Page 71 of The Affair
Connie gave a wry smile. ‘My life’s so bloody bonkers, these days – anything’s possible.’ She hugged her friend tight. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Tess. You’ve been my absolute saviour. I genuinely don’t know where I’d be now without your incredibly generous hospitality.’
Tessa brushed off Connie’s thanks. ‘You didmea huge favour too. I was so dreading the first Christmas without Martin, and your being here in the run-up was the perfect diversion.’
‘Nothing like the McCabe soap opera …’
Tessa’s face fell. ‘Are you and Devan going to be all right?’
Connie shrugged. ‘We’ve been talking a lot. Sometimes it seems almost like old times, and we begin to relax with each other. Then other times, one of us says something, or remembers something, and it’s like the temperature drops by ten degrees. We fall apart.’
Tessa gave her another hug. ‘Well, stick in there. It’ll be worth it in the long run.’
Connie knew she was right. But the effort she and Devan had to make to get back on track seemed sometimes insurmountable. There was a long road ahead on which she knew she would have to tiptoe round her husband’s hurt without a fuss. It was Connie who was on the back foot, and she accepted that. She had apologized so many times it was becoming almost comical. The apologies were heartfelt, but they appeared to be having no effect. Devan seemed to be waiting for her to say something in particular that would finally expunge his anguish. But she knew there was only one thing that might eventually do that: time.
Then one day in mid-January, two weeks after they’d begun talking, Devan had thrown something out, almost casually, at the end of his nightly phone call. ‘You can’t stay at Tessa’s for ever, presumably?’
Connie had known immediately what he was really asking. It was a balancing act, though. She didn’t want to push him. Or seem needy. Part of her was extremely anxious at the thought of going home, having to walk on eggshells, the imbalance his constant hurt would bring to their relationship. There would be village gossip to contend with, as well. But she longed with every bone in her body to be home again. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘She says I can stay as long as I like, but she’s just being kind.’
There was silence. Connie waited.
‘I’m thinking of coming up at the weekend,’ Devan said, with the same studied nonchalance. ‘If you think it’s a good idea, I could pick you up on the way back?’
After a moment’s hesitation, Connie said, ‘I’d like that.’
And there it was. No drama. Nothing really said. Nothing conceded. Just a tentative invitation to start again. She found, as she clicked off from Devan’s call, that a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Whatever the problems to come, Devan had shown her that he still loved her. That, despite all that had happened, he wanted her back.
Riley would not leave her side. His frenzied barking and leaping and tail wagging had been the best reception she could have wished for. It broke the ice between her and Devan too – the car journey home being a polite, mostly silent affair – and made them both laugh harder than the situation merited. A welcome release of tension. Connie felt an almost euphoric surge of hope as she rubbed her hand over Riley’s coat.Home, she thought.I’m home at last.
They got fish and chips for supper. Devan lit a candle and placed it on the kitchen table. He produced a bottle of Prosecco from the fridge. There was a general air of quiet excitement between them as they ate. Connie wanted to know all the local gossip and Devan obliged, exaggerating his stories to make her laugh. His smile was the most charming, his blue eyes, as they rested on her, the most beguiling. All of it felt right … but also excruciating to Connie, in that she couldn’t trust how long the current mood would last.
Where will I sleep?she wondered, as she took anothergulp of wine.Will we have sex?The notion, which in the past would have been so welcome, seemed like a huge hurdle to leap right now, knowing the images that currently plagued Devan’s mind. Fuelled by the alcohol, however, she was in the mood to push through, ignore Jared’s shade, and make love to her husband tonight, sleep in his arms. If they didn’t do it now, maybe they never would.
As time wore on, tired as she was, she avoided being the one to suggest they go up. But the evening began to lose its sparkle and eventually they fell silent, both, she imagined, faced with the same dilemma.
Devan finally stood up, blew out the candle. He began sweeping the chip bags and remains of the battered fish and mushy peas into the paper carrier bag from the fish shop, screwing it up tightly and throwing it into the black bin. Connie, from habit, was about to protest that the paper should be recycled, but she held her tongue. Planet survival was not her main concern tonight.
She got up, too, and returned the ketchup and malt vinegar to the cupboard, cleared away the glasses. The stems were too long to fit into the dishwasher so she rinsed them in the sink, resting them upside down on a tea towel on the draining-board. All in silence. Her heart was beating raggedly. Unable to bear the tension a moment longer, she swung round. Devan was fiddling with his phone, plugging it into the charger on the ledge by the kitchen door. Resting her hands on the counter-top behind her, she said, ‘What now?’ It wasn’tmeant to sound aggressive, but she feared it had come out that way.
Her husband looked up, his expression hard to read. He gazed at her but didn’t reply. Connie pushed herself away from the worktop and went over to him. She was shaky and unsure, her confidence waning in the face of his continued silence. ‘Do you want me to sleep in the spare room?’ she asked quietly.
He bit his lip. She felt his indecision stretching between them, like an unfolding yardstick, pushing them further and further apart. ‘Probably best if I do,’ she added quietly.
Devan nodded, but still seemed paralysed. She turned away, only to feel his grip tight on her arm, swinging her around. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, he was kissing her. His mouth was fierce, but she welcomed it. Welcomed, too, his hands pulling her across the hall to the sitting room, to the sofa, where they fell in a heap, tearing at each other’s clothes. She was aware of his fast, rasping breath, his hands rough against her breasts, his knees pushing her legs apart. She cried out, wanting him so desperately it felt as if her life depended upon it.
They were quiet afterwards. The room had grown chilly, the heating gone off long since. Devan pulled the throw over them as they lay in each other’s arms. Connie felt tearful. This was only the beginning – she had no foolish illusions. But the sex had proved something. Not love, not forgiveness, not even lust, but something bigger than all three at this juncture: amutual desire to break down the barriers between them. For Connie, it was enough.
Connie found she was thinking less and less about Jared. In the early days at home, Devan was her entire focus. She ignored the question of why someone as obsessed – and mentally unhinged – as Jared would suddenly decide to throw in the towel and leave her alone. If he came back into her life now, she would go straight to the police. She and Devan would go together. The power he’d wielded so successfully in the past no longer scared her.
The village – in true English fashion – pretended on the surface that nothing had happened. But Connie was insecure as she began to show her face in the streets, the shops and cafés. A glance here, a nod there, a whispered exchange between two people, all were salacious titbits about her and Jared in her paranoid mind. And perhaps in reality, too. She had to brace herself every day, before going out.
Devan, previously so conscious of his perceived humiliation, seemed almost bullish by comparison. He had her by his side again, and that seemed protection enough against the gossip. ‘Fuck ’em,’ he said, when she expressed a reluctance to go to the pub. ‘It’s none of their bloody business.’
‘I’m meeting Neil for a coffee,’ she announced, ten days after she’d returned home. She was dying to see her friend, to spill the crazy patchwork of her emotionalhighs and lows to someone who would understand. Because her reunion with Devan, buoyed up by initial delight in the knowledge that they really did belong together, was not plain sailing. Not that she had expected it to be. The gilt was already wearing off the gingerbread: he seemed not to want her out of his sight.
‘Where are you going?’ Devan was instantly anxious.
‘Angie’s.’
‘Will you be long?’
