Page 14 of Be More Lucy

He bent down to kiss her, but she backed away.

‘Still upset over the wedding? I’ve bought you a gift to say sorry. We can try it out later,’ he said with a smirk.

He handed her a plain white gift bag. Lucy opened it while he hung his jacket on her coat rack.

A whip. He’d been hinting he wanted to experiment in the bedroom. Lucy admired his confidence, handing a potential weapon to an angry woman. ‘Excellent. I get to punish you for standing me up,’ she said, cracking the whip on the floor.

‘Whatever turns you on.’ He gave her a wink.

Forty-eight hours ago, she might have found that appealing, but she was looking at him in a whole new light now.

‘Can I use your bathroom?’ he asked, heading there before she had time to respond.

‘Sure. You know where it is,’ she said as he shut the door.

Perfect. She quickly went through his jacket, looking for his wallet. It should be easy to find as it usually contained a large wad of notes. Adam always paid cash, flamboyantly counting out the notes and leaving a generous tip. Now she knew why: no unexplainable transactions on his credit card bill.

Found it. She pulled out a credit card. “A Washington” was embossed on the bottom. No surprise there, but at least she’d got physical evidence now. He couldn’t try to get out of it by claiming he had a double. She slipped the credit card into the back pocket of her jeans and returned the wallet to the inside pocket of his jacket.

When Adam walked back into the living room, Lucy was casually sitting on the sofa, pretending to read emails on her phone. He looked across at the kitchen area. ‘I can’t smell anything cooking. What are we eating this evening?’

‘I thought you could make up for yesterday by taking me out for dinner.’ Lucy got up and put her arms around his neck. She wanted to watch him closely when she told him where they were going. ‘Em recommended a lovely little Italian in Moseley High Street. I’ve booked us a table for 8 o’clock.’

The restaurant was only a five-minute walk from his house. He’d probably been there with Eve. She saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes before he was in control again. He was good at this. Lucy wondered whether he’d had practice at cheating on his wife with other women.

‘Darling, I’m so tired after working all weekend. Can we send out for takeout instead?’

‘I understand.’ Lucy tried to look sympathetic as she backed away from him. ‘It must’ve been very stressful having a work crisis that lasted two whole days. I’m sure your wife missed you as well, especially with two small children to look after on her own. Perhaps you should use our booking to take her out instead?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Adam was still outwardly calm. Impressive. He should be a spy. Perhaps her sarky remark about him dealing with a coup in Uzbekistan hadn’t been that wide of the mark.

‘Mrs Washington?’ Lucy said.

‘Are you on something?’

Was he seriously trying to brave this one out?

‘You mean you’re not Adam Washington, joint owner of 17 Ferndale Avenue, with Mrs Eve Washington. I’m sure an estate agent would describe it as “a well-maintained 3-bedroomed pre-war semi-detached in a much sought-after road in the catchment area for the best primary school in Birmingham”. That will come in useful when your children are a bit older.’

Adam laughed. ‘Darling, don’t be so silly. I’m Adam Jones. You know that. There are loads of Adams in Birmingham. I’ve no idea why you think I’m Adam Washington.’

Arrogant bastard. Lucy pulled the credit card out of her pocket and threw it between them onto the coffee table. ‘I better phone the police then, as you seem to have stolen at least one of Adam Washington’s credit cards.’

‘How dare you go through my wallet! I should be the one calling the police.’

Mock outrage. Lucy could cope with that.

‘I think you’ll find that morally, that’s a lesser crime than cheating on your wife. But as an atheist, I guess you set your own moral standards. I’m not sure what the vicar at St Margaret’s would think about that, though.’

He stared at her. Surely he’d worked out his number was up as far as Lucy was concerned.

‘You’ve been spying on me!’

‘I wouldn’t call it spying. More casually observing the lesser spotted cheater in his native environment. A bit like David Attenborough but with fewer cameras.’

‘Is it over then?’

‘Of course, it’s over. I’m not screwing a liar who has a wife and a family. I have standards. I suggest you go and see one of your other women. The Tuesday one might be sitting at home twiddling her thumbs.’ Adam never saw Lucy on Tuesdays. “Tennis club session night,” he used to say whenever she suggested it. It was a pure guess that he spent Tuesday nights in someone else’s bed.

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