Page 41 of The Affair
So, all they really had between them was breath-taking sex and a passionate love of all things Italian. With no future to consider, there seemed to be less requirement to delve into the past, to discover the ins and outs of a childhood, a career path, a family history. For Connie, such knowledge would only have meshed her and Jared more closely. And the truth was that she’d been drawing back from day one. Unsuccessfully, of course – because she was too weak to resist – but knowing too much, getting too close, would just have made things more painful to untangle.
What did he expect from me?she wondered now. He’d always known she was firmly married – although she had to admit her actions didn’t exactly back that up. She remembered the allusion Dinah had made to a past relationship of Jared’s – which had obviously gone wrong. But when Connie had tentatively asked him about Charlotte, the night they were in Warsaw, he’d been vague.
‘We had a misunderstanding,’ he’d said.
‘What sort of misunderstanding?’ Connie had asked, although she could see he was uncomfortable talking about anything personal, as usual.
He’d shrugged. ‘We just didn’t want the same thing. Dinah got all excited – she’s so dying to see me “settle down”,’ he held up his fingers to put ironic quote marks round the words, ‘but Charlotte had other ideas.’ For a split second his eyes darkened. Then he deftly changed the subject. Connie was none the wiser about what had really gone on.
Lying there now, she worried that Jared’s tears – his anxiety for her safety – implied he felt something more significant for her than just sexual attraction: an emotional tie that she’d not previously been aware of. The thought was disturbing.
When Devan arrived, Connie was sitting up, nursing a cup of tea and some Marmite toast she had little interest in eating. She’d slept for at least two hours, her cough bothering her at intervals, only properly waking because her grandson was standing by the bed, gently patting her face.
‘Nana,’ he said, in a stage whisper, ‘Nana, wake up.’
Caitlin was immediately at the door. ‘I told you not to disturb her, Bash.’
Bash shot his mother a triumphant look. ‘It’s OK, Nana’s eyes are open.’
Devan barely said hello to Connie before going straight into professional mode. He’d even brought hisbag of tricks, and pulled out his stethoscope. He listened to her chest, took her pulse and blood pressure, examined her throat, palpated the glands in her neck and finally pressed the sensor of the thermometer into her ear. Then he sat on the bed, his face a mask of worry, and began firing questions at her, leaving no time between each in which to respond.
‘Christ, Connie, your chest sounds like a skip full of gravel. How long have you had this? When did the cough get so bad? Did you have any fever before last night?’ He looked around the room. ‘Where are the antibiotics the doctor gave you?’
Connie, dizzy with the onslaught, did her best to reassure him. ‘It’s just a bug, Devan. I’m on trains and with people all day long, it’s not surprising I occasionally pick something up.’ She was waiting for some barbed comment about the dangers and unsuitability of this sort of work for someone of her advanced age. But, mercifully, he held off.
He took her hand. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night. You realize collapsing alone in a hotel room could have had quite serious consequences?’
‘Yes, but, please, don’t fuss.’ She spoke weakly, just wanting him to leave her alone.
‘I’m not fussing,’ he objected.
‘OK, but you can see I’m better now. In fact, I think I’ll get up and have a shower. I must pong to high heaven.’ She didn’t really want a shower – even the thought of standing upright seemed like a challenge too far. But she wanted her husband to stop looking so worried.
‘Caty says we can stay and I think we ought to, for tonight, at least.’ Devan got up. ‘I’m not sure I can face that drive again today. And you certainly shouldn’t.’
That evening, after Devan had helped her wash and tidy herself, she was settled on the large sofa in the sitting room, wrapped in her daughter’s fleecy dressing gown and hiking socks and covered with a soft wool throw. She was still shivery, despite the August temperature outside being in the mid-twenties.
Even Bash looked worried at this strange version of his grandmother – usually bright and laughing and energetic – and snuggled quietly into her side as they watched a kids’ animation show about a squirrel club, while across the room Caitlin and Devan prepared supper. She was aware of them whispering to each other and occasionally casting glances in her direction but felt too tired to challenge them.
Neither, when she was eventually handed a bowl of minestrone, could she eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. The soup, although beautifully prepared, tasted rusty and made her want to retch. She needed desperately to go back to bed, but the fussing she knew this would provoke made her hang on till she was practically incapable of getting there.
They stayed with Caitlin for another three days, Connie giving in to her family’s kind ministrations. Then Devan carefully drove her home. It was such a relief to be in her own bed. Devan had insisted on a visit from Caitlin’s doctor, who had changed herantibiotics to stronger ones because she feared pneumonia. But the chest X-ray, which Dr Wright arranged, was clear of any nasties. ‘I’m fine,’ she kept repeating. But no one, including herself, really believed her.
Over the next few days Connie slept as much as the cough would allow, but was dismayed not to feel significantly better. When she was awake, she tried to block Jared from her thoughts. But she knew something had changed for him the night he’d rescued her, something significant. She just wasn’t sure what. It was as if, by asking for his help, she’d opened up feelings in him that previously had not existed. Because, despite not remembering, she definitelyhadcalled him, according to her work phone records where she’d stored his number after his first text in Desenzano. How she wished, now, that she hadn’t.
‘Heavens, Con, you look like shit,’ Neil announced cheerfully, when he dropped round a week after they’d got home. Connie was up for short periods of the day now but was still exhausted and frequently racked by coughing spasms. It felt like a sprightly demon was trapped in her chest, trampling about and ripping painfully at the lining of her lungs. She thought if she could only cough it up, she would be OK, but it point-blank refused to be expelled.
Now Neil hugged her. ‘And you’re skin and bone.’ He drew away to look her up and down, a worried frown on his face. ‘What the hell have you been doing to yourself?’
Connie placed the teapot on the kitchen table and turned to take the milk from the fridge. ‘It’s just a stupid bug, but I can’t seem to shake it off. It’s been nearly two weeks now, and I don’t seem to be improving much at all.’ She felt her chin wobble and tears form in her eyes. Swallowing hard, she tried to fight off the tears, but faced with her friend’s anxious blue eyes, she felt suddenly helpless.
‘Oh, darling.’ Neil was by her side and embracing her again. He felt warm and strong and she leaned against him for a moment before collecting herself and pulling away to blow her nose and pick out some mugs from the rack by the stove.
‘You know what they say about lungs, don’t you?’ Neil said, when they were seated with their tea. Not waiting for her to reply, he went on seriously, ‘Louise Hay, she claims lung problems are associated with grief.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘What are you grieving for, Connie?’
Taken aback, she tried to smile. ‘Don’t know what you’re on about. Why would I be grieving?’
Neil shrugged. ‘I’m still not getting the whole story.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You should know by now, you can’t keep secrets from Uncle Neil. Not for ever, anyway.’
