Page 93 of Close to You
‘I thought everything was going to fall apart, but then I met David on your stairs and… it didn’t. Things got better.’
‘But was that because of him – or because of you?’
There’s quiet again as I wonder if he has a point.
‘Did you know him at all at university?’ I ask.
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘He was a weirdo. It didn’t help that he was older than everyone, but that wasn’t a problem in itself. It was more how he was. He’d have all these stories about how he was a great footballer as a teenager – but he was terrible. He tried out for almost every club. He was a great climber – except he couldn’t even get a quarter of the way up a wall. He’d been in a choir all his life – but couldn’t sing a note. He’d acted in numerous plays but fell out with everyone in the drama club. Most societies had stories about him. I thought he was probably lonely – but nobody’s going to make friends by trying to join clubs and acting like they’re an expert when they’re obviously not.’
I don’t reply. It’s hard to know whether it matters. Whether it would have made a difference if I’d known this when David and I first met. It probably wouldn’t, although, with all I know now, I suppose it’s hard to reach any conclusion other than that my husband is a habitual and compulsive liar.
‘He told me he was off to Newcastle one time,’ I say. ‘But then I found him at the service station outside Kingbridge. He was hiding because he was basically unemployed. I don’t know if he has a job at all. I’m never sure when he’s telling the truth.’
Ben sighs. He takes his hand from the wheel and, for a moment, I think he’s going to take my hand. I anticipate it, Iwantit – but then he grips the gearstick and changes down, before returning his hand to the wheel.
‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ he says.
We say little for the rest of the journey. The dark lanes soon become well-lit suburbs and then we’re into Kingbridge and the estate on which Ben and Jane live. Ben pulls onto the driveway, takes my night bag from the boot, and then unlocks the house to let me in. I wait in the hall as he locks the door behind us.
‘The spare bed is already made up,’ he says. ‘There’s a bit of a new paint smell in there – but it’s from weeks ago and shouldn’t be too bad. We’ve been leaving windows open, but it’s still taking ages.’
He puts my bag on the bottom step and then turns to the living room.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks. ‘There’s wine in the fridge, or whatever you want…?’
‘Wine sounds good.’
He ushers me into the living room and I wait on the sofa. Moments later, he comes in from the kitchen with a pair of glasses and a bottle. He sits next to me, before emptying a good third of the bottle into my glass. He fills his with the same amount.
‘Shall we drink to something?’ he asks.
‘Old friends…?’
He clinks my glass with his. ‘To friends. Old and new.’
We drink and then he presses back onto the sofa. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.
‘Not really.’
‘Is there something you want to watch on TV? We’ve got Netflix, plus there’s iPlayer and so on.’
I pause for a second. David controls the television in the apartment and it is perhaps only now that I realise how uncomplicated life is for Jane and Ben. No games. No tall stories. A normal life with normal people.
‘I’m not in the mood,’ I say.
We sit for a short while, each sipping at our wine; each too afraid to say any more. It’s Ben who finally crosses the divide. He puts his glass on the table and twists to face me.
‘Jane’s away until morning,’ he says.
That’s it. All he’s doing is stating a fact of which we are both aware – but we each know that’s not what he’s saying at all.
I put my glass on the table and turn to face Ben and we both know what happens next.
Forty-Seven
