Paige looks at Rachel, whose fingertips are tingling with anticipation. She’s holding her breath, wanting Paige to get to the point, but closing her ears off to it at the same time.
“Then she leans in to me and says that my time would be better spent looking after my own husband than messing about with someone else’s.” Paige’s nostrils flare. “I mean, what the actual fuck? Who does she think she is?”
Rachel wants to ask what time this happened, so she can ascertain whether it was before Ali had seen her with Noah or afterward. As what Paige may assume is a warning to stay away from Jack, might actually be a helpful heads-up to keep an eye on Noah. With good cause, thinks Rachel.
“If there is something going on between Ali and Jack, I can’t imagine she’d make it so obvious,” says Rachel, hedging her bets.
Paige raises her eyebrows questioningly.
“What did you say?” asks Rachel.
“Nothing,” says Paige. “I was so dumbstruck by her audacity—unusual for me, I admit—that I just stood there, speechless.”
“That is unusual for you,” says Rachel, attempting to smile, but even she can tell it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“But I’ll bide my time, don’t you worry,” says Paige. “If she thinks she’s going to get away with it…”
“Look, it doesn’t necessarily mean there’s anything going on,” says Rachel.
“But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want it to,” says Paige. “Or him, for that matter.”
“Okay, but there’s a big difference between an affair and infatuation,” says Rachel. “And until I’m sure which one it is, I don’t think we should be jumping to conclusions.”
“So, you’re happy to wait it out and see what happens?” asks Paige.
Rachel doesn’t know what she wants anymore; as frustrated as she is with Ali’s blatant—and somewhat embarrassing—infatuation with Jack, she is yet to be convinced that he’s doing anything wrong. He’s avoiding her, yes, but wouldn’t anyone, whose every move was being followed and every word was being hung on?
Maybe she’ll try to talk to him about it again when they get back to their room. Though, if he’s going to throw Noah back in her face again, she’d rather avoid the subject altogether, because, until she knows what Ali saw or heard tonight, she doesn’t feel she should be volunteering to put herself in the firing line. Because, if it all goes against her, she won’t have a leg to stand on. He’ll be able to justify whatever he’s done because she’s done worse. The admission that Jack could have an affair, and she have no recourse, shames her.
But it suddenly occurs to her that although she might not have much to bargain with as far as Jack’s concerned, if Ali’s not yet told him about Noah, she might have some chips to use against her. What price would she pay for Rachel not to tell Will about Rick? Or that she has no intention of having children anytime soon? Rachel guiltily exhales as she sees the shimmering light at the end of the tunnel: her quid pro quo.
13
Once Rachel retires to her room, she feels an inexplicable need to speak to Josh; as if somehow the exchange between her and Noah had not only called into question who his father is, but doubted her as his mother too. It’s ridiculous, she knows, but after trying so hard all those years ago to dampen down the 1 percent of uncertainty that had snaked around her conscience, it now feels that it’s 99 percent certain in favor of Noah, throwing everything into question.
She checks the time on her phone, and weighs what Josh might be doing at two in the morning. It being a Friday, he’ll most definitely be up, but will he really want to speak to his guilt-ridden mother, who, if she is honest with herself, is only looking for some kind of reassurance?
“Love you,” she texts instead as she wipes off her eye makeup. She leans in to the bathroom mirror to look at herself as the last traces of eyeshadow vanish. Her mascara, which was advertised as being able to withstand even the longest night, is living up to its promise, the stubborn black paint drawing dark shadows under her eyes.
She looks old, older than she feels, which on a good day is somewhere around twenty-five. How can you be forty-two? she silently asks her reflection, before sighing. She can remember her own mother being forty and thinking she was so old. Way past being able to go out, get drunk and be attractive to the opposite sex. Yet, incredibly, she seems to have managed all of that in just one night.
As she flips the top of the bin open with her foot, a flash of color catches her eye. Peering closer, she can see that it’s the painted rooster, with the vibrant red love hearts on its tail, that Ali gave Jack.