Agent Provocateur (39 page)

A couple of months ago, they were two couples, friends, best friends, who hung out together but were decidedly normal. Now, one made a bet with another woman that her husband couldn’t be seduced; the husband is probably being seduced; the best friend is lying to her husband; he is unsure what is wrong, but knows something is. And, Alison concludes, it is a mess. Which, again, she concedes, is a huge understatement.

‘It’s turned cold,’ Matt says, with a puzzled look on his face.

Alison sees it clearly: that’s what it has come down to. You know that something is very wrong when Matt refers to the weather.

‘It’s not fair. I don’t want a history question.’

‘But you need a wedge. I’ve only got one more to get, and then I’ve wiped the floor with you,’ Johnny points out.

‘Maybe, but I’m sure you cheated.’

‘You said you were good at Trivial Pursuit.’

‘I lied.’ She laughs. She has played the worst game of her life. She was unlucky with the questions. She couldn’t stop wishing that he were kissing her. They both sat at a safe distance away from each other. Their hands did not touch. Their legs did not touch. It was like something from Jane Austen courting days. No touching until you’ve secured that engagement. But, she wonders, did they have the electricity then that is simply electrocuting her?

‘No kidding. You’re the worst.’ Johnny doesn’t want the game to end, but when it ends, then what? He can’t let himself touch her. Her smell is intoxicating and it has taken every ounce of strength to keep his nose away from her ear. He feels as if he is a magnet and she is a very attractive piece of metal. He, at times, caught his body moving towards her, and had to pull it back. He’s a married man and he loves his wife. He
does
love her. He even missed her at certain points. He thought of something that he would say to her, and she would laugh, but she wasn’t there. Grace was. And he wanted to be close to her too. He has no idea what he is going to do, but he is beginning to realise that he must do something. Fast. He is drowning. He is lying. He is unsure of his next move. He looks at Grace, her eyes, so big and bright; they are killer eyes. He doesn’t dare look at the rest of her, because she is perfect. He loves Betty, but Grace is perfect. She is everything that any man could desire. He wonders if she is an illusion or if she is real. He never imagined that such perfection existed.

His head is hurting with the confusion that is spinning around. He wants to take her in his arms and he knows that he won’t be able to prevent himself doing this for much longer.

‘Johnny?’ she asks him, having noticed that his face has changed colour a number of times.

‘Sorry?’ he says. She knows that she has him sometimes, but that she also loses him. She knows that the dilemma plays in his head like a stuck record. She feels bad. She had told herself to walk away a thousand times. If she loved him then she would, surely. Because love is about wanting someone else to be happy, about wanting the best for them. That’s storybook love. Grace has only just rediscovered her heart, and now it is beating again she can’t walk away. If she does then it might never stop, and she will exist, Miss Havisham like for her eternity. She is angry with herself for being so selfish. She knows that she is in the middle of a situation that will hurt at least one person. She is not a horrible person. So why does she feel as if she is?

‘Johnny, you’re a funny colour.’

‘Am I?’ He looks at her and smiles. He cannot help but smile when he sees her.

‘Yes, which I am guessing means you’ve drunk too much brandy, and I am going to call you a cab before you vomit in my flat.’ She is impressed by how light hearted she is. She is impressed that she is telling him to go rather than jumping on him. But she is unimpressed by the fact that she will be going to bed alone. And that can be cold.

‘I’m not sure I want to go,’ he says. His lower lip is trembling. He looks like a child. She feels his vulnerability, but will not take advantage of it.

‘Just in case that’s the drink talking, I’m going to call you a cab anyway.’ She smiles at him warmly, and tries to convey in her look how much she wants him to stay, but he knows it already. He feels it too.

He sits in the taxi, wondering if he will see her tomorrow. He said he would call in when he came to pick up his car. She said that she would make him coffee. They looked at each other for a bit longer than they should have done. He sighs. He is drunk, but not drunk in the conventional sense. In one way he feels sober. He is beginning to see clearly. One thing he knows is that this cannot continue. He will not lie to Betty.

Betty, the girl who came to interview him. She was so annoyed at having to do the ‘boring’ financial feature. He could see it in her eyes – for a second, until he smiled at her and she smiled back. That was it. He thought she was hot, and she was, is, hot. Trendy, quirky, opinionated. Loved her job, was so passionate about it, that he couldn’t help but find that attractive. Even if he didn’t fall in love at first sight, he soon did when she started pursuing him. Then she was the same about him, which was, of course, what hooked him. She was so vibrant that when you spent time with her you hoped it would rub off on you. When she fell in love with him, she was so enthusiastic about that, that he was. And she kept it up. They hardly ever row because she hates arguments. She always makes him laugh if they are bickering or about to fall out. She has the odd tantrum but afterwards she will take the mickey out of herself, imitate herself being a prima donna and he will forgive her.

They have been together for ages. There is more than a hint of routine in their lives. Maybe that is what he had been trying to break, deep down – the routine of it all. Is Grace his mid-life crisis? No, she isn’t. He isn’t in crisis with Betty. They have a brilliant sex life; he fancies her. They have spirited discussions, they aren’t bored with each other. Just because the glamour of the early days is now buried beneath the mortgage payments and trips to the supermarket doesn’t mean that it is over. He still loves her, that much he is certain of.

But Grace. Grace is in there, in his head. He feels he is in hers. Sometimes when he looks at her he thinks he can see her mind, and she can see his. She hasn’t tried to pressure him, she isn’t behaving like a mistress, although he hates that term and he is not a cheater. He won’t cheat on Betty. He will choose, if that’s what it comes down to, he will make his choice and live with it, but he won’t lie any more. Not to the women he loves.

As the taxi pulls up outside his house, he sighs as he gets out. The decision is edging closer. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and opens the door. The house is dark, but he feels Cyril brush against his leg and he wants to cry. That’s his life: his house, his cat, his wife. He has a family. He goes to the sitting room and sinks into the sofa. He doesn’t turn on the light. Upstairs is the woman he loves. He imagines her in bed now, in her T-shirt, or, more accurately, his T-shirt, because she always wears his T-shirts to bed. She will be breathing gently and dreaming, he hopes, good dreams. Because that’s what he wants for her.

Across London, he imagines her. She will be putting the board game away, taking the brandy glasses to the kitchen. Washing them up, because she told him she hates to wake up to any chores. She will say good night to the fish, the way he always says good night to Cyril. Then she will go to her bedroom and get ready for bed.

He doesn’t know what she wears in bed, what colour her toothbrush is, what face cream she uses, if she uses any. He doesn’t know how she breathes when she is asleep, whether she snores. He doesn’t know if she is still, like Betty, or if she thrashes around. He doesn’t know what it is like to kiss her before going to sleep, or wake with his arms fastened around her. He doesn’t know what her hair smells like when you bury your head in it. He doesn’t know how her lips feel, how they taste. He doesn’t know any of these things.

He strokes Cyril as he imagines both of them sleeping. Safely. And as he thinks of the two women, he has never felt lonelier in his life.

Chapter Thirty

Her head feels fuzzy from the drink. She knew that, after he went and she poured herself a large brandy, her last drink, her nightcap, she would regret it in the morning. She stands under the shower trying to wash the headache away, but finally concedes defeat and goes to the kitchen for some pills. She checks that her mobile is switched on, and she even picks up the handset of her normal phone and hears the dialling tone, just to check it is working. She knows that she is not behaving like herself; she is behaving like a normal woman. A thought that terrifies her.

She puts some bread in the toaster and makes coffee. She also drinks a glass of water. The phone rings just as the kettle boils, and she runs to get it.

‘Grace, it’s Eddie.’ He sounds hurt.

Her heart sinks. She hadn’t got round to telling him that it is over. She just left him, which makes her feel bad; guilty of neglect.

‘Eddie. I’m sorry I haven’t called.’ She is sorry.

‘You haven’t returned any of my calls, and I’ve been calling.’ He is angry and a little desperate.

‘I know.’ She feels ashamed. She isn’t married to him, nor has she made him any promises, but that is no excuse for treating him badly. None at all.

‘Well, can I see you?’ he snaps.

She decides to do it face to face. ‘Tonight. Shall we go for dinner?’

‘Now I know something’s wrong. You never want to go out.’ She curses her stupidity. She is becoming more normal every day.

‘Well, you could come here, but I’ve got no food.’ She feels tired and the fuzziness in her head intensifies. She doesn’t want this; she doesn’t need this. But she is doing the right thing.

‘I’ll come round at seven.’ He is still reeling from her suggestion that they go out and she knows not to push it.

‘I’ll see you at seven then.’

Her toast is cold as she eats it, and the coffee makes her head hurt more. She is a mess. She is breaking off with her friends, and she wonders if she will miss them. She will, she knows that, because other than them she has only Nicole. Unless Johnny, unless he ... She shakes her head at the thought. She cannot presume that she will be with him. And even if she’s not, she has to stop. Eddie sounded so wounded. They had a rule, that no one was to get hurt. They agreed to that rule, but rules break themselves sometimes. The bet had a rule too: that Grace would seduce Johnny and then leave. But rules break themselves.

‘Morning, handsome.’ She forgets for a minute that he was out until all hours last night with Grace. But then she remembers, and she remembers the horror of the day before, although she manages to sustain the smile on her face.

She must have fallen asleep before he got in, although she had convinced herself that she was so upset she would never sleep again. It was torturous not knowing what time he arrived and if he smelt of her, but as he reaches out for her, Betty cannot smell anything but Johnny.

‘Morning,’ he replies, and he starts kissing her.

They make love and she feels that he is hers again. He might be confused but he is with her, making love to her and that is the main thing. For now, he is hers and that is better than nothing.

They shower and dress and Betty takes Johnny out for breakfast.

‘This sounds weird, but I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages.’

‘It was one day,’ he snaps, without meaning to. He is tired from his nocturnal musings and the fact that he has a slight hangover. He doesn’t mean to be defensive, and immediately he feels guilt.

‘It wasn’t a criticism.’ She is hurt. She had him, now she has lost him. Confusion is threatening to bubble over into her mind, as she tries desperately to keep it in check.

‘I’m sorry. I’m just tired. Yesterday was a long day. So, if we haven’t seen each other for ages, what’s new?’

‘Nothing, but I think we need a holiday.’ Although she might not be able to get him on a plane there and then, the fact that they make a plan for the future means they have a future.

‘Good idea. Did you manage to get a freebie?’

‘No, unfortunately the travel department don’t need me, although they said that if we go somewhere exciting they might use the story, so we’d get paid that way, but unfortunately we are going to have to finance it ourselves.’

‘Where do you want to go?’ Suddenly the world seems a big place; and without Grace in it, that is not necessarily positive. Betty is also thinking how big the world is. How can she choose a destination that he will love when there is so much choice?

‘I’ll have a think.’ She can sense his sudden reluctance, but she tries to ignore it as she attempts to eat her breakfast It is making her feel sick. She sips her coffee – coffee that, for some reason, reminds her of Grace. She gets an overwhelming urge to ask him, to confront him, and also a strong desire to scream; but she does neither.

‘I’ll get some brochures tomorrow. We can look tomorrow night,’ Johnny offers, guilt reminding him how to behave.

‘Good idea.’ She notices how their conversation has changed. She feels insecure, and needs something from him, something more. ‘I’ve been given a feature to write, about infidelity,’ she blurts. She notes the pale face that looks back at her, and wonders if she should shut up.

‘You didn’t say.’

‘I forgot. I remembered because Fiona needs some ideas by tomorrow – you know what she’s like. Anyway, after the honey trap story I hoped I wouldn’t have to go down that road. I mean, how can we be sure that the signs to spot a man who cheats are the same, or how much of it is paranoia? I might write a feature saying that women are too suspicious and should trust more. What do you think?’ Betty can see things in his face, the face she knows so well. He was chewing when she started speaking but now he has stopped. He looks as if he will be sick. He has tilted his head to one side. He opens and closes his mouth, just like Grace’s fish. She thinks he is going to confess.