The Switch(92)

Shit, hang on. Ethan. I haven’t told him I’ve left London.

I send him a quick message.

I’ve left – back to Hamleigh again – I’ll tell you everything later xx



His reply comes almost instantly.

Leena? What’s going on? Are you back on this phone?



And then, a moment later:

Can’t we talk?



I respond straight away.

I can’t talk now, I’m on the train, I have to go back to Hamleigh, I’m sorry. I can’t go into it now – it’s about my mum. xx



He replies.

Why did you text Ceci like that? I thought you said you believed me.



I go cold.

I didn’t tex …



I delete the words and pause. My heart suddenly feels very high in my chest, as though it’s sitting at the bottom of my throat and the air can’t get past; my breathing is shallow.

I open my message thread to Grandma. We haven’t texted much at all these last few weeks. I hadn’t even realised how little we’d spoken.

Grandma, did you text Ceci from my phone?



I wait. The train pulls in to Wakefield; the family next to me gets off and is replaced by an elderly couple who read their newspapers in amicable silence. Everyone moves perfectly normally, turning sideways to pass down the aisle, lifting their arms to take their suitcases from the overhead rack, but I feel as if I’m on a film set. All these people are extras, and someone is about to yell Cut.

A reply from Grandma.

I’m sorry, Leena. I wanted you to see proof. I know it will hurt, but it will hurt more later, if you don’t find out now.



I gulp in air, a rasping ragged noise that makes everyone in the carriage stare my way. I stumble out from behind the table and into the vestibule, then look down at my phone again through blurry eyes, and type as best I can.

Send me what she said to you – I need to see.



The reply takes for ever to come. I can imagine Grandma trying to work out how to forward a text on my phone, and I’m seconds away from sending her instructions before she finally responds with Ceci’s message typed out.

Leena, I’m so sorry. I never planned for this to happen. All I can say is that it’s been like a kind of madness. I can’t stop myself when it comes to Ethan.



Another of those ragged gasps. It takes me a moment to realise it came from my mouth.

I know you must be heartbroken. After the first time I told him never again, but – well, I don’t want to make excuses. Cx



That’s all she’s doing, of course. Ugh, that Cx at the end of the message, as if we’re discussing weekend plans – God, I hate her, I hate hate hate her, I can taste the hate in my mouth, I can feel it clutching in my gut. I suddenly understand why men in films punch walls when they’re angry. It’s only cowardice and fear of pain that stops me. Instead I press the old brick of a phone into the palm of my left hand until it hurts – not as much as a split knuckle, but enough. My breathing finally starts to slow.

When I turn the phone over again my palm is almost purple-red, and there’s a new message from Ethan.

Leena? Talk to me.



I sink down to sit on the floor, the carpet scratching my ankles. I wait for the emotion to hit again, a fresh wave, but it doesn’t come. Instead there is a strange sort of stillness, a distance, as if I’m watching someone else find out the man they love has hurt them in the very worst way.

I gave him so much. I showed my rawest, weakest self to that man. I trusted him like I have never trusted anyone but family.

I just can’t believe … I can’t think of Ethan as … I gulp in air, my hands and feet beginning to tingle. I was so sure of him. I was so sure.

I don’t hate Ceci – that wasn’t hate. This is hate.





34


Eileen


I know as soon as I see her that Leena knows the truth about Ethan. She looks exhausted, bowed-down under the weight of it.

I can’t help but think of the day when Wade left me. He was a good-for-nothing waste of space and I’d have kicked him out years ago if I’d had any sense, but when he left, just at first, the humiliation had hurt so keenly. That’s what I’d felt: not anger, but shame.

‘Leena, I’m so sorry.’

She leans to kiss me on the cheek, but her eyes are on Marian’s front door behind me, and the key is in her hand. We both pause for a moment, just a second or two, bracing ourselves. My heart’s going like the clappers, has been all afternoon – I keep pressing my hand to my chest as if to slow it down. I feel nauseous, so much so the bile rises in my throat.

Leena unlocks the door. The house is dark and quiet, and I know right away that Marian isn’t here.

I stand there and try to absorb it while Leena moves through the rooms, flicking on lights, her face drawn and serious.

Marian isn’t here, I think, with a peculiar sort of detachment. I was so sure she would be, I hadn’t even thought of alternatives. But she’s not here. She’s …

‘She’s not here.’ Leena comes to a stop in the middle of the hall. ‘Is that good, or bad? Both, maybe? Where is she?’

I lean back against the wall, then jump as both my phone and Leena’s phone let out a succession of beeps. She’s quicker at pulling hers out of her pocket.