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The thrill of an affair is like nothing else.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. We weren’t going there. Not in a million years.
I slammed the laptop shut with a determined thump.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I was far too wired to go back to sleep now, so I hesitated at the top of the stairs before going into the music room. I had the sudden itch to play something on the piano – hopefully the ear-plugs Petra wore, combined with two closed doors between us, would prevent waking her.
There were only a few pieces I knew off by heart, but Comptine d’un autre été: L’après midi was one of them. Uncomplicated but yet effective, melancholy and moving without being loud and intrusive, it was the perfect song to play on the piano at two-thirty on a rainy Thursday morning, especially given how I was feeling.
Muscle memory led my left hand through the opening bars as I settled into a tempo the slightest bit slower than how it was meant to be played. I repeated the opening four bars twice, letting myself relax into it. I even closed my eyes and let instinct take over as my right hand began to pick out the melody line, calmly as if selecting each individual note from a mouthwatering choice, before tickling the keys lightly as the piece cantered along. Revisiting the opening melody, this time up the octave, brought tears to my eyes, stinging the backs of them and pinching at my nose. I forced myself to keep going even as they cascaded down my cheeks, the sadness in the notes cutting me deeply as they rippled in the highest keys. I could barely keep my hands from shaking as they finally stilled on the final chord, bringing the piece to the perfect ending. Then my hands flew to my face as I cried quietly, hoping against hope that Petra wouldn’t wake up and find me like this. Then I really would have to tell her what was going on: all the turmoil I was holding inside me. I felt that that could only go one of two ways: her disgust, revulsion and the complete breakdown of our marriage, or her taking on my problems stoically, adding them to the teetering pile she already had balancing on her slim shoulders. The former was highly unlikely, given how supportive she was being of ‘Anonymity Smith’, but even so I couldn’t bear to see either of those happen.
No. I swallowed hard. As her wife, it was my duty to take on as much of her burden as I possibly could. With the sensitive nature of her job, that was very difficult, but she had a week off coming up. I knew that it would hardly be a week off, what with everything she had to organise, but I could at least treat her a little. Perhaps over the first weekend – this weekend. My spirits lifted. Yes – that was what I could do. As a starting point, at least. A weekend of Treating Petra Right. In capitals. Hopefully it would bring us closer together, reawaken those feelings inside me that had tonight been diverted by Gemma, and serve as a distraction from my angst.
My tears had all but dried by the time I stumbled back into bed a few minutes later. I had a solid plan: a decadent picnic on Saturday, followed by a shopping trip on Sunday. Both things I knew Petra enjoyed, and both of which would hopefully re-establish our connection. I could perhaps even initiate… a few things. Our sex life was non-existent at the moment, although my menopausal hormones had contributed to that long before any of this had happened.
Before pulling back the covers, however, I froze. Petra had shifted, now laying on her right facing away from me. One arm was outside the covers, and in her hand was a balled-up tissue, her ear plugs now on the bedside table next to her rather than in her ears. She was too tense to be asleep, and her breathing was that of someone who was awake. My heart thumped in my ears as I contemplated the notion that she’d actually heard me playing, and possibly crying afterwards. And… that that had made her cry, too.
I didn’t know whether to say anything. In the end, I decided not to. Gently, trying not to let on that I knew she was awake, I drew back the covers and climbed back into bed, laying on my back. Sleep was just pulling me under again when Petra shifted onto her back too and let out a deep sigh.
“Nursery rhyme from another summer,” she said, her voice hoarse. For a second I thought she was talking in her sleep, and stayed still. But then, “That’s what that means. The title of that piece.” She paused. “I wish it was another summer.”
Once again, I froze. I wanted to respond, of course I did. But I didn’t know how to. Whatever I said, it would give away in a heartbeat how I felt. So I stayed silent, and after a moment Petra gave another deep sigh and turned back away from me.
Me too, Petra, I thought. Me too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My weekend of ‘Treating Petra Right’ began the moment she stepped through the door. I met her with the most radiant smile I could manage, a peck on the cheek, and a chirp of “Congratulations, my love! You’re free for a week!”
“Theoretically,” she replied. “Victoria’s feeling marginally stronger, finally, so I’ve arranged to go and see her at home tomorrow. She wants to hear everything that’s going on.”
“Tomorrow?” My heart sank.
“And then I’ve got buckets of work to do. She couldn’t have gotten hurt at a worse time, really. The summer term is always the busiest. There’s Sports Day, the summer fete, parents’ evening for Year Two and Year Five, all the jazz that goes with new intake for September, leavers’ malarkey for Year Six… I need to use this week off to get on top of it all.”
“Doesn’t sound much like a week off,” I said. It came out more sarcastic than I intended, but she didn’t seem to pick up on it.
“No, it’s not really, is it?”
She looked forlorn all of a sudden, her tote bag still over her shoulder, fiddling with the strap of her watch nervously. She wouldn’t meet my eye, so I took a step forward and, with some effort, booped her on the nose. It was uncharacteristic for both of us, and she squinted at me sceptically.
“But all of that starts on Monday,” I said, in the most decisive tone I could manage. It didn’t wash, and she raised an eyebrow. “As your wife…” I gulped, hoping she’d think it was due to her glare, “…I’m staging an intervention, and forcing you to have the weekend off.”
“No, Jean, that’s not feasible.”
“It’ll have to be. I’ve made plans. Rearrange with Victoria, because tomorrow we’re going on a picnic. I’ve got all the gear; I’ve even found our old picnic basket. And on Sunday we’re going shopping.”
Now her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. “Shopping? You’re actively volunteering to go… shopping?”
“It’s how you unwind, isn’t it? One of the ways, at least. I’ve done some strategic shift-swapping, so I have the whole weekend off, and we’re going to walk around Lygate shopping centre and make a damn sight better job of it than we did last time we went. I’m not going to be an arse, and you’re going to get whatever the hell you want.”
I must have had a rather frenzied look in my eye, because she squinted at me again.
“Jean, are you all right? You’ve never actively volunteered to go shopping before.”
“I’m doing it for you. I’d do anything for you, Petra. Even if, in my less agreeable moments, it doesn’t seem that way.”
