“I can see that,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I’d better put all this away just in case.”
“I’m perfectly capable of buying my own food.” I don’t bother to bury my irritation beneath civility. I am tired of being civil.
She shrugs. “I’m sure you are. I’m just doing what I’ve been told.”
I watch her unpack the items onto the counter. Fruit, 0% fat yogurt, nuts, vegetables, wholegrain rice cakes. I wrinkle my nose, aware that the disgust is written on my face.
“Was this your choice, or did it come from Jack?”
“Jack sent me a list. But”—she reaches into the bag, pulls out a packet of chocolate biscuits—“these weren’t on it.” She pushes them toward me. I’m so touched by this act of kindness that I feel my edges soften. Suddenly embarrassed by my behavior, I swipe at the jam on my chin.
“I really appreciate it, Martha. Thank you. Jack’s right. I can be so forgetful. That’s why I’m eating this…. Not exactly nutritious.” I grimace, gesturing to the plate, feeling suddenly disgusted with myself. This is not who I am now.
She presses her lips together and continues to unload items from the bag.
“Here, let me help you,” I say. Earnest,likable. The woman from two minutes ago wiped clean away.
I transfer the yogurt to the fridge, and she stands back to allow me to move past her. It’s not an entirely selfless act. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams, unable to stop the darkness in me seeping through.Jack’s behavior recently is bringing out the worst in me. Nothing I do is right anymore, and I can’t help but feel that there’s something I’m missing. That he isn’t being honest with me. Martha just might be the key.
“I was talking to Jack about this place the other day. He mentioned it’s become a bit of a burden.”
Her hand stills in the bag.
“Yes,” she says stiffly. “I imagine it’s not easy to keep it up.”
“Hard. That he didn’t really have a choice in the matter, I mean. It’s a big responsibility to take on. Whole family reputation resting on him.” I keep my back to her, one hand still in the fridge like I’m searching for something, not wanting to spook her.
“Well,” she says slowly, “I’m not sure that’s entirely true. Jack didn’t have to take the whole house on. He chose that. His father gave him a choice.”
This is new. Jack implied the house was a poisoned chalice, one that tied him to this life of privilege he resented. This life he did not want. Choice certainly never featured in our discussion.
“But Jack’s father pressed him into it, didn’t he? Made him feel like he didn’t have a real say in the matter,” I say.
She’s silent for a long time, considering me. Finally, she sighs. “Jack’s father could be difficult, yes. But his heart was in the right place. He would never have forced Jack into something if he really didn’t want it. They always had a complicated relationship, but he cared about him.”
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Jack told a bald-faced lie. I do not like being lied to. I do not like being deceived. And it seems Jack is skilled in both departments. I wish he’d see that he could tell me anything and I’d still love him. That’s what love is all about. Accepting the good with the bad. The ugly with the beautiful.
“Complicated how?”
“I really shouldn’t be telling you this.” Martha closes her eyes briefly, as though waging some internal war with herself. Something gives,and—after a moment—she carries on. “Jack wasn’t the easiest child, truth be told. In fact, he was incredibly difficult. His parents didn’t know what to do with him. They sent him to a day school in London, and he was kicked out for bullying. Jack could be incredibly charming and he could generally talk himself out of any trouble, but it got so bad the school was eventually forced to make a decision. So they sent him to another school, and the same thing happened. Eventually, they sent him to boarding school. I think they hoped that some time away from home would help him mature. It didn’t. The problem there was drugs. That lasted for a while. Drove his parents nearly spare. The arguments that Jack and his father would have…” She shudders. “They were horrible. He’d threaten to kick him out, but he was too soft to actually go through with it. Then Jack met Alice, and everything changed.” She breaks off.
I press: “How?How did everything change?”
But Martha seems to gain control of herself. Perhaps I seemed overly eager, because she clamps a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t’ve said any of that. I’m sorry. Please don’t mention it….”
“Of course I won’t, Martha, but I want to know. Ideserveto know, don’t you think?”
But she’s shaking her head in something that looks like fear. “No. I’ve said too much. I’m sorry.”
I conceal my irritation behind a mask of calm understanding. She’s given me a lot to think about. Clearly, I can’t trust anything that Jack has told me of his past. He’s been lying from the start, and it hurts to know how little he trusts me. My job now is to sift through everything he gave me as decree and piece together the real truth. Only then can we really move forward, united.
I look at Martha, who is clearly panicked. Her hand shakes as she packs away the final few items. Usually, I love it when people talk out of turn, enjoying the transference of power. Now I just feel sorry for her.
I’m about to promise her that I will say nothing to Jack about what she’s told me, press her on the issue of Alice, when her phone, which she has set down on the counter next to the shopping bag, begins to vibrate with a call.
She isn’t quick enough to silence it, and I see what’s on the screen. Serena—the red-lipped woman who spat at my feet—is trying to call her.
And the anger returns in a flood.
