‘I wasn’t—’ He stopped, floundering. The knife in his hand hovered in mid-air, glinting off the kitchen spotlights. ‘I know I fucked up, Erin, but you can’t keep punishing me. I’ve said I’ll make it up to you.’
I gave a curt nod, the words caught in my throat. I knew I was being unfair. Greg was doing his best to make up for his gambling mistakes. But right now I was feeling confused, thrown, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
The trouble was, despite Greg’s promises, I was terrified he was never going to be able to make things right again and that we’d never get over this.
When he first started gambling a few months ago I should have seen the warning signs. He’d begun being secretive for the first time since I’d known him, hiding away in his office after dinner, not letting me have the password to his bank account. But the first thing I’d really noticed had been the empty space where his beloved collection of trainers had previously been carefully stashed away in their original boxes. On this day, though, when I’d opened the wardrobe door, there had been nothing there.
‘I got into a bit of debt gambling online and had to sell them,’ he later admitted. But when he insisted he could handle it, that he’d sort it out, I’d believed him. Why wouldn’t I? Greg had never lied to me; I had no reason not to trust him. I’d even felt sorry for him, having to sell the trainers he’d spent so many years collecting.
But then I’d discovered the emails that had shattered our world, and that had revealed the true scale of his problem. While I’d been putting in increasingly long hours at the clinic where I worked as a counsellor and where, since the pandemic, I’d seen more and more patients struggling, Greg had been idling away the hours he usually spent in the office online, gambling – and losing – more and more money.
Our savings had all but gone, he’d maxed out four credit cards, and taken out a loan that he was struggling to pay back. But worst of all, he’d also been talking to someone about borrowing against the house. The house that we’d bought together, that we’d both poured all our time, money and energy into over the years to make it somewhere we loved. Our sanctuary.
And he had been prepared to risk it all.
Things had been tough since then. Something between us had broken that day, some thread of trust that had previously always existed. My husband became someone I didn’t recognise and I felt untethered. And while Greg had been getting help for his addiction with another counsellor that I’d recommended but didn’t know personally, and between us we’d been trying to pay back some of the debt, bit by bit, it meant that, for the first time since we’d met, I’d been the one to look after him, and it had made me feel less secure than I had for years.
Although I’d forgiven him, in theory, I still felt open, and vulnerable.
And now Adam had appeared out of the blue. No wonder I was feeling rattled.
I took a deep breath and pasted a smile on my face, then stepped forward and took the knife from his hand, laid it carefully on the side, and wrapped my arms around him, relief flooding through me as I felt his body relax. We stood there for a few minutes, letting the sounds of the house settle around us, until I pulled away and stared up at him. His eyes held a sadness I’d never seen before, and I knew he was still terrified I was going to leave him, despite my reassurances that we’d be fine.
Which was why there was no way I could tell him about seeing Adam today. He’d understood the depths of my love for Adam, and had always assumed that, if Adam had come back during those first few months, even years, of us being together, I would have left him at the drop of a hat. But for the last decade, he’d been more sure of us, more secure, happy to relax and let us be Greg and Erin, a solid, strong couple.
‘Sorry,’ I said at last, my voice soft. I felt a heaviness in my belly. ‘Of course I’ve got you something. I didn’t mean it.’
He smiled sadly. ‘You did, but I don’t blame you.’ He cupped his hands round my face a little too firmly. ‘I just – I don’t know what else to say to make you forgive me.’
‘I have forgiven you.’
He shook his head miserably ‘No, you haven’t, and I totally understand why. But I’ll make sure you do one day. I promise.’ He planted a soft kiss on the end of my nose then turned back to the worktop to resume chopping. ‘Starting with this,’ he said. I peered round him at the food he was preparing.
‘What is it?’
He tapped the side of his nose and closed the recipe book so I couldn’t peek. ‘You’ll see.’
I knew he was trying his best, and I loved the fact that he was cooking something special for me, but I couldn’t help feeling a stab of sadness at the distance that had opened up between us. I hoped we could bridge it before it was too late.
Later, as we were finishing off the enormous selection of curries that Greg had spent the afternoon preparing, and a Christmas soundtrack played softly in the background, I finally began to relax. The events of the afternoon seemed a million miles away, and we cleared the plates away in companionable silence, Greg humming along to ‘Fairytale of New York’ absentmindedly as we stacked the dishwasher.
‘Another glass?’ he said, holding up the bottle of red we’d started over dinner.
‘Why not?’ I held my glass out and he filled it almost to the brim, and grinned. ‘Trying to get me drunk?’
‘Definitely.’
We made our way into the living room and settled on the sofa in our usual positions, me curled into the end, Greg spread along the length of it, his feet tucked beneath my thighs, Dog nestled in his lap.
‘Alexa, play “Club Foot” by Kasabian,’ he said, loudly and clearly, to the device in the corner.
‘One of our songs,’ I said softly.
‘You remember.’
‘The playlist you made for me? Of course I do.’
I tipped my head back, closed my eyes and let my mind wander as the repetitive ‘ooosh’ of the song washed over me, bringing with it a sense of contentment I hadn’t expected to feel. I forced Adam out of my mind and turned my thoughts to Greg, and how we’d got here.
