‘I don’t know where he gets his energy,’ Max said, observing him.
I laughed. ‘Honestly, sometimes I wish he had a little less energy. I fear one day it may send me mad.’
I meant it as a joke, but Max appeared to take it seriously. ‘Some of the best creatives have that problem,’ he said. ‘It’s definitely something to watch.’ He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a shiny white business card. ‘If you ever find that you’re worried about it, don’t hesitate to get in touch. I mean that.’
I was disarmed by his kindness, even though I reasoned that it was likely tied up in his passion for mental health and suicide prevention. But as he pressed the card into my hand, it felt like a strangely intimate moment – and I felt an unmistakable frisson of electricity.
18
PIPPA
NOW
I told Gabe about Max and me immediately after it happened, eighteen months ago.
‘I understand,’ he said, when he’d recovered from the shock of it.
After everything he’d put me through, what else could he say? He had one job, and he knew it. It was the same thing he’d asked of me, time and time again. Loyalty. If he didn’t give it, how could he ask for it? And to his credit, he did. We’d put it behind us. Until now.
‘Amanda knew about Max and me?’
There’s something acutely familiar about the bodily sensations I’m feeling. The racing heart. The clammy hands. The velocity of my thoughts, so fast and strong it brings on an instant headache.
‘Yes.’
I turn towards Gabe. Bizarrely, he looks apologetic. As if he has a reason to be sorry. Preschool will be finished for the day in a few minutes, and parents are starting to line up at the gate with babies in tow. I hear Alice Williamson reminding people to contribute to Mrs Punch’s spa voucher.
‘How?’
‘She found a video on Max’s computer.’
‘A video?’
Gabe scratches at a piece of peeling paint on the bench. He is staring straight ahead at the playground. ‘I guess he must have filmed it.’
It takes me a moment to process this. Filming without consent sounds like something a teenager would do, or a pervert. Max, on the other hand, always seemed like a gentleman.
‘Seriously?’ I say.
It is, I realise, not an important detail, given what we are discussing. And yet my mind remains stuck on this ill-fitting piece. It causes a sudden shift in my entire recollection of that night, making it slippery and out of focus.
Gabe shrugs. ‘That’s what she said. Apparently she had the footage on a USB. She brought it with her because she didn’t think I’d believe her.’
I’m still trying to untangle this. ‘So she came to The Drop to tell you?’
‘Actually, it was you she wanted to talk to. She said that the video cut off at a crucial moment and she wanted to know what happened. If you and Max actually . . .’
A sick feeling builds in my belly.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said you did.’
I think I might throw up. Amanda discovered a video of Max and me, then had her worst fears confirmed by Gabe. Moments later, she was at the bottom of a cliff.
And it’s all my fault.
Emily Kent hurries past on her way to pick-up. ‘Am I late?’ she asks. Gabe and I shake our heads, and she slows down. ‘Phew! Mrs Punch would kill me.’
We sit in silence till Emily is out of earshot.
‘What happened then?’ I ask, even though I don’t want to know.
‘She was so upset,’ Gabe says. ‘She said that fidelity was one of the foundations of their marriage.’
I think of the woman’s arms flailing. Suddenly it makes sense.
‘She said she couldn’t go on.’ His face twists in an ugly, silent sob. ‘When she leaped, I tried to grab her. My hands shot out. But there was nothing to grab. She was gone.’
The bell rings, indicating preschool has finished.
‘I didn’t want you to have to live with that, Pip,’ he says, as the singsong voices of children start up. ‘I hoped you’d never find out.’
The gate opens, and kids burst out of the gates and run towards their parents. Asha and Freya look around then, spying us near the playground, launch themselves at us at full speed. The timing is perfect because, after that, I can’t talk anymore.
19
AMANDA
AFTER
It’s true, I hadn’t anticipated that Gabe already knew about Pippa and Max. What sort of couple could know this about the other and then move on with their lives as if it were inconsequential? When I realised, it should have tipped me off about the kind of people I was dealing with. The pair of them pride themselves on loyalty, as if it’s all they could possibly need for a good marriage. They forget the most important thing about loyalty: sometimes it’s warranted . . . sometimes it’s not.
20
AMANDA
BEFORE
‘Before I ask you to marry me,’ Max said, ‘there’s something we need to discuss.’
There was no ring. No kneeling. He said it in between bites of his medium-rare steak.
We were in a lovely restaurant, but then we ate at lovely restaurants most nights. Why cook when we lived near some of the best restaurants in the world? We never needed to book ahead of time. Reservations just appeared for Max, as did window tables and dishes that weren’t on the menu but which Max had a hankering for.
‘All right,’ I said, setting down my cutlery.
I had understood things were going in this direction. We’d been dating for over a year, I’d met all the key people in his life and passed all the tests. I knew the role I needed to fill, and I did a good job of it. Max needed someone to accompany him to functions. Someone to organise his social life. Someone to attend to his physical, mental and sexual needs. Someone he could trust.
Max filled his role equally well. He was a gentleman; the kind of man who looked into my eyes rather than at my breasts, who spoke to me respectfully, never mocked me or put me down. He was considerate of my needs sexually and provided for me financially.
It was time, not just for the outward appearance but because it was practical. Max’s business was poised to explode. At work, he was hiring manager upon manager, staffing up teams, delegating. But he needed someone to manage his home life. I knew Max’s first love would always be his business, and I was fine with that. Unlike my mother, I was going to marry with my head.
‘So what do we need to discuss?’ I asked.
As Max put down his own knife and fork, he looked as close to nervous as I’d ever seen him. His cheeks were flushed, though later he would blame the red wine.
‘I don’t want children, Amanda.’
I’ll admit, that surprised me. While I hadn’t known Max to show a lot of interest in children, I’d assumed he’d be the old-fashioned type – happy to have as many as his wife wanted as long as he only had to pay them a cursory interest. I knew enough to know he wouldn’t be the type of father to get down on the floor and play or change dirty nappies, but the strength of his assertion – that was puzzling.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘May I ask why not?’
He shrugged. ‘You know about my mum and my brother.’