Page 44 of The Affair
‘Well, she rang this morning. Apparently she’s setting up this hospice in Weston … and she wanted to discuss me joining the team part-time.’
She sat up straighter. ‘Wow, Devan. That would be great, wouldn’t it?’
‘Oh, Con. It’s so up my street. I always found it so heartbreaking when a patient was dying and I had no time or facility to help.’ He took a large gulp of wine. ‘It won’t be up and running for a couple of months or so. But if this works out, it might be two, three days a week …’
Connie laughed with delight at seeing her husband so invigorated, the light back in his eyes.
‘And I really like Sylvie,’ he went on. ‘She’s so straightforward and professional. I’m going to drive over next Monday, meet her, check the place out.’
They spent the rest of the meal discussing the potential job.This, Connie thought,is what we’ve both been waiting for. She wasn’t thinking in terms of her tours, just that Devan would finally be busy and engaged again.
‘Then me and Bill got chatting to this guy in the pub at lunchtime.’ Devan interrupted her thoughts. ‘Sayshe’s just signed up for a six-month rental on Mr Solomon’s place. Plans to move in in a couple of weeks, apparently.’
‘Jill heard the same from her friend at Tovey’s. Weekender?’
‘Nope. Wants to try living in the country, he says. Seems to be on his own, didn’t mention a wife or girlfriend. I liked him. Youngish, seemed intelligent and well-travelled. It’s nice to have someone under sixty moving into the village, for a change.’
19
By mid-October, two months after Connie had fallen ill, she felt back to some semblance of her old self. She’d finally had her hair coloured and trimmed – the grey roots she’d been seeing in the mirror every morning only adding to her sense of decline – and treated her nails to a rare luxury manicure. She was almost back to her normal weight but, most crucially, she could feel the veil of torpor lifting.
These days, she woke with cautious optimism, mentally scanning her body as she lay in bed for signs of weakness, finding none. It seemed as if she’d been through some sort of test … and emerged undeservedly unscathed. Although part of her still listened for the buzz of the aircraft overhead, the moment when the bomb would finally drop and she would be punished.
This morning Connie turned to her husband. Watching his face as he slept, she realized that the lingering tensions between them were much reduced, as Devan had got stuck into working with Sylvie. She wondered what lay ahead for them, in these last decades of their lives.
She’d promised herself – and Devan, who seemed happy with this compromise, in light of his new commitments – that although she might not retire completely, she would cut down on her tours next year.She couldn’t afford a repeat of this summer on any level. Her vulnerability to Jared had scared her. The length of time it had taken her to recover from the virus had scared her too – one no doubt feeding into the other. And whereas there was fault on both sides for the breach in their marriage, Connie had been the one to cross the line. It still shocked her that even a marriage as seemingly strong and solid as theirs had shown it wasn’t invincible.
She gently placed a hand to his head, feeling his soft hair, his warm cheek against her palm.I love you, she whispered silently. Devan stirred, opening his eyes. He blinked and smiled, taking her hand in his. He reached forward to kiss her and they snuggled into each other’s arms under the warm duvet as the autumn dawn began to light the room.
‘Just popping to the shop,’ Connie shouted upstairs. She was glowing, satiated from the lovemaking that had followed the cuddle, rosy from a hot shower, her body revitalized in a way she had not felt for a long time. ‘We’re out of bread.’
Old Mrs Mounce – whose son owned the village store – was behind the till, as she was most mornings. Connie thought she must have been eighty if she was a day, her plump face covered with liver spots, her hands shaking as she took Connie’s wholemeal loaf and the newspaper to scan.
‘Nasty out,’ Mrs Mounce commented, probably for the twentieth time that morning – she never talkedabout anything but the weather, which never failed her in its fickleness.
‘Going to rain all day, they say,’ Connie dutifully returned.
Mrs Mounce pushed the paper and loaf back across the wooden counter, handing Connie her receipt. Gathering her purchases, she turned to leave, bumping into someone standing too close behind her.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ echoed the man.
She froze. That voice.No.She hardly dared look up. But when she did, it was straight into the turquoise eyes of Jared Temple. She thought she must be hallucinating. The newspaper slid from her shaking hands.
Jared bent to pick it up, neatened the pages and handed it calmly back to her. He had a quiet smile on his face, as if this were the most normal encounter in the world.
Connie, checking round and seeing the shop was empty except for Mrs Mounce – who was fiddling with the cigarette packets on the shelves behind the till – hissed at him, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Jared seemed a bit taken aback at her tone. ‘I … I just wanted to see you, Connie.’
She felt as if she’d been Tasered. Here she was, standing in her village shop, a mere three minutes’ walk from her house and her husband, talking to the man with whom she’d enjoyed clandestine, abandoned sex. ‘You can’t be here,’ she said, desperately. ‘I can’t be seen talking to you.’
He frowned, but did not speak, did not move.
‘Please … please, Jared. Don’t do this.’
When he didn’t instantly disappear and stop the nightmare, she took a steadying breath. ‘OK, listen. Meet me at the windmill …’ she was trying to calm her delirious brain enough to remember what she and Devan had planned for today ‘… about eleven thirty? It’s only five minutes away.’ She didn’t wait for him to agree, or explain which windmill or where. She just fled the shop, Stacy from the pub holding the door for her on his way in.
