I covered my mouth with one hand and stared at Ant. He glanced over my shoulder towards the house and said, ‘Fuck!’, before grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. He closed the door behind me and turned so that he was blocking my exit.
‘What the hell . . .’ I murmured. But there were too many thoughts – too many phrases – swirling around my head, competing for airtime, and I couldn’t seem to pin a specific one down.
‘Listen,’ Ant said, sounding serious, sounding businesslike. ‘This doesn’t have to be . . .’
I blinked at him numbly. I suspect I was in shock.
‘What I mean is, you don’t have to make this into a huge drama,’ he said.
I snorted. ‘No?’ Once again, I felt stuck halfway between sour laughter and tears.
‘No one has to know,’ he said.
I frowned at him uncomprehendingly. His words made no sense to me.
‘Joe doesn’t need to know,’ he said.
‘Joe?’ I repeated. ‘But I know, Ant. I know!’
‘Yeah, but you don’t care, do you?’ he said. ‘You know I shag around. You’ve never cared.’
‘I . . . You . . .’ I tapped my forehead with two fingers as I tried to isolate a reasonable thought – any reasonable thought. I swallowed with difficulty. ‘Are you insane?’ I asked finally. ‘Actually, are you still drunk? Is that it?’
‘You know I am,’ Ant said. ‘That’s why this doesn’t mean—’
He paused. There was a noise outside, and it took us both a second or so to identify it as the sound of suitcase wheels on concrete. Ant’s eyes opened wide, and then, telling me to wait, he spun, opened the door, and stepped outside.
‘Wait?’ I repeated, as I watched him leave.
I heard him ask, ‘Where are you going?’
I stepped to the doorway and looked out. Amy was holding the handle of her suitcase with one hand and dangling the car key with the other. She had her jacket draped over her arm. She was efficient – I’ll give her that.
‘I’m getting away from this shitshow,’ she said.
‘What do you mean, you’re getting away?’ Ant asked.
‘I can’t stay here,’ Amy said. ‘Not now. I just can’t.’
‘She won’t tell him,’ Ant said, glancing back at me. ‘We were just talking, and she won’t tell him. I promise.’
Amy glanced at me questioningly. ‘You’re going to tell him,’ she said, nodding sadly, and once again I laughed, quite madly. ‘Aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘You two . . .’ I said. ‘Jesus!’ I was so angry that my anger had morphed into an almost amused state of disbelief.
Ant looked back at me. ‘Just shut the fuck up, Heather,’ he said. My mouth fell open in shock.
‘No, I’m out of here,’ Amy said, moving across the courtyard once again.
‘Wait,’ Ant told her, attempting to grab the handle of her suitcase. ‘Wait for me,’ he said. ‘Just one minute.’
‘I can’t,’ Amy replied.
‘Ten seconds then,’ he said, turning and jogging towards the house.
Amy paused and glared at me. ‘What?!’ she asked me aggressively.
I stared at her in mute astonishment for a few seconds, until Ant reappeared from the house. He had his jacket on and was patting his chest pocket, checking for the presence of his wallet, just as he did every morning when he left for work. ‘Ant,’ I said, as he passed by. ‘You can’t just leave!’
But Amy was on the move again, trundling her suitcase towards the track and then vanishing behind the wall to the left.
‘We can talk about this tomorrow, OK?’ Ant said, reaching out to touch my arm as he passed by, only to miss because I leaped instinctively away from his grasp. He froze for a second then, looking deep into my eyes, and I think he had an instant of regret or hesitation – a moment of lucidity, perhaps. But then the car beeped as Amy unlocked it and, patting his pocket once again, he lurched on after her, glancing back just once as he disappeared from view.
Feeling paralysed, I listened to the doors slamming and then the engine start. Finally, the tyres crunched off along the gravel of the track.
Once all was calm again, I sank to the ground so that I was sitting with my back against the warm wall of the outbuilding.
It took a while, perhaps twenty minutes, before I managed to feel anything, and the first sensation I had was feeling cold. I shivered a few times and gasped a juddering breath, and it was then that I started to cry.
The tears lasted for about half an hour, and by the time they ended I was numb and exhausted. I tried to think about what had just happened, but found myself unable to come up with any clear thoughts, unable to feel any emotion beyond anger.
It seemed like a nightmare, really, that was the thing. It seemed like this series of events was too awful to possibly be true.
Eventually, I stood and, driven by the cold, I went indoors. I sat, zombie-like, on the edge of my bed for a while, and then pulled my jumper back on and moved to the kitchen. After some hesitation, I gently pushed open the door to Joe’s bedroom and stepped inside, but he was snoring loudly and it seemed unreasonable to disturb him to give him such news. And how could I tell him, anyway? I couldn’t even imagine what words I might use.
I returned to the kitchen, where I quietly made a cup of tea, and then I sat on the doorstep, and as I stared out at the moonlit courtyard, nursing the warm mug, I imagined Ant reappearing around the corner and saying he was sorry and wondered what I’d say if he did.
I changed my mind twice about waking Joe, returning to his bedroom, even going as far as leaning over him and speaking his name on the final attempt. But
