She stared with new eyes at their living room. Casually angled cushions on the sofa, bright wacky rug on polished floorboards. The bookshelf, lined with photos, each one carefully selected and framed as evidence of their happy, active lives. Look! We’re so loving and cosmopolitan, so fit and humorous! Here we are smiling and hugging in our ski gear! Here we are having a laugh before we go scuba diving! We party with our friends! We pull ironic faces at the camera!
She looked back at Dan. He was quite a good-looking man, her husband. It used to worry her in a pleasurable, not-really-worried way.
He’s been unfaithful to me, she thought, trying it out. It was bizarre. Surreal. Part of her wanted to switch the television back on and pretend it had never happened. I have to iron my skirt for tomorrow, she thought. I should do my Christmas list.
“It was nothing,” he said. “It was just a stupid one-night stand.”
“Don’t call it that!”
“O.K.”
“This is all so tacky.”
He looked at her beseechingly. A speck of tomato sauce quivered beneath his nose.
“You’ve got food on your face,” she said savagely. His guilt was inflating her, making her powerful with righteousness. He was the criminal and she was the cop. The bad cop. The one that grabbed the criminal’s shirtfront and slammed him up against the wall.
She said, “Why are you telling me this now? Is it just to make you feel better?”
“I don’t know. I kept changing my mind. And then you said you’d want to know the truth.”
“I was talking to Ellie! I was watching television! I was eating dinner!”
“So you didn’t mean it?’
“For God’s sake. It’s too late now.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, and suddenly she wanted to weep like a five-year-old in the playground because Dan was meant to be her friend, her special friend.
“But, why?” Her voice cracked. “Why did you do it? I don’t understand why you would do that.”
“It didn’t mean anything. It really didn’t mean anything.” Had his friends told him to say that? “Tell her it didn’t mean anything, mate. That’s all they want to hear.”
If she were on Med School, one single tear would have been trickling so slowly, so heartbreakingly down her cheek. Instead, she was making strange, wheezy sounds as if she’d been running.
“Please don’t be upset. Cat. Babe.”
“Don’t be upset!”
Dan placed his palm tentatively against her arm. She pushed it violently away. “Don’t you touch me!”
They looked at each other in horror. Dan’s face was pasty-white. Cat was trembling with the sudden chasm-opening revelation that he must have touched this woman she’d never seen. Properly touched her. He must have kissed her. All the tiny, trivial details of sex.
“Did you take her bra off?”
“Cat!”
“I mean obviously her bra came off. I just want to know if she took it off, or you? Did you reach your hand up her back, while you were kissing and undo it? Have any difficulty? Was it a tricky one? Those tricky ones are bad, aren’t they? Been a while since you’ve had to worry about that. How’d you do? Breathe a sigh of relief once you got it undone?”
“Please stop it.”
“I will not stop it.”
“I took her bra off, O.K.! But it was nothing. I was drunk. It was nothing like with us. It didn’t—”
“It didn’t mean anything. Yes, I know. What meaningless position did you choose?”
“Please, Cat.”
“Did she have an orgasm?”
“Please don’t.”
“Oh, darling. Don’t worry. I’m sure she did. Those little techniques of yours are so reliable. I’m sure she was very appreciative.”
“Cat, I’m begging you to stop.” There was a tremor in his voice.
She wiped sweat from her forehead. It was too hot.
She felt ugly. In fact she was ugly. She put her hand to her chin and felt the pimple. Makeup! She needed makeup. She needed makeup, wardrobe, a hair stylist, and an air-conditioned set. Then she’d feel clean, beautiful waves of grief like the stars of Med School.
She got to her feet and picked up both their plates.
The back of her throat itched unbearably. Hay fever. Right now, of all times. She put the plates back down on the coffee table and sneezed four times. Each time she closed her eyes to sneeze, an image of a sliding bra strap exploded in her mind.
Dan went into the kitchen and came back with the box of tissues.
“Don’t look at me,” she said.
“What?” He held out the tissues.
“Just don’t look at me.”
That was when she picked up one of the plates of spaghetti and threw it straight against the wall.
To: Lyn; Cat
From: Gemma
Subject: Cat
LYN! WARNING, WARNING! DANGER, DANGER! I just spoke to Cat and she is in a VERY, VERY bad mood. I would not recommend ringing her about minding Maddie for another twenty-four hours at least.
Love, Gemma
To: Gemma
From: Cat
Subject: ME
Warning, warning, if you’re going to send e-mails about my bad mood at least make sure I don’t get them. That could really put me in a bad mood.
To: Gemma
From: Lyn
Subject: Cat
G. Need to be careful about hitting “reply all” instead of “reply to author” on old e-mails. Set up address book!! No doubt Cat v. impressed. Kara minding Maddie so no problem. L.
To: Lyn; Cat
From: Gemma
Subject: Kara
Dear Lyn,
I don’t know how to set up an address book but thank you for the thought. I don’t mean to alarm you but have you heard of SHAKING BABY SYNDROME? I think leaving Maddie with Kara could be very dangerous. Once I saw her shaking a box of cornflakes FURIOUSLY. She is a teenager and teenagers have problems with their hormones that cause them to be just a little insane. Can’t you ask Cat, once she has finished her bad mood? Or else I could cancel my date with the luscious locksmith. I am prepared to do that to save Maddie’s life. Let me know. Love, Gemma
Cat wondered if her face looked different. It felt different, as if it were bruised and swollen. Both her eyes as if like they’d been punched. In fact, her whole body seemed strangely fragile. She’d been holding herself stiffly all day, as if she were sunburned.
It was surprising really, how much this hurt and how consistently it hurt. All day at work she kept thinking that she ought to get a painkiller and then remembering that she wasn’t actually in physical pain.
She hadn’t slept much the night before.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa bed,” Dan had announced, looking heroic and pale.
“No, you won’t,” said Cat, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
But when they got into bed and she lay there looking at the ceiling and listened to Dan’s breathing starting to slow—he was actually going to sleep—she had snapped back on the light and said, “Get out.”
He went, clutching his pillow sleepily to his stomach. Cat lay in bed and imagined her husband having sex with another woman. She was right there, under the covers with them, watching his hands, her hands, his mouth, her mouth.