The Guilt Trip(48)
Unable to help herself, she goes to the chest in the corner and slides the top drawer open. Inside is a kaleidoscope of lace knickers and matching bras in every color imaginable. They make Rachel itch just looking at them, but she doesn’t suppose they’re on long enough for Ali to feel the slightest irritation. Just comparing this to her own underwear drawer, where everything is off-white and 100 percent cotton, almost offers enough reason for Jack to be unfaithful.
No, she says, pulling herself up. Nothing justifies what he’s doing.
She’s about to close the drawer, when a glint of silver in the corner catches her eye. It’s partially covered by a barely there thong, which she flicks to one side with an outstretched finger.
There’s no doubt about what it is, but Rachel just stands there, hoping that if she stares at it hard enough, it will change into something else. She waits, but no part of the royal-blue bezel, or the second hand that’s ticking silently away, morphs into anything other than the watch she bought Jack for their ten-year anniversary.
She picks it up, feeling the weight of it in her hand. It could be an identical one, she supposes—perhaps Ali’s planning on giving it to Will as a wedding present. But as she slowly turns it over, the engraving on the back is undeniable.
Darling Jack, I’ll love you forever, Rachel
Stumbling out of the room, Rachel desperately tries to chase away the video that’s playing in her mind’s eye. She pictures Ali and Jack lying in each other’s arms, spent from a marathon sex session, congratulating themselves on how clever they’re being and how easy it is to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes.
But they’re making silly mistakes and their complacency is about to be their undoing.
She wonders if they even care. Maybe they’re banking on being found out because neither of them are brave enough to stand up and be held accountable. Perhaps that’s the only way they can see this ridiculous charade of a wedding being called off. Is Jack begging Ali not to go through with it? Promising that they can be together if she doesn’t? Or have they decided that her getting married to Will is the perfect cover story for them to be able to continue their illicit affair?
Rachel’s breath catches in her throat as she imagines Ali telling Jack about what she saw and heard last night. If they’d ever felt guilt-ridden about what they were doing, unable to sleep for fear their consciences may strangle them in the night, she’d handed them the perfect antidote on a plate.
“I think she saw and heard everything,” says Rachel as she rushes back to Noah on the terrace. “And she’s just waiting for the right time to say something.”
He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy peering through a pair of binoculars trained onto the beach.
“Mmm, you might be right,” he says, slowly and deliberately, as if it’s taking all his concentration to look and talk at the same time.
“What are you doing?” she asks, finding it hard to hide her irritation at how blasé he’s being about this.
“I just found these on the desk in there,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the living room. Rachel had noticed them yesterday and had been meaning to watch the surfers, assuming that was what they were there for.
“Here,” he says, without moving from the spot he’s standing on.
“What is it?” she asks, going to him.
He moves himself around her so that she’s standing in front of him, the pair of them facing back toward the beach. He carefully takes the binoculars away from his face and without losing the line of vision passes them over Rachel’s head into her waiting hands.
She’s almost too frightened to look.
“There,” he says, pointing. “Just to the right of the surf shack.”
Rachel squints through the lenses, holding her breath as if she’s watching a horror film, not knowing what’s going to jump out from where. “What am I looking for?”
Noah gently moves her head a fraction and then she sees it. A turquoise-blue top, just like the one Paige was wearing when she left for her run. Except she’s not running. She’s standing stock-still, with her hands on her hips, talking to …
“Is that Ali?” Rachel asks hoarsely, feeling as if the air is being squeezed out of her.
“It looks like it,” says Noah solemnly.
Rachel can’t think straight. “But … I don’t understand … what are they doing?”
Noah sighs heavily. “Exactly what we don’t want them to do,” he says.
Rachel’s legs turn to jelly, rendering them useless under her weight. She falls onto a nearby chair, but she can’t stop them from shaking. The fear of Ali telling Paige about last night hits her like a ten-ton truck.
“This is all your fault,” she shouts at Noah.
“My fault?” exclaims Noah, jabbing himself in the chest with his own finger. “I haven’t been the one keeping this a secret for twenty years.”
“And it would have stayed that way, if you hadn’t have said and done what you did last night.”
Noah sits down heavily in the chair opposite Rachel and puts his head in his hands. “We don’t know that’s what they’re talking about,” he says. “We’re jumping to conclusions.”
Rachel forces herself to ask what else they might be doing, both of them purporting to have gone for a run, even though Ali left her trainers behind. And what is Jack’s part in all of this? Where is he, if he’s not with Ali? The irony that he’s probably the only one doing what he said he was going to bears down on Rachel’s shoulders.