Page 30 of The First Mistake

There’s a churning in the pit of my stomach as I wait for him to join me, an unmistakable swirl of nervousness that will only dissipate when I have the answers that I need. I pull my legs up underneath me as he walks in, conscious of relaying a more relaxed mood. As expected, he sits down heavily on the sofa opposite and takes a slug of wine.

‘How did it go in the office today?’ I ask. ‘Get much done?’

I tilt my head to the side, in another subconscious effort to put him at ease. Though why, I don’t know. I guess it just feels that I’m more likely to catch him out if he’s off guard.

‘Yes, it’s much easier when the phone isn’t constantly ringing.’ He clears his throat. ‘So, are you going to tell me what was going on with you this morning, and last night ...?’

I wonder if he knows he’s walking into a minefield, the severity of the explosion entirely dependent on the words he chooses to utter in the next few minutes. I take as large a mouthful of my wine as I can, in the hope that it might numb the pain. I’m almost a bottle in and still waiting.

‘Steady on,’ he says, and I defiantly knock back another gulp, my eyes never leaving his. ‘What the hell is going on with you?’

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. ‘Nothing.’

‘You’ve not been yourself since I got back from Japan,’ he says, trying a different tack. ‘Are you worried about the work involved if we get the job? Because you know I only want to do this if you’re entirely happy. I don’t want to put you under any unnecessary stress.’

‘I’m not a five-year-old,’ I say petulantly.

He sighs. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, actually, I don’t think I do. What are you trying to say?’

I drain my wine and put the stained glass on the coffee table, both of us momentarily watching it wobble.

‘I just don’t want to risk you having a setback, that’s all,’ he says. ‘You’ve come such a long way and I’m so proud of how well you’ve done.’

Tears jump to my eyes. I don’t know if it’s because Iwantto make him proud, or that I know he’d be devastated if he knew I was back on medication. I guess they’re one and the same thing.

‘I’m still doing fine,’ I say, hoping he can’t sense my guilt.

He sits forward and looks at me earnestly. ‘Youcando this, Alice.’

‘Which bit?’

‘All of it,’ he says, smiling. ‘Japan is a big ask, I know that. But I wouldn’t have pitched for it if I didn’t think you were capable of doing it.’

I nod. Iamcapable, but that’s not what the problem is here.

‘You only have to say the word if it’s not what you want, but it would be such a huge waste of your hard work. You’ve put your heart and soul into this ... I thought it was what you wanted.’

It was, until I discovered that my husband is having an affair. Now, everything feels uncertain, as if I’m suspended in some weird, parallel universe. Hanging there in limbo, waiting for my strings to be cut.

‘I’ve got a confession to make,’ I start, half smiling. I can’t go in too accusatory. ‘I’m afraid I washed your white shorts.’

His eyebrows knit together as he watches me walk through to the kitchen and reach behind the last cookbook on the shelf. I pull out the hotel bill.

‘Sorry, I didn’t see it until it was too late, but this was in the pocket. I hope it isn’t anything important.’ I hand him the bombshell, which I’ve wet along the creases, just enough to give it the appearance of having seen better days, but without any of the incriminating evidence being destroyed.

I watch as he opens it carefully with his forefinger and thumb, a slight irritation to him now. He peels one side painstakingly slowly away from the other, so as not to damage the damp paper. How ironic that in just a few seconds he’s going to wish he’d done the exact opposite.

He stares at the Conrad logo blankly before looking at me. I’m careful to keep my expression neutral, to make him think there’s still a chance I haven’t yet looked at it.

‘What’s this?’ he asks.

I stay silent, waiting for the penny to drop.

‘Oh, it’s just my hotel bill,’ he says dismissively, before folding it carefully again. ‘No doubt I’ll need that for accounts.’

‘Areallentertaining expenses tax deductible then?’ I ask casually, picking at imaginary fluff from a cushion.

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