I blew through my lips. ‘I’m gonna hang up now,’ I said, ‘because if I don’t, I’m going to cry. And I can’t be doing with that. I think I’m all cried out.’
‘That’s fine,’ Shelley said. ‘I get that totally. Call me tomorrow when you get home.’
THIRTEEN
PANDORA’S BOX (BY ROB)
Ceiling, laundry-detergent, scalp.
I couldn’t sleep, or at least, not in any meaningful way.
I did keep dozing off, but almost immediately I’d wake up with the sensation of someone sitting on my chest. The bedroom was the worst place to have panic attacks, because there were so few things you could count in threes. It got very boring very quickly.
Lampshade, Dawn’s pillow, my own chin.
Which was all very well, but where the hell was she? And who, if anyone, was she with? Had I really been so wrapped up in my own selfish adventure with Cheryl that I hadn’t even noticed Dawn was doing the same?
I trailed through my memory banks, trying to remember whether I’d ever actuallyknownthat Dawn was here at home during my own trips away, or if that had just been what I’d chosen to believe. Sometimes, there had been signs – little gardening projects she’d accomplished while I was away, or a dishwasher full of dirty dishes from a dinner party. But for the most part the truth was that I simply didn’t know.
I imagined her stepping in the door and saying,So, look, Rob, I’ve met someone,and who could blame her if she had? I’d been so stupid I could barely believe it. I’d been massively, tragically stupid and I hated myself for it.
Then I’d do another round of counting in threes and switch to worrying about Cheryl. Not in apoor old Rob, he’s not gonna get his knob sucked anymorekind of way… No it was much more of aPoor Cheryl, I’m such a bastardkind of thing. Because even though Cheryl had gone into the affair with her eyes fully open, knowing that I was married, she clearly deserved much better than me, too.
And then back to Dawn again, because, seriously, how could I even think about Cheryl at a time like this?
How had Dawn and I come to be so distant from each other anyway? Surely that couldn’t beallmy fault, could it? Everyone knows it takes two to tango, and if Dawn had wanted to tango, if she’d wanted to ride on the back of the XT to a beach and go skinny-dipping – and, frankly, who in their right mind would not want to do that? – then I’d never have given Cheryl a second glance. Or would I? Was I just trying to let myself off the hook?
She’d said – Dawn, this is –I love you tooat the end of her message, hadn’t she? I picked up my phone and read it again, and, yes, she’d definitely typed it. So that surely had to be a good sign.
Maybe she hadn’t met anyone else at all. Maybe she’d just needed to get away to clear her head, but clear it of what? That implied she knew about Cheryl or at least suspected I was having an affair, so would it be best to deny or confirm her fears? No, I wouldn’t lie. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she’d worked it out and I lied.
Would things be salvageable if I did own up? Were there enoughsorrysandforgive-mesin the world to make things right?
By then it was 5:50 and the sky was flaming red and my tummy was rumbling, so I gave up and rolled from the bed. My body ached as if I’d spent the night in a boxing ring.
I didn’t text her and I didn’t call.
It seemed that whatever was going on was almost certainly my fault, so all I could do was be on my best behaviour, and wait. Giving her the space she’d said she needed seemed a no-brainer.
Finally, just after eleven, her car pulled up outside. I was sitting in the sunroom biting my nails – or rather the skin around my nails because there was very little chewable nail left – when I heard the crunch of tyres on gravel.
I stood. I felt sick to my stomach. I sat back down.
I thought of Cheryl waiting on that hotel balcony and wished that I smoked, and then thought of lung cancer and was glad that I didn’t.
I stood again and looked through the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door. Her silhouette would appear behind the patterned glass soon. Was it better to go and meet her, or better to wait? Perhaps I should have involved myself in some household task so that I didn’t look quite so bloody nervous.
I’d know, I decided. The second I saw her face, I’d know if it was all over.
But then the glass shimmered and coloured with the silhouette of her purple jacket and the door opened. She was in the hallway looking at me from a distance, and I didn’t know anything at all.
She dropped a small bag at the bottom of the stairs – a bag that was no doubt full of clues – and then, avoiding eye contact, wriggled her way out of the jacket.
I met her halfway, in the kitchen, where finally she looked me in the eye.
She blushed, just a bit, but she definitely blushed, which seemed strange. She reminded me of when she was seventeen, and at first I thought it was the blushing, but then I noticed she’d had a haircut, and realised a split second later that she’d had it done before I left for Newcastle, but that I hadn’t consciously noticed. Actually, I had noticed something was different, but I hadn’t taken the time to work out what it was because I’d been too busy thinking about Cheryl and whether or not I was going to have sex with her and risk a baby, or leave her, or maybe neither. More shame on me.
‘Hello,’ Dawn said, almost shyly.
