Читать книгу Secrets and Sins - Jaishree Misra - Страница 13

The sudden clear knowledge of Joe’s infidelity came like a physical blow to Susan’s stomach. The unease had been growing for days but she had so far had nothing definite to put her finger on. One could not possibly make an accusation, or private judgement even, on the basis of such vague observations as a spouse’s far-off look, for heaven’s sake! Not if she did not want to be seen as completely paranoid.

There had been other things, though. Until last month, Joe’s BlackBerry had been an instrument carelessly strewn about the house, often beeping insistently while Joe raced about the house searching frantically for it, or nearly getting chucked into the recycler along with the Sunday papers. Now, however, Susan had observed the damn thing become a permanent accessory to her husband, looped around his neck on a cord, and glanced at frequently and surreptitiously. If Joe had been seventy, Susan would have understood the neck-cord thing but he was thirty-five, for God’s sake, and far from requiring memory aides! Before the suspicion had crept in, sitting like an unmoving lump between them, Susan had quite casually asked Joe about his sudden attachment to his mobile phone. He had looked confused for a moment – clearly not realising he’d made it so obvious – before speaking quickly, thinking on his feet. He was considering dispensing with wearing a watch, he said, and had Susan noticed that youngsters never wore watches any more? Their whole array of technological needs was now being met by their phones, apparently. Susan had at first accepted Joe’s explanation without question, even agreeing that most of her older students had in fact dispensed with wearing wristwatches.

What was more difficult to ignore was Joe’s more recent tendency to veer from overblown expressions of love to irrational snappishness, as though Susan had simultaneously become both her husband’s most loved person, and his most hated. There had even been that ghastly scene last month when they had been driving up the M4 to visit her parents in Stoke Poges. Joe had been silent for much of the journey, responding to Susan’s attempts at conversation with monosyllables or grunts. He had also been driving unusually fast and, when Susan had reminded him that they were in no particular rush to get there, he had slammed on the brakes and swung onto the hard shoulder in a quite terrifying manoeuvre, only narrowly missing a coach travelling on the inside lane. The angry blare of the coach’s horn was still ringing in their ears as Joe turned on Susan in a fury to yell, ‘Do you want to drive then?’ Startled by the unexpected aggression, Susan had silently swapped places with her husband and taken the wheel, unwilling to let Joe drive when he was in such an agitated state. Joe had calmed down just as rapidly, soon reaching out to cup his hand over Susan’s on the gearstick and mutter an apology. But, needless to say, the lunch at her parents’ home had been awkward.

Despite Susan’s rather affable and trusting demeanour, she was no fool, and had contemplated the possibility of Joe having an affair with a pragmatism that had impressed even her. Then she had hastily put the thought away, feeling disloyal for even considered it. Besides, the very idea was too exhausting in its potential for grief.

But now, tonight, proof was here staring her in the face.

Curious how the tiniest of actions could escalate into an event so big, so devastating. Who would have thought that five minutes could change your life? All she had done that evening was to excuse herself to use the ladies’ at the restaurant. Wending her way through the other tables, she had seen Joe leave the gents’ just ahead of her; but he did not return to their table as she expected, instead walking out of the restaurant into its herb garden, all his attention on the keys of the BlackBerry he was jabbing. Still thinking nothing of it, she had followed him, planning to give him a mischievous private snog before they returned to their table of celebrating friends. It had been a noisy evening, with everyone congregating at the River Café after work, and Susan had barely managed to grab a few words with Joe before they had been caught up in the general merriment of gift-giving and catch-up chatter. A hug was now in order, especially seeing how unusually tired Joe had looked as he had walked into the restaurant, his tie askew, that distant expression on his face again.

She could just about hear Joe’s deep voice as she came up behind him, expecting him to turn at the crunching sound of her heels on the gravel path and smile at her. But his attention had seemed consumed by his call, his head bent, his voice low and caressing. Perhaps it was that which made Susan stop – the intimate tone of voice that she had always previously assumed was reserved for her. She came to a halt just before she reached out to touch him, her heart lurching sickeningly when she heard him say, ‘I have only a couple of minutes, darling, but I had to call you…Where are you?’

Oddly, there was a part of her that, instinctively recognising an intensely private moment, had wanted to slink away. Later, talking to Riva, Susan would even exclaim ruefully at that memory – laughing at her typically doltish instinct to be considerate to her husband, even at her own expense. But then that irrational moment had passed, and she reached out to touch Joe’s elbow. He had swung around and visibly flinched at the unexpected sight of her; almost as though she were not his wife at all but a crazed mugger carrying a knife. Their eyes had locked for a few confused seconds in the moonlight. Susan could see Joe struggling to remember what he had just said that might have been overheard. Comically, the silence between them was filled by the unmistakably female voice that continued to emerge from the mouthpiece of Joe’s phone, crackling from somewhere far away, unaware that it was not being responded to any more. Then Joe had cut the line dead, muttering a lame excuse to Susan about a patient needing emergency advice, before stuffing his phone back into the top pocket of his shirt. Susan had nodded, looking blankly at the small bulge that the phone formed against Joe’s chest, almost as though expecting it to involuntarily start speaking and offer a more credible explanation than the one she had been given.

Susan had accepted her husband’s blatant lie, quite simply because it was far less devastating than the truth. Then she had swiftly and silently walked back into the restaurant, Joe following her. They had weaved their way past all the other diners, making painfully slow progress back to their own table at the far end of the restaurant, and soon were swallowed up once more in the noisy warmth of their celebrating group of friends.

It was the fortieth birthday party of David, Joe’s oldest friend, now a paediatrician at Great Ormond Street Hospital and one of Susan’s best chums too. David’s plump face was by now quite pink from all the Shiraz he had been consuming. As Susan now slipped back into her chair, he enveloped her in a bear hug, slurring fondly, ‘Dear, darling Ginger…’ (David was the only person Susan ever allowed to call her Ginger) ‘…where have you been? I was quite lost without you, y’know…don’t be running off like that again…’

Susan, still trying to calm her racing heart, smiled at David, but, over his head, she could see Joe excusing himself from the table again, walking swiftly back in the direction of the toilet. Of course, he was going to call and apologise to the person he’d so rudely cut off – Susan knew that without a doubt. And, despite the smile for David that was still frozen on her face, she could feel her heart break into a million bits inside her chest.