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Alex is sitting down, a pretty blonde perched on his lap. Her arm is looped around his neck, while his is casually slung around her waist.
He's laughing.
Staring into her eyes and laughing.
There's something so intimate about it I feel as though I'm intruding. As if I'm the interloper, staring at him and a girlfriend.
Opening my mouth, I take a ragged breath. It catches in my throat, my chest too tight to let it in. And for a moment it feels as though I'm drowning in oxygen.
Last night, my husband let a pretty girl sit on his lap. He let her put her arms around him. While I slept in our bed, and our baby slept in his cot, Alex wrapped his own arm around her waist.
I don't care if she's a fan, or a friend. I don't care if there's nothing in it, or it's simply an awkward snapshot of a passing moment. At one point last night, that girl sat on his lap and made him laugh.
The tightness in my chest starts to burn. Though I turn off my phone, the image lingers in my mind. I can't ignore the nasty thoughts lingering there no matter how hard I try. Even if it was nothing more than a passing embrace, the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth makes me feel nauseous, angry. And I want to hit out at something.
I don't know what to do. Should I call him, demand answers? Laugh it off like I would have done previously? Seeing that picture has mixed up everything, making it hard for me to think straight.
It makes it impossible for me to sleep, too. In spite of my exhaustion, I toss and turn all night. Feeling angry, jealous, and lonely. When Max wakes up at four in the morning, crying softly for some milk, I'm feeling as miserable as he sounds.
17
It's been a long week. Long and hard, but not in a good way. Though I've spoken with Alex twice, both times he was surrounded by people, and I couldn't find the right way to phrase my questions. Instead, I left them unsaid, letting my mind work overtime, imagining this girl as a sex-hungry groupie following them from gig to gig, waiting for the moment she can sit on his lap again.
I torture myself with images of them. Sitting. Holding. Kissing.
By the time I get to Beth's on Friday night, I've managed to build it up into something cataclysmic. We settle Max in his travel cot and walk downstairs into her pretty cottage kitchen. Beth pours us both a generous glass of wine and I gulp it greedily, needing the numbness it creates in my body.
“So I'll admit it looks pretty bad,” Beth says, staring at the screen of my phone. “But you know Alex would never do that to you.”
“She's sitting on his lap.” I stare off into the distance. A black mark on the far wall of their kitchen catches my eye. It’s small, hand-shaped; made by Allegra, no doubt. “They're not exactly having a casual conversat
ion.”
As soon as I finish one glass, Beth tops it up. Wine sloshes over the side, dripping onto the wooden table. I suspect she's trying to take my mind off things, but even alcohol can't erase that image from my brain.
“It's a snapshot in time. Maybe she only sat there for a second.” Her face softens. “The two of you were meant for each other, you know that. And now you have Max, as well. Don't let some stupid picture ruin everything.”
When Niall arrives home twenty minutes later, she shoves the picture in his face, wanting a man's opinion. He stares at it for a moment, expression implacable. Then he gives me back my phone, his hand squeezing mine as I take it from him.
“He's a stupid git, but he's not a cheater.” Alex and Niall have been friends for a while now, ever since Niall started working at the clinic. As soon as I introduced them they hit it off, talking music and art while making their way through a six pack. “He loves you, Lara. Any idiot can see that.”
I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. “You would say that. Bros before Hos and all that.”
Niall opens the fridge and takes out a can of beer. When he pulls the key there's a hiss, followed by froth bubbling over the edge. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long mouthful.
“Does that make you the ho?” He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I narrow my eyes. “There's no need for that. If there's a ho in this situation it isn't me.”
Beth reaches out and whacks him on the arm. “Don't be rude to our guest.”
He turns to me. “Speaking of guests, where's the little guy? Is he asleep already?”
“For now. Give him a few hours and he'll be wide awake.” I wince at the thought of a 3:00 a.m. wake up call. Maybe I should stop drinking now; I'll pay for it in the morning.
“I'll get my cuddles later, then.” Niall winks, and I have to admit there's something pretty sexy about it. No wonder Beth goes all swoony whenever he's near. With his Mr Rochester looks and easy-going temperament, he's a dangerous combination of bad boy and good. When he turns his intense blue eyes on you, it's hard to do anything but stare right back. He's hypnotising.
“I'm sure Max will like that.” I don't tell him he hasn't had a cuddle from a man in a while. With Alex gone, and David snowed under with work, I've been surrounded by women for the past few weeks.
