Obesssion (4 page)

I now co-presented a lively magazine show three mornings each week, pulling in some of the highest daytime ratings on a regular basis. It didn’t just happen by accident.

I lurked at the bar while I waited for our drinks to be served, and took the opportunity to send a quick text to Mum. 

Thinking about you, hope you’re okay. Suki x

Today was the anniversary of my brother Antony’s cot death, the day my mother lost her mind.

The barman slid a glass of wine to me.
“You’re Suki Bridgewater.” I dragged my attention away from my phone and conjured a polite smile. “Your drinks are on the house.” He beamed at me and leaned forward, one elbow resting on the bar. “Ever since Marco Vittori was on your show, my sex life has been fabulous. My girlfriend has this thing about Italians, and all I have to do is speak Italian to her.” His grin was infectious and I laughed in delight.

He winked at me.
“It’s like a freakin’ miracle. She’s never been so hot for me, and it’s all down to you. Thanks.”

God, I wish I could rejuvenate my own sex life so easily
. I knew Gabe wanted more, things I wasn’t prepared to do, needs I had no idea how to fulfil. It left me feeling inadequate most of the time. Everyone I knew had a better sex life than me, with the possible exception of my parents. I really didn’t want to know if they still did it.

My team looked up to me as their guru in all matters pertaining to love, and I even wrote a weekly agony column on relationship issues. If I stopped to think about it, I’d probably laugh hysterically.

Gabe, sex on legs, pin up for a sporting generation.
My only lover.
How was I in any way qualified to advise other women on their sex lives?

I fixed a cheerful smile in place and took the drinks to our table to join the conversation.

Recently married, Tara seemed permanently happy judging by the ever-present good mood. “So, Suki. Do you tell Gabe everything?”

“
Everything? I guess it depends on your definition of everything.”

“
I tell Martin every little detail about my day.” Julia looked smug, but then, she wasn’t actually married. “He says he likes to know what’s happening in my life.”

“
Every
detail?” Tara looked disbelieving. “What about when you ogle a cute guy at the water cooler?”

Julia shrugged.
“Yeah, probably.”

We all hooted with amazement.
“Okay then, is there anything you
wouldn’t
tell him?” Tara had taken the role of interrogator tonight.

Julia paused, screwed up her lips while she thought. Then her face cleared.
“Nope, I’d tell him anything. Nothing is secret.”

I grimaced, trying to cover it up with a sip of wine. Eagle-eyed Tara had spotted it though.
“Suki, your turn. What
wouldn’t
you tell Gabe?”

Well, there was a question. How many orgasms I faked? No, that was definitely not something to share with the girls.
“I guess… I wouldn’t tell him—or anyone—my greatest fear.”

Three sets of wide eyes greeted this statement. I mentally kicked myself. Trying to recover, I turned the question back.
“Well go on, which of you would tell your nearest and dearest?”

“
I would.” Julia of course.

“
I might,” Tara was more thoughtful.

Katy was the quiet one as usual.
“I wouldn’t.” She flicked a conspiratorial smile towards me. “If you tell someone what you fear most, there’s always a chance they might use it against you.”

“
Precisely.” I took a sip of my drink to calm my nerves. “For instance, I met a guy who did just that. His girlfriend cheated on him and he wanted revenge. He knew she’d been in a car crash as a child and been traumatized by it, so he used his car to push hers off the road one night. She wasn’t hurt—he just nudged her onto the grass verge—but she was terrified. He described it as ‘leaving her in a gibbering heap’.” I shrugged as I looked at the shocked faces of my friends.

“
Oh, no.” Tara was the first to recover. “This comes down to trust, plain and simple. What you really mean, is how much do you trust your partner? Am I right?” There was a chorus of nods around the table, and then Tara turned back to me.

“
Suki. How much do you trust Gabe?”

“
Implicitly. I was only joking, you know.” God, when did I become such a good liar? I summoned a grin and beamed at her, breathing an inward sigh of relief when the conversation moved on to Julia.

It was Gabe who pulled that stunt on his ex. He told me not long after we were married and I knew then, that if he was on my side, I couldn’t ask for a stronger ally. At the time, it never occurred to me that the reverse was also true. He would make a lethal enemy.

2.5 Gabe

Suki had gone to work, leaving me at loose ends at home. I hated August. The Grand Prix schedule was on hold for most of the month and I felt lost without my normal routine. It gave me more time to go out on my motorbikes, but that was the only benefit. Suki hated my bike collection and flat out refused to go pillion with me, even if she had the time. The schools were all on holiday and Suki’s show climbed even higher in the ratings. Feeling bored, I wandered into her office to flick through her calendar and check that she’d blocked out my races for the rest of the season. I’d been exceedingly pissed off when she didn’t come with me to Montreal and I was sure that’s why I only came in third. There were a few dates that had other things pencilled in beside them: a fashion show, a charity concert, an awards ceremony. There was a time when she came to every race track with me, kissed me good luck before every race, and celebrated with me afterwards. What happened to that?

I sat in her swivel chair and tried to pinpoint when I first noticed something was wrong. She was hiding something, I was sure. She’d been distant, a little distracted, for months. We used to be able to talk about anything. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Her job was increasingly busy, but the increase in publicity worked in my favour and brought us even more opportunities. When she finally got pregnant, I’d persuade her to stop working and get her used to being at home more, ready for when I quit racing.

Motor racing was a young man’s game and the trick was to get out when you were at your peak. I needed the championship this year. Failure wasn’t an option.

I idly flicked through a loose stack of magazine clippings on the side of her desk and watched them spill across the surface. That must be her ‘ideas file’. Yep, they definitely looked like the subjects she covered in her phone-ins. One particularly interesting bundle of pages near the top caught my eye and I took it back to my den to read in more detail.

Twelve Ways To Spot A Cheat—How To Tell When Your Man Is Playing Away

It was amusing, full of handy hints such as the classic lipstick on his collar and unexplained credit card bills for flowers and hotel rooms. Pu-lease. I found it difficult to believe that anyone would be so stupid, but I could see how Suki would make this into a fun piece. The next two pages made me pause and stare. They were printouts from the Internet. Suki, or one of her team, had done some research.

Signs Of A Cheating Wife—Thirty Things To Look For

I probably wouldn’t have paid it any attention if it hadn’t been for Suki’s scrawled note in the margin.
Would he notice this?
And then, another note at the bottom:
How many?

Smiling, amused at first, I read through all thirty items… and realised too many of them could be applied to my wife.

2.6 Josh

I took a discreet seat at the back of the conference hall, one where I could observe Melanie’s behaviour. She flirted with every man that came close, but that wasn’t damning in itself. For some women, that was enough. I smiled at her as we broke for coffee, falling in beside her, waiting to see how she reacted.

Favourably.

When the group made its way back, I slipped upstairs and spent half an hour setting up my equipment. By the looks of it, I might be able to finish this job today.

Sure enough, she came to find me.
“Hey Josh, what are you doing for lunch?”

The crowd surged past, ignoring us leaning against the wall. Melanie sidled a little closer. I could smell her perfume, heavy and musky. I shrugged as I replied.
“I think there’s a buffet, Melanie-from-Bristol. Do you eat buffets?”

Smiling up at me, she twirled a lock of hair around one finger.
“I don’t normally eat lunch. Maybe we could go get a drink instead?”

I moved close, and blocked her path. Time to call her bluff.
“I know where I’d like to go with you.” I kept my voice low, husky, my eyes locked on hers. I couldn’t miss the flash of excitement on her face.

“
And where would that be?” No more than a whisper.

I dipped my head, my lips inches from her mouth.
“Somewhere more… private.”

She licked her lips, pupils dilating as she devoured me with her eyes. Her emotions were clear.
I want him and I want him now. Is he just playing with me?

Raising my right hand, I curled a stray lock of her hair into my palm, releasing it and watching as it sprang back into place.
“You’re gorgeous. Is it just me, or is it too crowded in here?”

“
Your room or mine?” She breathed the words, her heart racing; I could see the vein banging furiously in her throat. I fisted my hand gently in her hair, tugged her head back, and licked the wild pulse. I felt her tremble, heard the groan.

“
Oh, mine I think.” I lifted my head briefly, nipped her lower lip, and drew another groan. By now, the room had emptied behind us, and I closed the distance, pressing my lips against hers.
Oh God, he’s so hot, oh my God…

As soon as I kissed her, I knew what she craved from me, what in all probability her fiancé was not providing. Danger—made clear by her desire to have sex with a stranger. Fast and dirty. And, despite her outward show of confidence, a longing to be submissive, for her lover to be almost aggressive. It was a part I could play with ease.

Danielle’s rejection still gnawed at me and for once, I didn’t stop when I had my evidence. Melanie wanted a stud to service her, no strings. And for one afternoon, that suited me just fine.

2.7 Suki

I averted my eyes from the headline screaming at me. I’d read the story earlier but could do without the constant reminders. Severely depressed ex-soldier murdered his two small children and then committed suicide. Apparently he was afraid they’d inherit his condition. It was hard not to be sympathetic.

Mum had skirted along the edge of a bi-polar disorder and fallen straight into psychotic depression. According to everything I’d read, the condition was hereditary. I stood at least a twenty-five percent chance of losing my sanity, and I battled this fear on a daily basis. Little incidents, like the guy in the café, would be the first signs. Forgetfulness. Mood swings. It had become my best-kept secret.

Dad and I maintained the illusion that Mum was fine, just shy and retiring. Antony was never mentioned. It all weighed heavily on me and there were times I needed to unload, to let out some of the tension in my head before I screamed.

I daren’t see a counsellor; Gabe would have found out. So I hunted around online for a therapist, and found one I could contact purely by email. She didn’t need my name; she was paid anonymously through PayPal. She’d become my lifeline. I’d emailed her earlier and, before long, she confirmed a time to meet in our private chat room. I was careful to pick a time when I was alone in the studio, ostensibly doing research. I should have at least half an hour before I was disturbed.

I was first in the chat room, logging in with my usual ID.

Obsession27
: Hi, Babs. Ready when you are.

She joined me moments later.

B.Brunheim:
Hello, Obsession27. How are you today?  Have you thought any more about our last conversation?

Obsession27:
Hello Babs. I’m feeling a little tired today, thanks. I’m thinking you’re right; I married a clone of my father.

B.Brunheim:
It’s not uncommon to try and replicate our childhood role models with our life partners. In what ways are they similar?

Obsession27
: Oh, there are a number of things. They’re both cold and unemotional. Neither are demonstrative or affectionate. I always felt I was never good enough to please my father and I constantly sought his approval. It’s the same with my husband. I love him. I can’t imagine a life without him in it, but no matter what I do, I always feel it’s not quite enough.

B.Brunheim:
How old were you when you married?