Page 63 of The Affair
‘Whoa, Connie, slow down.Ihaven’t seen him, but Brooks bumped into him in the pub. He was with Bill. Brooks said he seemed perfectly normal, smiling and friendly, as if nothing had happened.’
Typical Devan, Connie thought,burying it all behind a public face, but her heart constricted at the thought of him pretending so hard. Jill had rung Connie a few times, but she hadn’t taken the calls, just texted back to say she would be in touch, although she’d decided itwould be better if she wasn’t. Bill was Devan’s best friend. Jill would only be compromised if she got involved with Connie’s side of the story.
‘And Jared?’ she asked, holding her breath in trepidation.
‘No sign of him. I’ve done a couple of drive-bys, imagining what I’ll say to the prick if I ever manage to corner him. I’ve even banged on the door, but it seems he’s long gone.’ Neil gave a harsh laugh. ‘He wasn’t going to hang about, though, knowing what’s gone down with you and Devan.’
‘You can never tell what Jared’s going to do … But no, I suppose not.’ She wondered where he was now. Would he have somewhere to run to, and if so, where?Maybe to Dinah’s, she thought, and shivered at the proximity.
‘Listen, Con,’ Neil was saying, ‘you didn’t murder anyone. You’ve apologized. You made a daft mistake. Devan would be crazy not to come round in the end.’
‘I’ve called him a million times and he won’t ring back. He doesn’t even seem to want to get in touch to yell at me. There’s been nothing, not a peep, since the day I left.’
She heard her friend give a frustrated sigh. ‘It’s barely two weeks. You’ve got to give him time.’
Connie sighed. The conversation was going in circles. ‘Would you talk to him, Neil?Please. Just sound him out?’
There was a groan.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask. But I genuinely don’t knowwhere to go from here.’ She waited. ‘I’mdesperate.’ The word was no more than a whisper, she felt so utterly sapped by the situation. Even when she was talking to Tessa, watching television, trying to sleep, it played on and on around her brain in a persistent loop. Like a child repeating the same question until it is heard.
The other day, after another message left with no response, she’d almost jumped on a train back to Somerset, thinking if she could just see Devan face to face he would have to talk to her. But she wasn’t sure she could cope with the door being slammed in her face … with another cold rejection.
‘OK,’ Neil was saying. ‘But what do you want me to say?’
Connie had no answer. ‘No, listen, it’s probably a bad idea,’ she said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘Forget I asked.’
He didn’t reply at once. ‘Thing is, we’re off to Costa Rica on Monday. I could try to see him before I go …’
‘Honestly, don’t, Neil. Thanks for the offer, but this is my problem, not yours. And, as you say, it’s not likely he’ll be in the mood just yet.’
There was a short silence.
‘God, darling. I really feel for you. Are you going to be all right while I’m away? We’re not back till the sixth.’
‘I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry you’ve had to listen to me whining on. I hope you both have a brilliant time. People say it’s an amazing place … all that walking above the clouds thing I read about. Love to Brooks.’
She was hanging on, forcing out her brightest selffor just ten seconds longer while they said goodbye. Then she took a juddering breath and burst into tears.
After lunch, Connie wrapped herself up warmly and took a walk to the high street. It wasn’t that she needed anything in particular: she was heating tinned soup and eating a lot of toast instead of real cooking. She just needed human contact, even if it was only the barista serving her coffee or one of the friendly booksellers in Waterstones. It was raining, but the hill was crowded as usual, a sea of umbrellas jostling for position on the pavement.
She’d almost stopped looking around for Jared. Almost. That chapter of her life, she kept telling herself, was closed. The fallout was her main concern now. But as she crossed the wide road towards her favourite café, a man walking down the hill towards her – at least a hundred metres away – raised his black umbrella for a split second before turning right into the narrow side-street by the bakery. He was in jeans, muffled to the neck in a heavy parka, hood up, but even that tiny glimpse stopped Connie in her tracks, a cry discharging involuntarily from her throat.
Him?From the thrashing of her heart she was certain it was. But when she’d taken a few deep breaths, calmed down a little, although still staring fixedly at the entrance to the alley where he’d disappeared, she decided she must have been mistaken.Just my crazy brain playing tricks, she told herself, as she reached the café, with its steamed-up windows, coffee machine churningand cosy, all-pervading smell of damp wool. She found a seat at the back, her hands shaking as she unzipped her coat.
Over a large latte, she reviewed what she’d seen. The image was still clear in her mind, but it wasn’t a clear image. There was the rain and the dim winter light, the other pedestrians, the umbrella and his hood. But she had seen enough, at least, to precipitate jumpy glances towards the door each time it swung open.
By the time Connie got home she was a bag of nerves. Every umbrella harboured Jared Temple, every brush against her arm on the crowded pavement was his hand, every shout was her name on his lips. She didn’t feel safe. She went round the house checking all the locks, as if she expected him to have broken in, or maybe walked through walls, to be standing there, anyway, in the middle of Tessa’s sitting room as if he had every right to be there.
The next day, Connie decided to stay at home. It was mayhem out there, she reasoned, Christmas frenzy building. But that wasn’t why she stayed inside. She didn’t trust herself not to invent a repeat of yesterday. Because, overnight, she’d come to the conclusion that the pressure she was under was making her mind play tricks, see things that didn’t exist.
Connie, as Tessa had also claimed, wasn’t used to being alone. She wasn’t good at it. Even if she had known someone in London, though – which she didn’t, other than her daughter, who wasn’t an option – she was in no fit state tosocialize. It was two weeks until her friend got back, during a time when almost every other person in the country would be indulging in some form of festive celebration with family or friends. All she could think about was her family: Caitlin and Ash and little Bash dressing the tree, Devan arriving, the warmth and laughter, the brightly wrapped presents, the fizz, the turkey they would share. It was sending her round the bend.Aren’t they wondering how I’m coping, all alone here?she wondered plaintively, as she checked her phone yet again to find no messages from any of them. But they would assume Tessa was with her, of course.
For one more day she sat on the olive-green sofa, wrapped in the mohair throw, drinking tea and eating toast, Monty snuggled into her side. She ploughed through tiresome books about acting and economics – Tessa didn’t seem to do light reading – or watched endless daytime television. She now knew all about the pitfalls of buying a property at auction, how to make perfect gluten-free mince pies, a certain sportswoman’s mental-health issues, and how to tell a real Ming pot from a fake.
Enough, she told herself firmly, late in the morning two days before Christmas.Stop being feeble. Take a walk, go to the cinema, buy some food that isn’t bread. Get a grip.
It helped that the rain had stopped, delivering a glitteringly bright winter’s day. She couldn’t help yearning for home as she wove through the shoppers on the hill, deafened by the noise of the traffic and a brass band bashing out Christmas favourites. Right now it wouldbe heaven to be tramping in the frosty sunshine with Riley. Up through the woods they’d go, bursting out of the trees at the top to enjoy the stunning view across the Levels to the distant Mendips. She loved that view. Devan knew that when she died he was to scatter her ashes at exactly that spot so her spirit could enjoy it for ever. She pushed away the thought that he might not give a toss where her remains were scattered any more.
