After the Fall (19 page)

LUKE
•

I went over it all again as I waited for the elevator. Kate hadn’t been convinced, and though I wasn’t really surprised, the decision hurt. Ached in fact, resonated throughout my chest as if I had just been hit. Surely she’d change her mind. For a moment I experienced a surge of hope; then I remembered her walking away. Shoulders set as the distance between us lengthened, the taste of her mouth fading on mine, dark head disappearing into the crowd. As I relived the scene I felt my eyes become damp and to my horror thought I might weep. The elevator finally arrived but it was bound to be full of my colleagues. As the doors opened I turned in panic and fled into a nearby bathroom.

Two flights of stairs later I was out of breath but back in control. As I passed her desk Anna was busy on the phone, so I didn’t stop for messages. She motioned for me to wait, covering the mouthpiece with one hand, but I headed straight to my office instead. I’d speak to her later, when I had recovered my composure.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The voice broke behind me as I turned to close the door, familiar but angrier than I’d ever heard it before. It was Cressida, so pale she was almost as transparent as the window she was silhouetted against, eyes like huge pools of ink, their color smudged all over her face. In one hand dangled a defeated-looking plant. For a second I thought she was going to throw it at me, but as I watched it slipped from her grasp and fell silently to the floor. Potting mix stained the beige carpet.

“Cress,” I stammered in surprise. “Were we meant to be meeting? You said you were on until ten tonight.”

“I am, but I thought I’d surprise you,” she shot back, her words clipped and furious. “Turns out I was the one who was surprised.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked as calmly as I could, still attempting to read the situation.

“Long enough to watch you kissing Kate in the street below. Quite the performance. Is infidelity so trivial a matter to you that you don’t even care who witnesses it?”

“Infidelity? What are you talking about?” I retorted, thinking quickly. When in doubt, deny.

“You looked as if you wanted to fuck her then and there, you bastard. I’m surprised you didn’t. What stopped you—not enough room to lie down?”

I had a sudden flashback to the night on the hospital roof, and in my guilt and grief felt a simultaneous urge to hurt Cress as much as possible.
There was never any need to lie down
, I wanted to tell her,
not now, not then
. Instead I took a deep breath and cautiously approached her as one would a hissing cat.

“Look, I’ll admit I kissed her, but the rest is in your head. It didn’t mean anything—if I really was having an affair, do you think I’d be stupid enough to conduct it in public like that?”

Cress wavered, wanting to be convinced. “But you promised you wouldn’t see her at all!” she wailed.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ve hardly seen her at all—she just called once or twice, then asked that we meet today. What could I do? She’s going through a rough patch and needed someone to talk to. It looks as if she can’t have kids and her marriage to Cary is on the rocks.” I was ad-libbing furiously, casting around for something to grab on to as desperately as a man sinking in quicksand.

“Why you?” Cress asked, her skepticism evident. “Kate has lots of friends. And why did you have to kiss her?”

“I felt sorry for her, that’s all. Plus I was telling her that it wouldn’t be right for us to meet again, because of you. And I guess she confided in me because she wanted somebody neutral. No point setting all her friends against Cary; then they end up staying together after all.”

I thought I was doing well, but Cress suddenly burst into tears.

“You lying bastard,” she screamed, loud enough that I feared Anna would hear. “You don’t comfort someone by sticking your tongue in their mouth, then leaving it there for five minutes. You’ve been fucking her, haven’t you?”

“You’re obviously in no state to talk about this rationally,” I replied as calmly as I could. “Come on; I’m taking you home.” She protested but let me maneuver her out of the office, veiling her face behind a drape of pale hair.

We drove home in silence, Cress staring out of the window and occasionally sobbing. She spoke once, but only to request I call the hospital to tell them she was sick and had had to leave work.

As I set my key in the door the house felt suddenly alien, as if I had been away for a long time. Cress followed me in, sniffling and surly, while I wandered from room to room as though I were in a museum. I hadn’t realized there were so many photos of the two of us, grinning out from frames of wood and gold and glass, the eyes trailing me accusingly as soon as I moved away. I had the urge to turn them all facedown, as if we were dead. Instead I tried to talk, but got no further than I had at the office. Cress flung accusations; I retorted that I hadn’t done anything but comfort a friend. She claimed she despised me; I reiterated that I loved her. It had worked after I’d kissed Kate at that wedding. Anyway, it was true—wasn’t that why I had made the damn decision in the first place? Somehow, though, the words had less effect on this occasion. Cry, deny, cry, deny—we scrapped back and forth until after midnight, neither having budged an inch. When we finally went to bed I tried to make love to her but Cress rolled into a tight ball at the farthest reaches of the mattress. When I woke up she wasn’t in the house.

KATE
•

I saw him once more. The day after I received his e-mail Luke called me at work, claiming that he couldn’t bear to end it that way, that we had to meet and talk things over. It was lucky I was even there to take his call. I hadn’t slept the night before and couldn’t stomach the idea of facing colleagues, of cataloging relics and dusting bones as if my world hadn’t just imploded. Studying my ashen face as I dragged myself out of bed, Cary wondered aloud if I wasn’t coming down with something, then volunteered to stay home and look after me. That was all the push I needed. Somehow his concern was even more unbearable than having to hold myself together through a workday, and I feared that if he were any kinder I would break down and tell him the whole sorry tale.

Really, though, I reflected as I walked from the tram stop to work, a confession wouldn’t achieve a thing. Actually it might, but only to the negative: I’d be left with no mate instead of two. Did I want to stay with Cary? I supposed so, though it was almost impossible to think of anything but Luke. Still, I’d been happy with Cary before Luke showed up and presumably could be again—if things with Luke really were finished, that is. I’ll admit I was hoping they weren’t. So when his call came through a few hours later, how could I say no? I was sure that once he saw me again he’d change his mind.

As it turned out he was after the same: that I’d see him and reconsider, come around to his point of view. We met at a café in the city. Luke sat me down at a table scarred with cigarette burns, kissed each eyelid, red with tears, then launched into his proposal with a fervor I imagine he usually reserved for winning campaigns. “Let’s leave things as they are,” he’d entreated. We’d work something out—what we had was too good to throw away. Mutely I shook my head. Luke persevered. It was just that the timing was wrong—couldn’t I see that? Cress had worked so hard for the fellowship, but she’d never accept were he to leave her now. She deserved to be able to realize her dream. Just one year away, two maximum; then we could talk about marriage when he returned to Australia. There would be no children, no complications; he could guarantee that. And if Cress’s application wasn’t successful, how could he add to her grief by asking for a divorce? “A year,” he repeated. “I owe her that. She’s done nothing wrong.”

At first I listened; I really did. I tried to understand his point of view, but there wasn’t one, just a desire not to rock the boat. A year away—then we could talk? I couldn’t give in. I loved him too much to have only half of him, and not even the best half. Besides, he’d as good as admitted that if he stayed with Cress he’d be moving overseas. “E-mail,” he’d said, shrugging, “the phone. It’s only for a year—we can pick up where we left off when I get back.” I didn’t like the sound of that: that I could be put on layaway, kept for a rainy day. How could I trust him not to do the same with some American girl? How could I wait for a year when right now two days without him seemed an eternity? And how long could we keep it up? Sneaking around at thirty-two may have had some shabby sort of cachet; sneaking around at fifty was decidedly pathetic.

And by now I was angry with him. He hadn’t chosen me, hadn’t wanted me as much as I’d wanted him. My pride stung almost as much as my eyes. Without thinking about what I was doing I picked up my bag and got to my feet. Luke was beside me in an instant.

“Where are you going?” he asked, cut off in midsentence.

“This isn’t achieving anything,” I replied. “I have to get back to work.” I felt strong, resolved and clinically dead. The whole scene unfolded as if it were being played out somewhere far away, as if I were at the movies or watching from a distance, disconnected from my body, my heart. The only way I could bear to leave.

“Wait!” Luke was calling. Despite myself my steps faltered in hope. He pulled on his jacket and caught up to me. “I’ll walk you back to the museum.”

So there wasn’t going to be a happy ending after all. For a moment pain flared; then it all shut down. Amputees must experience the same sensation.

Really, we should have just gone our separate ways, left the grubby little café and never seen each other again. But my route took me past his building anyway, and a tiny part was reluctant to finish it there, amid dirty coffee cups and the paper napkins I’d shredded while he was talking. So we struggled the block to his office, like sleepwalkers or shipwreck victims coming ashore. A discreet doorway or two away Luke pulled me to him and we kissed good-bye. It was a kiss as sweet as every other time, comforting and poisonous. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and turned my back, walking away without saying good-bye.

CRESSIDA
•

Where else would I go? I went to work. I wasn’t due until later that day but there didn’t seem any other option. I couldn’t stay at home, not with Luke sleeping so soundly in our marital bed when I’d done little but doze and fret and cry all night. I couldn’t go to my parents’ home, and didn’t want to tell any of my friends. Most of them would have been working anyway—given my schedule, the only friendships I’d really maintained were with others in the same profession. They understood the long hours, lack of social life and six-month pauses between phone calls, but were always on duty when I was off. As for my parents … my hunch was that they wouldn’t be home anyway, my father hard at work at some hospital, my mother heading a committee or attending a benefit. And if they were there, what would I tell them? That I’d left Luke? That he’d had an affair? Maybe a room would be grudgingly found for me, but I knew what they’d be thinking. That I should be at home, with my husband, that it was bound to be a misunderstanding.

Besides, had I left Luke? I didn’t believe his denials, though part of me ached to. If he were attracted to Kate, and history told me he was, he wouldn’t have been content just to be her friend. The idea of him holding her hand through her marital difficulties without trying to take something for himself was laughable. And if it was all so innocuous, why hadn’t he told me? I knew our own marriage wasn’t perfect—that Luke was a flirt and I was away too often—but deep down I believed in it. He’d proposed to me, after all.

So what now? The more I thought about it, the more panicked I became. I couldn’t live with him if he’d had an affair; would never be able to trust him again. But I didn’t want to end my marriage, particularly if there was a chance I could be wrong. A slim one, but a chance … I held on to that. And what about the fellowship? I had a week to accept, to make my own requests. Airfares, but for how many? A house, or simply an apartment? Could I even go without him, set off alone to the other side of the world, to a place where no one knew my name? I needed the truth before I could think about anything else.

Did Tim know? I called him on my way to work, fingers clumsy on the tiny buttons of my cell phone. He would still be asleep—it was barely six, after all—but I didn’t even consider waiting until a more respectable hour. Anyway, he could go back to sleep easily enough. Who knew if I’d ever have that luxury again? His voice on the line was disoriented, cautious.

“Hello?”

“It’s Cressida. Do you know anything about Luke and Kate?” No point beating around the bush.

“Luke and Kate? Do you mean the wedding?” he replied sleepily. “That was ages ago—I thought you guys had sorted things out.”

“Not the wedding. Since then. Are they having an affair?”

In the background I heard a mumbled query and realized he wasn’t alone. It annoyed me somehow. I still couldn’t get used to the idea of his having a partner.

“Hang on. I’m going to take this in the kitchen.”

Good old Tim, ever the gentleman. I waited impatiently for the line to click back to life. When it did he sounded wide-awake.

“An affair? What are you talking about?”

“Luke hasn’t told you about this?”

“I’ve barely even seen Luke the last few months. Just figured you two were busy.”

“He didn’t tell you he was seeing Kate, supposedly helping her through some marriage crisis?”

“No. To be honest, I thought you’d banned him from seeing her after that wedding. And fair enough too,” he added hastily.

“So did I,” I replied. In the silence that followed I heard the faint buzz of another conversation on the line. What on earth could people be talking about at this hour?

“Look, Cressida,” Tim said finally, sounding upset, “Luke’s never been a saint, but he’s no hypocrite. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m sure he hasn’t been messing around with Kate. It’s you he loves.”

The tears started up again then, slipping silently down my face. I swallowed hard, staring at the receiver until it came back into focus.

“I got the fellowship, by the way.”

It had suddenly occurred to me that I had yet to share the news with anyone, even Luke. But there was no joy in speaking the words, just the absence of anything else to say.

“Good for you!” said Tim, genuinely pleased. “Work all this out with Luke; then we’ll celebrate in fine style. Really, Cress, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I hung up unconvinced. He might be sure but I wasn’t. Whom else could I ask?