Читать книгу My Husband’s Lies: An unputdownable read, perfect for book group reading - Caroline England, Caroline England - Страница 18

Dan

His head propped on his hand, Dan slouches at the kitchen table, unshaved. The pine table still wobbles and the floorboards feel cold beneath his bare feet. He can smell yesterday’s omelette, but none of those things are the problem. The house is old and retains odours; he likes it that way.

Wearing her dressing gown, Geri stretches and yawns as she enters, then starts with surprise. ‘Oh Dan! I thought you’d gone to work. Sorry, I dropped off again. What time is it?’

He shrugs and pushes his half-eaten breakfast away. The cereal was soft and tasteless. He wasn’t hungry enough to make the effort with toast.

‘Eight? Eight fifteen?’

‘Shouldn’t you be dressed by now? Is someone else opening up today?’

‘Nope.’

Geri rakes her fingers through his uncombed hair. ‘Then, shouldn’t you …?’

‘None of the other staff arrive until half past nine. And why should they? No one looks at properties at the crack of dawn. I’m just the idiot who turns up an hour before everyone else because a conveyancer’s lot is not a happy one. And as for bloody Salim—’

‘A sleeping partner who sleeps?’ She looks at him thoughtfully. ‘Are you OK, Dan? You’ve seemed a bit jaded this week.’

He pulls her gently towards him, his face meeting her protruding belly. Resting his head against it, he plants a soft kiss, inhaling a comforting smell he couldn’t describe if he tried. ‘I’m just jealous. I want to stay at home with you and Henrietta.’

‘Henrietta? Very Jane Austen. So, the baby is a girl today?’

‘Yes, she told me this morning when you were sleeping.’

‘Well, Henrietta says it’s time for Daddy to get shaved and dressed.’

He puts his hand to his chin, feeling the bristles for a few moments. He has what Jen Kenning always describes as ‘Irish stubble’, black and soft but persistent. He can’t be bothered to shave. ‘How about a beard?’

‘A beard?’ Geri says slowly, then laughs. ‘OK. Let’s see how it goes.’

When Dan arrives at the estate agency, Maya Ahmed is waiting outside, clutching her coat collar around her neck. ‘Blooming heck, Dan,’ she says, peering at her watch. ‘This is a first. And I’m freezing.’ She turns to the shop window and gesticulates to the photographs of large properties for sale in Wilmslow and the other affluent Cheshire suburbs. ‘Interesting, though. Seeing it from this side. How the other half lives.’

Not in the mood for chat, Dan unlocks the door. ‘Two sides to everything in life, Maya,’ he says.

‘A bit deep for you, Dan. Had a transformation overnight? You’ll be wanting something other than tuna and mayonnaise on your sandwich next.’ She follows him to the back office, watching as he disables the alarm, opens the safe and turns on the answerphone without removing his coat. ‘Everything OK at home?’ she asks over a prattling long message. ‘Geri well? Baby still cooking?’

‘Yup. Pass me that pen. Has the post arrived?’

She rolls her sable eyes. ‘I wouldn’t know, Dan. I’ve only just arrived. We walked in together a minute ago, remember?’

Ignoring her puzzled gaze, he continues to focus on the answerphone messages.

She opens his laptop, presses the start button and studies him again. ‘Your overcoat is a clue of your recent arrival.’ She cocks her head. ‘Some men get the baby wobbles. Did you know that?’

‘Been reading Cosmopolitan again, Maya?’ He looks up from his scrawl. ‘What?’ he asks, looking at her gappy grin and trying not to return it.

‘Nothing,’ she replies with a chuckle. Two telephones peal shrilly. ‘Here we go,’ she says. ‘Where the flip is Andrew? Why’s he always late on a Friday?’

Maya pops her dark head around Dan’s office door before lunchtime. ‘I thought I’d better check. You know, what with the designer stubble and all.’

He looks up from the letters and searches, the plans and paperwork spread over his desk. It’s always the same on bloody Fridays. The morning has flown; four residential completions already, another four in the pipeline.

His mind still on the files, he looks at Maya blankly.

‘Check whether it’s still a tuna and mayo sandwich for lunch?’ she explains. ‘And somebody is here about a viewing. Wants a big cheese. Us minions won’t do, which is a pity. You’ll know what I mean when you see him.’

The surge of irritation is there; why does he have to do everything? ‘Salim can see him. He’s the—’

‘Property man. I know. But he isn’t here yet. No idea where …’

The annoyance increases. ‘Tell the viewer to make an appointment.’

‘I already tried. He says that he knows you.’ Maya looks at her notepad. ‘Sebastian Taylor?’

The alarm hits immediately. What the fuck? What the fuck? He tries to think for a moment, aware of Maya’s gaze as he struggles to find an excuse. Perhaps there are two Sebastian Taylors in his phone book, but he instinctively knows there aren’t. ‘Oh right, show him in,’ he says evenly, hoping the heat hasn’t risen to his cheeks.

He clears his throat.

The door opens. Maya appears first, then gawks with obvious interest. Stepping forward as though this unexpected visit is perfectly normal, he takes Seb’s outstretched hand. Time stalls. Maya finally stops staring and speaks. ‘Anyone need a drink?’

‘Sorry,’ Seb says when the door clicks to. ‘I know what you must be thinking.’

The words take Dan aback. Why is he sorry? What the fuck does he mean? He tries to formulate a reply, but finds himself stunned as he studies Seb’s face. He’s tried to push this man from his thoughts since the wedding weekend, but finds his heart rushing.

‘Just turning up here,’ Seb continues. ‘Nothing bad has happened.’ His piercing blue eyes are on Dan’s. ‘To Penny. Nothing bad has happened to Penny. She’s fine, at home with Will; there hasn’t been another …’

Dan feels his cheeks colouring, wonders whether it’s obvious Penny was the last thing on his mind. He clears his throat again and rallies. ‘Oh, great; that’s good. So she’s OK? And Will? We’ve spoken briefly, but I didn’t like to go into detail, you know, asking questions. I guess when he’s ready, he’ll talk.’ He’s still standing and so is Seb. Business mode, that’s the thing. ‘Take a seat. So, how can I help?’

Seb looks around the office before pulling out a chair and sitting at a distance, as one might do for an audition. He’s wearing loose-fitting torn jeans, a patterned shirt and black jacket. He leans forward, his legs spread, his elbows on his thighs.

‘I don’t have your mobile number. You described where this place was at the wedding, but I didn’t remember a name.’

‘Wilmslow Property Services,’ Dan replies, as though the name wasn’t etched on the shopfront in huge letters.

Seb pulls a folded paper from his jacket pocket. ‘Yeah, so I see.’

They both turn to the door as Maya bustles in, catching her colourful hijab in the door. She puts the coffee on Dan’s desk, then peeks over Seb’s shoulder at the sales particulars he’s holding.

‘Ah, Oak House. Not far from here. Always a shame to split something so beautiful into flats but they’ve done a great job. The penthouse apartment is really fab if you like a good view of the Cheshire countryside. You’ll need to get in a viewing soon though, there’s been a lot of interest because the rental is surprisingly low. It nearly went last week but the woman had a pet, which isn’t allowed. You don’t have a pug do you?’ She stands back to study Seb’s face, then grins. ‘No, of course not. You look more like a golden retriever guy to me.’

Feeling a surge of release, Dan laughs and picks up the telephone. ‘I can give Salim a bell now if you’re really interested. He’s the property man.’ He nods at Maya. ‘Or if Andrew has got a slot this afternoon?’

‘He’s back from his viewing. I can ask him right now.’

There’s a pause for a moment; Seb’s eyes are on his. ‘What about you, Dan? Can’t you show me around?’

‘Sorry, Seb, I’m mad busy today. Friday’s are always the worst. I’ve had four completions this morning and there’s another four of the bastards before five …’ Dan knows he’s babbling and can’t quite meet Seb’s steady gaze. ‘I would if I could. I’m sure Salim will be—’

‘Let’s make it tonight then. I can buy you a pint afterwards.’

Feeling hot and stiff in his suit, Dan drives straight from the office towards the other side of Wilmslow. The afternoon lurched by with little time to think of anything other than the house completions, two of which went pear-shaped.

He feels culpable as he weaves through the heavy traffic, sorry for those families whose excitement has been crushed and replaced with anxiety. He wishes he didn’t care, wishes he could shrug it off. Like Salim or like Will. But then he remembers Will’s face at the wedding. A look of astonishment, replaced seconds later with sheer panic.

Loosening his tie at the traffic lights, he sighs, then has to brake sharply not to overshoot the gated access of Oak House. Thinking it could do with some lighting, he slowly accelerates up a sweeping driveway enveloped by stark looming trees. The red-brick property bursts out at the top. A Victorian mansion, no less. He grabbed the sales particulars before leaving the office but hasn’t had time to look. Not that he knows much about property per se. He’s the solicitor, Salim has the surveying qualification.

Dan sighs at the thought of Salim. The anxiety is there, a disquiet he’s never felt before, a need to know that everything’s fine on his side of the business. How can he be sure? Geri took voluntary redundancy from the City Council when it was on offer last year and he’s the sole earner. They have a baby on the way.

He parks his car next to a large flower bed of severely pruned roses. There is no sign of Seb or a car.

The February evening is dark and sharp, but Dan feels sweaty, no longer from the stress of appeasing angry clients, his rush from the office or his fear of being late, but from his thoughts, which have now kicked in. Is this viewing for real? Can Seb genuinely afford to rent something so opulent?

He stares through the windscreen. The residence is a far cry from the large semi he shares with Geri. Their house is in a nice part of Chorlton, a repossession he bought at a good price and Victorian too, but nothing compared to this grandeur, albeit desecrated by the modern trend of flats. He looks at the photographs. A discerning revamp, he supposes. As Salim points out, a tasteful renovation is preferable to a tasteless one, or even worse, a fun pub.

He pictures Geri’s sunny smile. ‘Are fun pubs so bad, Dan? Child-friendly food, soft-play areas for kids? Beer gardens with swings. That might be us one day.’

He’ll be a father in just over two months. The thought is still incredible.

‘Furniture optional,’ the sales leaflet says. Would Seb need furniture? He split with his girlfriend, Claudia. They lived in France. She was beautiful, good in bed and a cunt. That’s all Dan knows. He looks again at his watch, then checks his mobile for messages. They arranged to meet at seven o’clock; it’s now seven-thirty. Could Seb already be inside?

He walks to the panelled front door, the clatter of pebbles under his work shoes sounding loud in the still dark. He has no idea whether the other apartments are already let, whether Seb could have gained access. This situation feels unreal; he has no idea why he’s here, he has no desire to view other people’s properties and he’d like to go home. Examining the keys to separate out the correct one, he turns at the crunching sound of a car approaching.

Seb dips his head to climb out of a black cab. ‘Left my car in France along with everything else,’ he says easily as he approaches the door. ‘Sorry I’m late. The first taxi didn’t come. Could’ve borrowed Mum’s car, but no insurance.’ He puts a firm hand on Dan’s shoulder. ‘Shall we go in?’

They stand apart in a small lift. Seb presses the button for the top floor, but for moments nothing happens.

‘Reminds me of that scene from a Peter Sellers’ film,’ Dan says to fill the silence. ‘The out-takes are famous.’ He glances at Seb. His expression is blank. ‘A fart scene? You must have seen it. They had to film it again and again because the actors kept laughing. Corpsing, I think they call it.’ He knows he’s babbling again. ‘Have you pressed the right button?’ He leans over Seb’s chest, takes in the aroma of coconut shampoo, notices Seb has changed his shirt, then presses the button to close the doors. ‘Maybe that’ll do the trick.’

The lift takes them to a personal entrance hall with a vaulted ceiling, which leads to the glossy white door and the intercom. Dan knows the atmosphere smells of fresh paint and polish but he can’t escape the smell of coconuts. He fumbles slightly with the keys, pleased when the heavy door opens with only one turn of the double lock. He switches on the light and they’re met with cream; a carpeted drawing room with pale walls, high ceilings and two large windows looking out to the dark Cheshire countryside. The wide room is sparsely decorated with a three-piece sofa suite at one end, a glass dining table the other.

Dan stands at the door, playing with the keys. Through his peripheral vision, he watches Seb opening doors and glancing in. ‘Furniture is optional,’ he eventually comments to fill the muffled silence. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Seb stops and stares through a window before abruptly turning. He looks as though he might speak, but heads towards the master bedroom instead.

Dan clears his throat. ‘I’ll wait in the kitchen. Give you time to have a proper look.’

Sitting at a high bar stool, he absently strokes the soft bristle on his chin and looks around. He and Geri were due to refurbish their kitchen, but now it’s on hold. On hold until after the baby is born. It’s fine and it’s good. He just wishes the words on hold weren’t quite so obscure.

Suddenly aware that minutes have passed without any word from Seb, Dan looks at his watch. He takes a deep breath before leaving his hiding place. Seb is in the drawing room, sitting on the middle sofa and gazing at an empty cream wall.

‘I guess that’s where you’d hang a flat-screen television or a mirror. Or maybe a Renoir if you have one spare in the attic,’ Dan says, trying to lighten Seb’s silence. He perches on a two-seater sofa and breathes through his nose, glad the visit is nearly over. ‘Seen everything you want to see?’

Seb doesn’t answer the question, but turns his focus to Dan. ‘If I rented this place, would you visit?’ he asks.

‘Don’t start—’

‘Don’t start what?’

The surge of heat in Dan’s chest hurtles to his face. ‘I’m not gay, Seb,’ he blurts.

Seb smiles a small smile and looks down at his hands. ‘Who said I was?’

Dan wants to remove his jacket to help him cool down, but fears it would give Seb the wrong message. ‘OK,’ he says. His throat feels constricted, but he needs to get the words out, needs to know what’s going on. ‘So, are you really interested in renting this place? Someone else from the office could’ve shown you around. Why me? What’s going on, Seb?’

Seb lifts his face. ‘I was in Morocco last week. On a work shoot.’

Dan nods; that’s why his eyes seem so blue.

‘So I would’ve got in touch with you sooner. After the wedding.’

‘Nothing happened at the wedding. Well, not to—’

Seb’s gaze doesn’t waver. ‘Didn’t it? Like nothing happened at the swimming gala?’

Beads of sweat cool his spine. ‘What gala? I don’t remember any swimming gala. It’s time to go, Seb. I’ve had a shit day. I’m knackered and hungry. Have you seen everything you want to see?’ He’s said it too harshly, he can see the recoil in Seb’s face, but he really won’t look; he doesn’t want to feel the pull, that tug of something he’s felt since the wedding. He tosses the keys in his hand and doggedly heads to the door. ‘Mustn’t forget the alarm and the lights. I’m sure there’ll be stairs if the lift’s playing up.’

The lift doors are still open, as though waiting. Dan stands to the left, keeping his eyes on the buttons as they descend, then strides out to the front door ahead of Seb. The cold breeze cools his face as he raises his car fob, then he remembers Seb came by taxi. ‘Jump in. I can drop you at your mum’s,’ he says, climbing in.

Staring grimly ahead, he inserts the keys, turns on the ignition, slips the car into gear. But then he stops. The smell of coconut still hovers.

Turning to Seb, he gazes for a moment before looking away. ‘Or how about coming to mine? Dinner with me and Geri and the bump? She usually makes pasta for a whole squadron, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty,’ he says over the hammer of his heart. ‘We can pick up some beer on the way. We do have brandy, but it might not be quite the standards you’re used to. Might have cost more than an Ayrton Senna but less than a Bobby Moore …’

Knowing he’s prattling again, Dan opens the window to release the new rush of heat. The aroma of coconut wafts away, but the tension’s still stifling as he heads towards home. Aware of Seb’s scrutiny, he chats inanely about pasta and pesto and parmesan, but the need to eat has clean gone.

The clench in his gut is no longer hunger. It’s excitement; dangerous bloody excitement, tight and tingling in his belly.