No one did fall down the stairs that night, but I surprised myself at my own dark thoughts – at the way I felt about Ella and Joy. I was like a jealous child whose mummy had a new favourite. I felt betrayed, not only by Ella, for making me look bad, but by Joy, for being taken in so easily by her. Was she that desperate to trade me in for the new daughter-in-law model? I just wished I didn’t care so much, but that’s how you are when you lose your real family young, you spend your life looking for another one to belong to. But that’s the problem, you never completely belong, and your pseudo-family relationship is always hanging by a thread: so easily breakable.
Reaching our beautiful bedroom, I opened the door and was disappointed, but not surprised, to see the light was out. Dan often went to bed early and alone. The room was stuffy, the heat unbearable, and I took off my wet underwear and lay on the bed; it was too hot for a cover. But Dan was all wrapped up, no flesh bared. He didn’t want to be touched by anything – the stuffy heat or me. This holiday could have been so good for us, it could have been the beginning of the end of his betrayal, the start of my forgiveness, but tonight would be the last night together in this room with its huge bed and window looking out onto the moon-splattered pool. And he hadn’t even waited for me to come to bed, nor had he been to find me in the dangerous dark.
His lack of attention, desire, whatever you want to call it, had unnerved me. I’d had this rather na?ve idea that the minute we reached Italy, the heat, the surroundings, the freedom from day-to-day pressure would somehow unleash us both, but it seemed we’d brought our baggage with us. The idea of him loving someone else had lain heavily on me for too long and wasn’t going to melt away under the Italian sun. As he slept, I lay on top of the bed, still wounded in the thick, dark silence. I wanted him to wake up, or stir and just turn around and say something, or nothing, just to look me. He didn’t look at me any more.
After about half an hour, I heard Ella and Joy staggering up the stairs, all whispers and giggles. It blew my mind how quickly those two had bonded. Did Ella have something I didn’t? Was my motherin-law playing games? Or had Joy Taylor given in to this confident young woman who seemed to know exactly what she wanted from life – and probably from the Taylors?
It was hard to sleep in the heat, but eventually I drifted off, to be woken soon after by a gentle thudding. I dreamed it was Joy knocking on our door and, caught between sleep and reality, I climbed out of bed, finding myself halfway across the room. I glanced over at Dan; he was quiet, sleeping soundly. The thudding was coming from the room next door and within seconds I realised what it was. Jamie and Ella – the cries, the groans, the longing.
I remembered how it used to be and tears rolled down my cheeks as her cries became louder and Jamie’s groans deeper. I wondered if they knew I could hear them – the sounds of her pleasure mocking me, mocking my messy, faithless marriage.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Next morning, I was woken by Dan, reminding me that we had to move our stuff from the room. My stomach dipped as I then recalled the conversation I’d overheard, and I knew I had some making up to do with Joy. I was still hurt and angry that Ella had told her what I’d said. What a nasty thing to do. But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t have said it, and now I knew I couldn’t trust her. I resented giving up our room for her even more now and threw my clothes into a suitcase, snapping at Dan over everything. The bed was rumpled, the sheets creased; how ironic that an onlooker might think we’d had a night of passion, but of course we hadn’t. The bed was now waiting for Jamie and Ella to mess it up, rolling around in their brand new love.
I finished packing and took my suitcase across the hall to the children’s room which is where I’d decided to sleep.
‘We can stay together if you like,’ Dan said, when he popped his head around the door. ‘The bed’s too small for two of us, we’d never get any sleep – but I could sleep on the floor?’ I was reading to Freddie, who said he had a headache ‘like Mummy does’。 It bothered me that my headaches were now being adopted by my kids. In truth, they were my euphemism for ‘I’m going to lie down because I’m desperately unhappy and fear for the future’。 Anyway, it seemed my children had picked up on my use of the headache, as something one wore like a hat, putting it on when one needed quiet time. I wished I could use that excuse now. I didn’t want to have this conversation with Dan, the bed hadn’t been too small for Jamie and Ella the previous night, but apparently was too small for the two of us.