Something stopped me from going inside, and I listened to him talking for a few minutes – the odd word, a laugh, the tone he used to use with me. ‘What time’s your flight?’ he asked. Then I heard him say something that broke my heart. ‘Yes, yes, of course, darling, I meant every word, but I can’t tell her now – we’re on holiday. I can’t do that to her… or the kids. Trust me, I’ll sort it all out when we get home.’
I stood outside the door, trying to work out if any of these words could be misinterpreted. Was it all so obvious? He was my husband, the father of our two children, we were family – we didn’t lie or cheat. We loved each other. Didn’t we? How na?ve I was back then. My instinct at the time was to storm in, confront him, ask what was going on. But I wanted to hear more. I think somewhere deep down I hoped to hear him address one of his friends, or say something that completely reinterpreted what I feared and if I stood there long enough that would make it better. But standing there I was simply exposing myself to real pain, the kind of pain that messes you up for a while. ‘Of course I do,’ he was saying softly, ‘and I want us to be together… I know, I know. Darling… listen to me – I need you to be patient. No, I can’t! You know I can’t – I can’t just walk away tonight. These things take time.’
Hearing my husband call someone else ‘darling’ was the sharpest, most painful slap. I knew then, all the months of feeling unwanted, like he’d disengaged from me and the kids, the late nights, the total lack of interest in me and everything I did, I knew. It all made sense now. But instead of storming in and confronting him, I crumbled, felt my legs buckling under me, and I knew if I went into the bedroom now, it would be over. I had two children, I had a family, it was everything I’d ever wanted; if I confronted him now, that would mean the end of everything. Did I really want that?
I couldn’t think straight, I needed time to work out what to do next, so I turned and ran away back down the stairs. I didn’t know where I was going but found myself in the downstairs hallway and saw the front door. I opened it and ran outside – I had to get away –and as I ran through the garden, I suddenly banged into someone.
He grabbed me by my elbows, holding me firm, moving his face to mine. ‘Clare?’ His breath was on me, smoky, dark. After a few seconds, I realised it was Jamie.
‘What are you doing?’ I gasped.
‘I might ask you the same thing,’ he said, laughing. ‘Are you training for the marathon or something?’
‘No… I… wanted some fresh air,’ I said, trying to hide my distress with a smile. ‘What about you, why are you out here?’
‘Promise you won’t tell Mum?’
I nodded, vigorously. I didn’t really care what Jamie was doing. I was still reeling from what I’d heard Dan saying upstairs.
‘Me and Dad.’ He nodded over to Bob, a couple of feet away, who suddenly materialised in the darkness and put his hand up in an awkward static wave. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me for running through the garden in tears at night, or these two who were behaving like two guilty children. ‘I brought Dad and me a couple of Cuban cigars back from Havana,’ Jamie explained. ‘But, as you know, Mum doesn’t approve of smoking.’
Despite feeling so dreadful, I almost smiled, amused at two grown men skulking in the garden, hiding from their wife and mother respectively.
‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ I said.
‘Want to try some?’ Jamie was always the little brother proudly showing off how grown-up he was to his older sister-in-law. That’s how I saw it then. He was the baby of the family, until our actual babies came along. And even then, as a grown man he was referred to by Joy as ‘our late and lovely surprise’， because after Dan she didn’t think she could have any more children. And ever since I’ve known him he’s played the role of ‘cheeky younger brother’ to perfection.
I remember him picking up his cigar from where he’d left it on the wall to grab me when I bumped into him, and relit it. Meanwhile, Bob sucked hard on his like a teenager making the most of his weed before ‘Mum’ discovered what he was up to.
‘Try it.’ Jamie put the cigar to my lips. I opened them slowly, unsure if smoking a Cuban cigar was the answer to having just overheard my husband telling his lover he’d leave me.
I’d never smoked one before, and I took the cigar in my mouth cautiously, gently pulling in the smoke, the end lighting in the dark as Jamie continued to hold it.