The First Mistake(23)

‘Does it matter?’

‘Well, if it was a drunken slip-up, I’d be more likely to be able to see past it,’ I said, matter-of-factly. ‘But if it was more than once, or God forbid, more than once with the same person, then we’d have a bit of an issue on our hands.’

‘So, if he had sex with a prostitute once, and kissed the same girl three times, what would you be less likely to forgive?’ she asked, playing devil’s advocate.

‘Definitely the kisses,’ I said, feeling slightly nauseous at the sight of her spooning Cookie Dough ice cream into her mouth. ‘Are you honestly going to eat all of that?’

She’d looked around our luxuriously decorated room. ‘Well, in the absence of a freezer, I might have to,’ she laughed.

‘I think there would be a lot to talk about if he had a one-night-stand with anyone, but if it happened more than once, then that would imply that there’s a whole other level to it. I wouldn’t be able to get past him having a relationship. If he had an emotional connection with someone, then he’d be out on his ear.’

‘No questions?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely not. It would haunt me – wondering if he was thinking about her every time we were together. Every row we had, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from bringing it up, and every time he walked out the door, I’d think he was going to her. It would destroy us.’

‘Are you about to destroy us?’ I ask, out loud, as I look at Nathan’s text message again.

Have you got time to pop in? I text Beth, all too aware that she may not give me a get-out clause from the adamant resolution I made when I thought it was just a hypothetical conversation.

I can’t, sorry, she texts back.

Me: I could really do with speaking to you, just for a minute. It’s about Nathan

I wait for what seems an eternity for her to reply. Is he home? she texts.

Me: No

Beth: Okay, I can’t stop for long

Half an hour later she’s at the door with a worried, furtive look on her face.

‘Hey,’ she says. ‘You okay?’

It’s a simple turn of phrase and one that she’s probably expecting nothing more than a yes to. But the tears come as soon as I see her.

‘No,’ I blurt out. ‘No, I’m not.’

She ushers the girls in and sets them up in front of the TV.

‘Oh Alice, what on earth’s wrong?’ she says as she comes towards me, taking me in her arms. I’m oddly comforted by the warm, familiar smell of my dear friend. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I just . . .’ I start. ‘I . . . it’s just that Nathan . . .’

There’s a sharp intake of breath, but I’m not sure if it’s from me or her. ‘Oh my God, is he okay?’ she asks, as she no doubt wonders if history has repeated itself.

‘Yes . . . yes, it’s just . . .’

‘Where is he?’ she asks.

‘He’s gone into the office, but I . . . I think he’s having an affair.’

She holds me at arm’s length. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

I shake my head as she pulls me into her again.

I tell her about the earring, bouquet and hotel bill, hoping that saying it out loud will somehow make my suspicions implausible, though it only serves to confirm them.

‘Jesus,’ says Beth, as she falls back into the dining chair she’s sitting on.

‘It’s not looking good, is it?’

She grimaces. ‘Look, I know I’ve not met Nathan, but I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. There may be a perfectly good explanation for all this. Only you know him well enough to say, hand on your heart, that something might be going on. They say a woman instinctively knows when her other half is up to no good, but hey, look at me – I didn’t have a bloody clue.’ She smiles to try and lighten the mood. ‘What’s your gut feeling? Has he got it in him?’

‘Hasn’t every man?’ The words are no sooner on my lips than they’re being furiously brushed aside by the thought of Tom. Not every man. Not Tom. ‘I didn’t think so,’ I add. ‘This time last week, I’d be happy to bet my life on it, but now . . .’

‘Has nothing like this ever presented itself before?’ she asks.

I shake my head vehemently.

‘Was he with someone else when you first met?’

I think back to that day; our coming together, like most things in life, being entirely dependent on a ‘sliding doors’ moment. If the sun hadn’t been shining. If I hadn’t been sat on a bench in the hospital grounds. If I hadn’t been frustrated about being held against my will in a place that looked after people unlike me. Then perhaps I wouldn’t have been open to the idea of talking to a stranger.

But that day, for whatever reason, I turned at the sound of crunching gravel on the drive and watched as a man, dressed in a well-tailored suit, got out of a sleek Mercedes. He laid his jacket on the back seat and reached in for his briefcase. In that simple action, I was reminded that there was still a world going on out there. Without me in it.

I imagined him having just come from meeting important clients. Perhaps he’d won their business and was still flush from the thrill of it. My stomach lurched at the memory of how that felt; the adrenaline that rushed through my veins whenever AT Designs won a pitch. I closed my eyes and pictured the scene, wishing, more than anything, that I was in his day, rather than him being in mine.