Every Breath You Take, page 5
I’m not sure which of us is more relieved to end that conversation, but one thing is for sure. Jen needs to fire that loose-talking receptionist.
Simmons Edge Marketing Agency is in a small industrial estate on a farm between Horsham and Billingshurst. A strange location perhaps, but the rent is cheap and it is rare for clients to visit. Samuel, Jen and their senior staff tend to go to their clients, businesses located all over the country. I pull up into the car park, noting Jen’s gleaming white Mercedes. At the time I thought it was cute for them to have identical cars in different colours. Now I’m not so sure. I stride up to the glass door and walk into the small reception area. The new receptionist, Louise, has peroxide blonde hair tied up into a topknot and she seems engrossed in something on her phone. I step right up to her and see that she’s scrolling through TikTok.
‘Excuse me,’ I say, and she jolts, slamming her phone screen-down on the desk. ‘I’m here to see Jen. I don’t have an appointment. Please tell her it’s Eva.’
‘Um, I’m not sure–’
‘I know my way around so I’ll head over to her office.’ I’m aware that I’m being mean but I’m not in the mood for niceties and this girl doesn’t deserve the job.
‘Please, just a moment.’ She looks at me imploringly before tapping some numbers into her desk phone. I can hear the phone ring and then a muted voice.
‘There’s an Eva here to see you,’ Louise says. ‘She doesn’t have an appointment.’ I can’t hear what Jen says but Louise puts the phone down and, with an expression of disappointment, says, ‘You can go through.’
I nod and stride towards the double doors behind her. The office space is a square box and Jen and Sam have adjacent offices, smaller square boxes with glass fronts set at the back of the open-plan room. The blinds are down in Sam’s office but I stride straight towards Jen’s office. She meets me in the doorway.
‘Eva,’ she says. ‘This is a surprise.’ She gives me a single kiss on the cheek.
‘Can we talk?’ I squeeze past her, noting her questioning expression.
‘How’s Samuel doing?’ she asks. ‘He must be very sick to be ignoring all of my messages.’
‘Mmm,’ I say noncommittally. ‘How are things going here?’
Jen frowns. She’s a tall woman with honey-blonde hair and broad shoulders, the result of her being a champion swimmer in her youth. She’s attractive but not beautiful and she has a wardrobe full of crisp white shirts and sharply cut black trousers. I’ve never seen her dressed in anything else. ‘Have a seat.’ She gestures towards a red boxy chair. She sits opposite me on the matching sofa. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘No, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I’m worried about Samuel and wanted to have a quick chat with you.’
A look of discomfort passes over her face. ‘I hope everything’s okay,’ she says hurriedly, shifting forwards on the sofa. ‘We’re re-pitching for the Pellangica account and I really need Samuel’s input.’
‘Are things a bit stressful around here?’ I gaze out of the glass window, looking at the agency’s twenty or so staff beavering away at their computers.
She harrumphs. ‘If we lose the pitch then there really will be stress. Why? Is Samuel okay? Nothing serious, I hope.’
I wonder if Samuel might have left me for Jen but quickly discount that. They’ve been colleagues for close on fifteen years and the last I knew, Jen had a long-term girlfriend. It seems disingenuous to ask her anything personal.
‘Has he been acting strangely at all? Distracted perhaps?’ I don’t want to tell Jen about the text message but if anyone is going to know about Samuel’s duplicitous life, it would be his business partner.
Jen narrows her eyes at me. ‘What’s really going on here, Eva? Samuel has gone AWOL and you’re here asking questions about him.’
‘He’s left me,’ I say quietly. I chew the edge of a fingernail. ‘I was wondering if you have any inkling as to what’s really going on. It’s just so unexpected.’
Jen lets out a low whistle and leans back on the sofa. ‘Well, that’s a shock. I didn’t know you had problems,’ she says, shaking her head.
‘Me neither. It’s a complete bolt out of the blue.’ Jen throws me a look of pity and it strikes me that from now onwards, that will be the norm. I am someone to be pitied and that sickens me. I wish I hadn’t told her; I wish I hadn’t come here.
‘I was wondering if you knew about this? If you knew who he’s leaving me for?’
Jen stands up and starts pacing the room. ‘This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. Yes, he’s been a bit distracted the past few weeks, but he’s still put in the hours. He hasn’t said a word to me. I mean, your photo takes pride of place on his desk.’
I’d like to ask if I can search his office, look for evidence of this other woman, but I know I can’t. It appears too desperate.
‘He isn’t particularly close to a client, is he?’ I suggest. ‘He’s talked a lot about the Pellangica account and the meeting he had in London last week. He seemed positive about that.’
Jen scoffs. ‘I’m not sure about a meeting in London but our two contacts at Pellangica are men and no, I’m almost positive he’s not having a relationship with anyone from work.’ She pauses for a moment and then swivels to face me. ‘But why is he off sick and why hasn’t he returned any of my calls?’
‘I think he might be having a bit of a breakdown,’ I say.
‘What bloody timing,’ Jen mutters under her breath, which seems a bit harsh, even to my ears. She must catch my expression of dismay because she quickly says, ‘Sorry, Eva. It’s just I really need him.’
So do I, I think. ‘If you hear from him, will you let me know?’ I ask.
‘Of course.’ She strides across the room and when I stand up she envelopes me in a big hug. ‘What a bastard,’ she says, releasing me. ‘When I see him, I’ll knock some sense into the idiot.’
Back at home, I send Samuel another text message.
Call me urgently. The very least you owe me is an explanation.
That’s the eighth message I’ve sent and, like all the previous ones, it remains unread, with a single little grey tick next to it. Clearly his phone is off and he doesn’t have the guts to switch it back on. I always thought Samuel had a backbone. He is many things, but I never thought he would be a coward. I remember when Riley was being bullied at school by the daughter of a friend of mine, Samuel went to meet her parents and resolved everything face to face. When our next-door neighbour in the first house we lived in after getting married threw a punch at his girlfriend, Samuel was around there, restraining the guy, having already rung the police. He’s able to deal with difficult situations face-on, so this running away from me just doesn’t feel right. On the other hand, if he is under unfathomable pressure from the other woman, whoever the bitch might be, and he’s really having some sort of a breakdown, then none of his behaviour will be normal. Perhaps I should be pitying him, worried rather than hurt and angry.
But all I want to know right now is who the hell she is. Whom has he left me for?
I decide to search the house again from top to bottom. I can’t believe that Samuel won’t have left some breadcrumbs, little mistakes that I might not have noticed before but which now may lay a trail to the truth. Even though I’ve already looked through his pockets, I start in his wardrobe, literally pulling every single item out and dumping his clothes in a massive pile on our bed. His shoes are in plastic see-through boxes and I chuck them across the floor. It’s then that I see it. A silver bag, its handles tied together with a neat white satin bow. I lift the bag up. It’s small, about the size of a paperback book, and it’s light. I place it on top of the dresser and carefully undo the bow, a sickening feeling in my gut. Inside is a navy velvet box and an envelope. The envelope isn’t sealed, so I slide the card out. The words on the front are written in a silver flowery script:
On Our Anniversary.
I gulp as I remember that it is indeed our anniversary in a fortnight’s time. Fifteen years. The words on the inside of the card say:
To my love on our anniversary. I love you with all my heart, my body and soul, and with the passing of the years, it’s only you who makes me whole.
He hasn’t signed it yet. I slip the card back into the envelope and open the little velvet box. Inside lies a stunning diamond necklace. There is one single diamond, circular shaped, attached to a delicate platinum chain. It looks expensive. Very expensive. I grab my phone and search for the symbol of fifteen years of marriage. It’s crystal. But knowing Samuel, crystal won’t be good enough; he’s bought me a diamond instead. I close the lid and put the box and envelope back in the bag.
This doesn’t make sense. Why would Samuel buy me such an expensive gift for our anniversary and then promptly leave me? Has this new relationship been a recent thing or has his mistress given him an ultimatum perhaps? Or is this gift meant for her, whoever she might be? No. My gut tells me this is for me; an anniversary present, perhaps an expensive gift to ease his conscience.
My phone rings and my heart leaps. Is this Samuel? I remember wondering whether we would get a sixth sense if anything terrible happened to either of us because our bond was so strong. So much for relying on my gut instinct.
It’s not Samuel. It’s Kalah. ‘Hello,’ I say, but even I can hear the disappointment in my voice.
‘Is everything alright?’ she asks, and just those words uttered by my gentle friend push me over the edge and I start crying.
‘Not really,’ I say through sniffs.
‘Are you at home?’ she asks.
‘Yes.’ My voice sounds strangled.
‘I’m coming right over.’ She hangs up on me before I can object.
Fifteen minutes later, the kettle is boiling and Kalah is sitting at our kitchen table. The words just tumble out of my mouth.
‘Samuel has left me for another woman. He sent me a message and has done a runner. He needs some time to sort out his head apparently,’ I say.
Shock passes across Kalah’s face. Of the four of us close friends, we all assumed that it would be Kalah’s marriage that would disintegrate; I certainly never imagined it would be mine.
‘Oh, darling,’ she says, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand as I sit down, cups of steaming coffee in front of us. ‘Just because he says it’s the end of your marriage doesn’t mean it really is. I mean, Xavier has had three affairs, and those are only the ones I know about.’ She stares ruefully out of the kitchen window. It’s windy outside and the trees are visibly swaying, branches heavy with early summer leaves.
‘I don’t know why you stay with him,’ I murmur.
‘For Autumn. It would break her heart for us to split up, having to live in two houses, and all that instability. I’ve just come to accept that Xavier is unable to be faithful, yet I know he truly loves me and despite the affairs he will never leave me. It’s not the marriage I dreamed of, but I simply can’t imagine my life without him.’
‘It seems that I don’t get any choice,’ I say bitterly.
‘I’m sure Samuel will see sense and come back to you soon. He’s obviously just having a mid-life crisis. Time is the greatest healer.’
I wish Kalah would stop with her platitudes because I very much doubt Samuel will come back to me, or more to the point, whether I’ll accept him back. I’m not like Kalah. Once someone crosses me I find it hard to forgive, and Samuel knows that. But that is an attitude of such finality and I can’t bear the thought of life without my husband. I’m so confused, I can’t think straight.
‘Would you like me to take Riley and Alfie to their swimming class?’ Kalah asks. I shiver. I’d completely forgotten that it’s after-school swimming today. Samuel has two non-negotiable parenting tasks: taking the kids swimming and coming with me to parent-teacher meetings.
Over the years, I’ve tried to overcome my fear of the water, even having a couple of hypnotherapy sessions shortly after Riley was born, but perhaps I haven’t tried hard enough. It’s not just the water that terrifies me and the knowledge that if I fall in, I’m unlikely to get out again alive, but it’s everything that surrounds it. The choking smell of chlorine especially prevalent in indoor pools makes me want to throw up; the loud reverberating noise of kids shouting and splashing, the terror that if Riley or Alfie get into trouble, I won’t be able to save them. I think I’ve been successful in hiding my phobia from the kids. Samuel and I agreed that they should both learn to swim as soon as they could, and Samuel introduced them to the water when they were babies. Ironically, Alfie has just joined the school swimming team and I fear I’m going to have to attend his swimming galas whether I like it or not. Samuel was surprisingly kind to me about my fear; no honeymoon to the Maldives for us. Instead we went on a skiing holiday to Switzerland, staying in a cosy chalet halfway up a mountain. And Samuel always finishes work early on a Wednesday so he can take the kids to their after-school classes. I wonder for a moment whether he’ll be at the school gates, ready to collect them as normal, because even though he’s hurting me, surely he wouldn’t hurt the children?
‘Eva?’ Kalah nudges me.
‘Um, yes?’
‘Shall I take your two swimming?’
‘Thank you, that would be great.’
‘I’ll collect them from school and take them straight to the pool.’
‘If Samuel is there, will you call me?’ I ask.
‘Of course,’ she promises.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE LOVER
While the coffee is brewing, I’m squeezing some oranges to make Samuel fresh orange juice. He mentioned that he never has it at home because it’s too much of a hassle; the implication being that Eva is too lazy to make it for him. The bacon is sizzling nicely and making my stomach rumble and the eggs are boiling hard. Samuel likes boiled eggs the best, very well done. I’ve laid out a tray and even picked a rhododendron flower off a bush that’s out in full glory further down the lane. The toast pops out of the toaster, startling me, but I hum as I spread butter and thick marmalade over it, placing two slices on a small side plate. When everything is ready, I put all the food, the plastic glass full of sweet orange juice and a steaming mug of coffee on a tray. I fold a paper napkin and place the purple flower on top of it. Other than the lack of starched white linen and gleaming silver cutlery, this could be a breakfast made by a five-star hotel. Smiling, I pick up the tray and carefully walk towards the bedroom.
‘Wake up, darling,’ I say, as I place the tray on the end of the bed. ‘I’ve made your favourite breakfast.’ I walk to the window and pull back the curtains, letting in rays of sunshine that highlight a cloud of dust motes. I’ll need to clean in here again.
‘Where…’ Samuel’s voice is croaky and his eyelids flutter as if he’s struggling to open his eyes. I hurry to the bedside and kneel down next to him.
‘Hey, sweetheart,’ I say, stroking his forehead. It’s still warm. ‘Would you like a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice?’
He turns his head from side to side as if he’s confused, groggy. Which he probably is. ‘What’s going…?’
I interrupt him by placing a gentle kiss on his lips. ‘It’s alright, darling. You’ve not been well. You need to stay calm. I’ve made your favourite breakfast and I’m sure once you’ve got some food in your belly you’ll feel much better.’
‘But…’
‘Hey, no talking,’ I say, running my index finger over his dry lips. ‘Everything will be much clearer when you’re feeling more yourself.’
He’s restless and I have to hold onto the tray to make sure the drinks don’t spill over. I stroke his forehead and eyelids gently, placing little kisses on his forehead, around his earlobe, exactly as he likes it. ‘You don’t need to worry,’ I say. I take his right hand and stroke the top of it with my fingers. ‘I’ve taken care of everything. Shall I shift your pillows slightly so that you can eat?’
He nods, his beautiful dark eyes never leaving my face. I support his shoulders with one hand and ease the pillows up with the other, helping him shift upwards in bed. He looks very pale and he yawns, his eyelids flickering closed again.
‘Come on, darling. You need to get some food inside you. It was all a bit much, wasn’t it? Believe me, you’ll feel better with a full stomach.’ I reach for the tray and place it on my lap. I’m sitting on the side of the bed, staring at this beautiful man. I pick up the glass of orange juice and hand it to him, but he seems to be lacking any strength and his hand falls away. Instead, I hold the glass up to his lips.
‘Drink, sweetheart. Just a few little sips.’
His eyes flicker open as the edge of the glass presses against his lips and he opens his mouth, swallowing a few mouthfuls. But then his face goes even paler and contorts somehow and he turns suddenly, away from me, and vomits the drink all over my side of the bed.
‘Shit,’ he mumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Sorry.’
‘Oh darling,’ I say, placing the tray of food on the floor. I guess I’ll be eating it alone. ‘Let me get some towels to clean you up, and we’ll need to change the linen. Shall I help you to the bathroom?’
He nods, but he looks very grey and for a moment I’m worried. ‘Swing your legs out of the bed,’ I say, supporting his shoulders. ‘Are you dizzy?’
‘A bit,’ he mutters. I help him to the bathroom, slowly, surely, with love.
Whilst Samuel is in the shower, I strip the sheets, shoving them into a black bin liner, because I don’t have a washing machine here and will have to deal with them later. I open the window to let some fresh air in and then remake the bed with fresh linen, plumping the pillows up, taking the tray back to the little kitchen. When the water stops flowing, I knock gently on the bathroom door.
