Just What Kind of Mother Are You? (20 page)

I give a quick flick of my head to Sally, meaning ‘Scoot,’ and when she’s left the room I say to Alexa, ‘What’s all this about?’ But I’ve kind of figured out already that this is a whole different type of anger to what she displayed when Lucinda first disappeared.

Still, I want to hear it from her. I want to be sure before I fall apart. I give her my best poised, unruffled look.

Alexa’s jaw is set. ‘Get Joe.’

Five minutes later, and Joe’s standing in his dressing gown, bits of shaving cream still welling in his nostrils and just inside his ears. Alexa turns to him. ‘Joe, your wife and my husband have been having an affair,’ she says.

Immediately, Joe snorts. Looks at me, ready for us both to collapse into laughter. When he sees I’m not smiling his face drains of colour. ‘It’s not true, is it?’ he asks.

Before I can answer, Alexa shrieks, ‘Of course it’s true! Do you think I’d come around here like this?’ – she gestures to her pyjamas – ‘Do you think I’d come here if it wasn’t true? Good God, Joe, what planet are you on?’

Joe swallows. After a long, silent moment, he says, ‘How long?’

I hold up my index finger. ‘Once,’ I whisper. I can’t look at him.

‘Once? Fucking
once
!’ Alexa screams. ‘Well, if you think I’m believing that nonsense then you’re a bigger fool than I had you down for. Of course it wasn’t once. Who the hell does it once? … What, you did it once and then you couldn’t live with yourself, is that it?’

‘Something like that,’ I mutter.

‘When was this?’ Joe asks.

‘When we went round to Kate and Guy’s that time for dinner.’

‘But that was … that was ages ago,’ he says, frowning.

‘Three or four years,’ I reply.

Alexa is looking quickly from me to Joe, me to Joe. ‘Is that it?’ she says. ‘Is that all you’re going to say to her?’

He shifts his feet around to face her. Exhaling, he says, ‘What do you want me to say, Alexa? Why don’t you tell me what you want me to say? Or, better yet, why don’t
you
say what you want to say?’

‘I want to know how many times. I want to know where they meet. I want to know
why
?’

Joe looks at me. ‘Lise?’

‘Once. It happened once. We don’t meet anywhere, it happened that time and that was—’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Alexa says in disgust. ‘You’re as bad as him.’

‘Who?’ asks Joe.

‘Adam.’

She’s gripping on to the back of a chair; her knuckles have lost their colour. ‘Is this what
you
decided?’ she asks me. ‘Is this some little plan you cooked up together with Adam before he came clean? “Let’s just say it was a one-off, that it meant nothing, that it was one moment of madness. If we both say the same thing, then no one can prove otherwise, can they?” ’

I stare at her. ‘Isn’t once enough?’

She doesn’t answer.

‘Why did you do it, baby?’ Joe asks me softly.

I shrug hopelessly. ‘I was pissed.’

‘What sort of excuse is that?’ Alexa hisses.

‘A truthful one. I can elaborate if it makes you feel better. I can say the alcohol removed my moral compass, or say it blurred the boundaries, or that I lost self-control. But I was just really, really pissed.’

‘Do you go fucking other people every time you have a drink?’

I look at Joe. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mouth to him, and he holds my gaze then closes his eyes slowly.

‘Why did you have to choose
my
husband, anyway?’ Alexa says, a tearful edge creeping into her voice now. ‘Why Adam?’

‘I didn’t choose Adam.’

She glares at me as if to say,
Oh, c’mon
.

‘He chose me.’

Wounded, Alexa turns back to Joe. ‘Why are you not saying anything? Why are you not doing anything about this?’ Then she starts to cry. ‘What kind of fucking man are you, Joe?’

‘I’d rather discuss this when you’re gone,’ he replies, ignoring the insult. Then, gently, ‘How did you find out, Alexa?’

‘That bastard told me. Couldn’t keep it to himself any longer, he said. Said it’s been tormenting him for years but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. What I want to know is, who else knows about your little affair?’

‘It wasn’t an affair.’

‘Whatever. Who else did you tell? Obviously not your husband. But I’d like to know who’s sniggering about me behind my back so I can be ready.’

I shift from one foot to the other. ‘No one knows,’ I lie, thinking of Kate. Jesus, if she finds out her own sister has been withholding this … ‘No one,’ I say firmly. ‘I’ve never told anyone.’

Alexa dabs at her eyes.

Joe says, ‘Why did he tell you now? Why
now
, after all this time? Doesn’t make any sense.’

‘That’s what I said,’ she snaps. ‘But he said that with all the upset going on with Lucinda at the moment, and the police going through every inch of our lives, he couldn’t handle having secrets any more.’

Joe nods. ‘Alexa, would you like a drink?’ he asks.

‘No. No, I’ll go. I don’t know what I expected coming around here but, well, I have to say, Joe, you’re dealing with this better than I am. I’ll leave you to talk.’ She turns to me. ‘Do you have any diseases?’ she asks, and I shake my head. ‘Good. I suppose I’ll have to take your word, won’t I?’

‘Sorry, Alexa,’ I say weakly. ‘If I could undo it, I would. All I can say is I never meant to hurt anyone. It’s just something that … happened.’

She fixes me with a glare.

‘These things never just happen. There’s always some underlying pathology, as they say. You’ve been harbouring resentment towards me from the start. And I
know
Kate puts up with you. I know you’re like her personal project or something. She has this ridiculous notion that she can save people, she thinks she can talk to the little people and make them feel important. And I warned her about it, I really did. I said to her, “Kate, we can’t mix. There will be problems.” But she didn’t
listen. And now look at us. Not only have you been fucking my husband but, because of you, Kate has lost her only daughter.’

25

W
E ARE LYING IN BED
, the clock says 23.40, and we’re both staring at the ceiling.

Joe’s not spoken so far. I’ve tried to push him to talk, I
want to talk
, but he won’t. And it’s not that he’s punishing me; it’s worse than that. It’s that he’s physically unable to speak, as though if he lets himself acknowledge the enormity of what’s happened to us, it will all be true.

I lie there, waiting. The heavy stone I’ve been carrying around in my gut since Lucinda disappeared has been replaced by molten metal. It’s burning, corroding my insides. I hate myself. I hate what I’ve done.

I start thinking about Christmas and I worry now what a disaster it will be. Ridiculous to think about it, but will I even be here? Will Joe be here, or will he go, move out and live with his mother?

I can’t believe this is happening to us.

All that love, all that love and work we’ve put in. Wasted. All the energy and commitment it takes to keep a family of five on the road, to keep our family running smoothly. And I threw it all away in the space of about – what? Three minutes? Three, short, disgusting minutes.

The bed between me and Joe is cold. I reach my hand across the old sheets, bobbled with wear. The space feels wider than ever before. I touch Joe’s hand; he doesn’t pull away.

‘Just tell me this,’ he says emptily, ‘have I been kidding myself with what I thought we had together? Have I been living with you, all these years, thinking it’s something it’s not?’

‘Never,’ I cry softly.

‘Then why? Why do it to me? You used to say it was the one thing you couldn’t forgive. You said that there would be no way back for us if it ever happened, because it would make a mockery of us.’

‘You won’t want to hear this, but I still think that if you ever cheated on me, Joe, I’d leave. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t bear the thought of you inside another woman.’

‘But it’s okay for you?’

‘It’s not okay. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. And to do it to you, the person I love the most.’ I try to touch his face, but he flinches. ‘I’ve felt sick with myself since it happened, I went to the doctor with irritable-bowel—’

‘I remember that,’ he says, and I don’t know why this sets me off, but I begin to cry fully. Perhaps it’s because I can remember the concern he showed at the time. He was worried there was something really wrong with me. And there was: I was falling apart. But I couldn’t tell him.

We’re silent.

After what seems like hours, he turns to me. ‘Did you stop loving me, was that it?’ he asks.

‘Have you ever felt I stopped loving you? Because I never did.’

‘No. I thought we were unbreakable. I thought we were more than those idiots.’ He’s meaning Kate and Guy, Alexa and Adam. ‘When we went over there and they put on that stupid charade, each of them pretending to have what we have, I sat there and I actually felt smug watching you. Smug, because we were the real deal.’

‘If you felt like that, then why did you drink so much?’

‘Free beer,’ he answers, and I can’t help but smile a little.

‘I thought you were as insecure as me. That stuff she said, Alexa, about us being the little people – that’s how I felt. I know it sounded ridiculous when she said it downstairs, it made her seem like a total snob, but there is some truth in it. That’s how I feel a lot of the time.’

‘That they’re better than you?’

‘They
are
better than me.’

Joe sighs. ‘Lisa, you’re confusing the way they treat you with the truth. You think they’re better than you because that’s how they act. You think that because they’ve got more money—’

‘It’s not the money,’ I cut in, ‘it’s everything. I can’t manage things the way they can, I’m not as capable with the kids, and with—’

‘They don’t have fucking jobs, Lise. Can we just stick to the facts? Is that why you did what you did?’ He touches my face, wipes the tears away. ‘Is that why you shagged that dickhead?’

‘I don’t know, maybe. I think I was flattered by him. I was flattered he wanted me.’

‘Of course he’d want you instead of her. Of course he’d want you, baby. How could he not
want you
?’

DAY THREE
Thursday

26

S
LEEP
.

One of the only things you can’t buy.

Joe and I used to play the Who’s-had-the-least-sleep? game.

Back when the kids were tiny and I’d go off to work unable to face another day, and Joe would start counting up the hours on his fingers. Invariably, he’d declare that I’d had at least two hours’ sleep more than him.

We even had a tally chart going on the fridge at one point.

Then, I’d be driving to a pick-up, on my way to retrieve a load of wild cats from a stinking shed somewhere, and I’d see him: seat back, cap pulled down, snoozing happily in a layby. ‘Waiting for a job to come in,’ he’d say. It’s the only time I can ever remember truly hating him.

Now I lie next to him as he snores softly, so grateful.

We’d clung to each other last night, me, wretched and emotional, overwrought, and him, tired and drained with it all. I’d all but put the phone call with Guy Riverty out of my head, but as we drifted into slumber it came back to me and I’d sat bolt upright, telling Joe how he’d told me to
get off the fucking phone
.

I know I don’t deserve any real kindness from Guy right now, but the vehemence of his words really shook me. Joe, naturally, was the voice of reason, even in his depleted state. Said how Kate and Guy were under such unfathomable pressure, and
we couldn’t possibly understand how they were feeling. And, realistically, Guy was allowed to speak to me any way he liked. If he wanted to blame me and tell me to fuck off, then, okay, he could.

I feel better now I’ve slept and can see I need to stop being precious about it and take the shit. Their daughter is missing and however they behave is of course more than understandable.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and peer closely at my face. The skin of my eyelids and around my temples is covered in tiny red dots, like raspberry-coloured freckles. Immediately I panic I’ve got the meningitis rash and septicaemia, so lift my pyjama top expecting to see my white belly covered in the nasty-looking things, but it’s unblemished. Nothing.

What is it then?

Trying not to wake Sally, I take her laptop from her room, climb back into bed with a still-asleep Joe.

Search: red-spots + eyelids.

I’m directed to a pregnancy forum and for a second I’m seized by a blind panic because I think this is some weird, little-reported symptom of pregnancy, a symptom I’ve never come across, and, Oh God, if I was pregnant now that would be just the
very worst thing
. I love my children more than anything … but I cannot go through it again. Please … no more babies.

Trying to stop from shaking, I read directly from the discussion forum:
These tiny red dots are a symptom of forceful puking. If you are fair-skinned, these burst blood vessels show up easily. Hopefully, you won’t get them any more when the sickness subsides in the second trimester
.

I exhale.

I am not pregnant. Yesterday’s hangover and subsequent hard vomiting has meant I burst the capillaries all over my eyelids.
Thank God. I thought it was something serious.

Joe stirs. ‘Morning, baby.’ His voice is sad, strained.

‘Joe, I’ve got these spots on my eyelids. Check there’s nothing on my back, will you?’

I lift up my T-shirt and he gasps like I’m totally covered. ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘I can see … I can see Jesus’s face!’

‘Very funny,’ I say, lowering it. Then I turn towards him and look at him levelly. ‘Will we be okay?’

‘You mean, am I leaving you?’

I nod.

‘No. It hurts like fuck, though, Lise. Feels like you’ve ripped my guts out and you’re twisting them around. But no, I can’t leave you. You can’t leave me either. What would we do? It’d kill me to see you with someone else.’