I sat at the table and strained my ears, but all I could hear was the reassuring tone of Joe’s voice over a series of incomprehensible whimpers from Amy.
They’d probably just had a row, I decided. But then why would she come running to Joe?
I raised a finger to my lips. I noticed that my heart was pounding in my ears. I stood, silently, and crept back towards the door so that I could eavesdrop more efficiently, but just as I got there I heard footsteps and had to scoot back to the other side of the kitchen.
Joe burst through the door and froze for a second, glaring at me. I tried to lean against the counter nonchalantly but felt sure I looked as guilty as a child. He lowered his gaze and stared at the floor for an instant, as if frowning at a stain, and then turned to swipe his keys from the worktop. ‘I, um, need to go and have a talk with Amy,’ he said. ‘There’s a bit of a crisis at number 12.’
‘What sort of crisis?’ I asked.
‘Just . . . you know . . .’ Joe said, turning and heading for the door.
‘Joe!’ I insisted. ‘What sort of crisis?’
‘Your ex,’ he said, pausing but not looking back. ‘Being a bit of a knob, apparently. You know.’
‘Is that where you’re going, then?’ I asked. ‘To number 12, to get the kids?’
‘No,’ he said, as he left the kitchen. From the hallway he called back, ‘I’m taking her to the pub for a drink. I’ll be back in a bit.’
I walked to the front room and watched as his pickup pulled out on to the lane. I stood for a few minutes staring unfocusedly at the front garden as I waited for my thoughts to crystallise. So, Ant was being a ‘knob’ and Amy had walked out, had she? Maybe she just wanted Joe’s advice. Or maybe she just wanted Joe.
I covered my mouth with one hand and took a deep, juddering breath. We’d been so close this morning . . . We’d been about to declare our love for each other, hadn’t we?
But maybe we hadn’t. Perhaps I had got that completely wrong. Because, what if Joe had already been speaking to Amy? What if they’d already decided to get back together, to give things another try? Perhaps that was why nothing had happened in Whitby. Perhaps that was why he’d wanted to talk to me.
I snorted sourly and shook my head. After all, wouldn’t that just be typical? Wasn’t life always exactly that way, letting you glimpse what you wanted only to systematically rip it away?
Tears were forming, but I pinched the bridge of my nose and willed them to stay put. I walked through to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. I stroked Dandy, who, unaware of all the angst, rolled over so that I could tickle his tummy, and I disliked him quite intensely in that moment for not understanding me better.
I moved to the conservatory and picked up an unidentifiable object that Sarah had made out of Lego and then put it down again.
I stared out at the back garden. It was a sunny day and it looked pretty out there. It crossed my mind that if Amy and Joe got back together, then Ant would be homeless. Perhaps I’d have to take him in as a lodger. The house was in his name, after all, so maybe I wouldn’t even have a choice. And if that happened, perhaps I’d find myself right back in my old life.
I laughed manically at the idea that we could all find ourselves back exactly the way things were before, as if we’d just swapped husbands ‘on loan’ for a while. As if the nightmare I believed I’d woken up from had turned out, in fact, to be reality, while the time I’d spent with Joe was the dream. I thought about dreams and about my mother. I thought about how strange the word cuckold was.
I shook my head vigorously to dispel this latest idea. I would not go back. I would not be powerless in all of this. And if Ant did move back in, then I’d simply have to move out. I didn’t know where I could go, but I’d leave, and I’d take the girls with me. I pictured the three of us walking down a dark street, dragging our suitcases behind us, like some dreadful image from the Blitz.
I returned to the kitchen and made coffee. I sat at the table nursing my mug, tapping my fingernails against the china and picturing Joe gesturing at me to leave him alone with his wife. I imagined him in the pub with Amy and thought, How cosy! and started to feel properly angry.
So, they’d gone off to decide their future, had they? Only in doing so, they were also deciding mine. I shook my head and sighed again. I bit my lip and scrunched up my face to prevent another bout of tears. I tapped one foot nervously on the floor. The tension of just sitting here was almost unbearable. And then suddenly, it really was unbearable, so I stood, almost knocking the chair over in the process. I pulled on some clothes, grabbed a coat from the peg and strode decisively to the front door.
Amy’s car was still parked in our driveway and I childishly imagined keying it as I left. There was very little traffic on the lane, and as I passed by number 12 I could hear playful shrieks coming from the garden. I considered grabbing the girls and simply returning home, but, no, if Joe and Amy were talking about their options, then he at least needed to know how I felt.
Who was I kidding? I thought, as I marched on towards the pub. As if I could somehow win out against Amy! I thought of Amy’s figure, her long blonde
