written warning. They had been unable to confirm Eric’s theory, nor prove I had been using vacant houses for illicit assignations. I was astonished at how grateful I was for the opportunity, and as I set foot inside the estate agents after my enforced absence, I resolved to make amends for my previous apathy and idleness at my job. For it was a lifeline when I could no longer face long days of isolation at home. I increased my hours to work Monday through to Thursday. Each Friday I volunteered at a woman’s refuge – up to then I had simply donated my barely worn clothes to them.
Laura kept in touch with me regularly. She was spending most of her time at Sam’s, flitting in and out of the village and her empty house on the street. Her confession about wanting to leave James had initially taken me by surprise, however when I mulled it over, I understood everyone has mysteries they keep locked within the confines of their hearts and minds. One cool day in late January we walked along the long sandy beach we had strolled on with Kate in the autumn. The brisk sea breeze buffeted us as we dandered along in companionable silence.
After we had taken a seat at the same picnic table, she confided Vicky and Tom were no longer the flawless couple they had depicted, and she was finding this betrayal worse than all the others. With their children at university, there was no buffer at home and it seemed they too were navigating a way through the damage. Whether it was reparable remained to be seen.
Sadly the Book Club lay in tatters, as it transpired Kate and Annie were firmly in Vicky’s camp. It bothered me less than everything else, as I’d known all along female friendship was fickle. Nevertheless when I walked past the village café one morning and saw the four of them sitting at our usual table, laughing together, I felt an unaccustomed twinge of something sharp in my stomach. I tried to convince myself I didn’t need their friendship, it had all been fake. Head down, I scuttled past, the hurt and the loss almost flooring me. I had prepared myself for it, but the reality of my bad choice was a harder and lonelier road than I had ever supposed.
One Saturday in late January I had returned to the car having been to the village butcher. As I clicked my seatbelt into place, I noticed Tom’s car pull in a few spaces down from me. We were separated by a four-wheel drive, and my pulse quickened with anxiety. Vicky stepped out of the passenger door and hurried towards the shops. It was evident neither of them had spotted me.
It was the first time I had seen Tom since the Averie and I deliberated about what I should do. I could crouch down and hide, hoping he wouldn’t see me. Or I could face him. Giving myself no time to change my mind, I got out of the car and rushed over. I opened the passenger door and slipped into the seat Vicky had just vacated. The seat I was intimately familiar with. Tom’s head swung around and he stared at me in disbelief.
‘What the hell, Claire. What are you doing there? Get out!’ Barely restrained annoyance.
‘Hi, Tom,’ I said. ‘Long time no see.’ My heart beat wildly, though I was eerily calm. His handsome face twisted in anger, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I wanted to apologise.’ The words came easily and I continued quickly, afraid Vicky would return. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you. For using you. It was wrong of me.’
He shook his head, hands clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. ‘You need to get out, Claire. Vicky will be furious if she sees you here.’
‘I don’t really care if she is.’ It was suddenly true. ‘Anyway, I wanted to thank you for a lot of fun and the good times.’ I recalled his thousand watt smile shining only on me, and how when this had all started, he made me laugh and added intrigue to my sometimes dull life.
‘Please,’ he said, voice breaking a little. ‘Please leave before she comes back.’ The tension had drained from his face, replaced with something gentler. A hint of remorse, or wistfulness.
I shrugged and reached for the door handle. As I pulled it, he muttered, ‘I’m sorry too. Take care of yourself, Claire.’
I smiled quickly, surprised to find the words were sincere, and exited the car with as much dignity as I could muster. I didn’t know why it had been important to say it, I’d certainly not given much thought to it in the intervening weeks. However I was glad I had done it.
For I was sorry. Sorry I’d used him as a weapon. Sorry I’d got involved with him. And sorry I’d once felt more for him than I’d ever expected. For that had not been my intention.
By early February I hadn’t spoken to Will for nearly two months. I would text him daily and although I never received an answer, I could see he had read them. I had stopped begging for forgiveness, instead telling him about my day, my volunteering, silly stories from work. In his typical generous fashion, he had continued to pay the bills and allowed me to use my credit card as before. I had lost my passion for overspending on new clothes, make-up and the like. I retained my gym membership and bought fresh food I cooked from scratch and over time lost my scrawny, unhealthy pallor.
One evening I got an email from Airbnb to remind me it was nearly time for our trip to Crofters Cottage for Valentine’s Day. I’d totally forgotten we’d booked it the last weekend we’d snuggled together there. Memories rolled unremittingly over me as I recalled our stay, when I had been embroiled in my deceptions and Will had unknowingly protected me from the worst excesses of my mind.
