My Husband's Wife(65)

‘Come to France with me,’ he says suddenly. ‘I know you’re not happy. We’d make a good team. You’re bright. You earn a living by arguing people out of a hole. That’s a great skill.’

No. It isn’t. The truth is that I allowed the facts to twist me, because I saw Daniel in Joe. I then moved my mind to accept the facts, insubstantial as they were, to make them true.

‘You understand me.’ Joe takes my hand. Part of me wants to snatch it away. Part of me wants to stay in this position for ever. His grip is tight. Is it threatening or reassuring? I’m no longer sure. With a sinking heart, I wonder whether everything I thought I knew about this man is false.

‘Lily …’

And now I’m running out of the restaurant. Down the street. Back home. Past Carla’s silent front door. Retching as soon as I reach the bathroom. Oblivious to Ed’s knocking on the bathroom door to ask if I’m ‘all right’.

Four weeks later, I am still being sick. And just in case there is any doubt, the evidence is now in front of me, courtesy of the long, thin packet I bought from the chemist.

I am pregnant.





Part Two




* * *





TWELVE YEARS LATER





My head is still throbbing.

When I put up my left hand – the one that’s not hurting – to touch it, it feels sticky.

Blood.

My sight is blurred.

Yet I swear I can see something round the corner. What is it?

A shoe.

A red shoe.

A siren roars by.

I hold my breath with wild hope.

But the siren goes past.

If only I could turn back the clock.

But hindsight, as the three of us might say, is a fine thing.

What’s that I can hear?

My blood runs cold.

She’s still here.





24


Carla


Autumn 2013


‘Excuse me, but I believe you are in my seat,’ said Carla. She flashed a smile at the business-suited man next to the window, two rows from the emergency exit. It was a carefully cultivated smile. Exactly the right combination of charm and ‘don’t mess with me’.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

She should have guessed. No Italian would wear such a terrible tie.

Carla repeated her sentence in English with the same smile.

There was a brief flash of annoyance on the man’s face, followed by a softening as he took in her smooth black bob, her full glossy lips, her flawless skin and her smell. Chanel No. 5. Her favourite perfume since borrowing Lily’s all those years ago.

‘I do apologize,’ he said, leaping up and almost bumping his head on the overhead lockers as he did so. Then he glanced at his boarding pass. ‘You’re right. I should be in the middle seat.’

He said it in such a way that Carla knew he had deliberately made the ‘mistake’ to get the window seat on this flight from Rome to Heathrow. She also suspected that if she had been less attractive or less determined, her fellow passenger might have achieved his goal.

The plane was only half full, she noticed, as it began to taxi slowly down the runway. There was no one on the aisle side. On her row it was just her and the man, who was now reading The Times. She glanced at the page he was reading.





NEW PLAN FOR REFUGEE CRISIS


Meanwhile, the stewardess was doing a safety talk about life jackets and putting oxygen masks on yourself before young children. Then there was a roaring noise that bellowed in her ears, followed by a sudden rush forward.

Carla’s hands gripped the sides of her seat. Her second-ever flight.

‘Nervous?’ asked the man.

‘Not at all,’ said Carla smoothly. Mentally she crossed her fingers. Another old habit from the past whenever she told a lie.

They were already up in the air! Through the window, she watched the tiny houses down below them. Goodbye, Italy, she said silently. Self-consciously, she touched the back of her newly bare neck. How odd it felt without her usual long black curls. ‘Your beautiful hair!’ Mamma had exclaimed when she’d returned from the hairdresser. But Carla had wanted a fresh look. To go with the new life ahead. She was nearly twenty-three! About time she made something happen.

There was a ping, indicating that you could take off your seat belt. Carla would rather have kept hers on, but the man next to her was removing his, so she did too. Two stewards were pushing a trolley down the aisle in their direction. Carla’s stomach rolled. She hadn’t been able to eat anything for breakfast and it was now early afternoon.

‘Would you like a drink, madam?’

‘Red wine, please.’

‘Small or large?’

‘Large.’

‘Please, let me pay.’ The man next to her laid a hand briefly on hers. ‘It’s the least I can do for making a mistake over the seat.’

‘It was nothing,’ she said.

‘Even so.’

He was flirting. It was no more than she expected. Graciously, Carla dipped her head to one side just as Mamma used to do for Larry. ‘That is very kind.’

‘Are you going to London for business or pleasure?’