Tess Stimson - The Adultery Club (41 page)

the heat building between my legs. Before I can come,

Nick spins me round and moves on top of me. I don’t

mind the change in position - but all of a sudden he isn’t

thrusting deep inside me any more. He loses his rhythm

and slips out of me. I put my hand between our legs to

help him back.

‘OhI say.

‘I’m sorry Nick mumbles.

‘Forget it. It happens. It’s not a big deal.’

He rolls away from me and stares up at the ceiling,

head resting on the crook of his arm. We both know

I’m lying. Whether I like it or not, sex is not just an

important part of our relationship: it defines it. If it goes

wrong in the bedroom then we are, forgive the pun,

screwed.

Or rather: not.

I get out of bed and grab my red kimono. I suddenly

feel very very sick and very, very scared. ‘Just getting a

drink of water.’

In the bathroom, I switch on the shower arid stand

beneath it, closing my eyes and leaning my head against

the cool tiles. How has it all gone wrong so fast? Or - or

was it always wrong, and I just refused to see it? Too

busy enjoying the thrill and the secrecy and the danger

and the unattainability to acknowledge the truth. Which

is that much as I love him - and I do, oh, God, I do - Nick

and I have nothing in common except the pleasure we

share in bed, and without that, there is absolutely nothing

holding us together.

Except that’s not quite true.

Instinctively, my hands curve protectively around my

belly. Soft, squishy, still looking exactly the same as it

always has.

But three-and-a-half weeks late isn’t nothing, much as

I’ve tried to tell myself it is. Three-and-a-half weeks late is something. Morning sickness, glowing skin, lustrous hair, and heavy, tender breasts are all something. And it has

nothing to do with questionable takeaways or insufficient

sit-ups or stress.

I can’t do this on my own. Alarm bells about Nick are

going off in all directions, but I can’t do this on my own.

The hot water starts to run cold. I step out of the

shower, and dry off. Knotting the belt of my robe, I pad

back towards the bedroom.

He’s whispering, but the flat is very small, and very

quiet. My footsteps don’t make a sound on the pale ash

floor. And so I overhear my lover tell another woman his

wife - how much he loves her, as he begs her to take

him back.r

When he finally ends the call and looks up, I tell him.

I find Dad in the greenhouse at the end of the garden,

tenderly separating a tray of tiny seedlings into individual

pots. Slumping onto a wooden bench out of his way, I

watch him press each small plant in gently with his

thumbs. He nods at me to show he’s noticed I’m there,

but quietly goes on with his work for ten minutes or so,

until the tray is empty.

Finally he straightens up, brushing his hands together

to get rid of the loose soil. He surveys the neat row of

pots with satisfaction. ‘Should do nicely this year he

says. ‘Good and strong, this batch are. And the beds

should be fertile, thanks to your mother’s compost. All

those potato peelings and such.’

‘Don’t let her hear you say that, Dad. She’ll have a fit

if she thinks she’s helping.’

He starts to tidy his tools away. ‘Well, that’s your

mother for you. Not likely to change now.’

I pick up a cloth rag and start to clean earth from a

small trowel. Beside me, Dad rolls a length of green

gardening twine into a ball. It’s hot and humid in here;

sweat collects beneath my breasts, and trickles between

my shoulder blades. The air is close and has the sickly

sweet smell of rotting fruit. A fly buzzes against a

window-pane, and Dad leans over me to open the window

and let it out. The cooler outside air brings with it

the familiar scent of freshly mown grass and blossom

from the may tree at the end of the garden. I’m reminded

of all those summer days I spent cooped up indoors,

frantically cramming for exams, whilst outside the rest of

the world turned, carefree.

‘If you could just talk to her, Dad I start.

I k% grunts. ‘Won’t make any difference.’

‘I know it’s not what she would’ve chosen for me, Dad,

but it’s my life. I love Nick, and he loves me. Can’t she

just accept that and be happy for me?’

‘She just worries about you, love. We both do.’ He

reaches up to hook the ball of a twine on a nail in the

wall. ‘When you have children, you’ll understand. It’s not

a question of whether we approve or not. We just don’t

want you to get hurt.’

I swallow a great big ball of guilt. I can’t tell them

about the baby, not yet. Christ, they haven’t even met Nick; the last thing they need to know is that he’s already knocked up their precious little girl.

I fold the cloth rag neatly into squares.

“The only person who’s going to hurt me is Mum, if

she keeps this up,’ I mutter.

Dad looks at me for a long moment, then sits down

heavily on the bench. He leans his hands on his knees,

rubbing his palms gently up and down the worn corduroy.

‘Love, are you sure you’ve really thought all this

through? I know you think you have, but it’s never that

straightforward. This man, this Nick, he’s not just older

than you. He’s done so much more. A wife, a family — love, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You’re only twenty-six. The world’s your oyster. I hate to see your

wings clipped before you’ve even had a chance to spread

them.’

‘He’s asked me to marry him,’ I say defiantly. ‘As soon

as his divorce comes through. And I’ve said yes.’

My father nods slowly several times.

‘I do love him, Dad,’ I say, crouching in front of him.

‘Please be happy for me.’

‘He’s a married man, love my father says softly.

There’s no getting away from it. You’ll be taking on a

man who’s already walked away from one family. What’s

to stop him from doing it to you?’

After Emma quit as Nick’s secretary, handing in her

resignation the morning our affair became public knowledge,

he hired a new girl. Twenty-two years old, legs up

to here, the spitting image of Scarlett Johansson. Nowhere

near as efficient as Emma; she seems to require a lot of

direction from Nick. A lot of hands-on, one-on-one attention.

‘He

wouldn’t do that to me, Dad. He loves me.’

Dad sighs, and pats the bench beside him. ‘Sit down,

Sara.’

I do as he says. For a long moment, neither of us says

anything.

Then, ‘When you were about three or four,’ Dad says,

‘your mother and I went though a bit of a rough patch.

Things were rather strained at home. She’d just started a

new job, and I didn’t much like coming home to fix my

own dinner. Caused a few rows, I don’t mind telling you.’

He smiles wryly. ‘Don’t forget, it was different then. A

man had certain expectations. It was my job to put bread

on the table, and hers to make something out of it. I didn’t

hold with her going out to work, and I told her so. But

you know your mother. She went out and got herself a

job anyway. Receptionist at some posh law firm in town.’

I stare at him in surprise.

‘I didn’t know Mum had ever worked.’

‘Yes, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about your

mum and me.’ He rubs his hand over his jaw. ‘I know

the two of you don’t get on, and you lay the blame for

everything that goes wrong between you at her door. She

can be difficult to live with, I grant you that. But it’s not

always been easy for her, either.’

A field mouse darts between the potting benches. We

both watch it skitter down the centre of the greenhouse

and disappear beneath an upturned terracotta pot.

‘Anyway. I used to get home earlier than your mother

did, and I took to stopping by a neighbour of an evening.

For a chat, sometimes a drink or two. She was married,

too, but her man was out late most nights. After a while,

we got to be friends. Good friends.’

The words hang in the air.

‘You had an affair!’ I gasp.

‘I suppose you’d call it that. Turned both our heads,

for a while, I’ll admit. I was all for upping and leaving

your mother, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Said she couldn’t

do that to a little ‘un like you. She was the better woman,

I’ll say that. I was so head-over-heels, I couldn’t see

straight.’ He swallows noisily. ‘Went on for the best part

of six months. I kept meaning to put an end to it, but I

could never seem to find the right moment. And I was so

angry at your mother. I never stopped to think of the

damage I was causing.’ He closes his eyes briefly. ‘And

then, of course, she found out. Caught us bang to rights here,

as a matter of fact, right in the middle of this

greenhouse. Jan had come over—’

‘Jan?’ I exclaim. ‘Mrs Newcombe?’

He nods.

‘Oh, Christ I say, covering my face with my hands.

‘Libby’s about four years younger than me. Please don’t

tell me—’

‘Of course she’s not mine! What do you take me for?’

‘Well, I’m beginning to wonder,’ I say bitterly. ‘I can’t

L

believe all this, Dad. It’s too much to take in. What did

Mum say?’

‘She gave me a second chance Dad says simply. ‘And

I took it. I’ve never regretted it for a moment. Yes, she

gave me a dog’s life for a year or two, and she still has

her moments, but we got past it in the end. And we’ve

been stronger because of it. It taught us to value what we

have, and look after it. She gave up the job, not because I

asked her to, but because she wanted to show that she

was willing to meet me halfway.’ He takes my hands

in his. ‘Sometimes a man makes a mistake, Sara. Gets

carried away. And when there are children involved, you

owe it them to think twice before you tear their lives

apart. I know you love this man, and you believe he loves

you.’ He shrugs. ‘Maybe he does, I don’t know. But are

you sure, are you really sure, that their marriage is over?

Because if you’re not, Sara, you’re ruining an awful lot of

lives for nothing; including your own.’

I pull the car over and peer at my A-Z. Stapleford has to

be around here somewhere, surely to God. I’ve gone up

and down this section of the A36 for forty-five minutes.

I must be missing the bloody turn-off.

Slamming the wheel with frustration, I move back into

the flow of traffic. This is terrifying enough to do as it is,

without getting fucking lost.

Nick asked me to marry him as soon as I told him I

was pregnant. And despite the conversation I had just

overheard, despite hearing him tell his wife he still loved

her and wanted to come back, despite all my doubts and

misgivings, I said yes.

I want this baby. I want his child too. Maybe this one

will be a boy. A son, someone he can take fishing and

teach to play cricket or whatever it is men do with their

sons these days. Giving him a child will make me just as

important to him as she is. I won’t just be his mistress, I’ll

be the mother of his baby. We can build on that, work at

it, fashion a real relationship out of the bits and pieces

we’ve got now. A child will make all the difference. He

loves me, in his own way, I’m sure of it. With a little time

and attention, that will grow.i

But not if she crooks her finger and he goes running

back. I can’t live like that. Can’t bring a child into that.

I have to know that the door’s closed for good.

Finally. I take the turning to Stapleford and sit behind

a horse-van, drumming my fingers impatiently on the

wheel as we crawl along at fifteen miles an hour. As we

stop altogether to let a herd of cows cross the road, I flip

down the sun visor and study myself in the mirror. Great.

A huge fucking zit, right in the middle of my chin. Just

what I need.

I flip the visor back up. It’s not only a question of

wanting to be sure of Nick. I never thought I’d say it,

but - I need absolution. I can’t go forward otherwise. It

may be impossible to turn the clock back and undo the

damage Nick and I have caused, but if I know his wife is

at least happy now, perhaps I’ll sleep better. Something

my mother once said sticks in my head: you can’t build happiness on someone else’s misery. I guess it’s a karma thing.

What am I talking about? Of course his wife is happy

now. She’s got the thinking woman’s tottie to warm her

bed. I just want her to promise she’ll steer clear of my

man.

Yes. The irony is not lost on me.

We reach a T-junction, and I turn into a narrow track

leading up a steep hill. Twice I have to pull over to allow

another vehicle to pass in the opposite direction. I open

the window and breathe in the dusty, grassy scent of the

hedgerows as I drive. A warm breeze dips the cow parsley

in my direction, and I sneeze at the sudden downdraught