The Girl I Used to Be(22)

I thanked her and ended the call, then sat back, confused. I remembered him saying he’d been staying there all week. He’d told me he’d tried most things on the menu in the restaurant.

I frowned. I knew he’d said right at the beginning that he was there on his own, that he’d been bored every evening. Did he simply mean he’d been in London? I’d certainly understood him to mean he’d stayed at the hotel all week.

And then I remembered him saying, I’m on the tenth floor.

There was a knock on my car window and I jumped with fright. Rachel stood there.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said when I got out of my car. “Paula James is on the phone. She says she’s thinking of backing out of the purchase. Can you speak to her?”

I went quickly back into the office to reassure Paula, who called nearly every day, that everything was going well and that you couldn’t just buy a house without the process taking a bit of time. All the time I was working, right at the back of my mind, niggling away, were questions upon questions.

Why did he tell me he was staying at the hotel when he wasn’t? Who had taken that photo? Why had they sent it to me? Had the same person sent me the receipt?

I was desperate to talk to someone about it, but who? While Sophie was occupied with the clients, I opened the desk drawer and took the folder out. I reached up and took a box file from the shelf behind me and used it to block the folder, then slid the photo out and stared down at it.

I thought back to the times I’d gone out with Caitlin when we were students. She didn’t drink much, but I’d keep going as long as we were out. The next day I’d feel “the shame,” as she put it, where I’d lie on the sofa in our student halls and remember stupid things I’d said or done when I was drunk. I seemed to lose all inhibitions at the time, but afterward I’d curl into a ball, cringing at the memories as they flashed back into my mind, and she’d say how glad she was that she’d stayed relatively sober. She tried to keep me safe, though, keeping tabs on me when we went out, making sure I didn’t go off and do something crazy on my own. She didn’t always succeed.

And now here I was again, years after I’d calmed down, married to one man and kissing another while I was drunk. I couldn’t even remember doing it. David was nice enough, but I hadn’t wanted to kiss him when I was sober. Joe was the only man I’d wanted to kiss since the day I met him and I was happy with that. He was everything to me. He was my family. I loved him.

But there was no denying it: Here was the evidence that I’d betrayed him. When I looked at the photo I felt a greater shame than I’d experienced before wash over me. I couldn’t bear to think of Joe seeing it. It was something we’d agreed on right from the moment we fell in love, that we’d always be faithful. That there would only be him and me. And now it looked as though I’d destroyed our relationship and—worse—done it so casually, too. As though it was worthless.

I looked at the details that had been put onto the system when David had first come into the office. He’d given an address twenty miles south of Chester. I frowned when I saw the location; why would he live so far from his job when there were so many rentals in the city center? I was just about to enter the street into Google Street View when Rachel came back from showing potential buyers around a house nearby, and I took the chance of everything being quiet to go and find out. It was Sunday afternoon; it was likely he’d be home.

“I need to go out for a bit,” I said. “You’re in charge, Rachel, okay? I won’t be long. Call if you need anything.”

I had no doubt that as soon as my car had left our car park, Sophie would be at the shop buying magazines and sweets for their leisurely afternoon, and I found I didn’t really care. All I could think about was getting hold of David and asking him what he thought he was doing.



* * *



*

AS I DROVE I thought of what I’d say to him. Would he answer me? Would he deny all knowledge? My stomach clenched at the thought of a confrontation, but I needed to know who’d taken the photo. He’d been with a group of other men when I first met him, but would they have taken a photo of us together? Why would they do that? And had he been at the hotel with them or was it merely casual chat? I just couldn’t remember. I hadn’t known them. He hadn’t introduced us or even mentioned them; once he turned to talk to me, his focus was on me.

I’d always prided myself on my memory. Before we had Rory, Joe and I used to go to The Crown every Thursday night for a pub quiz and he’d laugh as I would remember the most ridiculous facts, things I’d heard once, years before. It was a curse as well as a blessing, of course; some things I really didn’t want to remember and I had no choice, so I’d had to learn to block them out. Yet I couldn’t remember parts of that night as well as I could remember others from years ago. I was more tired now, though. Maybe that was it.

As I drove to David’s house, I remembered that he had said he worked for Barford’s on the outskirts of Chester. Just then my phone rang. I saw that it was Rachel and parked in a lay-by to speak to her. She had a quick question about a sale I was involved with and just before she hung up, I asked, “Are you busy?”

“No, apart from that query it’s fine. Do you want me to do something?”

“Remember that client who came in a couple of weeks ago? David Sanderson. I took him to view the apartments down by the river. Can you call his details up for me, please?”