Fernando lost his mother six months ago, and going back to Cuba to wrap up her affairs is what put a strain on the relationship. I’m not saying Hugh was right to stray because he felt neglected, but big life events often make us behave in ways that are profoundly out of character.
It’s not a walk in the park to forgive a Category 5, but however counter-intuitive it might feel, it comes from a place of love. And if a couple can work through it, they often come out the other side much stronger.
When they’re gone, I can’t help wondering about whether Rich is a Category 5, too. I was convinced he’d done it because he could – that he wrongly assumed I would forgive him – but what if he’d strayed to get my attention?
All my energy had been taken up by my PhD, worrying about my book proposal, plus all the other demands of daily life. He’d pushed for a holiday back in May when his sister had invited us to go with her and her boyfriend to Miami. But I’d dismissed the idea because I was so busy.
Would things have been different if we’d gone? Would time away from our stale routine have restrengthened our bond, just when we needed it?
I know I’m not to blame for what Rich did, but retracing the steps that led to his betrayal feels essential. I need to identify the factors that contributed to his fatal lapse of judgement.
Because if I don’t, how will I ever trust anyone again?
I’m back at the flat for the first time in five days. Or rather, I’m dawdling outside, waiting for Yan to arrive.
I’ve come to pick up my passport and some proper summer clothes for Cyprus. After Hugh and Fernando left, I spotted Rich leaving the clinic in his workout gear. Wednesday is his running club night, which means I’ve got a comfortable couple of hours to zip in and out of the flat before he comes home.
I’m hanging back, a good ten metres from number 23, when I see Yan slide into a parking space by the front door.
He gets out of the car when he sees me and walks round to the boot.
‘I brought a suitcase,’ he says. ‘It’ll make life easier.’
I nod, grateful for his thoughtfulness.
I peer through the living room windows. It doesn’t look like Rich is home, but I ring the bell, just in case.
‘Come on, Nell,’ says Yan, after a couple of moments when it’s obvious no one is in. ‘Fifteen minutes in and out.’
I twist the key in the lock and open the door.
It was always going to be difficult coming back, but I’m unprepared for how alien it feels. Even the most familiar things feel off. Our matching trench coats hanging on a peg, ones we never wear, but can never throw out.
‘Nella?’ comes Yan’s gentle voice. ‘It’s getting chilly on the doorstep.’
I shuffle forwards to make room for him.
He notices me staring at the coats. ‘Shall I find a kitchen knife so you can start slashing? We can pretend there was a break-in. Or we can come back with some prawns and sew them into the lining of his jackets. I can get a good price wholesale.’
I manage a weak smile. ‘Not sure he’d believe that was a burglar.’
We walk into the living room, and I’m amazed by how messy the place is – dirty plates and glasses, empty pizza boxes, and ring marks on the coffee table.
Yan notices, too.
‘You’ve been gone five days, and he’s forgotten he’s got a sink and washing-up liquid? Were you constantly clearing up after him?’
I avoid his eye. ‘The odd mug, maybe.’
‘I bet it was more than that,’ mutters Yan. ‘Still, at least now he’ll realise how much you were doing.’
Rich’s family always had a cleaner, so his parents never cared if he left a mess, whereas my parents would rather burn their eyebrows off than let anyone see their house if it wasn’t spick and span.
Until I started living with Rich, I never thought I was particularly tidy, probably because of how pernickety my parents were. Dad was cleaning the washing-machine detergent-drawer last night. Who does that?
I bend to pick a coffee cup, and Yan tuts.
‘Don’t you dare.’
