A Minor Indiscretion

  “What?”

  “I think we should go and get ourselves very laid.”

  Christian shook his head. “I don’t feel like it.”

  “You always feel like it.” Robbie puckered his lips and made thrusting movements with his hips. “Come on, let’s hit the clubs.”

  Christian smiled reluctantly. “Do you think it will work?”

  “I don’t know,” Robbie admitted cheerfully. “But I think it’s a very worthwhile theory to put to the test.”

  A grin spread across Christian’s face. He stood up and grabbed Robbie’s hand in a fist. “Cheers, mate,” he said with a nod. “I feel better already.”

  The front door opened and Rebecca came into the kitchen, laden down with shopping bags. She stopped and stared at them both. “Why are you two looking so smug?”

  “No reason.” Christian peeped in her carrier bag as he pushed past her and she snatched it away.

  Rebecca frowned. “Why do I think you’re up to something?”

  Christian kissed her cheek. “Because you have a naturally suspicious nature.”

  Rebecca slapped at his hand. “Where are you going to?”

  Christian winked at Robbie. “To put my lucky pulling underpants on!”

  CHAPTER 20

  Thomas is sitting at the table doing his homework. Bless him! Tanya, on the other hand, is watching television on the little portable and snaps it off guiltily the minute I walk through the door.

  “Where’s Elliott?” I gasp.

  Thomas looks up. “He’s been at the hospital. Daddy phoned when we came in to say they’re on their way home.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “It’s just a bad sprain,” Thomas says, clearly disappointed that Elliott won’t have the street credibility of a plaster cast. I’m too wound up to feel the relief I should. “Daddy says they’re going to stop at McDonald’s to buy tea.” Thomas smiles broadly at this prospect rather than the fact his younger brother is safe and relatively unharmed.

  “Fine.”

  I feel like weeping, and as soon as I sit down opposite Thomas, there is the sound of a key in the front door and Elliott comes in carrying a Happy Meal under his good arm, and he does, despite his ordeal, look remarkably happy. His other arm is swathed in a support bandage, and he is clutching a cuddly dog Beanie Baby, the joy of which seems to be distracting him from his pain. I make a note to thank Ed for the inspiration of these small psychological tactics. It’s pathetic, but they work every time.

  Ed, bearing the remainder of our McDonald’s offering in a large brown paper bag, does not look so happy. His face is white and there are gray rings round his eyes, but most noticeable is the black storm cloud sitting just above his eyebrows. He puts the McDonald’s bag down. “We’ve been at the hospital,” he says in a tight voice.

  “I know.” I sound weary. “Barbara told me when I went to pick Elliott up.” I smile at my son. “Come here, darling.” He runs over to my side and I give him a big hug. “Were you brave?”

  “No,” Elliott says. “I screamed blue murder.”

  I can imagine it. Kissing him on the head, I hide a smile and reach over and pull out a chair for him. “Don’t let your chips get cold.”

  Ed goes to the cupboard and pulls out some plates, on top of which he plonks the McDonald’s cartons. It is possibly the last thing in the world I feel like eating, but he has had to suffer my burnt offerings more than once, so I’ll say nothing and be grateful. Tanya comes to the table.

  She opens a burger box and examines the contents with disdain. “I’m thinking of becoming a vegetarian,” she announces.

  “Not now, Tanya,” I say.

  “I’ve been trying to call you all day,” Ed says. “So has Nicola. They needed you at the school. We were right in the middle of filming for a very important client. I had to come out of work.”

  “I would have had to,” I say. The accusation is out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I know that I sound too defensive. This is the first time ever that Ed has had to deal with anything like this. Honestly. He’d tell you so himself.

  But the main reason I snap is because I’m cross. Cross with myself for not being there. Cross that I’ve failed Elliott when he needed me. Cross that I’ve been caught out in the one minor indiscretion I’ve ever dared indulge in. Cross that I went in the first place! And I’m cross that Ed can’t handle one tiny crisis without resorting to emotional blackmail.

  Ed looks at me over his polystyrene box. His voice is level, but his eyes are hard. “Except that you weren’t at work today, Ali.”

  You’ll hardly believe this, but until now I didn’t even consider that I might be called to account for where I was today. Where was I? What am I going to say? I can hardly tell Ed the truth in these circumstances. First I’m going to have to lie to Kath Brown and now Ed. My face reddens. One of the other joys of having red hair is having a complexion that would be no good for a poker player. I hate blushing and do it frequently. Sometimes you could fry an egg on my cheeks, they sizzle so much. I suspect you could now. I bite my burger, stuffing a huge mouthful in so that I cannot speak even if I knew what to say, and I lower my eyes to stare at the shreds of transparent, taste-free iceberg lettuce that are in my carton. The kids are concentrating on their burgers and studiously ignore us.

  “The school couldn’t get hold of you. I couldn’t get hold of you. Your mobile was turned off. Kath was worried sick,” he continued. “And so was I.”

  I can hardly chew. My mouth has gone dry and there’s bile rushing up to meet the contents, which are struggling to go down.

  “Where have you been?”

  I can hardly meet his eyes. “With Jemma,” I lie and, my God, the words nearly choke me.

  “With Jemma?”

  “We’d arranged to go shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  “I thought I’d told you.”

  “Not that I remember,” Ed says.

  “Well, you did forget the parents’ evening,” I counter, and I sound weak and feeble even to my own ears.

  “So I did.” Ed gives me a relenting smile, which makes me feel a hundred and ten times worse. He bites into his burger.

  I try to control the pounding of my heart and the feeling that I have a lightbulb flashing above my head with LIAR written on it.

  “What did you buy?” Ed mumbles through a chip.

  “What?”

  “Shopping,” he reminds me. “What did you buy?”

  “Er…” My mind is a complete bank. Clearly my supply of lies is exhausted already. “Nothing.”

  “You went shopping with Jemma and bought nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s a first,” he snorts, and gives me a strange look even though there’s now nothing at all wrong with his eye.

  CHAPTER 21

  There’s an atmosphere. I can’t really define it for you, but you know the sort of thing I mean. We’re both trying to talk normally and it isn’t quite working. Ed’s voice is more clipped than it should be, and I’m working far too hard at being relaxed. We’ve all done it. It’s just that I’ve never done it for this reason before.

  “Can I watch telly?” Tanya asks.

  “Yes,” I say without thinking, and she is gone before I can change my mind. If she rushes she might just catch the opening credits of Coronation Street. She is fifteen going on thirty—aren’t they all? Her ability to spot a situation which she can manipulate to her benefit is uncanny.

  Ed looks up from the newspaper, which he has buried himself in since tea time. “I thought she was banned from watching television?”

  “So did I,” I reply, but refrain from telling him that I haven’t the strength to argue with her.

  The phone rings and I nearly shoot through the ceiling.

  Ed notices. “I’ll get it,” he mutters, and stands up and strides across the lounge before I can suggest otherwise.

  I’m in a quandary. I’m trying to repair a rip in Th
omas’s school trousers and keep stitching through the wrong bit of material, which means he won’t be able to put his hands, or anything else for that matter, in his pockets. This is because I’m not concentrating, at all. I unpick the stitches and let the trousers fall into my lap before I make a fresh attempt at getting it right. I’m trying to decide whether to tell Ed where I really was today. Should I come clean and risk his wrath? He’s not in the best of moods after being dragged out of work and a four-hour wait in Casualty for a bit of bandage. I think I should tell him, but this is not the right time. But then, should I keep quiet about Christian? Is ignorance sometimes bliss? And it’s over before it even started. It was a one-off. A momentary madness. A minor indiscretion. That’s all. And now it’s done. I won’t see him again. Or if I do bump into him, it’ll just be for a coffee. As friends. Nothing more. Not that it was anything more, anyway. Not really.

  “Oh, hi,” Ed says into the mouthpiece. I look up and he’s staring at me, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Yes. Yes. She did.” His eyes meet mine. “I think so,” he says very slowly and deliberately.

  My mouth has gone dry again, and I rush out to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Both of the boys are in their bedrooms, probably doing unspeakable things, and I can’t be bothered to find out if they need a drink or a biscuit. Instead, I just make a cup of tea for myself and Ed.

  When I return to the lounge, he is sitting back in his chair.

  “I thought you might fancy a cuppa,” I say, putting it down next to him.

  “Thanks.” He ignores the tea, and his hands are trembling when he tries to pick up his newspaper.

  “Who was that?” I venture.

  “Jemma.”

  All the hairs on the back of my neck are on full alert, as well they might be. “Oh.”

  “She wanted to know if everything was all right.”

  “Oh.”

  “I told her it was, Alicia.” Ed looks up and I can’t read his eyes at all. “But I’m not so sure that it is.”

  There’s a whoosh of blood filling my ears and I can hear my pulse pounding through my body.

  “Jemma’s been in Prague all day.” Ed pauses, watching my face as it colors once again. “On a buying trip for the shop. Antique lace. Jemma might have been shopping today,” he says, “but there’s one thing for certain, Alicia. You weren’t with her.”

  I’m not sure if I sit here for hours saying nothing, or if I answer straight away. I can hear the cogs whirring in my brain, but when I speak, the most trite of statements comes out. “I can explain,” is all I offer my husband.

  “Does it have anything to do with this?” Ed holds up a map of Kew Gardens and an admission ticket, no doubt stamped with today’s date. He has been through my handbag while I was making tea, and even that minute betrayal hurts and I wonder how he must feel about me.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you go there alone?”

  And I think about lying again, even now. I can’t believe my own capacity for deceit, but in a moment of clarity I realize that if Ed has an admission ticket, it is more than likely to be for two. “I went with a friend,” I admit.

  “I take it this ‘friend’ is a man.”

  “Yes.” How can I explain this so that it doesn’t sound as bad as it does? Would Ed believe me if I told him I was swept away on a rush of undivided attention and lust, but I’d returned to my senses just in time? Would you believe that? Do I believe it? “He’s just a friend,” I say again.

  “Then why couldn’t you tell me about him? Why couldn’t you tell me where you were?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because you didn’t think I’d find out?” I suppose so, I want to say. But it wasn’t like that. I didn’t even think of the consequences.

  “How long has it been going on?”

  “There’s nothing going on. I’ve only known him a few weeks.”

  “Have you slept with him?” Ed’s mouth trembles and he presses his lips together to regain control, and I’m not sure whether it’s anger or tears he’s suppressing, because I’ve never seen him like this before.

  “Of course not!” I’m handling this so badly, but that’s because I can’t even think of the words I need to put it right.

  “Has he kissed you?”

  “I…er…”

  “Oh, Alicia.” Ed stands up and paces the lounge. “Don’t even answer. It’s written all over your face.”

  “Today is the first time I’ve seen him. Alone,” I say. This is the first time it was cold, calculated premeditated deceit, I mean. “Nothing happened.”

  “Is this him?” He tosses the business card of La Place Velma onto my lap from my purse, and Christian’s address and telephone number are written on the back.

  “Yes.” I look at Ed and I want to hug him and kiss him and tell him that he’s got it all wrong, but his face is set like stone and he has put a barrier between us as impenetrable as steel. I stuff the card in my back pocket, not knowing what else to do with it. “Just let me have a minute to think, Ed,” I say. “I want to talk to you about this. We need to sort it out.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you, Alicia. You’re lying to me.”

  “I’m not,” I protest, even though I am. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

  “Is he anything to do with the sketch that’s pushed to the back of the wardrobe?”

  “Yes.” I knew I should have put that wretched thing in the bin, but vanity is a strong emotion, and Christian had made me look so, so beautiful. I wanted to keep it until I was ninety and wrinkled like a walnut, to look back on a time when I was young and admired. “He drew me.”

  Ed gives a half-laugh and it’s cold and empty. “Then you must be very much in love with him, Alicia.” He turns his back as if he is unable to bear the sight of me. “I have never seen you looking quite so radiant,” he says.

  CHAPTER 22

  The music was thumping so loudly Christian could feel his brain shaking. It pulsated from the inside out, making his muscles throb and his chest vibrate. He twitched vaguely in time with it as he leaned on a wrought-iron balcony overlooking the dance floor. To say it was crowded was an understatement of the highest order. Sardine tins would be roomy compared to this. Christian felt himself sigh inwardly.

  Robbie was gyrating next to him, beer bottle in hand, eyeing the talent. Christian couldn’t remember where they were, only that it was their third nightclub in succession and they’d paid an extortionate amount to get into each one. Robbie assured him this was the place to be seen, but to Christian they all looked pretty much the same. Black, smoke, foam, dry ice, strobes, everyone pretty much off their face.

  He looked down at the bottle he was drinking from. It was some vodka concoction recommended by Robbie. It was mixed with fruit juice and herbs, as yet unspecified. It tasted like pop and had a kick like several mules. He’d had more than an adequate sufficiency, and the swirling emotions he’d felt earlier were settling down to a benign numbness. He looked at his watch, the night was still young and already he wanted to slide into bed and sleep, preferably alone. But the consuming of vast quantities of alcohol was only Phase One of his friend’s rehabilitation plan for him. Robbie nudged him in the ribs, with an excess of effort often employed by drunks. Phase Two, it appeared, was about to begin.

  “What about those two?” Robbie shouted above the music, waving his beer around in the direction of the dance floor.

  There were lots of “those two’s”—girls out for a night on the town—and Christian wasn’t sure which particular “those two” he meant. There were two girls who appeared to be smiling back at Robbie’s leering face with affected coyness. They were both pert and perky with long black hair parted in the middle. They wore black crop-tops, black Lycra shorts and black knee-high boots, in between which they both exposed acres of fake-tanned flesh. They clutched identical purses and bottles of beer. No doubt they would giggle like schoolgirls if asked if they were twins.

  “Eh?”
Robbie prompted.

  Christian shrugged. “Fine.”

  Phase Two was to chat up two women who didn’t look too fussy. Phase Three was to get them back to the flat for a night of fun and frolics. The music picked up a beat, and the two women thrust themselves about with considerably more verve now that they knew they were being watched.

  Christian’s heart wasn’t in this. He’d been game at first, but now his enthusiasm was waning. The major flaw in Robbie’s plan was due mainly to the success of Phase One, and he now felt totally incapable of proceeding to Phase Three without first having a nice little nap. Perhaps he could go into one of the chill-out rooms and have a lie down.

  Robbie downed his beer and threw the bottle on the floor. “Come on, mate!”

  Christian still had half a bottle left, but he swallowed it nevertheless. They made their way down the stairs, pushing through the crowd on the dance floor until they found their prey. Robbie made a beeline for the prettier of the two, and Christian stood in front of the other one and started to dance. She wasn’t bad-looking, but she didn’t have incandescent gold hair or translucent skin as delicate as mother-of-pearl or enigmatic feline eyes the rich, dark color of emeralds. And it was a shame that he felt like that, because up until now he’d hardly thought of Ali all evening.

  Robbie was right. He should just drop the whole thing. Ali was too sincere, too honest ever to go for just a fling. Stick to loose women that you meet in nightclubs and you won’t go far wrong.

  “Hi,” said his dancing partner. “I’m Sharon.” Christian was caught slightly off guard when she thrust her thigh between his and rubbed salaciously against his groin. The girls were clearly here with the same intentions as he and Robbie. Get drunk, get laid. Phase Two, it seemed, had been an unnecessary preliminary to copulation. Christian resisted the urge to pull away, and instead, lifted his arms above his head and gyrated himself back. Sharon smiled as if she had made some sort of conquest. Robbie already had his hands full of the other girl’s breasts and was grinning triumphantly as they writhed together. He stuck out his tongue and wiggled it like a lizard toward Christian before securing his face onto hers and disappearing into the crush. Sharon started to move her hands all over Christian, his chest, his groin, his buttocks—and he wondered how women could do things like this with strangers whose names they didn’t even know or care to know. It had taken him weeks to cajole Ali into a chaste kiss, and there was something rather nice and unexpected about that.