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The froideur between us melted only marginally while we ate at the top of the hill. Petra expressed appreciation for the food, especially the bar of salted dark chocolate I produced at the end, which she only ever allowed herself as an occasional indulgence.
“Just one square,” she said, but I kept handing them to her as she stared at the view and before we knew it, the bar had gone. When she turned back to me and noticed this, her eyebrows raised. “Hey, you’re supposed to be helping me out here! Not feeding me chocolate!”
“You’re still losing weight,” I said, the words coming out before I could filter them. “I know it’s the stress, but I thought a little chocolate might help. Plus, we’ve had fruit to balance it out.”
“I guess,” she said, and quickly got to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
Let’s go home? This time it was my eyebrows that raised. Petra never said that – she was always a doer, someone who wanted to be on the go at all times, always out and about. I took a closer look at her, and saw the dark circles under her eyes now she’d taken off her sunglasses, accentuated by the sun on her face. She must still be feeling pretty wiped. It was a foolish thought on my part to have expected one lie-in to make up for all those lost hours of sleep.
On the way home, she walked slightly ahead of me, carrying the now much lighter picnic basket. It was understandable on the narrower parts of the track, like going back down the hill, but even on the wider parts she stayed a few steps ahead of me, and to onlookers it probably looked like I was chasing her.
Halfway back home, she stopped dead.
“Shit. Shit,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong?” I said, finally drawing level with her. To my surprise, she handed me the basket.
“I need to drop by the school. I left something in my office. Something I need.”
“What can you possibly need if you’re not doing any work today, like we agreed?”
“My watch!” She tapped her empty wrist dramatically. “I like to be able to tell the time.”
“But you have your phone clock! And plenty of clocks at home…” I tailed off, because she was already walking back towards the school.
“You go ahead. I’ll be five minutes, okay?”
“Fine,” I whispered, and continued to trudge up the hill. By the time I let myself into Oceanview, tears were stinging my eyes, and I let them fall as soon as the door was shut.
Quickly. Cry and then get cleaned up. She’ll be back any second.
Throwing the basket onto the sofa, I lolloped up the stairs, clumsily because of my blurred vision. Petra had a box of tissues on her bedside table and as I fumbled for it, my hand connected with something cold and round and shiny.
Her watch.
Now I remembered seeing it on her yesterday. She’d been toying with it anxiously when she came in the door, before consciously making an effort to stop herself. Could she really have forgotten that, and thought it was still at school? Despite seeing it on her bedside table this morning? Or… was that an excuse?
Was she lying to me?
I sunk onto the bed, my hand grabbing a tissue on autopilot and wiping my eyes and nose. One more question appeared in my mind, out of nowhere.
Is SHE having an affair?
Chapter Thirty
The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
Her physical and emotional absence. The way she carried her phone around with her now rather than leaving it laying around. Her aversion to sex, and touch in general. Her sudden new affinity for drowning herself in perfume – especially when she arrived home at night.
I gasped out loud. The signs were there. The signs were flashing in bright elaborate neon monstrosities – literally flashing as my vision started to flicker – and I’d been blind to them.
My blood ran cold. Who the fuck is it?
It had to be someone at work. That was where she spent all of her time, and someone would very likely report it back to me if they spotted her sneaking about into someone else’s house. The rumour mill and gossip chain in this village were well-oiled machines. I cast my mind back to last night, the five other women (and two men) who’d been at the booth with us, the way she’d come to life under all of their attention. There had been Stella McBride – of course, Stella McBride!
It was all so obvious now. Stella was gorgeousity personified. Young – in her late twenties, I’d say – and leggy. Dignified and confident. Dark-haired and alluring. Exactly as Petra had been when I’d first known her. Exactly as she still was, in fact. With us, it had been a case of ‘opposites-attract’, but how could I expect anyone not to fall for that…?
Clutching my head with my hand, I ran through everything I knew about her. She was a relatively new hire, having started in September. Petra had interviewed her for the position about a year ago, but other than that, I couldn’t think of anything else she’d said about her. The only reason I even knew her face was because we’d seen her around the village and Petra had pointed her out.
