The Other Half (27 page)

Around morning break, she telephoned Fran at work. Luckily her sister answered her mobile.

“I’ll keep it brief—” she was conscious Fran would be busy “—but I need to get away. Something’s happened with Jamie, and I was wondering if Nathan and I could come and stay.”

“Of course,” Fran said at once. “What’s up?”

“I’ll explain when I see you.” Then, considerate of Fran and not wishing to impose, she added, “I just need to get out of here—have a think. We won’t stay long.”

“Sounds serious.”

If this isn’t serious I don’t know what is, thought Maggie. Yet she didn’t want to create a drama over the phone. “It is,” she choked, her voice breaking.

“Do you need us to come and pick you up?”

“No. We’ll drive over straight after school, if that’s all right with you.”

“Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Fran sounded worried.

“I’d rather do it face-to-face.”

“Sure. We’ll see you later, then.”

“Okay … And, Fran…?”

“Yes?”

Maggie let out a long breath. “I really appreciate this.”

*   *   *

When they arrived, Fran swept Nathan and Dan off upstairs to play, and sat Maggie down at the antique pine kitchen table with a cup of Earl Grey.

“What’s happened?” she asked, pulling up a chair close to her sister.

There was little point in dissembling. “Jamie’s having an affair.”

“I wondered whether that was what it was.”

Maggie shivered. Did Fran know already? Did anyone else? She felt so stupid. “Did you?”

“Couldn’t think what else would make you leave in such a hurry.”

“So you didn’t suspect?”

“No! Why should I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Maggie, not wanting to say,
Because you always know everything.

“Did he tell you?”

“No.” Maggie hesitated, ashamed that she’d had to resort to looking at his phone. But Fran would do the same, she justified. “I checked his mobile.”

“Schoolboy error,” said Fran—Maggie thought it anything but. “I’m surprised he didn’t make more effort to cover his tracks. Maybe he wanted you to find out.”

“Do you think?”

“Lord knows. Who is she?”

Maggie flinched. “A girl he works with.” She certainly wasn’t going to call Chloë a
woman
. That implied maturity, integrity.

“Quelle surprise.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, because it’s
easy.
Men are so bloody lazy when it comes to affairs. They like it laid on a plate.”

Maggie was tempted to ask if Fran’s affair was any different, given she’d found her postman on the doorstep, but she needed Fran’s support.

“Chloë Appleton, she’s called.”

“I suppose she’s younger than you, too?”

“Yes.” The obviousness made it even worse. Tacky. Sordid. “I guess she’s sort of up-front looking. Blatant. Displays her assets to the world. Dead trendy. You know the type. Magazines are full of them.”

Fran was puzzled. “Did Jamie tell you this? Doesn’t seem he likes her that much if that’s how he describes her.”

“No, of course not. I bet he thinks she’s bloody gorgeous. She’s exactly his type.”

“You don’t
know
her, do you?” Her eyes were wide with horror.

“I have met her, yes.”

“God! When?”

“I went in to see her to try and get work.”

“Did you realize who she was?”

“Not a clue.”

“Did Jamie know you were going in to see her?”

The memory stung. That he hadn’t stopped her made Maggie cringe. “Yes, I remember him saying he didn’t think it was a good idea—”

“I’m sure he didn’t!”

“—but I was pretty determined…” Maggie frowned. When she looked back on the whole episode, Jamie’s behavior was despicable.

“So, how long’s it been going on, then?”

Why doesn’t she question if it’s true? Maggie wondered. Maybe Jamie was a more likely candidate for infidelity than I realized. “I don’t know exactly, but my guess is four or five months.” Then she explained what had happened the day before, about the counselor, the confrontation, the denial, even the lovemaking—though she shivered at the thought, and she knew it would make Fran judge Jamie harshly. Finally, she recounted how Jamie’s mobile had ultimately condemned him.

She had a fleeting concern her sister might think this tantamount to spying, but Fran said, “I have to hand it to you. Well done for figuring it out like that.”

So far, her sister seemed behind her all the way. This gave Maggie the courage to ask, “You don’t believe this is my fault, do you?”

“
No!
Why would you think that?”

“I’m not sure. I just thought it’s never one person to blame for this sort of thing … Perhaps I’ve been boring him, not given him enough attention, or something.” Her emotions came in waves: one minute she was strong, fired up by anger; the next insecure, full of self-blame.

“That’s bollocks for starters.” Fran topped up both their cups of tea. “He hasn’t been paying
you
enough attention, not the other way around.”

“That’s what Jean says. I don’t really understand why, then…” Maggie trailed off, and blinked away tears.

“Hey.” Fran grabbed her hand. “It’ll be okay…”

“I don’t think it will.”

“Of course it will! I told you about me and Geoff, didn’t I? We went to hell and back.”

“You did?” Maggie was surprised. Fran hadn’t given this impression before. Although of course Fran was proud, just as Maggie was. She liked to appear to have everything under control.

“Yeah; it was awful … awful … for a while. Both of us were miserable as sin.” For a moment Maggie thought she was going to hear a completely different version of events. “But, I explained before, it came out okay in the end. Look at us now—things have never been better. I’d even go so far as to say that in the long run it was no bad thing.”

“Mm.”

Fran stopped, seemingly aware she must sound sanctimonious. Maggie was crying, so she asked, more gently, “Is Jamie aware you’ve found out?”

“No. No. I couldn’t face it right away—I simply had to get out. I couldn’t get ahold of him at work—I was rather glad not to have to speak to him—so I left a message on his voice mail, saying we were coming here.”

“You are going to tell him, though, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” By now Maggie was sobbing uncontrollably. “Oh—Fran!”

“I know, I know…” Fran muttered, standing up and putting her arms round Maggie’s shoulders. Maggie hugged her back, hard, gleaning comfort from the warmth of her sister’s sweater. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d done this; it helped.

When Maggie’s tears had subsided, Fran burst forth, “Wait till I get ahold of him! I’d like to chop his prick off!”

Maggie laughed through her weeping. “What do you think I should do?”

“I reckon you should take your time. There’s no hurry. First, work out what you want to say. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks. You think I should confront him?”

“Yes, I do. As long as he thinks you don’t know, you’re stuck in limbo.”

Maggie could see what she meant. “Okay. Perhaps we’ll go back and I’ll do it on Sunday. I don’t feel we should stay beyond that or Nathan will worry something’s going on.”

“It’s up to you,” said Fran.

“That’s what I’d prefer. Hell, though, Fran, how could he do this? Not just to me, but to Nathan. It’s not only that he’s been seeing someone else, it’s all the lies. He completely denied it when I asked him outright! And then he had the nerve to make love!”

“Don’t ask me … Are you going to leave him, then?”

Maggie’s immediate reaction was to grip the edge of the table ferociously and say, “I tell you, if it was up to me, I’d leave now.” Then she recalled Nathan’s excitement when his father arrived home. “But I can’t just walk out. We’ve got a child. Aside from what he’s done to me, I’m not sure I could take Nathan from his dad. Not before trying to get to the bottom of this.”

“But you’d insist he finish it?”

“Of course I would!”

Fran nodded. “Then I suppose it all comes down to one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you still love him?”

Maggie put her head in her hands. Jamie’s a liar, a cheat, a selfish pig, she thought. He’s been leading me in a miserable dance for months. Heaven knows the full extent of it.

She recoiled at the idea of him and Chloë together. Screwing …

Nonetheless, he’s the father of my child, she reasoned. My husband. Surely deep down he’s still the man I married? Muddled, by his own admission, very muddled; having some sort of midlife crisis. Yet he can’t be a total bastard, can he? I swore to love him till death do us part …

“I suppose so,” she said at last.

35

Chloë was so upset about James that on Friday she threw herself into work with a vengeance. After two cups of coffee and no breakfast, she was racing through the day’s tasks. By eleven o’clock she’d chased down the journalists she’d commissioned to find out how they were getting on, seen three photographers’ portfolios, had an argument with the art director, and written the introductory paragraph to “A Buyer’s Guide to Vibrators.” She was in the midst of revising the tear sheets of the magazine when a vibration on her phone told her she’d received a text. She glanced at the screen. It was from James.

Still fuming, she ignored it for a few minutes. She was damned if she was going to do him the courtesy of reading it at once. Eventually curiosity got the better of her.

What can I say? I am so, so, so sorry. I feel absolutely terrible. Please, please forgive me.

She didn’t respond.

An hour later:
Are you still speaking to me?

She tapped
:
No!

Almost immediately:
Please don’t be cross. I can explain. I could come over tonight and make it up to you. I can even stay over, if you’ll still have me. J. xx

Maybe they haven’t patched things up, after all, thought Chloë, if he wants to see me so soon after a heart-to-heart with Maggie …

As she’d drifted off to sleep the night before, she’d had nasty visions of the two of them immersed in conversation. She’d seen James coming around to whatever Maggie was saying, and agreeing they should make a go of it. Chloë had even pictured them making love—until then, she’d bought into James’s line that they weren’t doing it anymore. Her damaged pride had been compounded by Rob’s disgust with James, yet she was still desperate to see him. She texted:

Okay then. But it’d better be damn good!

He’s offering to spend the night, she rationalized. Perhaps he’s told Maggie he needs space. Maybe they’re having a trial split. Or possibly he’s told her he’s in love with someone else …

After all, his text said Chloë could have him if she still wanted him, and he could stay over. This was new—previously he’d always gone home. Had he told Maggie he was leaving her? The thought made Chloë shudder. Was that really what she wanted?

If our affair becomes public, everyone will hate me, she panicked.

No, she convinced herself. He wouldn’t write a text with that tone if things have come to a head. His words don’t display the signs of a man who’s had enough. Thanks to her father, Chloë knew only too well what that looked like.

Fuck it, she resolved, seething again. He can explain tonight, as he said.

In the meantime she made herself another coffee, and got on with her work. Fired up by fury and caffeine, she spent the rest of the day finishing the tear sheets of the magazine, and then, thrilled by how it was panning out and keen to share it, presented it to Vanessa late in the afternoon. Inevitably Vanessa had plenty of suggestions, and by the time they finished it was past seven.

If James has to wait on the doorstep, tough, Chloë thought.

Yet when she arrived home, she was surprised to hear male voices coming from the kitchen.

“Chloë?” called James.

“Is that you?” Rob shouted.

Bollocks. Rob had let James in. The idea of the two of them meeting without her to supervise made her wary. She tried her best to breeze casually into the room.

James and Rob were sitting at the table, an opened bottle of wine in front of them.

“Hi.” She was a little embarrassed. “How long have you been here?” she asked James. Judging from the nearly finished bottle, it was a while.

“Oh, I don’t know—at least an hour. I thought I’d better not be late. It didn’t matter—Rob was here.”

An hour! Lord knows what Rob had said in that time. He was rarely backward in coming forward, especially when called upon to defend his friends. He could easily have given James a lecture. She glanced at Rob, hoping to detect a sign of what he’d said, yet his face gave nothing away.

“Look what James has brought you.” He nodded in the direction of the sink.

There, standing on the drain board in a globe of water, was one of the biggest bouquets she’d ever seen. The flowers were wrapped in cellophane and hand tied with a huge white bow. Stargazer lilies. There must have been a dozen stems, and each head was larger than an open hand, the stamens a rich, golden yellow, petals tinged with pink. Chloë leaned down into the midst of them and inhaled. They smelt pungent, heavenly.

How romantic! she thought, heart lifting. It’s
ages
since a boyfriend has given me flowers. Though if James thinks he can buy me off that easily, he’s wrong.

“I’m sorry about last night,” said James, coming over and slipping his hands around her waist. That whoosh of desire hit her once more. “Am I forgiven?” he whispered, wiping pollen from her nose.

“Hmph.” Chloë pouted. “We made a massive effort, both of us. Didn’t we?”

James turned to Rob. “I’m sorry if I pissed you off too. I gather you cooked something specially. You’ve both every right to be livid. I know I would have been if I was you.”

But Rob waved his concern away. “We’ll get over it.”

Chloë was surprised—James must have been turning on the charm. Speaking of which, his arms were still wrapped around her; his physical presence was making it difficult for her to be cross. Just the scent of him turned her on.