Epitaph (18 page)

‘What makes you think that?’ Paul Crane asked, gently kissing the top of Trisha’s head. ‘What makes you think you’re falling in love with me?’

‘How does anyone know when they’re falling in love, Paul?’ Trisha asked. ‘The greatest poets and writers in history haven’t been able to define what love is and now you want me to tell you.’

‘I just asked. I’m curious.’

She moved closer to him, looking into his eyes now.

‘When I’m not with you all I can think about is the next time I’ll see you,’ she said softly. ‘When you ring me at work my hands shake when I answer the phone. My heart beats quicker when I hear your voice. When I know I’m going to see you I’m like a kid just before its birthday. And when we’re together I never want that time to end. Does that sound like I’m falling in love?’

‘Falling or fallen?’

‘Does it matter? I can’t stop the way I feel even though I’ve tried.’

‘Why have you tried?’

‘Because I’m going to be the one who gets hurt. You’re never going to leave Amy. I know you love her and I wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t want to break you two up.’

‘But if I did leave her?’

‘You won’t.’

‘Listen, Trish, I’m very flattered that you’re falling in love with me. Thank you.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips.

‘That’s not the answer you’re supposed to give,’ she told him, a note of reproach in her voice.

‘What do you want me to say?’ he challenged. ‘That you’re stupid? That you should have kept better control over your feelings?’ He reached out and touched her cheek with one open hand. ‘You’re a beautiful woman; why shouldn’t I be flattered that you’re falling in love with me?’

‘But where does that leave me? Where does it leave us?’

‘It’s not going to frighten me off, if that’s what you think. You don’t want it to end between us, do you?’

‘No, of course I don’t but I don’t want to get hurt.’

‘I’d never hurt you, Trish, you should know that.’

She looked at him for a moment longer then lay down again. Paul looked down at her.

‘Tell me you know that,’ he persisted. ‘That I’d never hurt you.’

She looked up at him then nodded almost imperceptibly.

‘Tell me,’ he insisted.

‘I know you wouldn’t,’ she confessed. ‘Not knowingly.’

‘Not ever.’

They regarded each other evenly for a moment then Paul broke the silence that had descended.

‘Do you want to finish it?’ he whispered.

‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Even though I know that would be best for me in the long run. If you weren’t in my life then I could
concentrate on finding a man who would actually be with me and just me.’

She smiled wanly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Paul said quietly.

‘For what?’

‘For any pain I’ve caused you.’

‘I don’t think it’s anything compared to what’s to come. But I’ll take that chance for now.’

She snaked one arm around his neck, pulling him closer to her, kissing him hard this time. Paul responded, his eager tongue flicking out to meet hers, his hand gliding across her flat belly and up to her breasts.

He gently slid his fingers over the right one, feeling the stiffness of her nipple. She moved nearer to him, parting her legs and pushing against his thigh.

‘Make love to me,’ she whispered breathlessly.

‘I thought that was what we did earlier,’ he told her, smiling.

He tensed as he felt her hand close around his hardening shaft.

‘I want you,’ she breathed, her fingers encircling his penis strongly now.

She parted her legs wider and he moved between them, the tip of his erection now nudging her moist sex. Trisha lifted her feet from the mattress and placed them on the small of his back, urging him to enter her. He did so with one deep movement that made them both gasp.

For long moments they lay motionless, just breathing heavily and gazing into each other’s eyes as if one or both of them were awaiting the precise moment to begin. Trisha kissed him lightly on the lips and he began moving gently inside her.

Less than thirty seconds later the phone on the nightstand rang.

The shrill ringing of the phone cut through the stillness inside the bedroom. A stillness punctuated only by the soft moans and sighs of two people deeply engaged, ensnared within their own pleasure.

Paul slowed his pace as he heard the sound.

Trisha put one hand on the small of his back, her slender fingers tracing a path to his buttocks.

She looked up into his eyes and then shook her head very slightly.

He glanced across in the direction of the phone, the ringing now apparently more strident.

‘No,’ Trish gasped.

He stopped moving inside her completely and lay there between her legs, still deep inside her.

‘No,’ she said again. ‘Leave it.’

‘I’ve got to answer it,’ he said.

Again she shook her head.

‘It could be Amy,’ he insisted.

‘She wouldn’t be ringing at this time.’

He pulled free of the grip of her slippery muscles, sliding his penis out of her reluctantly.

She looked at him irritably and rolled over towards the phone, reaching for it.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Paul snapped, trying to reach it before Trish. ‘It might be Amy.’

She picked up the receiver and lifted it off the cradle, holding it towards him by the mouthpiece.

Paul took it from her and pressed it to his ear, seating himself on the side of the bed beside Trish who, after reaching for her cigarettes and lighting one, had now settled herself in an upright position against the pillows at the bed head. She kicked the duvet off and sat there naked, one slim leg bent at the knee. Paul looked at her disdainfully and found the look returned.

‘Hello,’ he said softly into the receiver.

Trish took a drag of her cigarette and looked at him again.

‘I didn’t expect you to call this late, babe,’ he said into the receiver. ‘Is everything OK
?’

It was fine, Amy told him at the other end of the line. There was nothing for him to worry about; she just couldn’t sleep and she wanted to hear the sound of his voice.

He smiled awkwardly and shrugged in Trisha’s direction.

Amy asked if she’d woken him.

‘No, I couldn’t sleep either. I never can in hotel rooms,’ he told her.

She asked what he’d been doing that night.

‘Just that business dinner I told you about,’ he explained. ‘Nothing exciting. The usual bullshit but it has to be done, un fortunately.’

Trish blew a stream of smoke in his direction, her expression impassive but something dark in her eyes.

‘You go back to bed now,’ Paul said into the phone. ‘You’ll drop off soon enough.’

She told him she loved him.

‘I love you, too,’ he said softly.

Trish swung herself off the bed and crossed to the window. She peered out at the night, her back to Paul now.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he murmured into the phone. He waited a moment then hung up.

‘What did she want?’ Trish asked without turning around.

‘Does it matter?’ he said a little sharply.

‘Why was she ringing so late?’

Paul got to his feet and crossed to where Trish was standing. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close, pushing himself against her shapely backside. She didn’t respond but merely stood there, still smoking and still staring distractedly out into the darkness of the night.

‘I suppose it was better than sneaking off to the bathroom and talking to her on the extension like you usually do,’ Trish breathed.

‘And you never normally complain. What’s the problem this time?’

She merely shook her head.

‘I’m sorry, right? I didn’t know Amy was going to call,’ he said defensively.

‘Was she checking up on you?’ Trish chided and he wasn’t slow to catch the derision in her voice.

‘No. Now, will you just forget it? And if the phone rings again, I’ll pick it up.’

‘Sorry. My mistake. I’ll try to remember that next time.’

He kissed the back of her head, the scent of her perfume strong in his nostrils.

They stood there motionless for what seemed like an eternity,
both of them staring at the blackness of the night. Thick banks of rain clouds had been gradually building during the night and somewhere in the distance there was a muffled rumble of thunder.

When Trisha finally spoke, her voice was low.

‘It just reminds me of the way things are when she rings,’ she said softly. ‘It reminds me that I’m just a bit on the side. That your real girlfriend is waiting for you back home.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said, squeezing her more tightly to him. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘Not to you, Paul, but you don’t know how it feels from my point of view. I never wanted to be thought of as your mistress or as just another notch on your bedpost.’

‘I don’t think of you like that.’

She turned to face him, her breasts pressing against his chest. She felt his hands slip to her buttocks as he held her.

‘How do you think of me?’ she wanted to know. ‘What makes me different from the others?’

‘What others?’

‘Come on, Paul, I’m not stupid. You’ve had other affairs. Christ, we’ve even talked about them.’

‘I told you, you’re different.’

‘I bet you said the same thing to them.’

He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

‘Do we really have to have this conversation now?’ he asked softly. He put an index finger beneath her chin and lifted her head so that she was looking at him.

He could see something close to pain in her eyes.

‘I would never hurt you,’ he breathed.

‘You might not mean to but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t,’ she told him.

He kissed her on the lips, one hand stroking her long blonde hair.

‘I would never hurt you,’ he repeated.

‘Promise me,’ she asked.

‘I promise,’ Paul told her.

There was a light pattering against the window and they both turned toward it.

It had begun to rain.

Why these thoughts? Why now?

Why should this particular episode of your life come hurtling back into your mind at this, of all times?

Because you’re dealing in lies and this was the biggest lie that you lived through, dummy. It’s logical really.

Paul didn’t want logic. He wanted his mind clear. He certainly didn’t want it filled with memories like these.

But they were good memories.

But not now. These were memories to be sifted and dwelt upon in quieter, more pleasant times, not at the point of death.

‘I’m not going to die,’ Paul murmured. ‘Not yet.’

You seem very sure of that.

Paul sighed, expelling more carbon dioxide into the air that was already thickly tainted by the continuous exhalations. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to force the images of Trisha from his mind, still wondering why
this particu lar episode of his life had entered so forcefully into his consciousness at this particular time.

Because it was a time of your most elaborate and intricate lies. And lies are the only thing that is going to get you out of this coffin. You proved when you had that affair that you could live quite comfortably with lies and that you could bend and mani pulate the truth to your own ends. Christ, since when has anyone in the advertising business had a problem with lying? If there were no liars in that business then the fucking business wouldn’t exist.

Paul tried to force the image of Trisha from his mind but it stubbornly refused to go. He could even see her now. Slender, despite her small build, her honey-blonde hair brushing her shoulders.

Inside his mind she was smiling at him.

What would she say now if she could see you? Would she think it was poetic justice for the way she’d been treated? Would Amy think the same if she knew?

Amy had never suspected his infidelity. Never questioned him because, he reminded himself, he’d never given her any reason to.

She never questioned your infidelities. Plural. There was more than one, don’t forget.

Paul wasn’t proud of that; in fact he had agonised about telling her about one or two of the one-night stands when she had asked him. He would have been economical with the truth, of course; he would have told her that the one-night stands happened in the early stages of their relationship, that they’d been the result of too much drink and too much overfamiliarity with women he felt nothing for. The usual excuse that anyone who has strayed from the path of unerring monogamy uses and believes
is justified. His relationship with Trish had been different. It had been more than sex. And that was what had made it dangerous. They had a lot in common besides the physical attraction. He had cared about her. And caring was a major drawback in situations like that. He had cared about Trish and he cared about Amy.

But did you love them? Either of them? Have you actually got the capacity for real love? If you had, would you have cheated on the woman you knew loved you? Amy loved you unquestioningly but that never seemed to make a difference, did it? She would have given her life for you but would you have done the same for her?

‘For Christ’s sake,’ he snapped at himself. ‘Get a grip.’

He shook his head, as if to physically shake the thoughts from his mind. They had no place there. Not now. Not in this direst of hours. There were other things that should be considered and mulled over, not past infidelities.

But those things were important. Your feelings during those times were important. For instance, you fantasised about Amy being dead. Was that the act of a man in love?

Paul could still remember those recollections. He knew that he would never leave Amy. He knew that he could never be with Trish and, if he was honest, he wasn’t even sure if he had wanted to be. Not on a full-time basis. And yet, it hadn’t stopped his fantasies. He had pictured the two of them living together and going through the same routines as he and Amy. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted that. Trish gave him things that Amy didn’t and vice versa.

You wanted your cake and you wanted to eat it. Simple as that.

And that was precisely what he’d been doing. In an act
of flagrant selfishness he had done exactly that, taking from both women in different ways but giving little back. He had often wondered what it would be like if Amy died. There was no malice in his ponderings. He didn’t want her to be dead; he just mused on what life would be like if such a scenario came to pass.

It would have been easier for you if she’d just died, wouldn’t it? Then the responsibility would have been taken away from you. You wouldn’t have had to make the decisions. You wouldn’t have had to think about the rights and wrongs of leaving her. She would have died and you would have been free.

Paul felt those same feelings of shame that he was coming to recognise all too easily now. He wondered how he could ever have entertained thoughts like that. And yet they had persisted. He didn’t think about Amy being ill and going through a long period of suffering. He just thought what life would be like if she was no longer on this earth. Surely he wasn’t the only person ever to have done that? People wished death on others every day of the week. He wasn’t wishing it on Amy, merely considering the impact it would have on his life and the way that such an event would change his existence. Was that so appalling?

These thoughts, he told himself now, had resurfaced because of his own closeness to death. Had he been sitting safely in his flat he would not have thought of those recollections, but here and now, surrounded by stale air and confronted by the images of his own end, it was only natural to re-examine thoughts that centred on death and its consequences.

That’s probably enough of the split-arse psychology for now. Don’t try to excuse yourself and the thoughts you had.

Paul attempted to ease his conscience by reminding himself he had never
wished
Amy dead. Never actively
wanted
her to be gone. He had only imagined what his life would be like without her.

Oh, that’s all right then.

He swallowed hard and clamped his eyes closed for a full twenty seconds.

Clear your mind. Concentrate. Think about what you’re doing, where you are and how the fuck you’re going to get out. You haven’t got a hope unless you focus.

‘I know,’ he murmured under his breath.

The internal voice was retaining its annoying tendency not only to be logical but also to be right. Paul knew that he must concentrate when he spoke to his captors.

Even though you’re probably wasting your time anyway?

‘I’m not wasting my time,’ he told himself, the words directed at his inner voice even though he knew that no amount of remonstration would silence it. ‘I can do this.’

You honestly believe that, don’t you?

Paul knew that he had to believe it. He had to cling to the hope, however vague, that he could turn this appalling situation in his favour. To think otherwise was to accept death and he promised himself that he would not do that until it was beyond question.

‘Come on, think,’ he told himself. ‘Get yourself out of here.’

He licked his lips, feeling the cracks on them where they’d dried. Paul rubbed them with one index finger and took a couple of deep breaths.

The time had come.