The Family Next Door(24)

“I’ll watch the girls,” he’d said. “You need a break. Go!”

His earnestness was hard to bear. He thought she had postnatal depression. And maybe she did. After all, it would explain everything. The tears, the odd behavior. Perhaps not the running, though. The other night when she’d broken down in tears in bed, she’d tried to tell him the truth, really tried, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. It was too terrible.

Something no one told you about real life was that it was complicated. Sure, on your wedding day you were given cryptic words of encouragement from older, wiser women—things like “let things go,” and “love is more important than being right,” or “the real reward is getting to the end together.” Fran believed all those things. She did let things go. She did think love was more important than being right and that getting to the end together was the real reward. Unfortunately, there were some questions even the wise women didn’t have answers for.

On TV there were always two parties—the villains and the victims—but real life was more complicated than that. In real life husbands became depressed. Men invested and lost large amounts of money. Men shut out their wives. In real life wives buried themselves in work—and workmates—for comfort. Wives told themselves it was innocent—a text message with a colleague here, a coffee date there—when they knew exactly where it was headed. But no one ever explained that things weren’t clear-cut like they were on TV.

There was never an excuse, but there usually was an explanation. Fran had waited until she was in her thirties to get married to make sure she was ready. She’d made sure she found someone that she loved, someone who shared her values and morals. She wasn’t the kind of person who had affairs. Her parents were still married, after all, and so were her in-laws, at least they were until Nigel’s father died. Growing up, the only person Fran knew who was divorced was her aunt Frieda, and the entire family had been appalled about that.

“Marriage is a commitment,” she’d heard her mother say countless times. “It’s not always easy but you see it through. If it gets hard, you work harder.”

To her parents, marriage was some kind of test that you passed or failed, and they took great pride in being part of the graduating class.

Mark had been a work colleague. Her “work husband,” she’d jokingly called him. He was handsome-ish, in an entirely different way from Nigel. Mark was short, burly, and full of confidence, not to mention her biggest cheerleader. Nigel had been impossible to talk to back then and Fran’s attempts to help had left her demoralized. Work was a release from all that. At work, when she talked, people listened. Mark listened.

Nigel had been depressed for six months when Fran called his mother. His mother was the meek, mousy type—the kind of woman who said she “didn’t understand the computers” and apologized when someone bumped into her. But there was no doubt she loved her son. And Fran was out of ideas.

“Oh,” she’d said when Fran had explained what was going on. “Oh, dear.”

Her response didn’t fill Fran with optimism, but she listened carefully, at least, and it was nice to be listened to. His mother had promised to call Nigel and that was the end of that.

Until Fran got home.

“How dare you call my mother?” he cried the moment she walked through the door after work. It was the most animated Fran had seen him in months. “Why would you do that? This isn’t her business. This isn’t anyone’s business.”

“I … didn’t know what else to do,” Fran stammered. It wasn’t like Nigel to yell. One of her favorite things about him was that he was soft-spoken, measured. “I thought she might be able to help.”

“You know what would help? You staying out of it.”

That was the point when something hardened inside her.

She started spending more time at work where people appreciated and respected her. If it weren’t for Rosie who was a little baby, she would have stayed at work all the time. She and Mark started ordering dinner on the nights they worked late. There were a few text messages, a few personal jokes. A little flirting, and not just on Mark’s end.

It started one night after a conference, during drinks in the hotel bar. Conversation got a little too personal, physical touch got a little too physical. Fran found herself thinking … why not? Mark was a handsome, single guy. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. It was like she’d been starving for months and he was standing there with a platter of delicious food. She couldn’t say no. She didn’t want to say no. It happened a total of seven times.

And then, Fran found out she was pregnant.

It was possible the baby was Nigel’s.

It was also possible it wasn’t.

So, here they were. With Fran trying desperately to keep her secret while running (quite literally, running) herself into the ground in a form of self-flagellation. She’d thought she could keep the secret. But now, with him being the perfect, supportive husband? She wasn’t sure she could do it.

Nigel’s glasses had fallen down his nose. His hands were clasped around Ava, holding her safe, even in his sleep. Fran knew Nigel would do anything for Ava. One day he’d read books with her and do puzzles and laugh mildly at her jokes. He might even be her father. Was it really fair to jeopardize that just to ease her guilt? Was it fair to destroy all of their lives because of her mistake?