Marin
Louise phones me up so we can talk about our beloved daughters going off on theirsix-month trip around the world.
‘Hello, stranger,’ I say, and I know there’s an edge to my voice. I feel as if there’s a permanent edge to my voice these days. Even Bernie in work has mentioned it.
‘You doing all right, Marin love?’ she’s asked more than once when I’ve been sitting at my desk, knowing I look glum and not being able to change my face. Not even having bulging shopping bags in my car boot can cheer me up. I’m spending worse than ever and Nate seems to think I’m in perimenopausal hell as he’s giving me a wide berth.
I still haven’t asked him if he’s having an affair: instead, I’m buying the world.
‘I can’t believe they’ll be gone in a few weeks,’ sighs Louise on the phone, ignoring my edgy tone.
At the thought of Rachel being gone away with Megan, I burst into tears.
Bernie looks up from her notepad where she’s been writing something about a showing in Shankill that’s been cancelled.
‘Marin,’ says Louise in surprise, ‘what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I lie.
‘Are you in work?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you escape for an hour?’
I look at my desk with all the things I have yet to do, think of the house I have to show this evening atseven-thirty, and tell her I can’t.
‘Tomorrow, after school drop off. Come for aten-minute coffee in mine,’ she says. ‘I’m working from home and you won’t be late – you’ll speed into work because you’ll miss the worst of the traffic.’
‘Yes,’ I mutter. ‘See you then.’
The next morning, I arrive at Louise’s house and think that it is simply months since I’ve been here. With Megan and Rachel so close, I used to spend hours here. Louise and I became firm friends and it’s only in the past few months that she’s more or less vanished.
Louise is dressed in herat-home gear of jeans and blouse, in case she has to do a Zoom call. She’s a banking executive and has one day a week working from home, which she says she loves. ‘I get far more done on those days than when I’m in the office.’
She hugs me. Louise is such an affectionate person and as she holds me, I feel as if we’re connecting suddenly in the way I’ve missed for so long.
‘Now, in case you’re worried about the girls’ trip, I’ve been making lists for them – calendar reminders of when they’re to email and WhatsApp us, notes on the consulates in every place they’re going. Even a book on customs forsingle-female travellers!’ She waves the book at me. ‘But Marin, is that what’s wrong? Is it the girls’ trip, or is it something else?’
I want to bleat that she’s been avoiding me, that we haven’t had aheart-to-heart talk for ages, but I don’t.
Instead I say: ‘It’s Nate and me...’
In a quieter voice, she says: ‘Come on in, I’ve got coffee on.’
We sit in her kitchen and she finally tells me.
‘I’m sorry, Marin – I didn’t know what to do. If I told you and I was wrong, you’d never forgive me. The messenger is always the one in trouble...’
‘If you told me what?’
She hesitates, then says: ‘I saw Nate coming out of a hotel in town one afternoon, with a tall blonde woman. I didn’t see her face because she was facing the other way, but he kissed her goodbye.’
My heart doesn’t sink: it plummets. I’ve been kidding myself that I was imagining things. But here are two riddles solved: the one about why Louise hasn’t been able to talk to me and the one about Nate.
‘Do you think it could be Angie, Steve’s wife?’
She considers this and shrugs. ‘I can’t say. Honestly. But I’m really sorry for telling you, Marin. And for not telling you. It could be totally innocent –’
