Seeing Other People (6 page)

I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn’t believe how close I’d come to crossing the line. Once again I determined to turn off my phone but then in came another message:
YOLO x.

Her message brought me to a standstill. It was the phrase that had been rolling around in my head ever since the day of Fiona’s funeral: You only live once. And it was true wasn’t it? This was the only life I was going to get and here I was wasting it. Did I really want to die speculating about all the things I never did or the paths I’d never taken? Did I really want to look back on this moment in my old age and wonder: What if?

Racked with indecision I looked up from my phone to see a heavy-set young man of seventeen, maybe eighteen, dressed top to toe in sportswear approaching me. In his hand was an unlit cigarette.

‘Got a light mate?’

I was momentarily confused. Around his neck on a silver chain I could quite clearly see a silver Zippo lighter. Maybe he’d run out of lighter fuel. Either way as a non-smoker I couldn’t help him. ‘No, sorry,’ I replied. ‘I don’t—’ I stopped suddenly as I became aware of a heavy, sweet-smelling perfume and sensed someone lurking behind me. I tried to turn around but before I could I felt a short, sharp shock of pain across the back of my skull and everything went black and then the next thing I knew I was waking up naked in Bella’s bed.

5

It was a little after six thirty by the time I reached the office having picked up a coffee on the way in a bid to sharpen my wits. Even though I was convinced that George, the security guard who often worked the reception desk in the early mornings, wouldn’t remember which clothes I’d been wearing the day before let alone care that I was in them now I still felt it necessary to speed past him as quickly as possible, explaining that I was rushing because I was expecting an important call from Japan. George barely glanced up from his copy of the
Mirror
, making it clear to me that as long as I had my security pass my business held precisely no interest for him whatsoever.

The office was empty save for the guys in the post room doing their early rounds and so I made my way to the shower in the gents’ toilets and was about to start getting undressed when my phone rang. I checked the screen. It was Penny. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to let the call go to voicemail but the guilt I felt was so intense that ‘easy’ made me feel like I was adding insult to injury.

‘Hey you,’ I said brightly. ‘What’s up?’

‘Hey, Dad, it’s me.’ It was Jack. Hearing his voice threw me completely.

‘What’s wrong, son? Is everything OK? Where’s Mum?’

‘She’s just here,’ said Jack. ‘She’s getting the bowls out for breakfast. I’m having Frosties and Rosie’s having Rice Krispies.’

‘That’s good,’ I replied, still wondering why Penny had let him call. ‘You like Frosties don’t you?’

‘I love them, they’re my favourite.’ There was a long pause and I could hear Penny whispering, ‘Don’t forget to tell Daddy why you’re calling.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Jack, who had clearly become distracted. ‘Dad?’

‘Yeah?’

‘
Scooby Doo
’s not for babies is it?’

‘No, son. Why?’

‘Because Lucas at school said that it is, and it’s not, is it?’

‘Of course not,’ I reassured him. ‘They solve mysteries and they’re always getting chased by ghosts and zombies. There’s nothing babyish about zombies, is there?’

‘I knew it,’ said Jack victoriously. ‘Lucas doesn’t know everything, does he Daddy?’

‘Absolutely not,’ I replied. ‘So is that it?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jack. ‘Hang on because Mum wants to speak to you.’

I waited as Jack – who was clearly having problems concentrating on anything this morning – finally handed the phone to Penny.

‘Hey you,’ she said. ‘Sorry about calling so early, it’s just that he woke up at five and started on about this whole Lucas Taylor/
Scooby Doo
thing and was completely inconsolable until I said that he could call you. How’s your head this morning? Heavy night was it?’

‘You could say that. Rosie’s OK?’

‘She’s fine, she’s still up in her room. I take it you’re heading straight to work?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘Well in that case, I’ll see you tonight. Love you.’

I felt like a monster saying it back given what I’d just done. How could I say I loved her and mean it if I’d just slept with someone else? Regardless, I knew I had to force the words out.

‘Love you too. See you tonight.’

Ending the call I had a quick shower and went back to my desk and turned on my computer. I needed to know why I couldn’t remember anything at all about my night with Bella. A quick Google suggested a number of possibilities from mild stroke through to dementia, but the explanation that seemed most likely was something called dissociative amnesia: a temporary or permanent memory loss brought about by stressful or traumatic situations. This seemed to fit as I couldn’t think of anything more stressful than having cheated on the woman I loved. Maybe my subconscious had reached the same assessment while I’d been asleep and had blocked out all memory of the previous evening in order to save me from having a complete and utter meltdown. Oddly enough, even having Google-diagnosed myself with a pretty major psychological disorder, I considered this the least of my problems and filed it away at the back of my mind to be worked on another day. As far as I was concerned, right now, my biggest problems were trying not to drown in the tsunami of guilt I was feeling about cheating on Penny and worrying about how exactly I was going to deal with seeing Bella face to face for the first time since the night before.

Like the coward I was, I did everything humanly possible to avoid Bella that day. I avoided the arts desk like the plague, leaped at every opportunity to take a meeting out of the office and any time she so much as looked like she might be about to approach my desk I’d buttonhole the person nearest me and attempt to launch into a deep and meaningful conversation about life, the universe and everything. It was childish stuff, I’ll admit, and not at all becoming to a man of my age and station but if I knew anything at all, it was this: I didn’t want to talk to Bella again. Not now, not ever.

Leaving work just after seven, having waited a good three-­quarters of an hour after I’d seen Bella packing up for the day, I felt sure I was safe but as I emerged from the office building through the revolving doors I spotted her leaning against the barriers near the main road. Though she didn’t move I knew she had seen me and in saying nothing she was giving me one final opportunity not to disappoint her more than I already had.

‘You must be shattered,’ I said, forcing a smile. ‘What are you still doing here?’

‘Waiting for you,’ she replied. ‘Were you hoping I’d be gone by now?’

‘No . . . of course not. Is that what you think? That I’ve been avoiding you? Of course I haven’t, it’s just that—’

‘There’s no need,’ she said firmly. She reached into her bag and took out my watch. ‘I only waited because I wanted to give you this.’

I took the watch from her, put it on and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. This was it. My moment of truth. There was nowhere left to hide.

‘Listen . . .’ I had to raise my voice so as not to be drowned out by the sound of a passing articulated lorry. ‘Do you want to go somewhere and talk?’

Bella shook her head. ‘I’ve done all I wanted to do.’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you think it would be better if we cleared the air?’

‘And how would we do that exactly? Would you sit me down and tell me I’m a really sweet girl but that last night was a mistake and I deserve someone better in my life?’

I felt myself shrinking. I was the worst kind of walking cliché, the kind that was absolutely convinced they were anything but.

‘I’m married,’ I said redundantly.

Bella’s eyes filled with tears and fury. ‘This was a bad idea,’ she said more to herself than me. ‘I never should have waited for you.’

‘Then why did you?’ I hadn’t meant the question to sound quite so abrupt. I genuinely wanted to know. Had I made her promises I couldn’t keep? Had I said I’d find a way for us to be together? It was torture not knowing what I’d said or how I’d said it and frustrating that the only person who could help me piece together the events of the night before was the only person who would be outraged and humiliated by my inability to remember it.

‘I waited for you because I wanted you to know there were no hard feelings,’ said Bella, no longer able to hide the hurt in her voice. ‘I waited because I wanted you to know that I understood.’

Playing with the kids at home that night was like waking up from a dream. This was who I really was, not the guy I’d been last night. I was going to put this whole episode behind me, which was easy enough given that I couldn’t remember half of it. If no one ever found out about it how difficult would it be to convince myself that it had never happened? A life lesson would have been learned, no one would get hurt and there would be no chance of it ever happening again so, really, no one needed to know, did they? From then on I avoided Bella, kept my mouth shut and swallowed down every bad feeling that haunted me and everything might have been OK had it not been for the dreams.

They started not long after Bella’s last day. I dreamed that Bella and I were in a park and she wanted to swim but I didn’t because in my dream I was convinced that I couldn’t. Somehow – I forget precisely how – I fell into the water and felt sure that I was about to drown when I woke up in the darkness, struggling to breathe. I’d tried to get back to sleep but it wouldn’t come and so finally after an hour and a half of staring at the ceiling I got out of bed and went downstairs to watch TV. The following night it was a different dream. This time I was with a bunch of old school friends who I hadn’t seen in years. They all started climbing a tree in the local park around the corner from my parents’ house and even though I wasn’t sure about it I followed after them. Halfway up however I lost my footing and started falling. I woke up before I hit the ground but after that sleep once again eluded me.

It had been the same pattern every night for the past fortnight: I’d go to sleep and some ridiculous dream would wake me. Recently however the dreams had become more intense and more frequent. My disturbed sleep was affecting my whole life. I was finding it difficult to concentrate in meetings and I’d been driving the kids to the local ice rink when I nearly drove through a red light as a gang of kids was crossing the road. They were fine; I put the brakes on in time for them to scatter out of the way but it really shook me and in the end Penny and I swapped seats at the edge of the road and she drove the rest of the way.

As a rule I wasn’t superstitious at all. I didn’t do horoscopes, believe in fate or karma and as much as I’d enjoyed studying the works of Shakespeare at university I certainly wasn’t a believer in any knee-jerk pop psychological beliefs that might see me cast as a tortured Macbeth plagued by a troubled conscience. Real people’s minds didn’t work like that. In the past I’d known friends who’d been having affairs, some for months on end, and until the point at which I’d learned of their transgressions I hadn’t been the slightest bit aware of what they were up to. And so when the dreams started I simply wrote them off as the net effect of having been working too hard. The
Correspondent
had been trying out a bi-monthly supplement to the magazine which I’d been editing in addition to my regular job. So it made perfect sense that I should be having these dreams. I was knackered, hadn’t been eating properly and the poor excuse I had for an exercise regime had all but gone out of the window. The rational evidence was overwhelming and yet even I didn’t buy it. Knee-jerk or not, this was guilt talking, pure and simple.

Things came to a head after about a month. I’d woken from a deep sleep with a jolt and opened my eyes not knowing where I was. I’d been running. Someone was after me. They’d wanted something from me but I didn’t know what.

‘Are you OK?’

Penny face was partially illuminated by the light of her bedside lamp. She was sitting up in bed next to me, a pile of folders on her lap. She’d obviously been working for some time while I’d been lying next to her tossing and turning like some kind of chained lunatic.

‘I’m fine, babe. You carry on with your work.’

Penny wasn’t going to let it go that easily. It wasn’t her style. As self-appointed chief medical officer for the family Clarke the physical and mental health of both the kids and me fell under her remit. You couldn’t get away with any of that, ‘It’s just a flesh wound,’ crap with Penny. You either took your Calpol or you talked the problem out until a solution presented itself.

‘You were having another one of those dreams again, weren’t you?’ she diagnosed with her usual clinical accuracy.

‘No, it wasn’t that. I just woke up funny, that’s all. I must have heard a noise in my sleep. Didn’t you hear it? Probably that new couple next door going to work. It’s fair enough that they have to leave early but I just don’t understand why they have to be so noisy about it.’

Penny was completely unconvinced. ‘I didn’t hear anything. Are you sure it was them that woke you? I think you were dreaming.’