Page 47 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘What do you expect?’ Nicholas replied. ‘When was the last time that we slept together? Do you think I’m a fool?’

‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him defiantly.

‘Come clean. You’re a hypocrite! You think I haven’t noticed silky knickers hanging out to dry on Friday after bridge night? So tell me, who is he?’

‘Okay, I admit it. Yes, I have a wonderful lover. He’s called Richard Delaney and for six months he’s been my saviour. I met him in the garden centre. He woke me up! I never thought I’d be interested in sex again. So many years of pretending, frozen stiff, waiting for it to be over.’

‘Then why don’t you leave me?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been around so long that I don’t have to pretend. I can be myself. Anyway, I suspected all along that you were also having a fling, but to be honest I didn’t care. As long as Rick was happy, it suited me. But now that he wants more, I’m not sure. We’ve been a family so long…’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I didn’t want to break us up.’

‘Then why did you have me followed?’

‘Because I could see how happy you were when you came home from your so-called business trips. And one day when you were up in London, I found a condom in your shaving kit. That’s when I found the private eye.’

For the first time in a decade, Nicholas and Kate locked horns. No distractions. It was exciting. Kate’s mask-like face was moving again. There was a glint of hope in her dull eyes. A vestige of life.

‘Why didn’t you confront me? You already had the evidence.I couldn’t lie to you. And maybe we could have worked things out there and then. Instead of you going to a private dick? We could have had counselling.’

Trembling, she clenched her fists. Stealing herself. Ready to let rip. Secret thoughts, buried in the depth of her mind, locked away.

Pandora’s box flew open.

‘Because I wanted to know what you were like with another woman. You obviously did the trick. She was on another planet.’

‘So what about Rick?’ Nicholas asked.

‘I can’t think at the moment,’ Kate replied. ‘I’m very confused. Watching you making love with another woman turned me on. She was so sexy I wanted to make love to her too.’ After an everlasting pause Kate said tearfully, ‘Shall you and I try to make things work? I want the Nicholas in the video to ravish me like he does with his Sophie. I’ll tell you what. If I stop seeing Rick, would you stop seeing her?’

‘I would,’ said Nick. ‘We’ve lost each other over the years. Too much domestic stuff and not enough romance. Why don’t we go to Paris for a weekend? We could take the Eurostar.’

‘I’d love that,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

It would be a litmus test. A holiday with Kate. Just the two of them. After all those years of camping with the kids, would they get on?

***

The weekend wasn’t great, but neither was it a tragedy. Kate complained about the bed in the little boutique hotel on the Left Bank. Said it was too soft, gave her backache, not like her orthopaedic mattress. But, still, she and Nicholas made love which was as it had always been – not exactly thrilling, but perfectly adequate.

Afterwards, the street lamp cast a light on Kate’s facethrough the window and Nicholas saw a glimpse of the young bride that he’d married. Yes, he could see why Rick had wanted her. She had a sweet face when she wasn’t being tortured by the weight of her responsibilities.

‘So, Nicholas,’ she said, ‘how are we doing?’

‘I think we’re doing okay,’ he replied. But what he really wished for was to stay with Kate and have Sophie on the side. Just to give his life some fizz.

A few hours later, they made love again with comfortable familiarity. But when they slept, Nicholas dreamed of Sophie, whilst Kate dreamed of Rick.

***

Months went by and Nicholas tried surviving his boring life at home by texting Sophie whenever he was alone.

However, his visits once a week were brief and seldom satisfying. Any fun they had was overshadowed by Sophie’s demands. She was not prepared to spend her life waiting for him.

Tired of stolen moments governed by train timetables, Sophie booked a trip to an art retreat in Bordeaux.

‘That’s a very good idea,’ Evelyn said over lunch at Romano’s, the Italian restaurant she had frequented at least once a week for twenty years, save when she was abroad.

‘I hope the break makes you realise that there’s more to life than being a snack for a married man.’ She dipped a piece of bread roll in her glass of Chianti and popped it in her mouth.

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