‘It’s not often I wish the kids would run in and disturb our peace, but I do right now.’
She liked his honesty. Liked, too, the reminder of their normal lives and their two beautiful kids. He tapped his fingers on the wood and she felt his knee jumping under the table as his foot danced.
‘I don’t really know where to start.’ She took the lead. ‘But I do have questions that are whizzing around my head, things I’ve avoided asking, partly, I think, because I don’twantto hear the answers, yet I know I won’t settle until I do, if that makes any sense. And partly because I figured that the less I knew, the vaguer things were, the less I’d have to visualise the reality, and it might help us move forward.’
‘Trouble is we’re not really moving forward, are we?’
Harriet shook her head. Equally fearful and excited at the prospect of their discussion.
‘And I want us to move forward, H, more than I can say.’
‘Me too.’ She coughed to clear her throat. ‘I guess one thing that bothers me, that I’m curious about is ...’ It felt weird asking this of the man she loved, her husband. ‘... do you ... do you love her or did ... did you love her?’ And just like that they were off. She only realised she was shaking when she raised the mug to her mouth and saw the tremor on the meniscus of her tea.
Hugo shook his head, his tone definitive. ‘No. I don’t and I never did. Not that.’
Her relief was a physical thing as her back muscles softened.
‘Did she love you?’ This she wanted to know as it would help shape the way she looked at her husband. Was their affair on an equal footing? Did he string her along?
‘We didn’t have that exact conversation, but I think she was certainly heading that way, but I made it clear that it wasn’t a road, erm ...’ He swallowed. ‘I made it clear I was fond of her but nothing more and so I think she held back in being open about it.’
Fond... such a shitty word. Inadequate at best and in this context quite condescending.
‘I love you, Harriet. I love you, always you. Only you. I love you so much this is killing me!’
She chose to ignore the words, which in the face of his actions felt a little thin.
‘Did you have sex in our bed?’
Hugo nodded. ‘Yes.’
His response a needle of distress that lanced all progress.
‘How many times?’ She pushed her teeth together, tensing her jaw, liking the distraction of the discomfort.
‘Three times.’ His reply sticky from a dry mouth.
‘Shit!’ She closed her eyes and pictured the nights she must have climbed between the sheets when only hours before ... her whole body shuddered. She controlled her desire to pull a face, to exclaim her revulsion. She was happy they’d left the bed in the old house, but not happy that there must have been at least one hundred nights she’d slept in it unaware of what that creaky old walnut base had withstood. The false promises and whispers that had floated into the headboard, padded and covered in her beloved, carefully chosen Osborne and Little fabric. The bed where she had given birth to both of their children, in which she would never spend another night.
‘Did you ...’ He took his time. ‘Did you never have an inkling, nothing?’
‘Nope.’ She stared at him. ‘Not really. I mean not until the day I found out. Does that make me stupid?’
‘No, no. It makes you trusting. It makes you, you.’ His eyes were wide in the way they were when he complimented her or told her he loved her. She looked away. The news that he had slept with his mistress in their marital bed still hadn’t fully landed.
‘I guess that’s the thing when you believe what someone is telling you; youbelievewhat someone is telling you! And that’s that. For me there’s no degrees of trust, there’s only trust or no trust. I’ve never questioned it. Never. It was you, Hugo, myhusband,and so I never knew I had to question anything. That level of mistrust, marriages with a shaky foundation, that was for other people. That’s what I thought.’ She felt her throat tighten at this truth; the facts still carried the power to shock her even though she knew them to be true. And even after all these weeks, it didn’t hurt any less. ‘Do we have enough cereal?Yes.Shall we go visit your mother on Sunday?No.Does this dress make my bum look big?No. Do you promise to love, honour and cherish this woman for the rest of her life?I do.That kind of thing.’
Hugo sipped his tea. She noted the beads of sweat peppering his top lip and understood that he now used the mug as a prop too. His silence another opportunity for her to expel all that rattled in her brain.
‘When we first met, Hugo, you told me that nothing less than forever would do for you. You said that you hated the fact that we’d met when we were in our twenties and that there had been two whole decades with us both on the planet, unaware of the other. You said it was a waste. And I believed you. I thought nothing less than forever would do, too. I never doubted it. Never looked at another man. I was always off the market. Yours.’ It was painful to recall and yet necessary; she wanted him to acknowledge the phrases that raced around her head in the early hours.
‘I love you. I do, I love you. I love you so much!’ He kept his voice low as if still wary of this phrase, once a cure-all for each minor upset, but understanding the inadequacy of it now.
‘And I love you.’ Her sigh was almost involuntary. ‘I guess that’s the problem. If I didn’t care it’d be easier ...’
‘Not for me.’ He spoke firmly.
There was a beat of silence as her mind played tricks on her, allowing her to feel joy at his lamentation of love so sincerely spoken, before she mentally pulled up; it wasn’t enough to restore harmony, not any more.
