A Minor Indiscretion (10 page)

T
here's an atmosphere. I can't really define it for you, but you know the sort of thing I mean. We're both trying to talk normally and it isn't quite working. Ed's voice is more clipped than it should be, and I'm working far too hard at being relaxed. We've all done it. It's just that I've never done it for this reason before.

“Can I watch telly?” Tanya asks.

“Yes,” I say without thinking, and she is gone before I can change my mind. If she rushes she might just catch the opening credits of
Coronation Street.
She is fifteen going on thirty—aren't they all? Her ability to spot a situation which she can manipulate to her benefit is uncanny.

Ed looks up from the newspaper, which he has buried himself in since tea time. “I thought she was banned from watching television?”

“So did I,” I reply, but refrain from telling him that I haven't the strength to argue with her.

The phone rings and I nearly shoot through the ceiling.

Ed notices. “I'll get it,” he mutters, and stands up and strides across the lounge before I can suggest otherwise.

I'm in a quandary. I'm trying to repair a rip in Thomas's school trousers and keep stitching through the wrong bit of material, which means he won't be able to put his hands, or any
thing else for that matter, in his pockets. This is because I'm not concentrating, at all. I unpick the stitches and let the trousers fall into my lap before I make a fresh attempt at getting it right. I'm trying to decide whether to tell Ed where I really was today. Should I come clean and risk his wrath? He's not in the best of moods after being dragged out of work and a four-hour wait in Casualty for a bit of bandage. I think I should tell him, but this is not the right time. But then, should I keep quiet about Christian? Is ignorance sometimes bliss? And it's over before it even started. It was a one-off. A momentary madness. A minor indiscretion. That's all. And now it's done. I won't see him again. Or if I do bump into him, it'll just be for a coffee. As friends. Nothing more. Not that it was anything more, anyway. Not really.

“Oh, hi,” Ed says into the mouthpiece. I look up and he's staring at me, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Yes. Yes. She did.” His eyes meet mine. “I think so,” he says very slowly and deliberately.

My mouth has gone dry again, and I rush out to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Both of the boys are in their bedrooms, probably doing unspeakable things, and I can't be bothered to find out if they need a drink or a biscuit. Instead, I just make a cup of tea for myself and Ed.

When I return to the lounge, he is sitting back in his chair.

“I thought you might fancy a cuppa,” I say, putting it down next to him.

“Thanks.” He ignores the tea, and his hands are trembling when he tries to pick up his newspaper.

“Who was that?” I venture.

“Jemma.”

All the hairs on the back of my neck are on full alert, as well they might be. “Oh.”

“She wanted to know if everything was all right.”

“Oh.”

“I told her it was, Alicia.” Ed looks up and I can't read his eyes at all. “But I'm not so sure that it is.”

There's a whoosh of blood filling my ears and I can hear my pulse pounding through my body.

“Jemma's been in Prague all day.” Ed pauses, watching my face as it colors once again. “On a buying trip for the shop. An
tique lace. Jemma might have been shopping today,” he says, “but there's one thing for certain, Alicia. You weren't with her.”

I'm not sure if I sit here for hours saying nothing, or if I answer straight away. I can hear the cogs whirring in my brain, but when I speak, the most trite of statements comes out. “I can explain,” is all I offer my husband.

“Does it have anything to do with this?” Ed holds up a map of Kew Gardens and an admission ticket, no doubt stamped with today's date. He has been through my handbag while I was making tea, and even that minute betrayal hurts and I wonder how he must feel about me.

“Yes.”

“Did you go there alone?”

And I think about lying again, even now. I can't believe my own capacity for deceit, but in a moment of clarity I realize that if Ed has an admission ticket, it is more than likely to be for two. “I went with a friend,” I admit.

“I take it this ‘friend' is a man.”

“Yes.” How can I explain this so that it doesn't sound as bad as it does? Would Ed believe me if I told him I was swept away on a rush of undivided attention and lust, but I'd returned to my senses just in time? Would you believe that? Do
I
believe it? “He's just a friend,” I say again.

“Then why couldn't you tell me about him? Why couldn't you tell me where you were?”

“I don't know.”

“Because you didn't think I'd find out?” I suppose so, I want to say. But it wasn't like that. I didn't even think of the consequences.

“How long has it been going on?”

“There's nothing going on. I've only known him a few weeks.”

“Have you slept with him?” Ed's mouth trembles and he presses his lips together to regain control, and I'm not sure whether it's anger or tears he's suppressing, because I've never seen him like this before.

“Of course not!” I'm handling this so badly, but that's because I can't even think of the words I need to put it right.

“Has he kissed you?”

“I…er…”

“Oh, Alicia.” Ed stands up and paces the lounge. “Don't even answer. It's written all over your face.”

“Today is the first time I've seen him. Alone,” I say. This is the first time it was cold, calculated premeditated deceit, I mean. “Nothing happened.”

“Is this him?” He tosses the business card of La Place Velma onto my lap from my purse, and Christian's address and telephone number are written on the back.

“Yes.” I look at Ed and I want to hug him and kiss him and tell him that he's got it all wrong, but his face is set like stone and he has put a barrier between us as impenetrable as steel. I stuff the card in my back pocket, not knowing what else to do with it. “Just let me have a minute to think, Ed,” I say. “I want to talk to you about this. We need to sort it out.”

“I don't want to talk to you, Alicia. You're lying to me.”

“I'm not,” I protest, even though I am. “It's a misunderstanding.”

“Is he anything to do with the sketch that's pushed to the back of the wardrobe?”

“Yes.” I knew I should have put that wretched thing in the bin, but vanity is a strong emotion, and Christian had made me look so, so beautiful. I wanted to keep it until I was ninety and wrinkled like a walnut, to look back on a time when I was young and admired. “He drew me.”

Ed gives a half-laugh and it's cold and empty. “Then you must be very much in love with him, Alicia.” He turns his back as if he is unable to bear the sight of me. “I have never seen you looking quite so radiant,” he says.

T
he music was thumping so loudly Christian could feel his brain shaking. It pulsated from the inside out, making his muscles throb and his chest vibrate. He twitched vaguely in time with it as he leaned on a wrought-iron balcony overlooking the dance floor. To say it was crowded was an understatement of the highest order. Sardine tins would be roomy compared to this. Christian felt himself sigh inwardly.

Robbie was gyrating next to him, beer bottle in hand, eyeing the talent. Christian couldn't remember where they were, only that it was their third nightclub in succession and they'd paid an extortionate amount to get into each one. Robbie assured him this was
the
place to be seen, but to Christian they all looked pretty much the same. Black, smoke, foam, dry ice, strobes, everyone pretty much off their face.

He looked down at the bottle he was drinking from. It was some vodka concoction recommended by Robbie. It was mixed with fruit juice and herbs, as yet unspecified. It tasted like pop and had a kick like several mules. He'd had more than an adequate sufficiency, and the swirling emotions he'd felt earlier were settling down to a benign numbness. He looked at his watch, the night was still young and already he wanted to slide into bed and sleep, preferably alone. But the consuming of vast quantities of
alcohol was only Phase One of his friend's rehabilitation plan for him. Robbie nudged him in the ribs, with an excess of effort often employed by drunks. Phase Two, it appeared, was about to begin.

“What about those two?” Robbie shouted above the music, waving his beer around in the direction of the dance floor.

There were lots of “those two's”—girls out for a night on the town—and Christian wasn't sure which particular “those two” he meant. There were two girls who appeared to be smiling back at Robbie's leering face with affected coyness. They were both pert and perky with long black hair parted in the middle. They wore black crop-tops, black Lycra shorts and black knee-high boots, in between which they both exposed acres of fake-tanned flesh. They clutched identical purses and bottles of beer. No doubt they would giggle like schoolgirls if asked if they were twins.

“Eh?” Robbie prompted.

Christian shrugged. “Fine.”

Phase Two was to chat up two women who didn't look too fussy. Phase Three was to get them back to the flat for a night of fun and frolics. The music picked up a beat, and the two women thrust themselves about with considerably more verve now that they knew they were being watched.

Christian's heart wasn't in this. He'd been game at first, but now his enthusiasm was waning. The major flaw in Robbie's plan was due mainly to the success of Phase One, and he now felt totally incapable of proceeding to Phase Three without first having a nice little nap. Perhaps he could go into one of the chill-out rooms and have a lie down.

Robbie downed his beer and threw the bottle on the floor. “Come on, mate!”

Christian still had half a bottle left, but he swallowed it nevertheless. They made their way down the stairs, pushing through the crowd on the dance floor until they found their prey. Robbie made a beeline for the prettier of the two, and Christian stood in front of the other one and started to dance. She wasn't bad-looking, but she didn't have incandescent gold hair or translucent skin as delicate as mother-of-pearl or enigmatic feline eyes the rich, dark color of emeralds. And it was a shame that he felt like that, because up until now he'd hardly thought of Ali all evening.

Robbie was right. He should just drop the whole thing. Ali was
too sincere, too honest ever to go for just a fling. Stick to loose women that you meet in nightclubs and you won't go far wrong.

“Hi,” said his dancing partner. “I'm Sharon.” Christian was caught slightly off guard when she thrust her thigh between his and rubbed salaciously against his groin. The girls were clearly here with the same intentions as he and Robbie. Get drunk, get laid. Phase Two, it seemed, had been an unnecessary preliminary to copulation. Christian resisted the urge to pull away, and instead, lifted his arms above his head and gyrated himself back. Sharon smiled as if she had made some sort of conquest. Robbie already had his hands full of the other girl's breasts and was grinning triumphantly as they writhed together. He stuck out his tongue and wiggled it like a lizard toward Christian before securing his face onto hers and disappearing into the crush. Sharon started to move her hands all over Christian, his chest, his groin, his buttocks—and he wondered how women could do things like this with strangers whose names they didn't even know or care to know. It had taken him weeks to cajole Ali into a chaste kiss, and there was something rather nice and unexpected about that.

There was a time, a very short time ago, when he would have taken the opportunity to slide his hands inside this girl's ridiculously short shorts and grabbed whatever was on offer. Sharon smiled and snaked her hand round his testicles, squeezing them gently. Perhaps he was getting old, but he suddenly found the whole thing very depressing.

“T
he children are all in bed,” I say as I shut the door to our bedroom. It isn't strictly true. Tanya is in her room with the television blaring out, and this late on a Friday night she's probably seeing all manner of things she shouldn't, but at this point in time, I don't care.

Ed has a small case open on the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, even though it's quite obvious. “You can't leave.”

“I'm not leaving, Alicia.” He is making a mess of folding some trousers. “You are.”

“What?”

“I want you out of here. Now.”

“Why?” My mouth wants to keep opening and closing even when it's not saying anything. Ed doesn't answer. “Why? This is ridiculous.”

“You might think so.” Ed looks up and his face is pinched with anger. “But I don't.”

“Don't be like this. You know what I mean.”

“I don't know what you mean, Alicia. I have no idea who you are anymore.”

“Ed, we need to talk this through. Rationally. We can go back
to the point where you brought Elliott home from the hospital and I'll tell you exactly what happened.”

“I thought you said nothing happened.”

“Ed, this isn't a courtroom. Don't twist everything I say.”

He stops stuffing my clothes in the bag. “I think you've got a nerve, Alicia.”

“You're overreacting,” I say calmly. “I know you're hurt….”

“You can't even begin to know how hurt I am.” His teeth are gritted and he hisses the words out between them.

I hug myself. Where has this come from? Ed and I have always been able to talk. Admittedly, our conversations of late have generally been over nothing more taxing than the choice of wallpaper, although we did have a major spat over whether or not we should have the all-singing, all-dancing, Georgian-style conservatory built. We didn't speak for three days over that, and I won in the end when Ed capitulated and we had it built. We're still paying it off on the mortgage, and now he spends more time in there than I do, but I wouldn't dream of mentioning that it's been a waste of money. “Ed, I have made a huge mistake.”

“On that we're agreed,” he snaps.

“I want to put it right.” I advance on my suitcase and go to take the clothes back out and Ed slaps me.
He slaps me.
He slaps my hands away and they are stinging and I too am stung.

“It isn't that simple, is it?”

I am speechless with shock and can only stare at the back of my hands, which bear bright beetroot-colored marks.

“I want you out of here, Alicia. Out of my house. I need to think about this, and I don't want you near me. Or the children.”

“What!” I don't know whether to cry or shout. “You're throwing me out?”

“Don't be so dramatic.”

“Permanently?”

“I want some time alone. I think you might benefit from some too. You can reassess the situation in light of recent developments.” Ed sounds like he is giving a presentation at work to a room full of suits, not threatening to end our marriage.

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“That is entirely up to you,” Ed replies, and closes my case.

“Can't I sleep on the sofa?”

He pushes the case across the bed toward me without a word.
I pick it up and its weight drags me down. What's left of my energy seeps out of me into the bedroom carpet. “Now you're the one who's making a big mistake,” I say quietly.

“Just go, Alicia.”

And I do. I'm not going to be able to talk any sense into Ed while he's in this mood, and I can't believe we've come to this situation so quickly. I'm shell-shocked at his lack of compassion, and it hasn't even occurred to him to ask what might have led me to strike up a friendship, albeit unwise, with another man. Perhaps when he's slept on it for a night, he'll be ready to talk.

I walk down the stairs, not really knowing what I'm doing. My coat is on the end of the banister rail, and I don't remember putting it there. I stop, put my case down and shrug it onto my shoulders. Ed is standing at the top of the stairs and I look up at him, ready to plead my innocence again, but he turns away from me, goes into the bedroom, our bedroom, and firmly shuts the door.

I pick up my case again, and now my stubborn streak kicks in even though I'm feeling pathetic. Let Ed stew for the night, and when he's good and ready to listen then I'll give him my explanation. I don't have red hair for nothing. In a whoosh of unbridled ire, I am out the door and slam it so soundly behind me that its hinges reverberate and its glass shakes fearfully. I don't care. I pull my collar up and, chin held high, stamp out into the cold, dark night.