Kerry Barrett - Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered

‘I’ll come up as soon as I can,’ Harry was saying. ‘Next week, probably. Your mum needs you, Ez. My mum needs you. I…’

There was a pause. I looked at her in expectation. But apparently she’d finished.

I pushed my glass of wine away and picked up my bag.

‘Sorry,’ I said, shuffling back along the bench. ‘I have to go back to the office. Don’t you have a plane to catch?’

‘So I told her, there was absolutely no way I was going,’ I said to Dom, my sort-of-boyfriend later that evening. I’d bumped into him when I’d gone back to the office to pick up my things, and persuaded him to come back to mine, which hardly ever happened. He looked out of place in my tiny flat; too big and too male as he lounged against my Cath Kidston cushions and smiled at me as I ranted and paced the floor in front of him.

‘Absolutely no way,’ I repeated.

Dom looked at me, a glint of mischief in his brown eyes.

‘So when are you leaving?

I screwed up my nose.

‘Tomorrow,’ I said miserably. ‘Straight after work.’

He chuckled, but to give him his due, he didn’t labour the point. Instead he patted the cushion next to him and pulled me down on to the sofa. I cuddled into him, enjoying the rare pleasure of having him all to myself.

‘I’m in court all day tomorrow,’ he said. ‘So I won’t get to see you before you go.’

‘Well, we’d better make tonight count then,’ I said, looking up at him in what I hoped was a coquettish, flirty manner.

Dom leaned down to kiss me, when suddenly his phone rang making me jump and ruining the moment. I glared at him as he answered and motioned for me to be quiet.

‘Hello, Rebecca,’ he said. ‘Yep, got stuck in the office, but I’m just finishing up here.’

I pulled my legs away from Dom, stood up and flounced into my tiny kitchen where I slumped against the work surface. Rebecca was the reason Dom was only my ‘sort-of boyfriend’. Because she was sort of his wife. Well, if I was being honest, there was no sort of about it. She was his actual wife. Which made me his actual mistress.

I wasn’t proud of myself. I knew what I was doing was wrong. But Dom had charmed me and I felt as though I had no control over my actions. He’d broken through all my defences. And actually, the secrecy and the subterfuge suited me quite well.

Dom and I had been working together for two years. We’d been sleeping together for nearly a year. The first time it happened I’d been working late in the office, desperate to make my mark in a company full of overachievers. As I pored over files and wrote reams of notes, Dom appeared at my office door.

‘Come for a drink,’ he said.

‘I can’t,’ I replied, not even looking up. Dom had been circling me for weeks, months even, flirting and going out of his way to pay me attention. I wasn’t interested. I avoided relationships and preferred to spend all my spare time working.

‘You work too hard.’ He walked towards my desk and sat down on the chair in front of me.

‘So do you.’ I turned a page in the folder I was reading and carried on making notes in the margin.

‘Pleeeease,’ Dom whined like a little boy. ‘I’m sooooo bored.’

In spite of myself I laughed and finally looked up. His wide, blue eyes with a hint of mischief met mine, and a tiny bud of lust curled in my stomach. How could I resist?

‘I can’t go for a drink,’ I said firmly. ‘But if you go and get me a coffee, I’ll take a break and we can chat for five minutes.’

Dom had brought me a coffee – and a bottle of wine – and we chatted for hours that night. And the next night, when we both worked late again. And after a few ‘dates’ in the office, we went out for dinner. Just an above-board business dinner between colleagues at a restaurant near work.

Except the restaurant was expensive and softly lit and we didn’t talk about business.

When we finally staggered out into the street, dizzy with red wine, good food and lust, I raised my arm to hail a cab. Dom caught my hand and pulled me to face him.

‘What now?’ he asked. His face was close to mine and I could feel his breath on my lips. My legs were like jelly and although I knew I should pull away, I couldn’t.

‘You’re married,’ I whispered.

Dom nodded. A flicker of something – guilt? – crossed his eyes.

‘The ball’s in your court, Esme,’ he said, pulling me closer.

I opened my mouth to tell him to go home to his wife. But instead I found myself leaning forward to kiss him. He tasted of garlic and coffee and fun and I was bewitched.

So when a taxi pulled up beside us and Dom got in with me, and gave the cabbie my address, I didn’t protest. And that was that.

A year of snatched meetings and illicit evenings later I still felt terrible whenever I thought of Dom’s wife. And I still hated it if she called when I was with him.

I didn’t want Dom to leave her, I told myself. I was happy working long hours and spending time alone in my flat or at the gym. Having a full-time boyfriend would cramp my style. Plus, it suited me to have some distance between us. I may not have been an enthusiastic user of magic, but all my family were. Just the thought of inviting a boyfriend home and watching his face as Mum made Sunday dinner in her own special way gave me chills. And my family’s track record when it came to my love life was not good. But still my heart ached when Dom slipped out of my bed at night and went home to his wife.

I ignored the nagging voice inside me that told me what I was doing was wrong. I ignored my guilt about Rebecca, and, most of all, I ignored the feeling that despite my fabulous, well-paid job, my gorgeous flat and my handsome, sophisticated sort-of boyfriend, I was lonely.

‘I’m going to miss you.’ Dom interrupted my thoughts. He had finished his phone call and come to find me in the kitchen. He snaked his arms round my waist and planted a kiss on my neck.

‘No you won’t,’ I said, pulling his arms off me. ‘You won’t even notice I’m not here.’

Dom winked at me. ‘Of course I will. I love you,’ he said. I gaped at him. He’d never said that before. Ignoring my silence, Dom picked up his car keys.

‘Bye,’ he called from the hall, as he blew me a kiss.

I pretended to catch it. ‘Bye then,’ I whispered.

The next day at work was mental. My boss, Maggie, almost tipped me over the edge because she was frantically preparing for a meeting with another Hollywood couple about the baby they were trying to adopt, and she couldn’t decide what to wear. I was trying very hard to tie up any loose ends and pass on the cases that I could pass on before I went to Scotland. And I was wrestling with a client who’d decided to start Tweeting vindictive messages to her cheating husband despite my desperate voicemails begging her to stop.

I am a family lawyer. That sounds quite fluffy but believe me it isn’t. In my experience, family law is about as nasty as it gets. Especially the bit I’m involved with. Think cheating Premiership footballers, wronged pop stars and celebrities buying African babies and you’re pretty close. Still, it’s a living. And it keeps me very, very busy, which is the idea.

Eventually, things calmed down enough for me to sit back in my chair and look at my phone. I knew I had to phone Mum and tell her I was coming up. Harry had emailed to say she’d passed on my flight details, but if I was expecting to stay it was only polite to call. It’s not like Mum and I never talk. We do, of course. But we’re not mates, not close like Harry and Suky are. I would never tell her about Dom, for example, or really fill her in on anything happening in my life – because the last time I did, when I was sixteen, it all backfired on me in the worst way and Mum and I had a major falling out. Major.