I know it’s going to drive me mad not knowing who that woman was and why she did what she did, but I’m going to have to learn to deal with it somehow because there’s little chance of her ever coming back and enlightening us further about her thought process. What might have been a silly game for her could have potentially ruined my marriage and seen me kicked out of the house, so I hope she is having a good laugh, wherever she is. She better hope that I never bump into her because now I know what she looks like, I could very easily spot her and make a scene.
But there is something still bugging me as I sit down on the sofa and wait for Rebecca to come downstairs so we can get on with our Sunday. It’s the fact that the woman knew our names. That must mean that she knows us both somehow. But from where? I could drive myself mad trying to think of all the ways that someone might get mine and my wife’s name, so I don’t want to go down that rabbit hole because it’s likely that I’ll never figure it out. But it’s still bugging me.
I need a drink.
I take out my phone and look up the number for the pub around the corner from here. I know they do a cracking Sunday Roast, and I wonder if I could book a table for us this afternoon. It’s short notice, but they might be able to squeeze us in. A good chunk of beef and gravy should cheer us both up and go a little way to helping us put this weekend behind us. I hope in time that this becomes one of those things we both laugh about and maybe even bring up at a dinner party or two.
“Remember that night when a strange woman came to the house, dear?”
“How can I forget? What a weird thing that was!’
I’m sure our friends will be interested to hear about it. They all think we’re the perfect couple and that nothing exciting ever happens to us, so I imagine they will get a kick out of the story of the woman at the door. The problem is that while Rebecca and I might laugh at the story one day, there will always be that lingering doubt in our minds about what it was really about.
It’s a question that might never be answered.
At least that’s not the case for plenty of other questions I could ask.
‘Hey, I was wondering if you had a table free this afternoon for food? We can do any time if you can fit us in.’
I listen to the young girl at the other end of the line as she tells me that she will check, and I can just about hear her voice over the din in the background. The pub sounds busy, and I’m not holding out much hope that she will be giving me good news in a few seconds’ time. But after the misfortune of last night, it seems like my luck is changing because she tells me that she can fit us in at three o’clock, so I quickly give her my name and number and tell her that we will see her later.
Hanging up the phone, I feel good about what I have just done and not only because I’m starving. It’s because Rebecca will appreciate the gesture.
I just need her to hurry up and come down so I can tell her about it.
I hear the toilet flush upstairs and a few floorboards creaking, so I know she is on the move again, which is a relief because I was starting to worry that she was in the bathroom crying her eyes out or something. But then I see her come down the stairs, and while she has obviously done her best to hide it, her eyes are tear-stained.
She has been crying.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, getting up from the sofa and rushing to meet my wife at the bottom of the stairs.
‘It’s okay. I’m just being silly,’ she replies, but I’m not buying it.
‘What is it? Is it about last night?’
Rebecca shakes her head as if to say no, but she can’t control the emotions that overwhelm her, and she starts crying again. As I pull her in for a hug and try to soothe her, I feel the anger rising up inside me at that damn woman and what she has reduced my darling Rebecca to. She’s never been a crier, yet here she is now blubbing away on the bottom step of the staircase. So much for a fun weekend before we go back to work.
Thanks to that bitch at the door last night, this has turned into the weekend from hell.
As I stand there with my arms wrapped around my sobbing wife, I make a vow to myself then and there that I am going to find the woman at the door and make her explain herself to me. Better yet, I will make her apologise to Rebecca for causing her so much distress. She can’t be allowed to get away with that behaviour. What if my wife had been more fragile? She could have harmed herself after hearing something like that. Nobody expects to open the front door and be told that their partner has cheated on them, yet that’s what happened here. If it was true, I would have no one to blame but myself, but it isn’t so I’m seething, and I’m only getting more wound up by the minute.
I’m going to find that woman. I don’t know how, but I will find her.
Then she will wish that she never came knocking at my door.
10
THE WOMAN
I can see Rebecca and Sam’s front door again, but I’m not planning on knocking on it this time. Why bother? I know
