‘This is Billy’s phone number?’ I said, my eyes widening.
‘Gav works for Orange, don’t he?’ Shelley explained with a wink. ‘Lucky for you, your Billy happens to be one of their star customers.’
‘Christ,’ I said. ‘You didn’t talk to Gav about this, did you?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Shelley said. ‘I didn’t say why. He won’t say anything.’
‘All the same.’
‘Oh. My. God!’ Shelley said, sizing me up. ‘You’re going to shag him. You’reactuallygoing to shag Billy Ridiculous, aren’t you? I can tell because you’re getting all funny about Gav knowing.’ She grimaced then and nodded in the direction of the hallway behind me.‘Is he home?’she mouthed.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Just me. Luckily for you.’
‘Lucky for you more like,’ Shelley said. ‘Anyway, now you’ve got it, so use it wisely. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’ And then she waved her fingertips at me and skipped back down the drive.
I waited a week before I texted Billy because I wanted to work outwhyI was texting him first. But – and I know this will sound daft – I couldn’t work out why at all.
I could only work out, by elimination, all the potential reasons that didn’t apply.
I didn’t want to leave Rob for Billy, even though I’d admittedly fantasised about that in the past. Rob was the solid, good-natured rock I’d built my life upon. Rob was reliable, predictable, loving and kind. Rob had become a sort ofdefinitionof my adult life, and when I tried to imagine living without him I felt terrified
Meanwhile Billy was a famous pop star living next door to Kate Bush, for God’s sake. Thatclearlywasn’t on the cards. No, our lives had diverged too far for that to even be imaginable. So why was I even thinking about how unimaginable it was?
I didn’t want to have an affair with Billy either. As for – I think – the majority of women, the idea of cheating, lying – of commitment-free sex – did nothing for me. My sex drive had faded after Lucy’s birth and had dropped off a cliff after Lou’s. Now I was heading for the menopause I seriously suspected the last vapours of it had vanished for good.
I didn’t want Billy’s fortune – I had everything that I needed – and I didn’t want to share his fame either. I didn’t want to be a casual friend – I’d spent too much time obsessing about Billy for that to be a possibility. So what was it?
Perhaps I just wanted to see what had become of him? Maybe it was sheer nosiness, I figured. But no, even that didn’t seem to fit the bill.
But in the end, though I couldn’t work out my end-game, I did it. I thought of Rob, wherever Rob really was, with whoever Rob wasreallywith, until I got annoyed enough to convince myself it was about revenge (though it probably wasn’t that either) and then I composed and sent the text message. It wasn’t long, poetic or even elaborate but by the time I hit ‘send’ I was happy with it.
It said,Hi Billy. I hope this is the right number. It’s Dawn here from Margate, remember me? I was just wondering how you are. XX
The hardest bit was choosing the number of kisses to put at the end.
I sat staring at the phone until it said, ‘message delivered’ and then ‘message read’ and then for another hour, until I accepted that whoever the phone number belonged to wasn’t going to reply immediately.
The next morning when I got up, I had a reply waiting in my in-box. It said,This is Billy Riddle’s PA replying to you. I’ve transmitted your message to his personal number and he says he’ll get back to you shortly. All the best, Joanna.
* * *
I needed proof.
Once Billy had replied, I understood that I needed proof of Rob’s infidelity.
Billy had sent me a text message from a new number saying,Of course I remember! This is my personal number. Call me sometime. 7–8p.m. is generally good. Billy x
It was a normal non-committal reply to my normal, non-committal enquiry, but it made my heart race all the same, and I knew that my reaction – which had been as physical as it was emotional – meant there was risk involved in seeing him. So yes, I needed proof of Rob’s philandering just in case things went wrong at my end.
I did all the usual clichéd things. I went through his pockets and checked his phone. I checked his computer and his bank statements and dug around in the glovebox of his car. And I found plenty of things that weren’t quite right.
There were regular cash withdrawals (because other than spies and criminals on the run, really, who uses cash any more?). There were receipts from posh restaurants in towns we’d never been to, and I even found a credit card payment to a spa.
None of it was definitive – none of it would stand up in court, as they say – but it was good enough for me. The spa, specifically, was easily good enough for me.
I felt sick about going through Rob’s stuff, and I felt sicker whenever I found something suspicious. But I also felt glad, and I hated myself for that. I hated that my husband’s infidelity actually made me feel relieved because it potentially justified my own.
I had to wait for over a week to phone him, because though 7–8 might have been a perfect time for Billy, it was just about the most complicated time slot for me. Rob tended to get home around seven to find me cooking dinner – a dinner we’d eat about eight.
