Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

Ray opened his mouth to protest, but Mags shook her head.

‘You talk more to Kate than you do to me,’ she said. ‘I could see it this evening – that connection between you. I’m not daft, I know what it’s like when you’re working all hours with someone: you talk to them, of course you do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me too.’ She forced out another burst of steam and pushed the iron harder across the board, back and forth, back and forth. ‘Nobody’s ever laid on their death bed wishing they had spent more time at work,’ she said. ‘But our kids are growing up and you’re missing it. And before too long they’ll be gone and you’ll be retired, and it’ll be me and you, and we won’t have anything to say to each other.’

It wasn’t true, Ray thought, and he tried to find the words to say so, but they stuck in his throat and he found himself simply shaking his head as though he could make her words go away. He thought he heard Mags sigh, but it might have just been another cloud of steam.

38

You never forgave me for that night in Venice. You never lost that watchfulness, and you never again gave yourself up to me completely. Even when the bruise had faded from the bridge of your nose, and we could have forgotten all about it, I knew you were still thinking about it. I knew from the way your eyes followed me across the room when I went to get a beer, and from the hesitation in your voice before you answered me, although you told me constantly you were fine.

We went out for dinner on our anniversary. I had found you a leather-bound book on Rodin, in the antique bookshop in Chapel Road, and I wrapped it in the newspaper I had saved from our wedding day.

‘The first anniversary is paper,’ I reminded you, and your eyes lit up.

‘It’s perfect!’ You folded the newspaper carefully and slipped it inside the book, where I had written a note: For Jennifer, who I love more each day , and you kissed me hard on the lips. ‘I do love you, you know,’ you said.

Sometimes I wasn’t sure, but I never doubted the way I felt about you. I loved you so much it frightened me; I didn’t realise it was possible to want someone so badly you would do anything to keep them. If I could have taken you away to a desert island, away from everyone, I would have done it.

‘I’ve been asked to take a new adult education class,’ you said, as we were shown to our table.

‘What’s the money like?’

You screwed up your nose. ‘Pretty dreadful, but it’s a therapy course offered at a subsidised rate to people with depression. I think it’ll be a really worthwhile thing to do.’

I snorted. ‘That sounds like a bundle of laughs.’

‘There’s a strong link between creative pursuits and people’s moods,’ you said. ‘It would be great to know I was helping their recovery, and it’s only for eight weeks. I should be able to fit it in around my other classes.’

‘As long as you still have time for your work.’ Your pieces were in five shops in the city now.

You nodded. ‘It’ll be fine. My regular orders are all manageable, and I’ll limit the number of commissions I take for a while. Mind you, I didn’t expect to end up doing quite so much teaching – I shall have to cut down next year.’

‘Well, you know what they say,’ I said, with a laugh. ‘Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach!’

You said nothing.

Our food arrived and the waiter made a fuss of pulling out your napkin and pouring the wine.

‘I was thinking it might be a good idea for me to open a separate bank account for the business,’ you said.

‘Why do you need to do that?’ I wondered who had suggested that to you, and why you had been discussing our finances with them.

‘It might be easier when I do my tax return. You know, if everything’s in one account.’

‘It’ll only mean extra paperwork for you,’ I said. I cut my steak in half to check it was cooked the way I liked it, and carefully removed the fat to place on the side of my plate.

‘I don’t mind.’

‘No, it’s easier if it all carries on going into mine,’ I said. ‘After all, I’m the one who pays the mortgage and the bills.’

‘I suppose so.’ You picked at your risotto.

‘Do you need more cash?’ I said. ‘I can give you more housekeeping money this month if you like.’

‘Maybe a little.’

‘What do you need it for?’

‘I thought I might go shopping,’ you said. ‘I could do with some new clothes.’

‘Why don’t I come with you? You know what you’re like when you buy clothes – you’ll choose things that look awful when you get home, and you’ll end up taking half of them back.’ I laughed, and reached across the table to squeeze your hand. ‘I’ll take some time off work and we’ll make a day of it. We’ll have lunch somewhere nice and then we’ll hit the shops and you can hammer my credit card as much as you like. Does that sound good?’

You nodded, and I concentrated on my steak. I ordered another bottle of red wine, and by the time I had finished it we were the last couple in the restaurant. I left too big a tip and fell against the waiter when he brought my coat.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said, ‘he’s had a bit too much to drink.’

The waiter smiled politely, and I waited until we were outside before I took your arm and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. ‘Don’t ever apologise for me.’

You were shocked. I don’t know why – wasn’t this what you had been expecting since Venice?

‘I’m sorry,’ you said, and I released your arm and took your hand instead.

It was late when we got home, and you went straight upstairs. I turned off the downstairs lights and joined you, but you were already in bed. When I got in next to you, you turned to me and kissed me, running your hands down my chest.

‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ you said.

I closed my eyes and waited for you to slip beneath the duvet. I knew it was pointless: I had drunk two bottles of wine and felt not so much as a stirring when you took me in your mouth. I let you try for a few moments, then pushed your head away.

‘You don’t turn me on any more,’ I said. I rolled over to face the wall, and shut my eyes. You got up for the bathroom, and I could hear you crying as I went to sleep.

I didn’t plan to cheat on you once we were married, but you stopped making an effort in bed completely. Do you blame me for looking elsewhere, when the alternative is missionary position with a wife who keeps her eyes shut the entire time? I started going out on a Friday after work, coming home in the early hours whenever I’d had enough of whoever I had ended up in bed with. You didn’t seem to care, and after a while I didn’t bother coming home at all. I would roll in at lunchtime on Saturday and find you in your studio, and you never asked where I’d been or who I’d been with. It became like a game, seeing how far I could push you before you accused me of being unfaithful.

The day you did I was watching football. Man U were playing Chelsea, and I was sitting with my feet up and a cold beer. You stood in front of the television.

‘Get out of the way – they’re into extra time!’

‘Who’s Charlotte?’ you said.

‘What do you mean?’ I craned my neck to see past you.

‘It’s written on a receipt in the pocket of your coat, with a phone number. Who is she?’

There was a cheer from the television as Man U scored in time for the final whistle. I sighed and reached for the remote to turn it off.

‘Happy now?’ I lit a cigarette, knowing it would infuriate you.

‘Can’t you smoke that outside?’

‘No, I can’t,’ I said, blowing a stream of smoke towards you. ‘Because this is my house, not yours.’