The Infidelity Chain Read online

  He looks like he wants to hit me. I watch him struggle to keep his temper, knowing and not caring that I have just made a permanent and dangerous enemy.

  ‘Someone has to be responsible for the operating costs of this hospital, Dr Stuart. If your department overspends, we have to make cuts elsewhere. One day in NICU costs the same as—’

  ‘Do you expect me to stand by and watch this baby die?’

  ‘This foetus,’ he stresses, ‘is too young to be viable.’

  ‘Check your facts. It’s ten past midnight,’ I snap. ‘Which means that, as of ten minutes ago, this baby is twenty-three weeks old and wins tonight’s big prize: a shot at life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient waiting.’

  I should be elated. Angel had both probability and statistics on his side. But against all the odds, Anna and Dean’s baby – appropriately named Hope – snatched the chance we offered her. She’ll spend the next four months in the NICU, a dozen lines snaking into her tiny body; it’ll be weeks before she even breathes on her own, but she’s alive. A brain scan hasn’t shown up any obvious abnormalities, though we have a long way to go before we can relax. The risk of infection with a baby this young is acute. But so far, so good.

  Yet the usual high eludes me. I let myself quietly into William’s flat a little after four in the morning, my mood oppressed. A sense of unease drags at my heels. For the first time in years, I crave a cigarette.

  Pouring myself a glass of tap water, I add four ice-cubes – thank you, America – and tiptoe through the darkened hallway towards the bedroom, wincing like a teenager as the ice clinks noisily in the sweating glass. For a long moment, I stand in the open doorway, leaning against the jamb. Asleep, William looks younger than his forty-eight years, the cynicism stripped from his expression. He is not conventionally handsome; his features are too uneven for that. A faded scar, three inches long, bisects his right jaw, the result of a climbing accident when he was eleven. He still nicks it when he shaves, one of the reasons he sports designer stubble – salt and pepper now, I notice, like his overlong hair. His head is heavy, leonine; when he smiles, his tawny eyes glow like copper. Angry, they darken to the colour of coffee beans. It is impossible to know the extent of his charisma, the force of his sexual energy, until he turns it on you.

  I’m not in love with him. I knew from the beginning I couldn’t allow myself that – especially after Cyprus. Divorce from Beth was not an option, given her problems, nor would I ever want it. That was never part of our arrangement.

  Suddenly weary, I finish my glass of water and strip off my clothes, padding into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I notice my period has started a couple of days early; annoyed at being caught out, I grab an emergency tampon from my wash-bag and make a mental note to pick up a new box from the corner shop tomorrow; or rather, today.

  It’s four-thirty when I finally slip into bed beside William: too late to pick up where we left off. His alarm will go off in half an hour; despite owning a successful PR agency with a staff of over forty people, William is always the first to arrive at the office, and the last to leave. If I were married to Beth, no doubt I’d do the same. I’m very lucky to go home to a man I can at least respect.

  Lucy’s words have burrowed deeper than I care to admit. For the first time in a very long time, I allow myself to think what it might be like to have to live without Jackson. I’m faintly surprised at how much I don’t want that to happen. I know full well I deserve to lose him. I’ve always been very careful to control my feelings for William, to keep our relationship separate in my heart and head; I would never leave Jackson. But I know that would prove scant consolation to him if he ever found out about my affair. It would break his heart; and that would break mine.

  I realize the unfamiliar feeling in the pit of my stomach is shame. This is not the kind of wife I ever wanted or intended to be. I’ve short-changed my husband; not only have I cheated on him, but I’ve denied him the only thing he has ever asked of me. Would a baby really be so bad?

  My mobile rings, making me jump. I reach for it as William stirs, recognizing the hospital number on the caller ID. My heart sinks. Baby Hope seemed stable enough when I left the NICU—

  But it’s A&E on the other end of the line, not the NICU. And when I end the call a few minutes later, I am no longer any kind of wife, adulterous or otherwise.

  I am a widow.

  March 8, 1997

  Chapel Hill Road

  Durham

  North Carolina 27707

  Dear Cooper,

  Well, I’m not dead yet, despite what you must be thinking! I’m sorry it’s been so long since I touched base, but it’s been a crazy couple months. It’d be easier if you got connected – once you’re online you can get these whizzy little electronic letters, they call them emails, maybe you’ve heard of them?!

  Anyways, I’m back in the Land of Tar; you always said I couldn’t stay away from the mountains for long! I’d have called you before I left New Orleans, but everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time. My new condo hasn’t got a phone yet and the landlord’s dragging his heels, so I guess this letter is it for a while.

  The thing is, I’ve met a girl. Her name’s Ella Stuart, and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s British (she has this cute accent!) and she’s a doctor – well, studying to be one over at Duke.

  I’m guessing you’re putting the pieces together right now and shaking your head and wondering what trouble your kid brother’s gotten himself into this time, but it’s not like that. This girl is the real deal, Coop. There’s just something about her; soon as you meet her, you’ll know what I mean.

  Anyways, couple weeks ago, first night of Mardi Gras, I went down the Famous Door (you remember, I took you there last time you were in the Easy, you got picked up by that transvestite) and soon as I walked in the bar, I saw her. She’s hard to miss, Coop, with this long wild red hair, like the setting sun, and these big gold eyes that put me in mind of Lolly’s iced tea. She was laughing with her friend, and right then she turned and caught my eye, and something just clicked inside of me, like tumblers sliding into place.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. There was a look about her, underneath all the sass: wary and sad at the same time. She hides it well, but it’s there. You think first off she’s tough as nails, but deep down she’s sweet as pie.

  So there I am, still trying to think of something smart to say, when Ella just comes up and kisses me! I swear, I could feel the tingling in my toes for ten minutes afterwards. What’s it called? A coup de foudre, something like that. When you know the rest of your life is never going to be the same again.

  I bet you’re laughing your ass off right now out on the back porch, wondering how your brother has ended up all misty-eyed over some girl like a lovestruck loon. Well, take another pull on your Jack, brother, because that isn’t the half of it.

  Next day, she tells me she’s studying at Duke, and I just come right out and say I’ve got a job there – don’t ask me what made me do it, Coop, I couldn’t tell you, I just knew I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers. So I’ve spent the last three weeks calling in every favor I ever chalked up and then some, and two days ago I got a letter offering me a job in the Department of Earth and Ocean Sciences, starting Monday! It’s less money than Tulane, but I like the idea of working for the environment, I’ve had my fill of capital projects. So I gave notice, quit my apartment, and drove up here yesterday.

  Now here I am sitting in a rental condo without a stick of furniture but a bed and a chair, wondering if I’ve gone and made the biggest fool of myself since Old Man Allen caught me buck-naked with Blair in the sawmill!

  Thing is, Coop, I’m blown away by Ella, but I’m not so sure she’s sold on me, and I don’t know what all to do. Not to toot my own horn, but my problem’s usually the other way round! I know she likes me, but I’m pretty sure she thought our hook-up was just a weekend fling. How do I close the deal, big brother? She blows hot and cold; one minute she’s all over me, and the next I feel like I’ve got her foot in my ass and I’m being led out the door. I’m guessing she’s been screwed over in the past by guys who never did the honorable thing, but the one thing you got to give me is that I say what I mean and I do what I say. If I can get her to trust me, I’ll never give her cause to regret it.

  Guess this is all part of your famous Karma Credit Plan, right? Payback for some of those hearts I broke along the way. I can’t wait for you and Lolly to meet her. She’s the one, Coop. I can see us sitting on the swing at Dad’s old place by the lake, watching the sun set behind the mountains and knowing I’ve come home. I want to grow old with this woman, watch our kids grow up together, rock grandkids on my knee like Grandpa did with us. I can’t blow it, bro.

  I’d better close now, and go unpack some boxes before she comes round. I thought I might find some jasmine – she says she loves the scent, just like Mom used to. Lord, but I still miss her.

  Write me soon, kiss Lolly for me, and see about that computer!

  Jackson

  2

  William

  Christ Almighty, the poor bastard was only forty-one. Seven years younger than me. And a damn sight fitter, according to Ella: tennis, cycling, jogging down the Thames towpath at weekends. You’re always reading about these health nuts keeling over in their running shorts, perfect specimens of physical fitness (apart from the unfortunate fact that they’re dead); but it wasn’t the running that gave him a heart attack. A fucking virus. Jesus.

  It makes you think. Shit, it could happen to anyone; I could be next. Ella says it’s not catching, it was just one of those freaky bugs that come out of nowhere, but let’s face it, she’s a paediatrician, not an immunologist—

  ‘
Mr Ashfield, is everything OK?’

  I start. ‘Sorry, Carolyn, miles away.’

  My PA consults her notepad, nipples perking from the air-conditioning. ‘Joe needs an answer on the Brunswick proposal. I told him you’re still waiting to hear back from Natasha, said you’d be in touch after the weekend. He’s not happy, but he’ll live with it.’

  ‘Good. Did Sky get back to us yet about the Malinche Lyon interview?’

  ‘Still waiting to hear. You’ve got about a dozen messages from Andammon, they’re really keen—’

  ‘Not interested. We’ll have all our blue-chip clients beating a path out the door if we start representing footballers’ wives. Tell them we’re not taking anyone else on right now, and give them Clifford’s number.’

  Idly, I watch her pert derrière wiggle out of the room, then swivel my chair back towards the window, barely noticing the stunning floor-to-ceiling view of Canary Wharf. Funny how you can work towards something for years, and six months later it barely registers.

  I can’t get Ella’s husband out of my head. Which is ironic, given I’ve been screwing his wife on a regular basis for the last eight years and until he checked into the morgue a week ago I’d barely spared him a thought.

  I’m not bloody proud of it; messing about with another man’s wife isn’t something I take lightly. No question, if Jackson had twigged what was going on, he’d have been quite within his rights to nail my balls to a tree. But in my defence, it wasn’t as if I was going to break up the marriage. Perhaps, if it hadn’t been for Beth – if she wasn’t the way she is . . .

  It’s always been clearly understood, right from the outset, that divorce wasn’t an option for either of us; all the more so after Cyprus. Ella wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Still. She was in my bed when she found out her husband had turned up his toes. Hardly my fault, but it makes me feel a bit of a prick none the less.

  Of course, now she’s convinced it would’ve made a difference if she’d been with him. Says she might have seen the signs; though as I understand it, the whole problem is that there weren’t any.

  I’ve never known Ella feel guilty before. She doesn’t experience the self-doubt that plagues us ordinary mortals; that kind of confidence is very sexy. Handy, too, for a doctor; if you second-guessed yourself over every life-or-death decision, you’d wind up off your head. But I suppose that kind of hubris catches up with everyone in the end. Even brazen, beautiful Ella.

  I rub my hand over my face, trying to dispel a lingering weariness. Haven’t been sleeping all that well lately. Beth isn’t doing too brilliantly at the moment. I keep hoping she’s just missing the boys, that we’re not back on the slippery slope, but in the meantime there’s a lot of slack for me to pick up at home, and of course Cate is at that stage – mothers and daughters, never easy even in a normal household.

  And now Ella. Hard to know how things are going to go there. Suddenly single. Available, after all these years.

  I hope she’s not going to go getting any ideas about us. She seems to be taking it in her stride, as usual, but you never know. Even caught myself playing the old ‘What if?’ game once or twice. Jackson dying has rather put the cat amongst the pigeons, all in all—

  My mobile buzzes. ‘Cate,’ I exclaim, pleased. An unsolicited phone call from my seventeen-year-old daughter is a rare honour. ‘I was just thinking about you—’

  ‘Dad,’ she interrupts, ‘I think you’d better come home. Quickly.’

  The house is cold and silent when I open the front door. Instantly, I smell burning. I throw my briefcase on to the hall table and sprint into the kitchen. Inside the Aga are the charred remains of the steak-and-kidney stew I put in it at six o’clock this morning. I slam my fist against the wall. Damn it, Beth! I may not be Jamie Oliver in the kitchen, but I was up at sparrow’s fart to peel bloody carrots in the dark! All I asked you to do was take the fucking casserole out mid-morning. Is that really too much to ask?

  I throw the blackened dish in the sink and run the hot tap, holding on to my temper with difficulty. It’s not her fault. It’s not her fault. But Jesus Christ almighty, it isn’t mine either.

  Upstairs, Cate’s bedroom door is closed. The faint back-beat of music echoes down the hall. I raise my hand to knock, and then think better of it. Cate’s pretty savvy, but at the end of the day she’s still a child. She should be obsessing over pop stars and clothes and worrying about her exams, not helping me hold it together while her mother falls apart on us. Again.

  In our room, Beth is sitting on the edge of the unmade bed in her shapeless pink flannel nightdress, bare feet dangling over her towelling slippers. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t moved since I left her here this morning.

  Foreboding fills me. I haven’t seen her like this for years, not since Sam was small. I call her name, but she doesn’t respond. Even when I crouch down in front of her and say it again, she doesn’t show by so much as a flicker that she’s heard me.

  ‘Beth, baby, come on, you can’t do this to me. You have to try.’

  Gently, I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger and turn her head to look at me. She blinks, as if I’ve shone a light into her eyes.

  ‘I know you’re in there, darling. I’m not letting you just give up.’

  Her watery blue eyes are expressionless, but still lucid, I note with relief.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart. I know you miss the boys, but they’ll be back soon as term’s over. Sam has an exeat weekend soon, and Ben will be down from Oxford in just a few more weeks—’

  ‘I want to die,’ my wife says.

  Marvellous. Well, at least she’s talking.

  ‘You know you don’t mean that.’

  ‘I don’t want to feel like this any more. I want this to be over. I want to just not be.’

  I stand up and switch on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. Briskly, I draw the curtains that I flung open this morning. ‘That’s not an option, Beth. This isn’t exactly a party for me, either. But we’ll get through it, we always do. Perhaps we need to go back to Dr Stone and get another prescription. Up the dosage.’

  ‘I don’t want any more drugs.’

  Well, I bloody do. The kind Ben is secretly growing under the cloche by the apple tree in between the tomato plants, so the spiky leaves don’t give him away.

  ‘Beth, darling, you must see you can’t go on like this,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Look at you: you haven’t moved in over twelve hours. You haven’t even managed to get dressed or take dinner out of the oven, let alone look after Cate. Sweetheart, you can’t even look after yourself!’

  Her still-pretty face is a blank mask. I have no idea what – if anything – is going on inside her head. I hate it when she shuts down like this.

  I resist the sudden urge to shake a response from her. She can’t help it. I have to keep telling myself that.

  ‘Look. If we need to change your medicine, darling, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll take some time off work, God knows how, but we’ll go away for a bit, do whatever we have to—’

  ‘Don’t you get it?’ Beth cries unexpectedly. ‘This isn’t about the boys leaving. It’s not about anything. It’s me. It’s who I am. It’s not going to change. You can’t cheer me up or jolly me out of it with a trip to the seaside. Don’t you think I’d give anything not to be like this?’ She thumps her thigh with her fist. ‘I’d rather be dead than wake up one more morning feeling this way, and the only reason I’m still here is that I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it!’

  She buries her face in her hands, and I’m about to comfort her, to put my arms around her as I always do; but for once all I can think of is Ella, who has been my lifeline for eight years; strong, fearless Ella, knocked sideways in an instant by death. I am scared shitless of what it may mean for us, of all that I suddenly now stand to lose.

  Fear explodes into anger.

  ‘Death may be better for you, but what about those you leave behind?’ I demand. ’What about Ben, and Cate, and Sam? What about me?’

  ‘You’d be better off without me.’

  To my shame, I don’t contradict her. I’ve soothed and calmed my troubled wife for twenty-one years, biting my tongue and getting on with things. I may not have kept all my vows, God forgive me, but I’ve stuck with the one that really mattered: she’s my wife, in sickness and in health. Even at her worst, even when she doesn’t know her own name. I’ve loved her as hard as I can, in the best way I know how. Of course I’ve had the odd fling – Christ, I’m only human – but nothing serious, not until Ella. And she made it clear from the start that she wasn’t going to leave her husband, so that took divorce off the table once and for all.