‘Another day,’ Emma agrees. She notices that Betty is steering towards the bank and it occurs to her she may be tired. ‘Shall we stop for a while, or if you want me to row, I’ll give it a go.’
‘No, let’s just pull up for a bit,’ Betty says as the boat bumps up against the bank close to a willow tree.
Emma leans out and grabs a root, pulling them closer in. Betty stows the oars and reaches for her anorak. From the inside pocket she pulls out a thermos flask and starts unscrewing the top.
Emma looks at Betty and finds herself wanting to talk, to spill the thoughts that come to her at 4 a.m., the fears that burrow deep into her brain when she can’t sleep. She would like to speak in Italian, but as she looks at Betty with her curly hair, old-fashioned glasses and ironed jeans, she knows she has to force herself to say it in English.
‘Sometimes, I think if I’d known about the affair, I might have been able to save Will. I did CPR when he had the heart attack, and… Well, maybe I could have worked at his chest harder, forced his heart to start beating. They say rage makes you stronger. I think I might have brought him back to life, pulled him back to me, so that I could ask him why.’ After a pause she whispers, ‘I worry I didn’t do enough, Betty.’
Betty tuts. ‘I’m sure you did all that you could. You know I’m our first-aid responder at the garden centre, and on all the courses, they say it’s worth doing CPR but the thing that makes the biggest difference is getting the defibrillator there.’
‘They did come quickly, and they had all the equipment.’
‘Then there was nothing you could have done differently.’
Emma nods. So, she really couldn’t have saved her husband. Her knees feel weak and she is glad she is sitting down. She wonders why she’s never had this simple conversation with anyone else.
‘How did you find out about the affair?’ Betty asks, handing her a coffee.
‘His work sent home a box of his things from his office after he died. I kept putting off looking at it, but after Christmas I decided I would go through everything.’ Emma looks up at the sky. ‘You know, I think I wanted to do something practical because I’d been avoiding so much stuff and I felt guilty.’ Emma shakes her head. She holds out her thumb and forefinger. ‘I was this close,thisclose to just throwing all the work stuff in the bin. Then I thought Will would want me to sort any paper or card into the recycling.’ She watches the clouds pass overhead. She has relived this moment and the choice she made a thousand times.
‘What was in the box?’ Betty asks.
‘A second phone. I thought it was someone else’s, so I turned it on just to find out a name so I could return it. That’s when I found the text messages between him and one of his colleagues.’
Words, a jumble of words, written words. The realisation as they came together. Phrases she carries like brands on her skin.
‘Did you know her?’
Emma shakes her head. ‘She came to his funeral. Blonde, good-looking in a pale, posh kind of way. I remember thinking it was nice his colleagues cared so much about him.’ Emma gives a small snort. ‘She was being comforted by one of the other partners. I wonder if they knew, if they all knew,’ she mutters.
‘Or maybe she was just moving on to the next one,’ Betty says, and Emma loves her for her spite.
‘Was the affair still going on when…?’ Betty can’t finish.
‘No, it ended about eighteen months before he died.’
‘How long had it gone on for?’ Betty asks. ‘Did you ever know?’
Emma swallows. ‘I went to see her.’
Betty looks surprised.
‘One day, when I couldn’t bear the speculating, all the different scenarios that were going on in my head, I thought, why don’t I just ask her?’
‘And she saw you?’
‘I actually think she was relieved. She said she’d been expecting me to ring for months.’
‘What happened?’ Betty asks.
‘We met for coffee in Starbucks. lt felt so … ordinary. I kept looking around, thinking there must be people here who are having affairs.’ She sighs. ‘It was all so predictable. She was maybe ten years younger than Will– an associate in his team. So boringly obvious. And I sat there thinking, I’m in Starbucks on a Wednesday morning and I want to kill someone. Quite ordinary really.’
‘I think you were very brave to meet her,’ Betty says, gesturing towards the coffee that Emma holds untasted in her hand. ‘Go on love, it will warm you up.’
Emma hadn’t realised she was shivering. She takes a small sip. ‘Was I brave or a total fool?’ She sighs, remembering the blonde girl with pale eyes. ‘She was more nervous than I was and that made her seem even younger.’ Emma sees again the girl’s poise cracking in front of her. ‘So I started to feel sorry for the woman I wanted to kill. Just my luck.’ Emma tries to laugh and she sees Betty try to smile.
‘How long had it gone on?’
