Isabel Wolff - Out of the Blue

‘Other women do this all the time,’ I said to Graham briskly. ‘In any case, I need to go through them to see if any of them want dry cleaning.’ I found nothing untoward this time, except, well, one very odd thing actually – in his grey trouser pockets – a packet of Lucky Strike cigarettes. I showed it to Graham and we exchanged a meaningful glance.

‘I think I’ll go to the gym this evening,’ Peter said when he got home. ‘I haven’t been for over a week.’

‘Oh,’ I said. And whereas before I’d have thought nothing of it and gaily waved him off, now I was instantly on the alert. Why did he want to go to the gym all of a sudden? Who was he meeting there? Perhaps he had a rendezvous. Right. Let’s nip this in the bud.

‘Can I come too?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to have a swim.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ he said, so we put on Ready Steady Cook for Graham, got our sports bags and left.

‘Any news from Andy?’ I enquired as we drove along.

‘No,’ he sighed, ‘not yet.’ He changed up a gear.

‘And did you manage to finish the Amber Dane?’

‘Yes,’ he said wearily. ‘At long last. Satire!’ he expostulated again. ‘It’s not so much Juvenal as juven ile . I mean, why Charmaine wants to keep her on, I really don’t know. God, that woman gives me stress.’

‘Is that why you’ve started smoking?’ I asked innocently as we loitered at a red light.

‘Sorry?’

‘Is that why you’ve started smoking?’ I repeated. I wanted to see how well he could lie.

‘I don’t smoke,’ he said indignantly. ‘You know that.’

‘In that case, darling, why, when I emptied your grey trouser pockets at the dry cleaners today, did I find a packet of cigarettes?’

‘Cigarettes?’ he said. And I could see, even in the semi-darkness, that his face had flushed bright red. ‘What cigarettes?’

‘Lucky Strike,’ I replied.

‘Oh. Oh. Those cigarettes,’ he said as the car nosed forward again. ‘Yes, well, I didn’t want you to know this, but actually … I do smoke, just occasionally, when I’m stressed.’

‘I’ve never seen you do it,’ I said as the sign for the Hogarth Health Club came into view.

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d approve,’ he replied. ‘In any case, you’ve never seen me with serious stress before. But when I’m stressed, then just now and again, yes, I do like to have a quick fag.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I see.’ And then I suddenly remembered another thing that didn’t quite fit.

‘You don’t like chewing gum, do you?’ I asked as he parked the car.

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I hate it.’

‘So you’d never buy it, then?’

‘No. Of course not. Why on earth would I?’

‘Well, exactly,’ I said.

‘Look, Faith, I hope that’s the end of today’s inquisition,’ he said as he pulled up the handbrake.

‘No further questions,’ I said with a grim little smile.

‘And in future, Faith,’ he added as he turned off the ignition, ‘I’d rather you didn’t go through my pockets. You’ve never done it before and I don’t want you to start now.’ Of course he didn’t. Because then I’d find out for certain what at present I only suspected.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said breezily. ‘I won’t do it again.’ When we got home at nine thirty I pretended I was going to bed, but instead I crept into Matt’s room to use his computer. I knew he wouldn’t mind. There was a pile of CD Roms on the chair, and dozens of computer games on the bed. He seemed to be in the middle of reorganising his vast collection. I picked them up and looked at them – they’ve got the weirdest names: Zombie Revenge, Strider, Super Pang and Chu-Chu Rocket. Oh well, I thought, they keep him happy. Then I sat at his desk, turned on the computer and hit ‘Connect’. Eeeeeeeeeekkkk. Berddinnnnnggg. Chingggg. Bongggggg. Pingggggg. Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep. Blooooop. Krrrrrkkkkkkk. Krrrrrrkkkkkk. And I was in. I clicked onto Yahoo, did a search for the www.IsHeCheating.com website, then click, click, click … And there it was. As the page downloaded I quickly got the gist. It was one of these interactive sites. American. You could log on pseudonymously, e-mail your suspicions, and ask other people for advice. It was riveting to read. Sherry from Iowa was worried because she’d found a stocking in her husband’s car; Brandy from North Carolina was in despair because her boyfriend kept talking about a woman at work; and Chuck from Utah was upset because he’d intercepted his wife talking to her lover on the phone.

I’m almost certain he’s cheating, said Sherry. But although I want to know in one way, in another I don’t, because I’m scared of what I may find out.

Go with your guts, girl, advised Mary-Ann from Maine. A woman’s intuition is NEVER wrong.

Maybe it’s HIS stocking? suggested Frank from New Jersey. Maybe your husband’s a cross-dresser, and is too embarrassed to say.

Follow him to work, said Cathy from Milwaukee. But make sure you wear a wig.

I can’t. He’s a long-distance lorry-driver, Sherry had e-mailed back. I decided to log on as ‘Emily’ because that’s my middle name.

I think my husband may be having an affair, I typed. Or it could just be that I’m paranoid and insecure. But he has been behaving strangely, and I’m not sure it’s all due to pressure at work. He’s a publisher, I went on. So he gets to meet all sorts of glamorous people in the book world. And though I know he’s never strayed before, I think he may be doing so now. Firstly, he ordered flowers for someone in December, using our joint credit card. And when I challenged him about this he claimed – not very convincingly – that they were congratulatory flowers for an author. Secondly, I’ve been finding some odd things in his pockets – chewing gum, which he hates; and today I found a packet of cigarettes. But in fifteen years of marriage I have never, ever, seen him smoke. So I simply don’t trust him in the way I’ve always done before. And it’s making me feel terrible, so I’d be grateful for your thoughts.

The next afternoon I phoned Lily. ‘I need your advice,’ I said.

‘Of course, darling,’ she replied. ‘Whatever I can do to help.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s about Peter.’

‘ Is it?’ she breathed. ‘Oh dear. What’s happened?’

I sat down on the hall chair. ‘I’ve found out a few things.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. But I don’t know what they mean.’

‘They probably mean nothing ,’ she said confidently. ‘But I’ll tell you what I think.’

‘Right … ’ I began nervously. ‘He sent me flowers.’

‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Mmm,’ she added with a regretful sigh. ‘You know what they say about that.’

‘Yes, but the thing is,’ I said miserably, ‘that he sent someone else flowers, too.’

‘No!’ she gasped.

‘He claims they were for an author, Lily, but I’m just not sure. And then … ’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh Lily, I feel so disloyal telling you this,’ I said as I twisted my wedding ring back and forth.

‘Darling, you’re not being disloyal,’ she said quietly. ‘All you’re doing is protecting yourself.’

‘Protecting myself?’

‘Yes. Because if it is serious – though I’m absolutely sure it’s not – you don’t want to be taken by surprise. So tell me, what else have you found?’

‘Well … ’ I began again. And then stopped. ‘Oh God, I can’t go on, Lily. I feel so treacherous. I mean, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you see, you’ve never had a husband.’