Page 47 of The Affair
‘Fair enough. Where do you fancy, then?’
Connie’s mind was blank. All she could think of was getting as far from Jared as possible. ‘Umm, what about … There’s the Pig?’
Devan’s face lit up. ‘Good plan. We haven’t been there in ages.’ Then he glanced at his phone. ‘Will they still be serving lunch? It’s a good twenty minutes’ drive.’
I don’t care if they are or not, she wanted to shout at him. Her stomach was so knotted, she doubted she’d be able to choke down even a mouthful of food, anyway. She felt on the verge of tears again, but knew she had to pull herself together. This was not going away.Hewas not going away.
Being with her husband was agony. Connie wanted to hug him close, whisk him away, rescue him from the mire into which she feared he was about to fall. Because even if Jared did as he promised and never told a living soul their secret,Connieknew. She would need to pretend, constantly pretend, always wondering what little thing he might be divulging – and to whom – that would blow her world apart. The toll was incalculable.Devan would notice. He would suffer accordingly.Unless I can persuade Jared to leave, she thought, now, as Devan tucked into his beef brisket sandwich and she played with a fishcake on a bed of puréed spinach.
‘I’m off,’ Devan said, two days later, holdall in hand as he stood in the hall. ‘Be back tomorrow lunchtime.’
He was attending a board meeting of the Royal College of General Practitioners – about GP education and support – in Bristol. Although it was less than an hour’s drive, he was staying overnight. After the meeting, he and his doctor friends liked to settle in at the hotel bar and make a night of it, catch up with all the affronts they’d suffered at the hands of their patients, and the NHS.
She put her arms round him and gave him a tight embrace. ‘Have fun,’ she said, breathing in his warm scent and loving him so much.
Connie had not seen Jared again. But, then, she’d barely been out, except to scurry to the car or hurry up the road in the opposite direction to his cottage when she took Riley out. She’d almost managed to convince herself that he wasn’t really there. But the tenderness she’d been showering on Devan was already making him wonder what was up.
‘You’re being very nice to me,’ he’d commented the day before, when she’d helped him tidy the garden shed, then made cheese scones for tea.
She’d laughed nervously as she poured his tea. ‘Am I usually such a harridan?’
‘No,’ he’d replied, then looked across the table, suddenly serious as he buttered his warm scone. ‘You know I wasn’t ever really questioning our marriage before. That would have been nuts.’ He grinned. ‘Especially as you make such delicious scones.’
Connie had grinned back. Now that the initial shock of bumping into Jared had worn off a little and she had some perspective, she was feeling more optimistic.I can make him see sense, she told herself.He’s not going to stick around once I’ve made my position clear.Now, watching her husband drive off to his board meeting, she had only one mission: to see Jared and make absolutely sure he left the village.
She waited till dark. The last thing she needed was gossip. The Williamsons, in the cottage to the right of Jared’s, were old and would be firmly ensconced in front of the television, curtains closed, as soon as they’d finished their tea. She’d been past often enough with Riley to know. The house on the other side was another of the many owned by weekenders: a young London couple who rarely came down outside the summer months. ‘Please, please be in,’ she muttered to herself, as she walked briskly through the village streets, Riley in tow as cover.
As she approached, she breathed a sigh of relief. The lights were on, and she could see Jared through the window, stirring something at the stove. Heart in her mouth, but still determined, she opened the catch on the low picket gate and walked up the path to the door. It was cold tonight, colder than it had been so far this autumn, but she didn’t feel a thing.
‘Connie!’ he greeted her, wooden spoon still in his hand. ‘Come in, come in. You’re just in time to sample my pumpkin soup.’ His smile and easy greeting implied this was the most natural event in the world, her popping round with the dog for a spot of soup.
With trepidation, she followed him into the warm kitchen. Everything looked new, a bit too clean and organized. A bottle of red wine was open on the table, and without asking, he fetched a glass from the cupboard and poured some for her.
‘This is a nice surprise,’ he said, lifting his own drink and holding it out to chink with hers. ‘Salud!’
Connie found herself complying as she touched her glass with his, but she did not echo his good wishes, taking only a tiny sip of wine, as if it might poison her. He was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. But now she was here, the words she’d rehearsed so often dried on her lips. It felt oddly normal in the kitchen, Jared relaxed, looking younger, she thought, in his jeans and a white T-shirt, his arms still tanned from his mysterious wanderings, brown hair streaked gold by the sun. She quickly looked away.
‘Take a seat,’ Jared said, lifting a couple of soup bowls from the open shelf at the end of the row of kitchen units, and placing them on the table. ‘Spoons,’ he muttered, finally plumping for the drawer to the right of the cooker. A row of foil and clingfilm rolls greeted him, and he shut the drawer and tried the one on the other side. ‘Geronimo!’ He brandished two spoons atConnie, then put them both on the table beside the bowls. ‘Still getting used to the place,’ he added.
Connie experienced a strange snapshot, as if she were in an alternative version of her life, where Devan didn’t exist, and she lived in this cottage with Jared and Riley. She watched Jared pour the thick orange soup. ‘Sorry, no parsley. Have to make do with a little drizzle of olive oil and a grind of pepper,’ he said, pushing her bowl across the table and turning to find the oil and pepper.
She did not touch the bowl. Smelling the soup, she realized she was very hungry – she’d barely eaten in the last few days. But she was not going to drink a single drop, aware that the onion-scented warmth of the dimly lit kitchen was having an irresistibly soporific effect on her fatigued state – the toll of so many sleepless nights. She sat up straighter on the stool, pinching the skin on the back of her hand until it hurt. She was here for one reason only. She must stay alert, force Jared to see things from her perspective, not give in to the seductive domesticity he was peddling.
‘I didn’t know you cooked,’ she said into the silence.
‘A kitchen designer who doesn’t cook would be a tad peculiar.’
He was smiling at her, and she smiled back. Jared refilled his wine glass and began his soup. He glanced across at her untouched bowl, ‘I thought you liked pumpkin,’ he said.
‘Sorry … not hungry,’ she replied. He gave a calm shrug.
When he’d finished eating, neither of them speaking, he stood to clear both bowls, then bent to the under-counter fridge and drew out a packet of choc ices from the freezer compartment, laying a cellophane-wrapped bar in front of her – again without asking if she wanted it – and taking one for himself.
‘Love these. Haven’t had one in years. I saw them in Waitrose and couldn’t resist.’
Connie also loved them, but she shook herself. ‘Jared …’
He held up his hand to stop her. ‘I know what you’re going to say. I can’t be here. I have to leave. I’m ruining your life …’ When she didn’t speak, he went on, ‘But this isn’t ruining anything. What’s wrong with soup and a glass of wine between friends?’ When she still didn’t answer, he said, ‘I’m not leaving, Connie.’
