The Other Half

  “You are going to tell him, though, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” By now Maggie was sobbing uncontrollably. “Oh—Fran!”

  “I know, I know…” Fran muttered, standing up and putting her arms round Maggie’s shoulders. Maggie hugged her back, hard, gleaning comfort from the warmth of her sister’s sweater. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d done this; it helped.

  When Maggie’s tears had subsided, Fran burst forth, “Wait till I get ahold of him! I’d like to chop his prick off!”

  Maggie laughed through her weeping. “What do you think I should do?”

  “I reckon you should take your time. There’s no hurry. First, work out what you want to say. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  “Thanks. You think I should confront him?”

  “Yes, I do. As long as he thinks you don’t know, you’re stuck in limbo.”

  Maggie could see what she meant. “Okay. Perhaps we’ll go back and I’ll do it on Sunday. I don’t feel we should stay beyond that or Nathan will worry something’s going on.”

  “It’s up to you,” said Fran.

  “That’s what I’d prefer. Hell, though, Fran, how could he do this? Not just to me, but to Nathan. It’s not only that he’s been seeing someone else, it’s all the lies. He completely denied it when I asked him outright! And then he had the nerve to make love!”

  “Don’t ask me … Are you going to leave him, then?”

  Maggie’s immediate reaction was to grip the edge of the table ferociously and say, “I tell you, if it was up to me, I’d leave now.” Then she recalled Nathan’s excitement when his father arrived home. “But I can’t just walk out. We’ve got a child. Aside from what he’s done to me, I’m not sure I could take Nathan from his dad. Not before trying to get to the bottom of this.”

  “But you’d insist he finish it?”

  “Of course I would!”

  Fran nodded. “Then I suppose it all comes down to one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you still love him?”

  Maggie put her head in her hands. Jamie’s a liar, a cheat, a selfish pig, she thought. He’s been leading me in a miserable dance for months. Heaven knows the full extent of it.

  She recoiled at the idea of him and Chloë together. Screwing …

  Nonetheless, he’s the father of my child, she reasoned. My husband. Surely deep down he’s still the man I married? Muddled, by his own admission, very muddled; having some sort of midlife crisis. Yet he can’t be a total bastard, can he? I swore to love him till death do us part …

  “I suppose so,” she said at last.

  35

  Chloë was so upset about James that on Friday she threw herself into work with a vengeance. After two cups of coffee and no breakfast, she was racing through the day’s tasks. By eleven o’clock she’d chased down the journalists she’d commissioned to find out how they were getting on, seen three photographers’ portfolios, had an argument with the art director, and written the introductory paragraph to “A Buyer’s Guide to Vibrators.” She was in the midst of revising the tear sheets of the magazine when a vibration on her phone told her she’d received a text. She glanced at the screen. It was from James.

  Still fuming, she ignored it for a few minutes. She was damned if she was going to do him the courtesy of reading it at once. Eventually curiosity got the better of her.

  What can I say? I am so, so, so sorry. I feel absolutely terrible. Please, please forgive me.

  She didn’t respond.

  An hour later: Are you still speaking to me?

  She tapped: No!

  Almost immediately: Please don’t be cross. I can explain. I could come over tonight and make it up to you. I can even stay over, if you’ll still have me. J. xx

  Maybe they haven’t patched things up, after all, thought Chloë, if he wants to see me so soon after a heart-to-heart with Maggie …

  As she’d drifted off to sleep the night before, she’d had nasty visions of the two of them immersed in conversation. She’d seen James coming around to whatever Maggie was saying, and agreeing they should make a go of it. Chloë had even pictured them making love—until then, she’d bought into James’s line that they weren’t doing it anymore. Her damaged pride had been compounded by Rob’s disgust with James, yet she was still desperate to see him. She texted:

  Okay then. But it’d better be damn good!

  He’s offering to spend the night, she rationalized. Perhaps he’s told Maggie he needs space. Maybe they’re having a trial split. Or possibly he’s told her he’s in love with someone else …

  After all, his text said Chloë could have him if she still wanted him, and he could stay over. This was new—previously he’d always gone home. Had he told Maggie he was leaving her? The thought made Chloë shudder. Was that really what she wanted?

  If our affair becomes public, everyone will hate me, she panicked.

  No, she convinced herself. He wouldn’t write a text with that tone if things have come to a head. His words don’t display the signs of a man who’s had enough. Thanks to her father, Chloë knew only too well what that looked like.

  Fuck it, she resolved, seething again. He can explain tonight, as he said.

  In the meantime she made herself another coffee, and got on with her work. Fired up by fury and caffeine, she spent the rest of the day finishing the tear sheets of the magazine, and then, thrilled by how it was panning out and keen to share it, presented it to Vanessa late in the afternoon. Inevitably Vanessa had plenty of suggestions, and by the time they finished it was past seven.

  If James has to wait on the doorstep, tough, Chloë thought.

  Yet when she arrived home, she was surprised to hear male voices coming from the kitchen.

  “Chloë?” called James.

  “Is that you?” Rob shouted.

  Bollocks. Rob had let James in. The idea of the two of them meeting without her to supervise made her wary. She tried her best to breeze casually into the room.

  James and Rob were sitting at the table, an opened bottle of wine in front of them.

  “Hi.” She was a little embarrassed. “How long have you been here?” she asked James. Judging from the nearly finished bottle, it was a while.

  “Oh, I don’t know—at least an hour. I thought I’d better not be late. It didn’t matter—Rob was here.”

  An hour! Lord knows what Rob had said in that time. He was rarely backward in coming forward, especially when called upon to defend his friends. He could easily have given James a lecture. She glanced at Rob, hoping to detect a sign of what he’d said, yet his face gave nothing away.

  “Look what James has brought you.” He nodded in the direction of the sink.

  There, standing on the drain board in a globe of water, was one of the biggest bouquets she’d ever seen. The flowers were wrapped in cellophane and hand tied with a huge white bow. Stargazer lilies. There must have been a dozen stems, and each head was larger than an open hand, the stamens a rich, golden yellow, petals tinged with pink. Chloë leaned down into the midst of them and inhaled. They smelt pungent, heavenly.

  How romantic! she thought, heart lifting. It’s ages since a boyfriend has given me flowers. Though if James thinks he can buy me off that easily, he’s wrong.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” said James, coming over and slipping his hands around her waist. That whoosh of desire hit her once more. “Am I forgiven?” he whispered, wiping pollen from her nose.

  “Hmph.” Chloë pouted. “We made a massive effort, both of us. Didn’t we?”

  James turned to Rob. “I’m sorry if I pissed you off too. I gather you cooked something specially. You’ve both every right to be livid. I know I would have been if I was you.”

  But Rob waved his concern away. “We’ll get over it.”

  Chloë was surprised—James must have been turning on the charm. Speaking of which, his arms were still wrapped around her; his physical presence was makin
g it difficult for her to be cross. Just the scent of him turned her on.

  James continued, “So I was thinking, to make it up to you, I’d like to take the two of you out to dinner.”

  I should put up more of a fight, Chloë thought, or James will think I’m a pushover. Not for the first time, she cursed her body for betraying her—her legs were buckling. If it hadn’t been for her yearning to impress Rob, she would have been seriously tempted to drag her lover into her bedroom there and then.

  “Never one to turn down a free meal, me.” Rob grinned.

  “Where do you fancy?” asked James. “You’re the chef—you should choose.”

  “Let’s stay local,” urged Chloë. “I’m exhausted.” She’d been working late on All Woman nearly every night.

  They went to an expensive Indian restaurant on Lavender Hill which Chloë sometimes went to with her father—Rob loved it but could rarely afford to dine there. The restaurant was bright and boldly decorated, its primary colors creating the perfect backdrop to their upbeat conversation. Chloë’s fury with James was blunted further because he and Rob seemed to get along so well. Given the two men came from very different worlds, things might have been sticky—especially because with a few drinks inside him, Rob could be outspoken to the point of tactlessness. But James was at his most relaxed and socially adept—drawing Rob out with questions about his work and his clients. In return Rob asked James about his role as magazine publisher, keen to glean what had attracted him to an environment chiefly populated by women and gay men. He kept well away from difficult subject areas, and appeared eager to entertain rather than provoke. Halfway through their main course it dawned on Chloë as to why.

  He fancies him! she thought. And far from being threatened by Rob’s sexuality, James appears flattered. I reckon he’s flirting back. Well, this is a surpise, she laughed to herself.

  By the time they got home, they’d had an awful lot of wine, topped off with brandy, and Rob was on a roll discussing his various sexual exploits. He relished having an audience, especially one as attentive as James, who was clearly fascinated by the number of notches on Rob’s bedpost.

  “I must say,” said Rob, slapping James on the back as they stumbled into the hall, “you’re not half so bad as I thought you’d be.” Chloë winced. “I wasn’t really too sure what to make of you before. What with your being married and having a child.” For a split second James looked aghast, yet Rob pressed on: “Although, hey, who am I to judge?” James smiled, if a little halfheartedly. “Anyway, thank you so much for the meal. And now, my lovebirds,” Rob winked campily at Chloë, “this is when I leave you to it.”

  After having to restrain herself earlier and such a successful introduction to Rob, Chloë was on the biggest high she’d enjoyed in weeks, and was horny as hell. With no further ado she shoved James into her bedroom.

  * * *

  The next morning James didn’t stay late, leaving Chloë to wonder if he was racing to be home before Maggie after all. Yet nothing could mar the pleasure of thinking about the evening they’d shared, and although she tried to get back to sleep after James had left, in the end she was too excited. Keen to know what her roommate had thought of him, the moment she heard the telltale sounds of the radio coming from Rob’s room, she couldn’t resist bouncing out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown, and rushing to tap on his door.

  “Tea?”

  Rob looked at her out of one eye. “You must learn to be quieter,” he said sternly. “I can hear everything through that bloody wall.”

  “Sorry.” Chloë blushed.

  She made two mugs of tea, carried them carefully into Rob’s room, and sat on the end of his bed. By now Rob was sitting up, looking decidedly morning-afterish, his peroxided hair standing in unkempt Tintin tufts.

  “So? What did you think?”

  “Well, I’d shag him.”

  She knew it! “You thought he was sexy, then?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “What about the flowers and everything? The fact he took us both to dinner?”

  “I know.” Rob nodded. “Very generous. He seems like a nice guy.”

  Basking in his approval, Chloë felt confident to push for more. “And what about us? Do you think we make a good couple?”

  Rob paused. “Mm.” He appeared perplexed, as if wondering what to say. At once Chloë feared he wasn’t going to be so positive. “I’m not so sure.”

  That hurt. “Why not?”

  “It’s not that I don’t think you’re well suited. You’re great together—I’ve never seen you that happy with anyone—and he’s obviously keen on you. It’s only…” He sighed. “I don’t believe he’s ever going to leave his wife.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Rob rubbed his forehead. It was clearly hard for him to say, but he felt obligated. “I had a rather revealing conversation with him last night.”

  “When?”

  “Before you got home.”

  After the intense high of the previous evening, Chloë could feel herself rushing headlong downward. “What did he say?”

  “It’s more what he didn’t say. I reckon he was disconcerted to find me here without you, and he seemed to feel he had to explain himself a little. Especially since he knew I’d cooked for him. Anyway, I suppose I was pretty cross with him at first. I said something about my cooking not being up to his wife’s standard.”

  Chloë could hear it: Rob was a master of the snide one-liner. “Then he said something about her cooking being amazing, and I said something about how it must make it impossible for him to leave such fabulous home cooking behind.”

  Oh Lord. “And how did he respond to that?”

  “He didn’t really say anything.” Rob ruffled his hair, causing it to stand up even more bizarrely. “That’s what I mean. He simply grunted and said that was probably true. Which, let’s face it, doesn’t seem the kind of thing he’d say if he was planning on divorcing her tomorrow.”

  The happiness drained from Chloë’s day.

  “Then he tried to justify what was going on with you. He was aware I knew about the two of you, and that I must wonder what he’s playing at.”

  “So what did he say?” Chloë had to ask.

  “He said he felt irresistibly drawn to you. He asked me if I understood what that was like, and I said I did although I’d never been seriously involved with a married man.”

  “I see.”

  “Then he said he felt torn between the two of you, that he’d never done anything like this before, and that he didn’t really know how to handle it.” Rob appeared extremely hesitant, as if he couldn’t bear to hurt Chloë so. “Or how to finish things with you.”

  “Did he say that?” It was as if she’d been smacked in the jaw. I believed James was on the verge of committing to me, she thought, and he’s actually trying to work out how to end it! The pain was all the more intense because it came hard on the heels of such hope.

  “Not that I think he is going to finish it with you,” Rob added. “He clearly cares for you a lot.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “In as many words, yes. He said he couldn’t just stop seeing you for that reason, and it was even harder because you work together.”

  Chloë felt tears welling. “So you don’t reckon we’ll end up together then?”

  “I might be wrong.” Rob was obviously trying to be kind.

  “Do you think I should end it?”

  “It’s up to you, honey. You’ve always known what I think. This whole thing’s got tragedy written all over it.”

  Chloë was silent. “I suppose so,” she said at last.

  36

  With a scrunch of gravel, Maggie pulled the car into the drive and turned off the ignition. Nathan was asleep in the backseat; it was past his bedtime, but she’d wanted to be able to tuck him in the moment they arrived so that she could talk to Jamie. She got out and lifted her son into her arms, all floppy and sleepy. The light in the p
orch came on as she approached the house, and clutching Nathan, she opened the door with one hand.

  Jamie heard them and came to help. Unaware of her discovery, he’d clearly been mystified why she’d chosen to stay away the entire weekend, yet she’d refused to discuss anything, explaining over the phone that she wanted to speak in person. “Not again,” he’d moaned. “I thought we’d sorted it out. Haven’t we had enough serious chats?”

  The gall! “Seemingly not,” she’d said.

  “You can get the bags,” she ordered without saying hello. As he passed her on the stairs, she’d a good mind to stick out one of her legs and send him tumbling headlong.

  Presently everything was safe inside. Sitting on the bed, watching her unpack, Jamie was defensive. “So now what’s up?”

  “It’s not what,” her words stabbed the air, “it’s who.”

  Jamie flinched. “God, Maggie, you’re sounding like your needle’s stuck. Can’t you leave it alone?”

  “Seems you can’t.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She hurled clothes into the laundry bin, tempted to turn around and drive straight back to Fran’s. But he’s in the wrong and I’m damned if I’m going to leave my own house, she thought. And it’s not fair to Nathan. “Here’s a clue. Her name’s Chloë.”

  “I don’t know a Chloë,” he said, way too fast.

  “Crap! Crap! Crap!” She thumped her books onto the bedside table. “You are one shit liar, Jamie. Have you forgotten that I know you know a Chloë? I even know her myself, for God’s sake! Though not as intimately as you seem to, that’s for sure.”

  “Where’s this suddenly coming from?” The color was draining from his face. “Jean said something to you, didn’t she?”

  Maggie’s stomach lurched. Does Jean know? she thought. Is this common knowledge at UK Magazines? Am I the last to find out?

  “Does she know something I don’t?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Actually, you gave yourself away with no help from anyone. I found Chloë’s number on your BlackBerry while you were asleep. You called her the night I asked you to come back here last week—Thursday.”