The House Swap(27)
I nod. ‘I’m not even sure how much he is working at the moment. I mean, he goes out sometimes, but I don’t really know where he’s going.’ I’ve long since stopped seeing the proceeds, in any case. They disappear into a black hole as soon as they’ve arrived.
Jess looks as if she’s been caught off balance, struggling to understand. I don’t blame her. Before the past couple of years, Francis and I were the most open couple we knew. We spent so much time together there was never any question we wouldn’t know all there was to know about where the other one was and what they were doing. ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ she says.
‘It’s not.’ I pause, wondering how much to say. ‘To be honest,’ I admit, ‘sometimes, I can’t see how things are ever going to get better.’
Jess blinks, her expression shifting with surprise. ‘God,’ she says. ‘I didn’t realize—’
‘I’m just feeling down about it,’ I interrupt, suddenly conscious that I don’t want to talk about Francis any more. ‘You know how it is. It’ll probably pass.’
‘Right,’ she says slowly. She’s picking wax off the candle between us, her red fingernails flashing in the light. ‘And, um, dare I ask how things are with Carl?’ she asks, her voice carefully neutral. ‘Is anything resolved there?’
Even the sound of his name lifts me. I want to talk about him all the time, even if it has to be couched in angst and uncertainty. ‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘I mean, it can’t last for ever, obviously, but it’s not easy ending it, either, when we’re seeing each other every day. I guess we’ll have to call it off sooner or later.’ I know the truth of what I’m saying, but my mind is entirely closed off from it, wrapping itself up in a neat little cocoon away from reality.
Jess nods, pursing her lips in consideration. ‘How do you really feel about him?’ she asks. ‘I mean, are you—’
‘No,’ I say quickly, because I know what she’s about to ask and it isn’t something I want to think about. ‘I mean, we get on so well. Incredibly well. We just click. But he’s so much younger than me and, looking at it logically, it would never work in reality, would it … I can’t explain it,’ I finish lamely. What I want to tell her is that it is fun. I want to tell her in minute detail about what we did that morning, giggle and blush over it like a young girl in the throes of a new romance. But that’s exactly what I can’t do. In my situation, fun is indecent; mental torture and self-flagellation are the expected norm.
She sighs, and nods again. ‘I hope you sort it all out,’ she says. ‘I think it’s really sad, you know. It’s just so sad.’ She speaks without agenda or condemnation – simply, honestly – and I can’t bear it, because it only takes a few words like these to twitch the veil aside and show me that she’s right, and I can’t let this sadness overwhelm me. Twisting around in my seat, I drain the last of my drink and reach for my coat.
At the station, I hug Jess goodbye and see her on to her train, then pass back through the barriers and pull my mobile from my pocket. Nightcap? I text. I am only a few minutes’ walk from where Carl lives and, although I had told myself I wouldn’t see him tonight, now that the moment has come, I can’t resist. I imagine him lying on the bed I have never seen, hands clasped behind his head, thinking about me in the same way I’m thinking about him. It’s too seductive to pass up.
The answer comes back almost instantly. Where are you? X
Outside the station, I text back. So cold and lonely! ;-) X
Say no more. I’ll be there in ten. X
I pace up and down on the street, shivering in the cold night air, nerves and anticipation coiling in my stomach. When I see him walking towards me, I feel my face split into a smile, and without thinking I’m running to meet him and almost jumping into his arms, wrapping my own tightly around his neck. He kisses me. His mouth tastes of toothpaste and he’s wearing a different shirt from the one he had on in the office earlier today. He’s dressed up, made an effort. For me. The thought is giddying and delightful.
‘Hello,’ I squeak, hugging him tightly.
‘Are you a bit pissed?’ he asks, laughing. He draws back to evaluate, his eyes teasing me.
‘Maybe a bit.’ My head is swimming lightly and I feel a little unsteady on my feet, as if I’m walking on air. ‘Come on,’ I say, tugging at his sleeve. ‘Let’s go and have a drink in that bar.’ I gesture towards the place Jess and I have just left, and he agrees readily, slipping his hand into mine as we cross the road.
‘Back again?’ the doorman asks as we enter. I think I see a spark of knowing recognition in his eyes: an awareness that a woman who leaves a bar with a friend at eleven at night and comes back ten minutes later with a man in tow is with someone she shouldn’t be with. Before I have the chance to consider, I give him a wink as I pass. It should feel sordid, this conspiracy of silence between strangers, but it excites me.
The next hour is a haze of mutual appreciation – neglected drinks, jokey conversation punctuated by kisses and caresses. I find myself touching him again and again, unable to keep my hands away. His hair is ruffled and I reach up to smooth it down, then slip my fingers up underneath his shirt and pull him towards me. It feels as if I have never done these things before. Through the haze of alcohol, I have the dizzying sense of everything falling into place – the strange, magical sensation of wanting exactly what I have right now. I notice that he can’t stop smiling at me, and it reminds me surreally of how I used to think of him, back in the days when we were no more than friends. Attractive, but a little detached and reserved, despite his banter – a little closed off. I feel as if I’ve discovered something incredibly precious. More than discovered: I feel as if I’ve created it. I’ve made him happy in a way that I can’t seem to make my own husband, no matter how hard I try.