You knew me well enough to realize that something was wrong when you came through the door and, even if you hadn’t, the pile of vomit would have alerted you to the fact.
‘What the hell’s gone on here?’ you asked.
‘I’ve been sick,’ I said.
‘I can see that. You might have cleaned it up, Edith. It’s ghastly. And it stinks out there.’
‘You clean it up,’ I said, and the tone in my voice, so hostile and aggressive, probably surprised both of us in equal parts. You stared at me but said nothing and I could see that you were wondering which of your lies I’d discovered.
‘Obviously something’s wrong,’ you said, making your way towards the fridge, taking out a bottle of beer and flipping the lid off, finishing a good third of it in one draught.
‘You could say that,’ I said quietly.
‘Well, are you going to tell me what it is?’
‘First things first,’ I replied. ‘Our marriage is over, Maurice, and I’m leaving you. Today. This evening. Actually, no,’ I said, wondering why this hadn’t occurred to me earlier. ‘You’ll be the one leaving. I want you to pack your things and get out within the hour. And I’m going to start divorce proceedings against you tomorrow morning.’
You said nothing for a moment, then simply nodded and sat down in the armchair by the window.
‘All right, then,’ you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a tone in your voice that I hadn’t heard before. ‘If that’s what you want, I won’t stand in your way. Any particular reason why, though? I mean, we’ve been married for five years and when I left here this morning everything seemed fine between us. So it would be nice to know what I’m supposed to have done wrong in the meantime. Did I leave the toilet seat up again?’
‘I received a phone call this afternoon,’ I said, turning to look at you, watching as you tried so hard to keep your expression neutral.
‘A phone call from whom?’ you asked.
‘From Peter.’
‘I love phone calls from Peter,’ you replied with a smile. ‘They always contain good news. Have I sold some more foreign rights? Or perhaps a film deal is in the offing.’
‘That wasn’t what he called about. He asked me to pass a message on to you. Apparently, he’d been trying to get hold of you on your mobile all afternoon but it was switched off.’
‘Ah, that’s because I was in Maja’s apartment,’ you said.
‘I’m sorry?’ I replied, uncertain that I’d heard you correctly. ‘Maja?’
‘Yes, Maja Drazkowski. Your former student. You remember her, right? Pretty little thing? Not a big fan of yours! Thinks you’re a bit of a bitch, to be honest, but I’ve told her that she’d like you more if she got to know you. We’ve been having a thing for a few months now, ever since she dropped out of the course, actually. I wouldn’t have told you, but I don’t suppose it matters any more, since you’ve decided to leave me anyway.’
I shook my head and laughed. Surprisingly, I found that I didn’t care very much. In a day filled with surprises, the fact that you’d been cheating on me with a plagiarist was the least of my problems.
‘So are you going to tell me what Peter wanted or leave me to guess?’ you asked, and I turned to you, certain that you could guess.
‘He said that your publisher called and they’re wondering whether you might give the title of your novel another thought. Turns out they don’t like it very much. They want something a little more commercial.’
‘Really? I thought it was rather good.’
‘I thought so too when I came up with it,’ I said, raising my voice now. ‘The Tribesman.’
‘Sweetheart, it’s just a title,’ you said, smiling, and I knew you were rattled, for you’d never once, in all the years of our acquaintance, called me sweetheart or darling or honey or baby or any of those other bullshit words that I’ve always hated so much.
‘It’s more than just a title,’ I said. ‘It’s the whole fucking book! You’ve stolen it from me!’
‘Oh, please,’ you replied with a laugh. ‘I haven’t stolen anything. Don’t be so melodramatic.’
‘Jesus, Maurice, I looked on your computer! I found the file. And the emails to and from Peter. I found my novel there. My novel!’
‘But do novels really belong to any of us?’ you asked, looking up towards the ceiling as if we were engaged in a profound philosophical discussion. ‘Other than to readers, I mean? It’s an interesting question, don’t you think?’
‘That’s what you’ve been doing here all year,’ I said, standing up and starting to pace the floor as the depth of your betrayal hit me. ‘While I’ve been at work, you’ve been sitting in that office, transcribing my book, word for word. And the drafts! You even managed to get some of them on there! I have to compliment you, Maurice. You’ve been pretty good at covering your tracks.’
You opened your mouth to protest but I knew that you couldn’t be bothered to deny it. You’d been caught out. It was easier to change tack.
‘I needed it,’ you said quietly, unable to look me in the eye. ‘I’m sorry, Edith, but I had no story. You know that. I’ve never had a story of my own. I’m just no good at them.’
‘That doesn’t mean you can steal mine!’ I shouted.
‘Look,’ you cried, standing up and coming towards me, frightening me a little as you took me by the arms and I pulled free. ‘No one has to know. Just give me this, Edith, that’s all I ask. If you love me, if you truly love me, then just give me this. The novel is wonderful, by the way. Everything that Peter has said about it is true. It really is a masterpiece and you’re a terrific writer. I’ve got a real shot at The Prize with it. I’ll certainly be shortlisted, I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.’
I stared at you, bewildered, wondering whether you’d lost your mind completely. ‘But then it’s my masterpiece,’ I cried. ‘And it will be my shortlisting!’
‘Does it matter whose name is on it? We’re married, aren’t we? We’re a team. In it for the long haul. What difference does it make to you if I put my name on this one and you start another? I’m better known than you are, after all, and this is my way back into the publishing world. I’ll write something else myself afterwards, I promise.’
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I roared. ‘You actually think I’m going to just give you my novel? After all the work I’ve put into it?’
‘Why not?’ you asked, looking confused. ‘Is it really that much to ask?’
‘Because it would be a complete lie!’
‘I think you’re being terribly selfish,’ you said, and I started to laugh, my laughter quickly becoming a little hysterical. I felt as if this couldn’t possibly be happening. I looked at you, you smiled, and I couldn’t help it, at that moment I remembered how attractive I’d always found you, and for a moment I wondered how it would feel to fuck you right there and then, knowing everything about you that I knew now. But of course I didn’t, I turned around instead and left the room, making my way towards the bedroom, where I was going to start packing for you. Before I could get in there, you’d caught up with me at the top of the stairs and had spun me around. The stink of vomit on the floor was overwhelming.