Page 67 of The Affair
Her sense of relief came from knowing she wasn’t, after all, insane. She was now one hundred per cent certain it had been him on the hill that day. That he had also stolen her hat and gloves from the bookshop, slipped the ravioli into her basket. He had to have been watching the house, to know that she was alone. He must have been constantly watching her …
The fury came from the way he’d gaslighted her, lying so convincingly at every turn. Because now the deceptions all came back to her: claiming to have overheard Connie’s name in the queue for the Doge’s Palace, his friend with the crumbling palazzo, the supposed meeting in Milan. Then there was Kraków and the night she’d thought she saw him pass by the table where she was having supper with the two Norfolk teachers. He’d said then, too, that it couldn’t have been him: he’d flown in just an hour ago. Not to mention the man who’d lost his car keys at the food fair, stopping tochat to Jill as she changed out of her boots … Fiona Raven’s book launch …
As she’d stood stock still in the hall the previous night, staring at the green hat and gloves still lying on the tissue paper, the last of the scales now incontrovertibly torn from her eyes, Connie kept asking herself why she hadn’t seen through him, questioned his behaviour, right from the beginning. Lynne and Neil had spelled it out. Just the way he’d turned up on her tours like that, always knew the number of her hotel room, was bizarre, by anyone’s standards.
I wasn’t looking, she thought. I was enjoying it too much, carried away by the game …until he’d arrived on her patch, where he’d fooled everyone else, too, of course. It confused her. The delusions he had about loving her were obviously acute – and crazy – but presented in such a reasonable way that she’d continued to think he might see sense, if she could only find the right words. But it was as if she were speaking Chinese to an Inuit. He simply didn’t understand. Added to which, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would have such an obsessive crush on her. Especially not at her age.
She’d eventually hauled herself out of Tessa’s deep Victorian bath last night, dried herself and climbed into her pyjamas. The one person she ached to talk to was Devan. Without him, the hole in her life was bottomless. She’d always turned to him when there was a problem, enjoying his unquestioned support, the effortless back and forth of a marriage, without fully appreciating – till she lost it – how vital, how intrinsicit was to her life. In any other circumstances, she could imagine how they might now sit and dissect Jared’s behaviour. Make sense of it … together.
She’d reached for her mobile on the bedside table.I will call him, she decided. But as her finger hovered over his contact details, she saw the time on the screen: it was the middle of the night. Devan would be fast asleep, full of delicious samosas and too much champagne, cosy in Caitlin’s comfortable spare bed – where Connie had languished with that horrible chest infection in the summer. On Christmas morning, he’d be woken by little Bash and his cheeky grin, who’d climb in with his grandpa, all sleepy and warm and completely adorable.
Connie had put her phone down, too tired even to acknowledge the searing ache around her heart.
Now, she lay listening to the silence. No one was out and about at this time on Christmas Day. Even the persistent traffic hum from the hill had stilled. She wondered what on earth she could do with her day. There was a service at the Unitarian church at eleven. It was a bright morning: perhaps she could walk on the Heath. There was the Finemans’ kind offer of lunch, or the chicken and leek pie if she stayed in. All of which were things she might enjoy. None of which she felt she could. So, she rolled over and gradually fell back into a fitful sleep.
She was woken by her mobile blasting from the bedside table. Snatching it up, her heart pumping from the shock of being pulled abruptly from sleep, she prayed it wasthe family. But Neil’s cheerful voice was wishing her a happy Christmas.
‘This place is so bloody gorgeous, darling,’ he went on. ‘We’ve done rainforests and turtles on the beach and hanging bridges and howler monkeys … you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Sounds amazing.’ Connie couldn’t help laughing at his childlike enthusiasm.
After a further excitable exposition of the wonders of Costa Rica, Neil’s voice sobered. ‘How’s it going with you? Do I smell the toxic whiff of Brussels sprouts across the airwaves?’
‘Afraid not. Tessa’s up in Scotland with her daughter. It’s just me.’
She heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘You’re all alone?’
‘It’s fine. Tessa’s neighbours have asked me over for lunch. And it’s a lovely day. I’ll do a Heath walk, and there’s a service …’ She thought she sounded admirably convincing as she lied her way through her reply. But Neil wasn’t fooled.
‘Hmm. So what are you really doing?’
She tried to maintain her composure, keeping her tone light. ‘I’m lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, if you must know.’
‘Bummer. I wish you were here. We’d cheer you up.’ There was a pause. ‘Any word from the old homestead?’
‘Caty tried to call, but I missed her. Ash phoned, bless him. They’re all OK, but clearly still avoiding me like the plague.’
‘Cruel.’
‘Listen, it’s lovely to hear your voice, Neil, but don’t worry about me. I’m surviving. You and Brooks have a great day. Let’s talk soon.’ She wanted him off the phone. Crying pathetically from three thousand miles away on Christmas morning was not a fair thing to do to a dear friend.
Neil said a reluctant goodbye and Connie hurled her phone down onto the duvet, the tears that had threatened while they were talking evaporating in a blast of irritation at her own maudlin self-pity. She forced herself out of bed and into a hot shower.
Washing her hair, rubbing her skin with the ginger and mandarin moisturizer she’d found in the bathroom and dressing in a clean jumper and jeans, she applied a quick smudge of foundation, a smear of lip balm over her dry lips and began to feel more human.
She went downstairs and made herself a treacly cup of coffee with some scary-looking full-strength Panamanian beans she found in the cupboard. With no real idea as to when she had last eaten, she knew she should make something. But she wasn’t hungry, the thought, even of toast, knotting her stomach. She wondered what she should do now, as she sat at the kitchen table in the silence, hands circling her mug as the buzz of caffeine kicked in.
The clock, ticking so slowly it seemed like a fortnight between each tock, drew near to one o’clock. She was apprehensive about Melanie making another pitch to get her over for lunch. But the hour passed: no one knocked.
It was the sun shining in the bright blue winter sky – glimpsed through the window – that finally overrode her lethargy. It would be getting dark in a couple of hours, and then she’d be trapped inside for another long, lonely night with only Monty for company.
Wrapped in her coat and Tessa’s beret – Jared’s hat and gloves returned to the paper bag for delivery to the charity shop on the hill as soon as it opened again – she set off towards Hampstead Heath.
The air was sparkling with frost, the Heath crowded, families out taking advantage of the beautiful day. Connie walked quickly, keen to avoid the glances of people she passed on the wide paths round the ponds. She wanted them to think she was on her way to a gathering of some sort, not a lonely woman trying somehow to fill the day. Not that they were thinking about her at all, she was well aware. But she felt self-conscious, nonetheless. A woman surrounded all her life by friends and family, never giving much thought to what it would be like to be one of those who didn’t have her privileges, suddenly cast adrift.I will never take anything for granted again, she promised herself, as she turned onto the path that would lead her home again.
She was also wary of catching a glimpse of Jared’s face in the Christmas crowd. She could tell herself until she was blue in the face that he’d gone, that he wasout of her life, but checking for his presence had become like a tic, a habit of which she was barely conscious. But at least she was out. No panic attacks on the doorstep today. Which was progress.If you’re watching me, shethought defiantly,then good luck to you. You’ll never get what you want.
What remained of Connie’s day had been spent curled up on the sofa, gazing blankly at the gas flames, the book she’d bought open, but unread, a plate of olives and salami merely nibbled at. It was nearing ten now. Connie had wondered all day if she should try to phone the family. But, although her finger hovered frequently over Caitlin’s number, she never made the call. She didn’t want to be the cause of tension, possibly triggering more rants from Devan that would upset their day. Or face the disappointment of another voicemail and unreturned call. She’d hoped her daughter might ring again, but it was getting late now, and she knew she would be exhausted – Bash no doubt having woken them all at five, or earlier.
