And now, months later, under a starry Italian sky, I was coming some way to accepting what happened. And with Marilyn out of the way, I was beginning to believe Dan and I had a chance. I was trying with all my might to help the tiny seed of hope inside me grow, to remind myself of his promise that this wouldn’t happen again. This was na?ve on my part I know, but I loved him and didn’t want to throw our marriage away if there was the glimmer of a chance for us. This wasn’t just about me, it was about my family, and there was too much at stake for me to give up… and yet at the same time I was also seeing things slightly differently, and it was causing me to question my faith.
Now, in the dark by the pool, I sat alone, still damp, remembering how earlier that evening he’d kissed the back of my hand when I’d said something funny. We’d posed for photos, and smiled at each other, almost flirtatiously. If I’d been watching us, I’d have envied this blissfully happy couple who couldn’t wait to be alone together. But the reality was quite different, and I wondered if it was all for show – was Dan trying to convince himself and his family – mainly Joy – that the wheels hadn’t come off?
He’d never been demonstrative, or passionate with me, and I assumed that was just how Dan was. He’d been kind and loving to me, but I’d seen something different in his eyes when he’d talked about Marilyn. I’d seen a glimpse of what he could be, and I wanted all of him, I wanted what the air stewardess and Marilyn had seen, not the Dan he chose to show to me and his family. What I failed to realise last summer was that our marriage hadn’t healed, it was a fa?ade of meaningless smiles captured in framed photographs on Joy’s mantlepiece.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That night, after Dan left me in the pool, I felt abandoned. I really thought he’d have come back, if only to check I was okay. But he didn’t and it made me angry and defiant, so I jumped back into the cool, dark water. I wanted to swim, to hide, to forget about everything and everyone and be alone without any worries, just me and the water.
The moon was high, sending only a spotlight onto the pool, leaving the rest inky black, and deep. I propelled my body through the dark, waiting for the release, the sweet freedom that came with swimming, but it never came. After a few more minutes, I saw the silver handrail glinting faintly in the dimness and I grabbed for it, but my hands were slippery and I fell back into the water. The drink allowed me to relax, to let the water take my weight, and I just sank into it. The sensation was lovely: a magic feeling of drifting but at the same time being held; it was like a freedom I’d never experienced before.
A noise suddenly pierced the watery silence – a rustling in the trees. It was probably just the late-evening breeze wiping some of the heat from the earth’s surface, but I suddenly felt vulnerable. My dress, a pool of silk, lay where I’d left it, when I’d tried to entice my husband into the water. He’d made me feel foolish, but, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay out here all night. I had to go inside that villa and play my part, pretend that everything was okay. I grabbed the handrail and levered myself out of the water.
I picked up my dress and sandals from the side, and like a child who’d been left behind after swimming, made my way back to the house.
I was saddened to see that Dan hadn’t even left the front door ajar for my return. It made me realise how alone I’d been out there, how even if I had yelled, no one would have heard me with the door closed. The windows had also been closed tight in the vain hope that the rickety old air con might be seduced into bringing some coolness to the incessant, overbearing August heat. The family were cool and safe on the inside, while I’d been left on the outside.
I turned the big, brass handle. This was an ancient, heavy door that creaked and moaned, and was not easy to open quietly, but I tried and, putting my weight behind it, finally managed to move it and get inside. Walking into more darkness, the silence was even thicker, no rustling trees, no lonely owl hooting in the distance, just velvet quiet. Lamplight from the living room was creeping under the door, providing a sliver of much-needed guidance in the dark while I tried to find a switch for the hall light. I didn’t want to disturb whoever was in there. I was wet through and not in the mood to explain why, though it was probably Bob; he often stayed up late. I imagined him relishing a cheeky cigar, a rare moment of peace, with Joy safely upstairs, blinded by the pink silk eye mask, her face bound in Crème de la Mer.
I ran both hands along the wall like a mime artist, when the silence was suddenly broken by voices, women’s voices coming from inside the room. It must be Joy and Ella, and I guessed they might be drinking gin and tonic and it occurred to me that even half-dressed and damp I could knock and go in. Instead of being embarrassed about what had happened, I could make it work for me. I could tell them I had fancied a moonlight swim, but Dan was too tired. Joy and I would laugh about the lack of romance in our men and Ella might thaw slightly and see I wasn’t a boring mother of three, that I could be a little wild when I wanted to be. I might even be the glue in our new relationship. I could help Ella be accepted into the fold more easily and she might soften towards me, and I wouldn’t have to endure her spiky comments and rather intimidating threats.