When they leave the table, he walks by her side back to the bar. She’s feeling a lot more relaxed. The shot helped, as did the copious amounts of red wine she had at dinner. She takes a seat in one of the alcoves built deep into the wall of the beer cellar, and Charlie goes up to buy them drinks. She eases off her shoes under the table. The heels aren’t even that high, but she’s so unused to wearing them that they’re hurting her.
The relief is immediate, but lessened when Alexandra comes over and plumps herself down straight opposite Lucy. She’s accompanied by Soraya, another woman on the course with a very loud voice, who seems fractionally less of a bitch than Alexandra. At least, that’s what Lucy had thought.
Soraya leans forward on one elbow, an air of self-importance to her actions. Lucy can feel her hackles rising, hairs standing up on the back of her neck. Soraya opens her mouth to speak, and for a moment Lucy wants nothing more than to slam her hand into the woman’s face and stop her before she says something that Lucy can’t unhear.
‘Have you asked him about his wife?’ Soraya says.
‘I know she does some work with prison literacy,’ Lucy says, a sense of hauteur running through her. They can’t catch her out like that; of course she knows he’s married.
‘So you know I’m talking about the professor,’ Soraya says, smirking.
Lucy feels her cheeks flush red. ‘Who else would you be talking about?’ she says, trying to get the conversation back under her control.
‘He likes to keep his private life private, we all know that,’ Alexandra says, joining in. ‘But we all know aboutthiswife.’
Lucy’s heart drops a beat.
‘But do you know about the other one? The wife before?’
Lucy looks at her, silent. She doesn’t know what to reply.
Alexandra licks her lips, the tip of her tongue darting from one side of her mouth to the other. She smiles again, showing her teeth.
‘The wife before?’ Lucy says eventually.
‘Yeah,’ Alexandra says. ‘The one who died.’
OUTSIDE
You lied. You fucking LIED, you SWORE it wasn’t like that. You said she didn’t understand you. You said that in class. To EVERYONE.
I’m such a fool, such a total and utter fool. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You can’t hide anything from me.
So I’m sitting minding my own business in my little shed, all tucked up and comfy like you know I like to be, when out she comes, waddling and fat and glowing.
I smile.
You won’t catch me going above a size ten.
But then I see her side on and I know it’s not fat.
She’s pregnant.
She’s having YOUR baby.
I should be having your baby. Not her. It’s not right. She’s trapped you. Maybe she stole your sperm. I guess you only fuck her to keep her happy, not because you want to.
You should only want me.
25
At that moment, Charlie comes back with the drinks, pints of lager and some tequila slammers as well. The conversation gets lost in the melee that ensues, shouts and screams of laughter as the MSc cohort reconvenes round the table.
Lucy joins in, but only superficially. Any sense of relaxation she felt before has disappeared, Alexandra’s words playing on her mind. So what if the professor was married before? It’s not that unreasonable. He’s in his late fifties, over twice her age. At least two lifetimes.
At last, it’s just her and Soraya at the table. Everyone else has gone to play table football. She looks over at Soraya, who seems now to be looking at her with some kindness.
‘His wife died? Is that such a big deal?’ Lucy says. ‘I mean, it’s very sad. But people do die. It happens.’
