I quickly rub with a towel the mess I’ve made on the wall, throw on some joggers and a T-shirt and find Nicu downstairs in the lounge. His hands rest on his hips as he stands with his back to me. He stares from the patio doors out into the garden. He is framed by glowing September sunlight which shines through his T-shirt, accentuating the muscles in his back and arms. I need to take control of this situation, but first, I need to understand what he believes he knows.
‘Where are the kids?’ I begin.
‘Hockey and football.’
‘Nicu,’ I say, softly. ‘I don’t know what you think you—’
‘I don’t “think” anything, Margot,’ he interrupts. ‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’
How? Did he follow me? And when? Has he found my second SIM card? I’ve deleted any incriminating text messages, then deleted them from the deleted folder.
‘What did you see?’ I ask.
‘You and him together.’
‘Me and who?’
He turns around sharply. The whites of his eyes are red. He’s been crying. I’ve really, really hurt him.
‘Don’t you dare,’ he replies. ‘Don’t you dare deny it. How long has it been going on for?’
I open my mouth, firming up another lie, before stopping myself. I don’t know whether it’s the hangover or if I’m just too weary to fight. I owe it to him to admit my mistakes and take responsibility. I take a deep breath.
‘Not long,’ I say quietly.
The truth disarms him, albeit briefly.
‘Not long? How long is not long?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t been counting.’
‘Jesus, Margot!’ he shouts. ‘Why would you do this to me? To our family? Our marriage?’
‘What marriage?’ I shoot back, triggered by his use of the word. ‘We are two people who share space under the same roof. What did you think was going to happen if you kept rejecting me? You know the kind of person I am. I need to know that I’m cared for, that I’m loved. You had no interest in doing that and someone else did.’
‘So it’s all my fault?’
‘No, it’s not all your fault. But that’s my truth.’
‘Well I have a very different definition of truth to yours. Do you love him?’
‘No.’
‘Then what was the point?’
I look down at my stomach. The twinge there is now so intense that, for a second, I wonder if I’ve been stabbed. The guilt of thinking I’d killed Cat Face is nothing compared to this.
‘It’s over between me and him anyway,’ I say, hoping it might offer Nicu a little comfort.
‘Who ended it?’ he asks. ‘You or him?’
‘Me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I knew it was wrong. He has a wife, but they’re separated and they don’t have kids. He had nothing to lose and I did.’
Nicu’s brow furrows again. ‘What do you mean?’
