The Silent Wife(60)

Maggie’s face coloured. ‘Lara, we are. It’s not that. I don’t want to burden you with a secret you’re going to have to keep. You simply can’t not keep it. It would be so devastating if it got out. I’ve nearly driven myself mad with it, wondering what to do.’

I took a deep breath, hating myself for goading her with, ‘I thought you trusted me.’

She was wavering, though whether it was because she didn’t want to upset me or because she was desperate to unburden herself I couldn’t tell. I wanted to shake her and shout, ‘Tell me! Tell me!’

She shook her head.

I tried again. ‘You don’t have to worry about me telling Massimo. I never discuss anything to do with his family. None of them take kindly to outsiders sticking their oar in.’

I could see in the way her face sagged that I’d pushed her over the line, that by presenting the two of us as a team, she’d given in.

In a small voice, as though she didn’t quite believe what she’d seen, she said, ‘I think Caitlin was having an affair.’

Even though I knew what was coming, I still felt a jolt of shock reverberate through my body. I mustered up as much surprise as I could, but my voice sounded tinny to my ears. ‘Caitlin? Who with?’

‘I don’t know. There was an engraving inside the box “All my love, P”. And lots of little notes and tickets.’

‘P? Who’s P?’ I said. Not the M I was expecting. I realised too late that I sounded more surprised about the initial than the revelation itself.

A glimmer of hope flickered then died, as Maggie told me what was in the box. Every comment about an opera in London, lunch at posh hotels, a concert at the O2 made me feel stupid and na?ve, like the thick girl standing holding her boyfriend’s drink at the party while he’s kissing another girl in the car park. I’d worked alongside Massimo. I knew that he went away a lot for business, although it had ramped up after Sandro was born. But I’d never made the correlation between his stays away and Caitlin’s yoga retreats or Pilates workshops. And apparently neither had Nico. But what warped mind would imagine his wife and my husband getting it together?

Weaving through my own pain was my absolute horror at what Massimo had done to his brother. Surely even Massimo couldn’t dress that up as someone else’s fault, couldn’t slip-slide his way round the facts until we all felt sorry for him or began to think he was justified.

‘Are you going to tell Nico?’ I tried to sound caring and neutral. Instead my voice sounded eager, as though I was about to burst out with ‘Go on! Spit it out!’

Maggie chewed at her thumbnail and looked at the floor. Tears gathered along her bottom lids. ‘No. We can’t even talk about the box without falling out. Now he just tells me to “move on” whenever I bring the subject up. I get the impression he thinks I got rid of it in a fit of jealousy because I thought he’d given it to Caitlin. But of course I was just trying to protect them both. Or maybe he thinks I’ve flogged it to make a fast buck. I haven’t got any proof of the affair now, anyway.’

I passed her a tissue and loved her for the fact that she blew her nose so noisily, completely at odds with Anna, who thought any involuntary body function such as a sneeze or a cough signified a lack of personal discipline. Sandro had probably taken five years off her life with the sniffing he did when he was nervous.

I felt as though I was standing on the edge of a mountain, looking at the craggy mass below and resisting the irrational urge to throw myself over the edge. I wanted to encourage her to tell Nico. Grab hold of her hand and insist it was only fair, knowing it would only be a matter of time until Massimo’s part in the whole sordid proceeding came to light without me having to drop him in it myself. And then they’d know what Massimo was like. No one would blame me for leaving him. I could be free.

Briefly, I entertained an image of Sandro and me in a little flat with a view of the sea in the distance. My choice of pictures on the walls. Not having to double-check every tiny Lego block was tidied away before Massimo came home. Sandro drawing as much and for as long as he wanted, without being shipped off to judo or rugby. Never walking into a room again with my skin prickling, groping about for clues, assessing the temperature of Massimo’s mood.

Instead, as always, my flirtation with the idea I could live a different life, that rush of energy, withered away. The sheer force of Massimo’s denial, the relentlessness of it, would eat away at my conviction I was right. He’d sidestep any accusation, heaping grievances upon me – ‘Even if I did have an affair, with a wife as fat/slovenly/charmless as you, who could blame me?’ – until some infected, gangrenous part of my soul believed I was lucky to have him. And then the sun would come out and once again, he’d make me feel as though I was the sexiest, most interesting woman he’d ever had the luck to meet.

Until the next time.

Maggie did a final snuffle into her tissue. ‘Sorry. I didn’t come round to vomit up all my worries. I actually came round to ask if you would mind if Mum and I took Sandro out with Sam on the odd day while we’re in Italy, to have a bit of a break from everyone. I don’t want Anna to think we’re ungrateful, but Mum is pretty outspoken at the best of times, and I just wanted to find an excuse for some time apart if it gets too hairy.’

I nodded, seeing the relief wash over her face.