I do as he says, but choose the armchair angled towards the hallway so I can get a glimpse of the woman as she leaves. I don’t know why I care, but I do.
A few seconds later, they appear. She’s petite and blonde, but she’s turned away from me so I can’t see her face. She’s wearing a short green slip dress, similar to one I have, and my eyes fall on the red marks circling her wrists. I imagine Jack’s hands wrapped around them, pinning her to the bed.
What ridiculous imperfection has Jack attached to this woman that means she’ll only ever be an interchangeable fuck and not someone he takes on long weekends away? On the heels of my curiosity is satisfaction. I hate myself for it. Hate that I get a little thrill from the fact he’s asked her to leave and me to stay. I take this feeling and stuff it down until it’s almost gone.
Jack impatiently opens the front door. He doesn’t even look at her as she leaves. Doesn’t say a word as he closes it behind her. Even though he’s dressed in a crisp white dinner shirt and trousers, I can still see the bare skin of his tanned back and her legs wrapped around it. I blink away the image. His hair is mussed, and I picture her running her fingers through it, grabbing fistfuls of it while he slams into her. Heat rushes to my cheeks.
‘Did you need to treat her like that?’ I ask. Even though I’m glad she’s gone, I don’t agree with the way he deals with women. They hold the same value to him as a cotton bud – once they’ve served their purpose, they’re tossed in the bin and forgotten about. And that is exactly why I’ve never gone there with Jack. Maybe Jeffrey’s opposition to us as a couple all those years ago did me a favour.
‘Should you be lecturing me on how to treat people?’ he retorts.
I frown. ‘I don’t know what you mean …’
‘You ignore me for days, then stroll in here like nothing’s happened.’
Playing for time, I move over to the bar cart. I didn’t expect him to be this upset. I pour us both a drink, hand him one. ‘I needed time to myself.’
‘Not everything is about you, Elodie.’
I inhale, surprised by the venom in his voice. ‘Jack …’
‘You just disappeared like I didn’t matter.’
And he is just a little boy again, branded with another split lip, another bruise, another mark of how unloved he is, longing to feel wanted. This isn’t about me. It’s about Jeffrey. The run-up to the anniversary is hard for him; he’s irritable and snappy – even with me. I understand, I wouldn’t want to spend an entire evening gushing about a man who treated me terribly, but it’s important to Kathryn, so Jack attends.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.’
‘You’re right. You shouldn’t have.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You were attacked and then you vanished. I was worried about you.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Drink your whisky and let’s go.’
The night unfurled as predicted. Even though Jack and I were sitting side by side at the dinner table, a chasm had opened between us. No one else seemed to notice. Jack delved seamlessly from one conversation to the next, all dimples and charm, and while everyone else blossomed beneath his attention, I wilted beside him.
Anxiety meant even the thought of food sent my stomach into a nauseating churn, but I kept shovelling it into my mouth to avoid answering questions about my book deal. At one point, the pressure and guilt of lying became too much, and I decided to tell the truth. Then, before I could explain, Jack stepped in, announcing to the group he’d been pleased to hear Lara on the phone, raving about the book and discussing a possible publishing date for next winter.
The drive back to my house is silent. I’m both relieved Jack has backed up my lie and terrified that now, if I tell the truth, everyone will know Jack covered for me and that certainly won’t help the tension between him and Ada.
I get out of the car, surprised when he follows. ‘Your security light’s still broken; I’ll see you inside.’
As I push open the front door, I see a large, thick envelope on the floor.
My stomach squeezes as I pull the pages from it and realise what it is.
‘Your manuscript?’ asks Jack.
‘Partial,’ I manage. Then I read the accompanying letter.
Dear Elodie,
Congratulations on your book deal. Your mother reached out and invited me to the party they threw at your sister’s house the other day, but I’m afraid I couldn’t make it. Even so, I wanted to write and wish you well. I’m very proud of you.