Who Loves You Best (14 page)

It’s not like I’m having an affair, for God’s sake. She’ll never even know. I can make it back with a couple of good trades. I swear, once this is all over, I’ll never stick my neck out like that again. I’ll settle the bet and walk away from the table once and for all.

For once, I come home sober, putting my game face on as I let myself in the house. I’ve never lied to Clare, even by
omission. Every night when I come home, I’m terrified she’ll see it in my eyes.

I needn’t have worried. She doesn’t even bother to look up.

Instead, she holds out her wineglass to Jenna, who tops it up. Acid burns in my gut as I watch them from the doorway. They’ve been thick as thieves since that business with Xan a couple weeks ago. I should’ve punched the bastard’s fucking lights out. Nobody puts my kids in danger. And as usual, Clare stuck up for him.
Silly misunderstanding
, my ass. If I’d been in charge, I’d have locked him up and thrown away the key.

I pour myself a drink in the kitchen. The remnants of dinner are in the sink. I check the oven. Cold. Nothing left for me, as usual. The fucking cat gets treated better than I do.

I hear them giggling in front of that damn show like teenagers. I want to slap the pair of them. They’ve even started to look alike, Clare in jeans—I didn’t know she owned any—and the nanny with her hair tied back in a prissy knot like my wife’s; for God’s sake, the girl’s even wearing a pair of bloody pearl earrings.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say tightly.

“Fine,” Clare says.

I run the water as hot as I can bear it, and stand under it until I feel the tension start to drain away. A year ago, my life was pretty much perfect. I was making money hand over fist, I had a beautiful, attentive wife, two babies on the way, a fantastic new house: Life was sweet. I thought when the twins arrived, there’d be no looking back. Instead, ever
since that fucking cuckoo moved in, it’s been falling apart. I feel like a third wheel in my own home. I could lose my job and the roof over our heads if I don’t dig myself out of this hole. And if Clare finds out I’ve borrowed against her company, I’ll lose her.

I’m toweling myself dry in our dressing room when Clare comes upstairs.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to Jenna,” she snaps. “A
hello
would have done.”

“Jesus. Do we have to talk about the nanny now?”

“I’m helping her put some sort of monthly budget together,” Clare adds, as if I haven’t spoken. “She hasn’t got the first idea how to manage her finances. That Cartier watch cost her six months’ salary.”

I throw my damp towel into the laundry basket. “Why d’you have to get involved? It’s none of our business how Jenna spends her money.”

“She’s part of the family, Marc. She looks after our children.”

“Your choice,” I mutter.

Clare stares at me like I’m shit on the sole of her shoe.

“It’s none of your business, Clare.” I pull on a pair of boxers, and climb into bed. “I know it makes you feel better to think of her as part of the family, but she’s not. She’s an employee, the same as Molly and Craig and anyone else you pay to work for you.
You
decided you wanted a nanny. Don’t try to reason your guilt away by dressing the relationship up and making it something it isn’t.”

“
I
have nothing to feel guilty about,” she says sharply.

“Whatever.”

“I just want Jenna to be happy, so Poppy and Rowan are happy—”

“You want the children to be happy? Fantastic. Fire the nanny, and look after them yourself.”

Clare spends longer than usual finishing up in the bathroom. When she gets into bed, I feel the covers tremble, and realize she’s crying.

I want to comfort her, but something holds me back.

I’m glad to see the invincible Clare Elias rendered vulnerable, like everybody else.

For the next few days, Clare leaves the house before my alarm has even gone off. I thoughtfully regard my reflection in the mirror the third morning after I wake to find my bed empty. Something isn’t right. Clare hasn’t been herself for weeks. It’s not just the girly bonding with Jenna and chucking my dinner in the sink. I’ve been married to Clare long enough to recognize when she’s using politeness as a weapon. She consulted me about the summer holidays, she takes my suits to the dry cleaners and hands me my cufflinks; but when I’ve tried to talk to her properly, she courteously shuts me down. On the couple occasions she’s given in and we’ve fucked, I can tell she’s faking.
I’ve got to know if she knows
.

“Jenna,” I muse, as I walk into the kitchen, “is everything all right with Clare?”

She lifts Rowan out of his seat and puts him in the playpen with Poppy. “What do you mean?”

I spoon coffee into the percolator. I really don’t want
the nanny involved, but I have to find out what’s eating Clare. If she’s found out about the money, who knows what she might do. I don’t want to come home one evening and find she’s changed the locks on me.

“She’s just been a bit … distracted … lately,” I say carefully. “Like she’s got something on her mind. I thought she might have mentioned something to you.”

“Such as?”

Christ, she’s not making this easy. “I don’t know. Girl stuff.”

“Oh.
Girl stuff.”

“Is she worried about something? At work, maybe?”

“Not that I know of,” Jenna says, wiping down the twins’ high chairs. She straightens up, and looks me dead in the eye. “Is something on your mind, Marc?”

I blink first.

“I know I’ve been a bit preoccupied lately,” I say evasively. “I haven’t spent as much time with Clare or the twins as I’d like—”

“They’ve hardly seen you.”

Fucking bitch
. “Look, Jenna. I love my kids. I love my wife. I’d like nothing more than to come home at five and hang out with them at bath time. I’d kill to take the kids to the park or the zoo today, instead of going into work.”

“So take the day off.”

“It’s not that simple.”

I’m suddenly tired; I don’t have the energy to keep fighting with her. “Jenna, in my business, taking time off is seen as a sign of weakness. You can’t imagine the pressure I’m under. Particularly with the economy the way it is.
Every day I go into work, I wonder if I’ll be clearing out my desk by lunchtime. You’re only as good as your last trade. The first sign of blood in the water, and the sharks move in. They fire you on Friday, so you don’t depress everyone. By the time Monday rolls around, they’ve forgotten you even existed.”

It’s such a relief to finally tell someone. To admit how fucking terrified I am. I could never talk to Clare like this. She despises me enough as it is.

“Why don’t you quit and do something else?”

I laugh shortly. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Work in an ordinary bank or something?”

“Behind a counter? Filling ATMs?”

“Well, couldn’t you manage a branch? With all your experience—”

“And earn fifty grand a year before taxes? It wouldn’t even cover the basics.”

There’s an awkward pause. I get up and pour my coffee. Fifty grand must seem like winning the lottery to Jenna. What would she say if she knew I owed almost
two million?
It sounds like Monopoly money, even to me.

Jenna picks Poppy up from the playpen. “I’m sure Clare just wants you to be happy,” she says uncertainly.

“Clare’s got no idea what it feels like to fail. She couldn’t begin to understand. She’s never made a mistake in her life.”

“D’you ever feel a bit—well—” Jenna hesitates.

“Inadequate? Pathetic?”

“No, no, of course not. I just meant … you must wish she didn’t have to work so hard.”

Poppy squirms fretfully in Jenna’s arms, her long dark lashes spiked with tears, and the nanny gently rubs her back. “Is she OK?” I ask. “Her cheeks are a bit red.”

“I think she’s teething again, that’s all. She’s been really thirsty, and that’s always a sign. She’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Clare should have stayed home—”

“Marc, it’s fine. Babies are always teething or getting a cold. You can’t take a day off every time. Anyway, looking after them is what
she
pays me for.”

I don’t miss the snide emphasis. She couldn’t make her position any clearer:
I work for Clare, not you
. Well, she may be Clare’s new best friend, but I’m still her husband. If Jenna doesn’t want to find herself out of a job, she’d better mend her fucking attitude.

“I’d rather my children were cared for by their own mother,” I say tersely. “They’ll be going to kindergarten in a year or two. The damn flowers will still be there then.”

Jenna bites her lip. I drain my coffee, feeling slightly guilty. I shouldn’t have thrown Clare under the bus like that. I don’t want this conversation coming back to bite me in the ass one day. But these are
my
kids, too; a fact both Clare and Jenna tend to forget.

Screw it. It felt good to finally say what’s on my mind.

I grab my briefcase and head into the office. For once, Lady Luck is on my side; I have a better day than I have had for months. Several potentially risky trades come off, and by the closing bell, I’ve earned several million for the bank, and two hundred twenty against my personal debt. If I can hold the line, I may—just
may
—survive this.

I emerge from the Tube a little earlier than usual into
one of those rare, warm May evenings. Everyone is spilling onto the pavements from cafés and restaurants, eager to grab the first real summer warmth of the year.

My mood lifts. I mull over my conversation this morning with Jenna as I walk home, and realize I’ve been more than a little unfair to Clare. Aside from the fact that I shouldn’t have sold her out to the nanny, much of what I said wasn’t even true. Clare always made it clear she wouldn’t give up work—although she did say she’d stay at home for the first six months—and it’s me who moved the goalposts, not her. I was the one who secretly hoped she’d change once the babies came. It’s not her fault she didn’t.

I’ve got to come clean, and tell Clare what I’ve done. Our marriage is in serious trouble otherwise. I can’t live with the guilt and worry any longer.

A siren shatters the calm of the evening. An ambulance roars past, jumping a red light, and I nearly get my toes run over by a van pulling into the curb out of its way. I don’t know how I’m going to break it to her. I know Clare; she’ll want to close the bet now. But if we do that, we’ll have to sell the house to pay off our debts. Even then, it’ll take us a long time to recover financially. It’ll mean living somewhere smaller, in a less upscale neighborhood. We’ll have to let Jenna go, too. We can forget Eton for Rowan. Oh, Christ. What a fucking mess.

As soon as I see the ambulance parked outside the house, my heart folds in on itself.
Christ, not the kids. Oh, dear God, not Poppy and Rowan
.

I start to run.

Did you know Marc’s cheating you?

Not cheating
on
you. Cheating you. Funny how I heard the difference straight away, and understood instantly what it meant.

Once Xan had sobered up, he came around and gave me the whole story. A friend of his at one of the big investment houses had heard about Marc’s losses at the bank. It’s common knowledge in the City, apparently. And then suddenly, the debt was settled. Xan had a hunch, and got one of his contacts at the Fraud Office to do a bit of after-hours checking. He didn’t know how to break it to me, so he went out and got drunk.

Jenna’s still young enough to think an affair is the worst thing that can happen. I almost wish Marc had been unfaithful. At least I could rationalize that:
He’s so much younger than me, men are easily tempted, it didn’t mean anything, it was just a fling
.

He’d been draining money from my company for months. I think I knew it had to be Marc, even before I sat down with my forensic lawyer and went through the
books. He hadn’t really tried to cover his tracks. He’d wiped out a year’s profit in fewer than two months. I didn’t know, but I could guess, why he needed it: In another life, Marc would have been one of those desperate men crowding the bookies, gray-faced, living on hope and the never-never.