Page 51 of The Affair
‘How was the stout?’ Connie had been on tenterhooks all day. Devan did not appear until gone seven andhadn’t answered any of her texts asking where he was. Mad scenarios had built in her mind as the hours passed. When he finally arrived home, she searched his face for signs of stress. And found none.
‘Foul. As you so rightly pointed out, I still loathe the stuff. But Torsten was a hoot. Looked like a cross between an overweight Viking and a computer nerd. I think he’d been sampling too much of his brew because he kept bursting out laughing at nothing at all. Jed said they were friends, but Torsten didn’t seem to know him that well. Kept calling him Mr Temple …’
‘And … Jed?’ She only just stopped herself calling him Jared.
‘Yeah, interesting man. He’s been literally everywhere, Con. Seems to have spent his whole life travelling. Although he’s also run a successful kitchen-design business, which he just sold for a great deal of money, apparently.’ Devan bent to drop a kiss on her forehead as she sat at the kitchen table. ‘He’s good company. I said we’d have him over for supper one night next week. I’ll cook, if you like. I’ll make him my sausage pasta.’
22
Connie was sleeping so badly. She would fall asleep, then wake soon after as if to a loud noise, her heart beating like a drum. There was no actual noise: Devan was snoring peacefully beside her. What woke her was Jared’s face, looming at her, wanting something, desperate. Wanting her? Then she would lie there, rigid with tension, unable to fall back to sleep.
What’s he playing at?The question plagued her.Is he waiting for me to see the light and leave Devan? Is he waiting for the right moment to destroy our marriage, so he can step in?She knew it was pointless to ask. He never answered her questions straight. Maybe her sister was right: he’d tire of the game. But, meanwhile, it looked as if she would just have to accept him into her circle of friends … her life. It was like living with an explosive device strapped to her chest.
That morning she lay flat on her back on her yoga mat in the village hall. It was the first class she’d been to in ages, and she was stiff from illness and immobility, her joints aching as she attempted to keep up with poses in which she had previously been quite fluent. Nothing felt right, these days. She had even been worried Jared would take up yoga and be there on a mat beside her.
She walked the short distance home on wobbly legs, in a haze of tiredness – she’d almost fallen asleep during the meditation at the end of the session. A gentle hand on her arm as she reached the corner barely registered, until she turned to find Jared beside her. She pulled her arm away, looking right and left to check they were not being watched. But no one was around.
‘Can we talk?’ he asked, his expression anxious.
‘No,’ she snapped, turning to go.
‘Please, Connie. I never see you alone. Will you meet me somewhere?’ His voice was low and pleading.
Spotting a couple she knew quite well getting out of their Jaguar across the road, she was desperate to get rid of him. ‘Shotgun Inn, eleven thirty,’ she said reluctantly.
I don’t need to go, she told herself. But, as she plastered a smile on her face and walked across to greet her friends, she decided she would meet him. It was worth giving it one more shot. If Lynne was right and he was a stalker, it wouldn’t work. She had to try, nevertheless. The pub she’d chosen was down-at-heel, hidden in a small hamlet off the Cheddar road. No one would be there at this time of the morning – no one she knew, anyway.
What would I do without Tesco?she thought, as she collected the supermarket bags and waved to Devan – contentedly ensconced with his crossword and Classic FM in the sitting room, Riley snoozing at his feet. He was like a different man since his recruitment to thenew hospice. Connie no longer detected the lost, dissatisfied look in his eyes. He met up with Sylvie once a week now, often talked with her over the phone. The plan for opening was coming together nicely, according to Devan.
It was still raining as she pulled up on the tarmacked pub forecourt of the low brick building. The only other car was Jared’s black Golf. She took a deep breath.
He was sitting by the window, the gloomy interior stuffy, smelling of stale fat and furniture polish. He got up as she approached. ‘Coffee?’
She nodded, sat down on a wheelback chair with a stained red cushion tied to the spokes.
‘Nice place.’ Jared raised a wry eyebrow as he set the two mugs of white coffee on the table. ‘Don’t run to lattes, I’m afraid.’
She stared at him. He didn’t look quite his usual nonchalant self. Something about his eyes implied stress.
‘I’m not here to be friends, Jared,’ she said peremptorily.
He looked surprised at her tone. ‘I just wanted to check on you, Connie. I mean, Devan is such a great guy. Our day with mad Torsten was hilarious. But now he’s asked me for supper tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure you’re OK with that.’
She shook her head in amazement, mouth agape. ‘Seriously, Jared? What part of the-man-I’ve-been-having-an-affair-with-coming-to-supper-with-my-husband would I be OK with?’ She took a breath. ‘You’ll have to cry off.’
Jared shrugged. ‘I get where you’re coming from.’ He took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face, set the cup down again. ‘But if you’re worried I’m going to blab at supper, you must know I’m not.’
She wanted to beat him over the head and scream in his face till he understood. ‘You can’t come to our house, Jared,’ she said, her voice breaking with the effort not to attack him physically, but still sharp with anguish. ‘You can’t be mates with Devan … or any of my friends. And you can’t be living five minutes from my door.’ She took a breath, trying to control her leaping heartbeat. ‘I don’t want to ever see you again.’ She spoke in a low hiss, although the girl who had served Jared was nowhere to be seen. ‘Do you understand?’
Jared looked genuinely shocked. He frowned. ‘Connie …’
Driving home her advantage, she leaned across the table, glaring into his eyes. ‘I AM NOT GOING TO LEAVE DEVAN.’
He held up his hands, as if to fend off her words. ‘OK, OK, no need to shout. I hear you.’ But his expression was bewildered.
‘You say thatevery bloody time. You keep saying it, but youaren’t listening. You just carry on like you did before, turning up and doing exactly the same thing. Which means exactly whatyouwant.’
‘You used to want it too,’ he said, almost flirtatiously.
