His Other Lover (17 page)

I
’m reading Clare’s happy little text over breakfast as Pete comes in and finds me at the kitchen table. “What are you still doing here?” he says, surprised.

“Got a meeting at ten thirty,” I manage through a mouthful of cereal. Which is crap, because I phoned Spank Me yesterday and asked for the rest of the week off as holiday. I asked him not to tell Lottie, but just to say I was still ill. He wasn’t happy, but reluctantly agreed when I said I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely vital. “It’s not worth going all the way over to the office and then back to Covent Garden again. I’m off in a bit, though. How about you? Busy day?”

“You could say that.” He sinks down tiredly on to a chair and yawns as he runs his hands through his hair. “God, I’m shattered.”

We sit in silence, just the clink of my spoon on my bowl as he
reaches for the cereal packet. Then the letter box rattles and Gloria barks importantly, rushing into the hall.

“That’ll be the post,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’ll get it.” And before he can do anything, I’m smartly up and striding out of the kitchen.

The letters are sitting on the mat. Is it there? Has it arrived?

Picking them up and sorting through, my heart skips a beat as I see that it has. I look at my disguised writing on the envelope I posted yesterday and walk back to the kitchen.

“A handwritten one for me.” I try to sound absent and tear it open.

Pete doesn’t look up, just pushes his muesli around his bowl.

I pause for dramatic effect.

“Eh?” I say, all pretend confused. “Why have you sent me half a card? And why have you signed it
Peter
?”

Pete glances at me with a frown on his face, and I toss it over to him. It lands on the table in front of him and the color drains from his face as he recognizes it. He goes very, very still.

“I don’t get it,” I say. “What’s that about?”

“I, er…” He is lost for words, completely lost for words. Pete! You can do better than this. Think, think! I know it’s early in the morning, but come on! What are you going to say? How do you explain half a card you sent to another woman arriving at our house when you don’t even get it yourself?

“I don’t understand,” I pretend to puzzle. “Why have you sent me
half
a card with weird writing on the envelope. Is it a joke or something? Am I being thick and not getting it?”

He just stares at it. God knows what must be running through his mind right now. He obviously recognizes it, knows where it’s from. He’s turning it over and over in his hands as if the answer to my questions is written somewhere on it.

“OOOOHH!” I squeal excitedly. “Is it part of a game? Are you going to send me the top half and all will be revealed?”

It’s lame, and he knows it…but it’s the best option he has. So he seizes it with both hands.

“There’s no getting anything past you, is there?” He forces a smile up at me. “Yup, all will be revealed. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

Oh Pete…

“Well,” I say slowly, “I’ll do as I’m told! Right, I’m going to brush my teeth then I better get going,”

He smiles again and I blow him a passing kiss as I walk out of the room.

I sneak back downstairs when I’m done. He doesn’t see me as I peer round the edge of the door; he is out of the chair and examining the envelope that I left on the side. I cough loudly as I come back in and he jumps guiltily, stepping away as if he wasn’t even looking at it. “So are we going somewhere, for this surprise? What’s it in aid of?” I say as I go and pick up my handbag.

He taps the side of his nose and murmurs, “I know nuzzing!” in a mock-French accent.

And the sad thing is, he’s right. He has no bloody idea.

I laugh dutifully and he says he’d better get in the shower. I say I’m off anyway now and I’ll see him tonight. We kiss each other briefly and I bang the front door shut loudly as I step outside. I wait for a minute or two on the doorstep before silently slipping my key in the lock and easing back into the house.

I creep into the hall, leaving the door open behind me. I can hear him talking. God, he just couldn’t wait, could he?

“Hi, it’s Peter. I thought you’d be up but you must be still asleep…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next and I
stand very, very still. “I’m at home but I’m going soon so don’t call back. I just don’t know what to say, I really don’t. First the house, and now this morning your card arrived.” He’s gathering pace now and it’s almost like he’s having a conversation rather than leaving a voicemail. “It’s not funny, Liz, it’s not funny at all. And why the fuck did you cut the card in half? Is that supposed to be some crap dig? What are you trying to say? You’re cutting me out of your life? You don’t want to share me? I thought we’d sorted this, Lizzie. I thought you knew the score. You say you’re fine with it and then you go and do something mental like this! I just don’t know what to…Oh, look, I’ll call you later.”

Quickly, so that he doesn’t come into the hall and realize I’ve just heard every word, I slam the door and shout loudly, “Only me! Forgot my umbrella!” I wait for a second, then add a “Bye, darling!”

“Bye! Have a good day!” he calls back. He must have wet himself when he heard me come back in then.

Outside in the fresh air, marching down toward the station to get on a train that will take me into London and then a tube that will take me to her flat, I feel grimly determined. On the one hand I can’t quite believe I have just heard him leaving a message for some other woman with such familiarity, as if they speak all the time. But on the other hand he was really angry. I see Liz in my mind as I saw her yesterday, all glassy, glossy and shiny and grinning widely from the stage.

Who’s laughing now?

H
i. It’s Lottie here.” I am standing outside the tube station, leaning on the wall and watching a flower seller eyeing me hopefully. “I’m about five minutes away and just wanted to check I wasn’t too early.”

Mobile clamped to my ear, I look up the street that I know will lead me to her front door. “No, that’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

Hanging up and putting the phone back in my handbag I take a deep breath and close my eyes briefly. I can’t believe I am finally about to meet the woman who is sleeping with my boyfriend,
and
give her money. Four hundred pounds in cash is sitting in my handbag, ready to be swapped for a key to her house.

Someone bashes into me, making my eyes snap open again as they shoot me a filthy look. It’s fair enough—it is a bit stupid to be standing in front of the tube entrance with your eyes shut. Come on. Only you can do this. You’re on your own.

Gathering myself, I clench my jaw, set my shoulders and start to walk purposefully. This is it. I’m going to do it.

The strap of my bag is digging into my shoulder, but I barely
notice. Is it going to be her that answers the door, or Debs? I’m confident she isn’t going to recognize me. She’s only seen me once—at the theater—and for all I know Pete didn’t tell her who I was or even that I was there. I could have been a stranger, just someone sitting next to him. My heart is starting to thump and my breath is nervous and shallow. I am aware of the noise of cars around me, the siren of a police car shrieking past and the clicking of my heels on the pavement.

I’m fucking going to do it. I can do this. She’s not getting him. I know what I’m doing is working, I heard him say so this morning. I just have to keep focused. And anyway, what have I got to lose?

My shoes are rubbing where I have the remains of a blister but my eyes are fixed ahead. As I turn the corner, the flat comes into view and my pulse quickens, my breathing coming in fits and starts.

The front door gets closer and closer.
Is
it going to be her that answers, or Debs?

Then I’m right outside and I’m shaking, actually shaking. I close my eyes briefly and exhale deeply. Oh my God. It’s going to happen. I imagine it’s like being in a plane and looking down at tiny fields through an open hatch: the deafening roar of the wind and the engines, the light-headed rush and the prickle of adrenaline at my fingertips.

I hold my breath for what feels like forever, and then I jump.

My finger shoves the bell and it rings shrilly.

Footsteps start to thud down the stairs.

This is it.

The latch turns in what feels like slow motion. I straighten up, determined. The door swings open and everything goes
still. In under a second I have gained complete control of myself.

I look into the face of the woman standing in front of me, and my icy calm betrays nothing, not even a flicker.

“Hello,” I say. “I think you’ve been expecting me.”

D
ebs smiles at me and says, “Certainly have! Come on up! You know the way by now!”

Indeed I do.

She turns and walks ahead of me; I shut the front door and follow her up.

“How was your wig fitting yesterday?” I ask conversationally as we go into the sitting room. I’m trying not to look around. Where is she? In her room? In the bathroom? “Did you make it on time?”

Debs wrinkles her nose and snorts. “Yes thanks, it was all fine. Bloody wardrobe. Think they own the place. You know what it’s like. Want a cuppa while we wait for Lizzie? She stayed at a friend’s house last night but she knows you’re coming over and she’s on her way back.”

“Tea would be lovely.” I slip my coat off and lay it carefully on the arm of the sofa.

“Cool.” She smiles and wanders off into the kitchen.

I exhale deeply and stare at one of the photos of Liz. Deep breath. She’s not here yet. Compose yourself.

Debs wanders back in with two mugs and hands one to me before sitting down on the orange sofa and curling her legs underneath her like a cat.

Just as we both open our mouths to say something, the phone goes. Debs shakes her head in disbelief. “That phone! God, it just never stops—I’m so sorry, Lottie. You know what? I’m just going to leave it. Now, tell me about you. Where did you say your last flat was?”

“Well, I—”

Just as I begin, a woman’s voice feeds tinnily through the answer phone. “Hi, it’s me! I’m really sorry…I’m running about fifteen minutes late—decided to take a bloody cab and we’re stuck now. I’m guessing Lottie is there already. Say sorry for me and I’ll be back ASAP. Love ya!”

Debs laughs and then groans. “Typical Lizzie. Sorry, Lotts. Anyway. You were saying?”

“I actually live with my—” I start, and then the phone goes
again.

“I don’t believe it!
Bloody
thing!” Debs glares at it. “Just ignore it. You live with your…” She looks at me expectantly.

“Boyfriend,” I say firmly. “And—”

“Hi, it’s Peter.” A very familiar voice fills the room and I nearly drop my cup of tea in shock all over the carpet. “Lizzie, I’m on my way over—sorry, I’m on the car phone and the reception is a bit dodgy. I know you said you were going to be in this morning and I really think we need to sort this all out. See you in a minute.”

My eyes widen in shock and I can barely breathe. He’s what? Oh fuck! FUCK! I have to go—how close is he? And why’s he coming to see her, why? What the hell do I do now?

Debs sighs and is busy setting her mug down on the carpet,
so she doesn’t notice me having a moment of terror and panic in the corner. “Excuse me, Lottie, I have to make a quick call.”

She gets up and stalks to the phone. “Hi, it’s me. Peter’s just phoned. He’s on his way over…I don’t know, hon…Yeah, she is.” She glances at me. “Yeah, I think so too. It might be wise.”

All I can think is, get off the fucking phone—I don’t have much time!

She hangs up and turns to me. “Look, Lottie, this is really awkward and I’m SO unbelievably sorry but, well, there’s a bit of a situation developing that Lizzie needs to defuse and I think it might be better if we do this another day. Do you mind? I promise it’s not always like this!” She laughs awkwardly. “I’m so sorry.”

I just don’t care. All I want is to get away from here before he arrives.

“It’s okay.” I gather my bag and coat up quickly. “Look, I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” she says. “You’ve been really good about this, I appreciate it.” Once we get to the bottom of the stairs, she holds the door open for me.

“Please don’t worry, Debs.” I smile brightly, my guts churning. I have to go! He could be here any second! “I’ll give you a ring.”

“Thanks!” she beams. “You’re a star, Lotts! See you soon.”

The door closes behind me. I let out a whimper and scan the street. He’s driving. Should I make a dash for the tube? Oh, where’s a cab when you need one! I stumble to the edge of the pavement. If he sees me here…Oh God, what was I thinking, coming back here again? It wasn’t worth it! I shouldn’t have taken the risk—I was getting too sure of myself. If I lose him…

Then I see a bus approaching a stop on the other side of the
road. That’ll do. I look urgently left and right, before hurtling across. It doesn’t matter where it’s going; I just have to get out of here.

I throw myself on, show my travel card and lurch over to a seat as we start to pull away.

Oh, thank God. I look back over my shoulder as the flat begins to disappear out of sight. I feel ill with the relief.

It’s short-lived, though. He’s going over there—he,
they
, might both be there right this second. Together. What’s he going to say or do? Has he gone there to finish it? Or maybe just to tell her to start taking more care…I stare miserably out of the window.

I
wish
I knew what was happening. I wonder what he’s doing right now.

W
hen he gets in later, he is not in a good mood at all. I jump when I hear the front door bang shut, and shortly after that he slams out to the gym.

He seems a little calmer when he gets back and flops down on to the sofa beside me.

“Sorry,” he says shortly.

I shoot a glance at him. “What for?”

“I’ve been a bit stressed this evening. I’ll just grab a shower, and then do you fancy a glass of wine?”

I nod, and he looks pleased. “Good, won’t be long.”

Later, on the sofa, I’m resting my legs on his lap affectionately, but being careful not to be too clingy. He’s relaxed and comfy and stroking my leg idly. “This is nice,” I say quietly.

He glances over and flashes a smile. “Yeah, it is.” He turns back to the TV.

Then I feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. He ignores it, and minutes later it vibrates again. Another text message. He shifts carefully. Then it starts to vibrate properly. She’s ringing him.

He swears under his breath and slides a hand into his pocket
to switch it off. “Probably just Mum. No concept of the time difference whatsoever, that woman.”

But then we both jump as the house phone rings shrilly. No! She can’t be calling him here! Oh my God!

He pushes my legs off his lap, jumps to his feet and snatches the phone up. He doesn’t say anything, no hello, nothing, just listens for a second and then says clearly with his back to me, “No, I’m sorry, no one has ordered a taxi to this address.”

My eyes narrow. Either that was an utter, amazing coincidence or he really, really thought on his feet.

He hangs up and turns back to me, smiling. “Come on, it’s late—let’s get to bed.”

I don’t protest, and once I’m in bed I only say in amazement that he must have read my mind, when he offers to zip downstairs for my glass of water. He makes sure he’s not gone too long and kisses me good night a little absently. I’m not surprised, with what must be on his mind.

Once the lights are off, and he’s asleep, I slip noiselessly out of bed and downstairs. His phone is under a cushion on the sofa. I switch it on and look first at the call list. It
was
her who phoned him.

Then I look in his sent messages. Just as I thought, he sent one to her about twenty minutes later, while he was getting my water. It is short and to the point:

I switch the phone off and creep quietly back upstairs.