Woman to Woman (10 page)

windows of his car; the same car she drove to the supermarket at weekends with the boys squabbling in the back.

God, the betrayal. It hurt so much and it made her so angry.

Twelve years of marriage had meant nothing to him if he could just forget about her and their sons for a few hot nights with some floozie.

“Are you all right?” he asked again. She turned away. Tom returned with the drink he’d offered to get for her: a large tumbler full of gin and tonic, strong and cool with plenty of ice clinking around the glass.

She smiled thanks at Tom and took a deep reviving slug, feeling the gin hit her system like an injection of adrenaline.

Michael had already moved his attention to the next subject, his personal interpretation of the latest political crisis in Washington.

“We have to talk.” Aisling surprised herself with the calmness of her voice as she reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. Ignoring the look of surprise on his companions’ faces, she walked away from the group with him grudgingly following until they were out of earshot.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently.

“Why couldn’t you tell me in the first place? Tell me, what’s the big fuss?”

She looked steadily up at him. Would he lie or tell the truth? Probably lie.

The big fuss is about Jennifer Carroll. Does that name sound a bit familiar to you?” She gazed at him expectantly.

“I

know you’re having an affair, Michael. So I think we need a private talk, don’t you? Or do you want everyone on the premises to hear about your sordid secret, if they don’t already know, that is,” she spat.

His eyes darkened. He stared at her with the same blank look she’d seen when he was stuck talking to someone he didn’t like: cold and indifferent, his face impassive, his eyes saying nothing.

“How did you find out?” he asked, as casually as though she’d mentioned that the car was out of petrol.

“You should be more careful with your credit card receipts,” she answered.

“Didn’t you know I’d find out if you left a receipt for Lingerie de bloody Paris in your navy suit pocket?

Or did you want me to find out?”

“No.” He stared down at some spot on the grey speckled office carpet, seemingly miles away as though contemplating whether eighty per cent wool was more serviceable than pure wool carpet.

“I didn’t want you to find out because it would hurt you and I never meant to do that.”

“Yeah, right.” Aisling laughed harshly, feeling red spots of colour burning on her cheeks.

“You just wanted everyone else to find out that you were cheating on your stupid wife. Let her find out from the neighbours. Was that the way you wanted it? Is there anything else I should know or are you taking out an advert in next week’s paper?”

He had stopped looking at the carpet and was looking at her sadly, almost pityingly. Shrewd, dark eyes took in the new dress and the garish bright lipstick.

“Maybe I should have asked Fiona if you have a few other women stashed away somewhere? Or was one enough? Did you have a bet on with that bloody bitch to see how long you could keep me fooled?”

She paused for breath and took a huge drink from her glass.

Her hands shook so much that the ice rattled noisily.

“It wasn’t like that, Aisling,” he answered slowly.

“I didn’t tell anyone and I thought we were discreet, although obviously I was wrong. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Don’t tell me,” she interrupted, ‘it didn’t mean a thing and you can’t even remember her name. Is. that your next line?

Because I know her name, even if you pretend to have forgotten it. Jennifer Carroll, isn’t it?”

She looked at him triumphantly, as though they were playing Trivial Pursuit and she’d just won a piece of pie.

“Just tell me one thing, Michael, why? Why did you do it? Don’t you love me any more, don’t you care about our marriage and the boys?”

Michael’s eyes were still cold.

“I’ve loved you for thirteen years, Aisling,” he said.

“But I’m not in love with you any more.” The emphasis on ‘in love’ hit her like a bullet. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying?

Michael shrugged and splayed his hands out in a gesture of apology.

“I’m sorry, but it’s not as if you wanted to make our marriage work, is it? You just wanted to crawl into your shell and hide from the world.” She stared at him, disbelieving what she was hearing.

“You, the boys and your damned house, that’s all that mattered to you. Not me.”

“You never wanted to be a part of my life, you never asked me anything about my day, what I did. It was always the boys.

Did you ever remember that we got married, not you, me and two kids, but us?” As he warmed to what was obviously a familiar theme, his voice sounded harsher than she’d ever heard it before.

“No, you don’t remember, do you?” he snarled.

“You cut me out of your cosy little life and I couldn’t deal with

He stopped, but his words hung in the air like icicles, cold and deadly. He could have stabbed her with them and it wouldn’t have hurt as much as the look on his face hurt her.

She didn’t want the marriage to work? For God’s sake, she desperately wanted it to work but he hadn’t given her any choice in the matter. He’d just run after some woman and now he wanted to make it all her fault!

“You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want to be part of my life,” he continued, ‘so I wanted someone who did want to be with me.”

His voice was calm. Maddeningly calm. She’d just confronted him with the biggest crisis a marriage could face and he was looking at her with calm indifference. He spoke about their marriage as if it was already dead as a dodo.

“Don’t give me that rubbish!” she screamed.

“Lingerie de Paris and nights in Jurys isn’t about our marriage not working.

It’s about sex you and some other woman having sex.

“You just couldn’t stop yourself, could you? Everything we had just wasn’t enough for you. So don’t try and blame me.

Don’t tell me it’s my fault!”

She stopped abruptly, aware that people nearby had stopped talking.

Normally, she’d have been embarrassed, but tonight she didn’t give a damn who heard her.

“How dare you …”

“I’m not trying to blame you,” Michael interrupted.

“It’s just that…” He sighed heavily.

“Look, we can’t talk about this here with everyone watching and listening. Let’s wait ‘til we get home, OK?”

“Home! Let’s wait ‘til we get home!” she repeated shrilly.

“You conveniently forgot about home when you were shacked up with that bitch in a Dublin hotel, lying that you were in London! So you can forget about coming home with me!

Your home is with your bloody girlfriend and I don’t want to see you until you’ve dumped her!”

“Aisling.” He tried to grab her but she managed to shrug his arm off. The door. Where was the door? She couldn’t see through her tears. She just pushed past the double doors before he caught up with her.

“Stop,” he commanded. And she did. Turning her round to face him, Michael looked her in the eyes, his pupils boring into hers intently.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Aisling,” he repeated.

“You have to believe that. But you’ve changed. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you’re different. It’s as if you shut yourself off from me and I can’t live like that. I’m sorry.

“You’re right about me not coming home,” he added.

“It wouldn’t work. It’s better if I don’t come home tonight. I wanted to tell you everything a long time ago, but I could never find the right time. I didn’t want to hurt the kids but there’s no time that’s right for kids in the middle of at marriage breakup.”

She could feel the blood pumping through her body, keeping her alive when all she wanted to do was die.

She’d given him the chance, the chance to say he loved her and that it

had all been an awful mistake. But he hadn’t used it. He had turned her own words against her.

God, if only she hadn’t said he shouldn’t come home, if only she’d kept her mouth shut and let him explain, let him beg forgiveness, surely everything would have been all right?

She’d given him a cast-iron excuse to leave. Aisling had never quite understood the expression ‘time stood still”, until that moment.

He was standing just a few feet away from her wearing a pale blue shirt with the top buttons open to reveal a few inches of tanned neck, a neck she had snuggled into when they sat on the couch watching TV late at night. His aftershave permeated the air and, if she reached out, she could touch him, hold him in her arms and be safe for ever.

Perhaps if she wished hard enough, she could turn back the clock and keep her mouth shut. Then he’d stay with her. Then he wouldn’t need anyone else.

But it was too late. He didn’t want her. He wanted another woman in his arms and in his life. Blindly, she took another huge gulp of her drink, wanting to blot out what had just happened.

“I’ll stay in Tom’s tonight and I’ll be over to pick up some stuff in the morning.” Michael looked at her coolly, his eyes raking in the new dress and her flushed face, red from downing too much gin too rapidly.

“I better go back in. The MD is going to launch the supplement in a few minutes.”

Aisling looked at him mutely.

“Don’t have any more to drink, Aisling,” he added coldly.

“I’m not going to drive you home if you get drunk, so you’re on your own.”

With that he was gone, back to his besotted students and the whispering of colleagues who had seen everything.

Aisling slowly drained her glass and turned towards the stairs. So this is what heartache feels like, she thought numbly, walking slowly down the stairs, her beautiful new dress billowing out behind her.

The security guard at the door saw her walking towards him like a sleepwalker, her expression vacant and her eyes dull. He wanted to ask if she was all right, but he wasn’t sure how to do it.

Jo parked the car and got out quickly, noticing Aisling’s car parked several spaces away. Great, she thought. She slammed the door shut and slipped her keys into her bag. We’ll be able to catch up on all the gossip.

Jo hadn’t walked more than five steps before she saw Aisling emerge from the front entrance. Even from a distance, Jo could see that her friend’s complexion was ashen, an expression of sheer pain on her

Jesus, Jo thought, shocked. What could have happened? She ran towards Aisling, feeling the silk of her dress shimmer loosely around her body as she moved and realising that dainty heels and no bra were not ideal for running on gravel.

“What’s wrong, Aisling? What’s wrong?” Catching Aisling’s hand in hers, Jo looked at her friend anxiously, her eyes seeking some reason for this terrible pallor, this frightening look of despair. Talk to me, Ash, please,” she pleaded.

“He’s left me. He’s in love with someone else,” Aisling said flatly, gazing into the middle distance with grief-stricken eyes.

Jo couldn’t believe what she was hearing; Michael had left her? How ridiculous! Michael adored Aisling, worshipped the ground she walked on, didn’t he?

Surely Aisling had got it wrong … or had she? Jo was dumbstruck. She simply didn’t know what to say. Aisling stood there silently, the lines around her eyes and mouth set in hard, unyielding creases.

“He’s not in love with me, you see said Aisling, like a child reciting a poem learned by rote.

“He’s in love with her and it’s all my fault.” She started to cry properly, great big heaving sobs which shook her body, as if she was coughing her last breath.

“Oh Ash.”

“I found out today Aisling wept.

“Fiona told me, she’d known for ages but she couldn’t tell me. I know she couldn’t tell me. And I was going to confront him, get him to say he was sorry and it would be all right. Everything would stay the same. But he won’t, he won’t…”

Aisling buried her head in Jo’s shoulder, sobbing onto the silver knitted wrap Jo had worn to cover her slip dress in case she felt chilly.

What could Jo do but hold Aisling, trying to ease the hurt with a friend’s arms when all Aisling wanted was her husband’s arms, and his voice telling her it was over, that he loved her and no one else. But Jo suspected that Michael wouldn’t be saying that. Not ever again, maybe. Who could have guessed, who’d have known, that this seemingly devoted couple were on their way to splitting up? Maybe she’d have seen it coming if she hadn’t buried herself in Richard’s life, neglecting her old friends for him.

“Come and sit in my car she cajoled.

“Please, Aisling, please.”

“Can’t. I have to go home to the boys. I told the babysitter I wouldn’t be long.”

Aisling sniffled and found a scrunched-up piece of tissue in her bag among the shopping lists and Saturday morning under-elevens’ soccer timetables. She took a deep breath and looked at Jo.

“Don’t be silly, Ash. Just sit with me for a few moments and stop crying. You can’t drive home like this.”

She steered Aisling over to her car, opened the passenger door and helped her in as if she was an invalid.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry sobbed Aisling.

“I just don’t know what to do. How could this happen, I just don’t know?”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Jo leaned over the hand brake and hugged Aisling warmly, wishing she knew what to say. She tried to remember the sort of advice the magazine’s agony aunt would give, but found herself remembering the medical advice for first-time mothers over the age of thirty.

Aisling hiccuped.

“I knew things were different lately, but I thought it was me. I thought I’d got into a rut and that I had to sort myself out. But I never even thought of this. How could I?

“Was I the only person who didn’t know or should I have realised something was wrong? I don’t know.” She broke off suddenly, staring out the windscreen at nothing in particular.

“Look Ash, there’s no point torturing yourself now. Maybe it was just a short-term thing, maybe he’s sorry but he’s not able to admit it.”

“No, it’s not just a fling. It’s serious. He said our marriage was over.”