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Perhaps Petra, by some miracle, sensed my distractedness, because she kept up a stream of light-hearted chatter that I eventually half-tuned in to. If I’d have been feeling my normal self, I’d have probably capitalised on her now-seldom chattiness and tried to use it to gain some insight into the tangle of her thoughts, but as it was all I could do was listen and offer the odd affirmative. As if in a daze, I followed her around the whole field, row after row of tables filled with junk and the odd treasure. Petra bought a few more items, all of which she showed me but none of which went in, and I stood by her side smiling politely at the vendors.
Eventually we made it around the whole field and got back to the car. By unspoken agreement Petra made for the driver’s seat again – my legs were too jelly-like to drive, although how she could possibly have known that I had no idea. As we’d walked away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds, I’d realised that the noise in my ears was a strange sort of roaring – not just the hubbub, because it followed me. But as Petra shut the car door with a bang, it stopped as if it had been a telephone conversation, with the wire cut.
“What?”
With unusual effort, I dragged my gaze to meet Petra’s. I only managed to hold eye contact for a second before looking back out of the front window. “What ‘what’?” I responded numbly.
“You hardly said a word the whole time we were out there. Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” My response was automatic, and in far too high a pitch for my liking. “I’m just… vibing.”
“Vibing?” Petra repeated the word incredulously, but with a quirk of the lips. “That’s not a word you use. Who have you been talking to?”
Gemma. I’d been talking to Gemma. She’d used the word a while back. But I couldn’t exactly say that.
“Social media!” I tried to laugh. “I think that’s where I got it from. Either that or watching Heartstopper. I think the kids on that show might use it.”
“You mean you watched it without me?” Petra pouted.
“I didn’t think you were interested,” I protested with a shrug. “It’s not like you’ve exactly been communicating with me recently.”
All of the air went out of the car as Petra froze. I scrabbled for the door handle to let some air in, but she still didn’t move. With supreme effort, I bit my tongue against my knee-jerk instinct to smooth things over again, like I had done last night. This might not be exactly what had been weighing on my mind this morning, but it was still a contributing factor.
“I’m sorry.” Her whisper was barely audible, especially over the thumping of my pulse in my ears. I leaned forward to hear her better, but she didn’t say anything else.
I didn’t know what to say either – I rummaged in my brain, but every avenue of conversation came up dry. The only words in my mind were ‘Are you having an affair?’ but I simply couldn’t bring myself to say them, not without any actual solid proof, and certainly not given how I’d been feeling about Gemma. So we sat there for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only a minute or two, until she finally broke the silence.
“We just need to get through seven more weeks,” she said. Her voice was unsteady. “Seven more weeks of this shit. Give or take a couple of days. Then we’ll be ourselves again. I can be a proper, decent wife to you again. I just need you to bear with me. I just… don’t have time for anything else outside of work right now.”
“Not even me?”
She stared, not at me, but at a point just past me out of the passenger side window. “Not even you. I never thought I’d say that. I’m sorry, but that is the way it is. I just need every scrap of energy I can get to haul myself towards the finish line. But in seven weeks, all of that will change. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
The deadness in her voice alarmed me more than anything else. I made a wild grab for her hands as she made to turn the key in the ignition.
“Petra! Please, let me in. Let me help you. I want to make this as easy as possible for you. Please, just tell me what I can do to help.” I hated the begging note in my voice… but then, I hated everything about my voice.
I hated everything about myself in that moment.
“You can’t do anything.” Now Petra’s voice was rough, like she was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I know it must be hurting you to see me like this… but I just need to knuckle down. Just… let me get on with it. Let me cope the way I see fit. For seven weeks. Then it’ll all be over and normal life will resume. I’ll be me again. With you.”
“And what am I supposed to do without you? While you’re busy being headteacher, where does that leave me? Wifeless?”
She propped her elbows on the steering wheel and then massaged her temples.
“I thought you said you were okay. You were fine. You are okay, aren’t you?”
That wasn’t a question. That was a plea. And how could I respond to that with anything other than, “Yes, I’m fine.”
She sat back up and puffed out her chest. Determination poured over her, hardening her jaw and balling her hands into fists.
“I’m going to make a cake this afternoon. What cake do you want me to make?”
“Wha-? Cake?” My brain slammed on the brakes and scrambled to change directions, following the abrupt subject change.
“Yes. Cake. Therapeutic baking. That’s how you can help. Tell me what cake to bake.”
“Cake,” I said again. “Well… that’s… chocolate cake. Does that suit?”
