Sleeping Arrangements

  ‘Nothing,’ said Hugh. ‘It’s just that your … Chloe said something very similar to me. Something about not getting what you want.’

  ‘Well … we think alike, I guess,’ said Philip with a laugh. ‘Comes of being together too long.’ Hugh looked up, alert.

  ‘Do you—’ He stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you really think you’ve been together too long?’ He stared intently at Philip as though genuinely interested in the answer, and Philip had a sudden flashback to Amanda, lying on her lounger, talking sadly about the separate lives she and Hugh led.

  ‘No,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Of course not. We have problems … but we make it work. That’s all you can do, I reckon.’ He stretched his legs out in front of him and stared up at the warm, inky sky.

  ‘What is it you do?’ asked Hugh, pouring wine into Philip’s half-empty glass. ‘For a living, I mean.’ Philip laughed.

  ‘That’s against the rules. I’m not supposed to be talking about work this holiday,’ he said. Hugh clicked in annoyance.

  ‘That’s right. I’m sorry, I forgot.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Philip. ‘I’ll tell you.’ He gazed into his wine glass for a long time, then looked up confidentially. ‘Actually, I’m an airline pilot.’

  ‘Are you?’ Hugh’s face crinkled with surprise. ‘Which airline do you—’ he began, before Philip’s expression made him break off and grin. ‘An airline pilot,’ he said, and took a slug of wine. ‘Very good. I’m a … rocket scientist myself.’

  ‘A rocket scientist,’ said Philip. ‘Sounds good. Any money in it?’

  ‘Not bad,’ said Hugh. He raised a finger as though in admonishment. ‘What you have to remember is—the world will always need rockets.’

  ‘And planes.’

  ‘And planes,’ agreed Hugh. He lifted his glass to Philip. ‘So, here’s to flying planes.’

  ‘And here’s to …’ Philip paused. ‘What do you rocket scientists do all day, anyway?’

  ‘Top secret,’ said Hugh, tapping the side of his nose with what seemed like considerable effort. ‘I could tell you … but then I’d have to shoot you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Philip, nodding. He took a slug of wine and felt his head lurch dizzily to one side. He felt as though he’d been slowly rising for hours—and had now suddenly tipped over the top of a waterfall into the rapids. If he didn’t have something to eat soon … very soon … His train of thought wavered and he took another gulp to focus his mind.

  He picked up bottle D and emptied the dregs into Hugh’s glass.

  ‘We could crack open another …’ he said thickly. ‘Or we could quit while we’re ahead.’

  There was silence. Hugh appeared to be considering the two options. He looked up with a tense, bloodshot gaze.

  ‘I love your wife.’

  There was silence. Philip stared at Hugh confusedly for a few seconds, as though trying to remember something very important. Then he smiled beatifically.

  ‘Everyone loves Chloe,’ he said. ‘She’s an angel.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hugh, subsiding slightly. ‘Yes she is. An angel.’

  ‘Here’s to the angel,’ said Philip, raising his glass erratically into the air.

  ‘The angel,’ echoed Hugh after a moment’s silence. He lifted his own glass and they both drank deeply.

  ‘She’s not actually my wife, of course,’ added Philip as an afterthought, leaning back and closing his eyes.

  There was a long, still pause.

  ‘No,’ said Hugh slowly. ‘No, of course, she isn’t.’ He leaned back in his own chair and the two lapsed into a silence, broken only by the lapping of the water.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning Chloe woke abruptly, her heart thumping. She sat up in a flurry as though late for a meeting, panic thudding through her, excuses ready to pour from her lips. ‘I’m sorry …’ she actually got as far as saying, before she realized that she was in an empty room. There was no-one to listen to her.

  She looked at the other side of the bed for a few silent seconds, then slowly subsided back onto her pillows. Philip had not come to bed with her. Which meant … what?

  He knew everything. He was on a plane to England. Everything was over.

  Or he knew nothing. He had simply had one drink too many and fallen asleep in front of a movie.

  Both seemed equally likely. Both seemed equally outside of her control. Lying alone in this pale, silent room, still half submerged in the confusion of dreams, she felt slightly numb. Disconnected from the real world. Had yesterday really happened? Her mind was a maelstrom of images and memories. The pulsing music. The sunshine. The mellow red wine. Her eyes, meeting Hugh’s. Her head, slowly nodding.

  She had been a different person, for a few hours, she had been a completely different person.

  Quickly she pushed back the covers and got out of bed. A large mirror was mounted on the opposite wall, and very slowly she walked towards her reflection. Her face was tanned a light golden brown; her hair lightened by the sun; from a distance, she looked again like the blonde stranger. The blonde twenty-five-year-old who had yesterday walked down the street in a tight black dress. Who had sat alone at a café table and accepted a strange man’s invitation. Who had thought of nothing but herself and her own immediate wants.

  But as she drew closer to the mirror, the indistinctness, the ambiguity disappeared; her own features fell into place. The allure of unfamiliarity was gone. She was not a blonde stranger. She was not a mysterious twenty-five-year-old. She was herself, Chloe Harding. It was Chloe Harding who had dressed up in black. It was Chloe Harding who had been unfaithful.

  She had thought herself incapable of such a thing; above such a thing. She had thought herself stronger than that. But she had tumbled like all the others. The trap had been laid and she had run straight into it, as weak and silly as a teenager. As she stared at herself she felt a flash of anger—and a rush of hatred for Gerard, who had masterminded the whole thing. Who had seen her Achilles heel and set out to pierce it. How long had he been planning this encounter? she wondered. How long had he been feeling gleeful anticipation? Now she looked back, it seemed that every conversation between them in recent months had had some double meaning, some significant overtone. Gerard had known she would succumb. He had known her better than she had known herself. A hot humiliation flooded through her and she turned away.

  She walked over to where her clothes lay, barely aware of what she was doing, trying to empty her mind of thoughts. But as she reached across the discarded black dress for her hairbrush she caught a faint smell of the exotic musky scent which the woman in the clothes shop had sprayed over her as she left. The scent of yesterday; the scent of her and Hugh.

  The smell assaulted her like no other sensation. A plunge of desire went through her; she felt shaky and out of control. She reached for the chest of drawers for support and closed her eyes, trying to focus, to come to her senses. But the want, the need was too strong. Her mind was filled with an image of herself again in that room in San Luis. Sitting by the window with a glass in her hand. Hugh in the rumpled sheets behind her, beckoning her back to bed with his eyes. The two of them in a secret world, away from everything.

  He had asked her to sleep all night with him; to wake up in his arms. She had refused. And now she had ended up spending the night alone. She felt numb at the thought of what she had turned down.

  For a few seconds she stood perfectly still, then forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing back her hair with a trembling hand. Moving away from the dress, from the scent, she stepped into a swimsuit, then a sundress. She combed out her hair and walked out of the room.

  Passing the door to the boys’ bedroom she glanced inside. Both were still sound asleep; a Gameboy was firmly clutched in Nat’s hand. She gazed at them silently for a moment. Asleep, Sam looked like a child again. His face was unlined and innocent; his arms flung out on his pillow. There was a smattering
of faint blond stubble on his chin, picked out by the morning sun. But it did not make her think of her son as a man. It made her think of the downy hairs that had covered his body when he was a baby, which had glowed in the sunlight as he lay outside on a rug. Next to him, Nat had kicked off his covers. His faded Pokémon pyjamas were bobbly from too much washing; on his hand was written a Biro message. Sam owes me 3 goes.

  Her two sons. Staring at them in the sunny silence, Chloe suddenly found herself thinking of the story of the Little Mermaid who left the sea for her love; who renounced her old life and followed her infatuated heart. And who walked for the rest of her life on two stabbing pains.

  Chloe closed her eyes, holding the door jamb to steady herself. When she opened them, it was with a new purpose. She felt a thin steel of resolution inside her, a backbone once again. She moved off down the corridor, her steps gaining pace, her mind set.

  Outside the villa, the sun was already scorching down out of a blue sky; the air was still with a new level of heat which seemed almost menacing in its strength. For a moment Chloe felt physically threatened by it. What had they been thinking of, she wondered futilely, coming to this foreign, arid mountainside, exposing themselves to such powerful, damaging forces? Why had they not been content to stay in the safe environment of home?

  For a moment she felt like turning and running, retreating into the climate-controlled security of the villa. But she knew she couldn’t hide. Not from the sun. Not from him. She was here now, and she would simply have to deal with whatever came her way.

  With renewed resolve she continued walking into the heat, towards the swimming pool. She would peel off her dress and dive in, she told herself. And as the cool water filled her ears and closed over her head, the madness of yesterday would disappear. She would become her old self once more.

  She headed briskly towards the swimming pool, too busy with her own determination to notice her surroundings. As she drew closer, she stopped in disbelief, her heart thudding. Hugh and Philip were slumped in chairs before her, shaded by a parasol. Several empty wine bottles were in front of them and both were sound asleep.

  As she stared at them, her focused mind began to waver and disintegrate. She tried to swallow and found she couldn’t. In her mind, she had separated the two men completely. Philip lived in one life—her life. Hugh existed in the stranger’s life. But here they were together, flesh and blood and skin, breathing in and breathing out, almost in unison. Sleeping together.

  As she stared, Hugh opened his eyes and met her gaze. Chloe felt a lurch of panic, as though she had been caught stealing.

  ‘Chloe,’ he said in indistinct tones, and she felt a fresh spasm of fear.

  ‘I …’ she said helplessly. ‘No.’ She turned and walked quickly away, her heart beating fast.

  She headed down the wooden steps to the field, almost running through the hot, dusty grass. At the bottom of the field was the lemon grove. She slipped in among the trees like a fugitive, not quite knowing where she was going or what she wanted. At last she came to a stop. She leaned against a lemon tree, and breathed in the faint, fresh citrus scent.

  ‘Chloe.’

  She looked up in horror. Hugh had followed her. He was looking at her with bloodshot eyes, his chin stubbly, his shirt rumpled. As she met his eyes, his face broke into a radiant smile. ‘Good morning, my darling,’ he murmured, and bent his face towards hers.

  ‘No!’ she said, twisting away from him. ‘Hugh, stop.’ Desperately she tried to organize her thoughts.

  ‘I love you.’

  As his words hit the air, she felt her body respond. Her heart quickened; her cheeks flushed a betraying pink.

  ‘No,’ she said, turning away. ‘No, you don’t. Listen, Hugh.’ She paused, steeling herself to turn back and meet his eyes. ‘We … we made a mistake. A huge mistake.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Hugh.

  ‘We both did. Look at the facts. We’re on holiday, it was hot, we’d both had something to drink …’

  ‘Look at this fact, Chloe. I love you. I’ve always loved you.’

  A tingle started at Chloe’s feet and slowly made its way up her legs, under her dress, hidden.

  ‘It’s too late,’ she said, clenching her fists by her side. ‘It’s too late to say that.’

  ‘It’s not too late,’ said Hugh. He came forward and took hold of her shoulders; she could feel his breath hot against her face. ‘Chloe, we’re like … prodigal lovers. We lost each other—and now we’ve found each other again. We should be celebrating. We should be … killing the fatted calf.’

  ‘Well, maybe we have found each other again,’ retorted Chloe in sudden emotion. ‘And what have we found? You’re married, I’m married …’

  ‘You’re not married,’ said Hugh.

  ‘As good as.’

  ‘It’s not as good as,’ said Hugh. ‘You’re not married.’

  Chloe stared at him, her heart beating fast.

  ‘Hugh, stop it.’

  ‘I should have married you,’ said Hugh, his eyes shining with intensity. ‘When we were both twenty. We should have been together. We should have been a family. You, me, Sam … It was meant, Chloe. I was just too stupid to see it.’

  ‘Hugh, stop it.’

  ‘Chloe …’ He broke off and gazed at her, as though memorizing her face. ‘Chloe, will you marry me?’

  Chloe stared at him in a throbbing silence, then gave a half-laugh, half-sob.

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’m serious, Chloe. Marry me. How old are we both? In our thirties, for God’s sake! We’ve got a whole lifetime ahead of us.’

  ‘ Hugh—’

  ‘People do it. Why shouldn’t we? Just because of one mistake, years ago—are we going to give up on what could be years of happiness?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be years of happiness,’ said Chloe. ‘It wouldn’t be happiness.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Hugh’s eyes met hers and she felt an inner jolt. For an instant it seemed that another possible future life was held between them like a stream of light. A tantalizing series of images, like a movie or a glossy magazine. She was a child again, wondering what she would be when she grew up; for a few moments she was transfixed by the possibilities. Then, summoning up all her inner resolve, she forced herself to pull her eyes away, to stare down at the roots of a lemon tree. To impress its image on her mind. Real roots and real earth.

  ‘It was a mistake,’ she said, looking up. ‘What happened yesterday was just a moment of weakness. I’m sorry, Hugh, but that’s all it was.’

  There was silence. Hugh released her shoulders and took a few steps away, his face set. Chloe watched him with slight apprehension.

  ‘A moment of weakness,’ echoed Hugh finally, turning round. ‘That implies it takes you some effort to stay with Philip.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She felt a flash of genuine indignation. ‘I love Philip.’

  ‘You may love him,’ said Hugh. He looked directly at her. ‘That doesn’t mean you’re happy with him.’

  ‘I am,’ said Chloe. ‘I’ve been happy with him for thirteen years now.’

  ‘I’ve seen you together on this holiday,’ said Hugh, and shook his head dismissively. ‘You aren’t a happy couple.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s because we’ve been under a great deal of strain recently,’ said Chloe, stung. ‘If you really want to know, Philip’s under serious threat of redundancy. All right? Does that explain things for you? We’ve spent the last three months waiting to hear whether he’s still got a job or not. And yes, we have both been pretty miserable about it. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t a happy couple. A happy family.’ She broke off, hot in the face, staring fiercely at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Hugh awkwardly. ‘I didn’t know what the situation was …’

  ‘That’s the point, Hugh,’ said Chloe. ‘You don’t know my situation. How can you? It’s been fifteen years! You don’
t know me, you don’t know my family. You have an idea of what I am … but nothing more.’ Her voice softened as she saw Hugh’s expression. ‘And I don’t know you. I don’t know about your marriage to Amanda. I wouldn’t dream of commenting on whether you’re happy or not. That’s your family life.’

  Her words travelled through the dry still air between the rows of lemon trees. For a few moments, neither spoke.

  ‘My family life,’ echoed Hugh at last, and gave a strange little smile. ‘You want to know about my family life? You want to know about my marriage to Amanda?’

  ‘No,’ said Chloe. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Try two people who barely talk to each other from one end of the day to the other,’ said Hugh, ignoring her. ‘Try a father who doesn’t know his own children. Who spends more time in the office than anyone really needs to.’ Hugh exhaled sharply. ‘What I have with Amanda … It’s not a family life. Or at least if it is, I’m not part of the family. I’m the chequebook.’ He rubbed his face roughly, then looked up. ‘It’s not what I wanted, Chloe. I never wanted to be a fucking … stranger to my children.’ He took a step towards her, his eyes intensely on hers. ‘And when I look at the way Philip is with Sam, when I think, I had that opportunity. I could have been that kid’s father—’

  ‘No!’ interrupted Chloe in sudden fury. ‘Just stop right there! Philip is Sam’s father, OK? Philip is his father. You don’t know what would have happened if we’d stayed together. And you have absolutely no right to assume …’ She broke off, trying to calm her thoughts. ‘Hugh, I’m sorry that you’re unhappy with Amanda. I’m truly sorry. But … it’s not my problem.’

  Hugh stared at her.

  ‘In other words, “fuck off and leave me alone.” ’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Chloe after a pause. ‘But … pretty close.’

  There was silence. Hugh thrust his hands in his pockets and took a few steps away, staring at the sandy, scrubby ground as though intently interested in it.

  ‘You used me,’ he said at last.