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‘What do you mean, you think they must be? How many other women have been undressing in our bedroom?’
‘OK. Yes, they’re Scarlett’s.’
‘In our bed???’
‘It was just the one time here, OK? She came over unexpectedly one Saturday morning when you were at work and…’
‘How very convenient that she should choose to drop in unannounced when you knew I wouldn’t be here. An almost unbelievable coincidence, in fact. Tell me, is she in the habit of leaving her knickers in other people’s houses, or is this a one-off message for me?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come off it, Josh! Do you really think she would have left them here by accident? Any woman in her right mind is going to notice pretty quickly that her knickers are missing when she gets dressed. Shewantedme to find them, you idiot. She’s probably been going mad with frustration that it’s taken me so long. So, tell me how long this thing between the two of you has been going on.’
I swear I don’t recognise my voice. It sounds disembodied, like someone else has hijacked it. Every fibre of me is tense though, and my heart is thumping like it’s trying to escape through my ribcage. I feel sick.
‘About two months. Look, Charley, it really was just the one time here. I didn’t mean it to happen, honestly.’
‘Give the boy a round of applause for being considerate enough to shag her elsewhere! What was it, a clichéd hook-up in the stationery cupboard at work every so often? A little contortion in the loos? I know, maybe you liked to book yourselves into hotels as Mr and Mrs Smith. I hope you found some that charge by the hour; I’d hate for you to be paying for a whole night when you’re probably only in there for ten minutes. How can you honestly say you didn’t mean it to happen? Were you just innocently loitering around with your dick out when she accidentally fell on it? Don’t treat me like a fucking imbecile. How did it start?’
He sighs. ‘Like I said, you and I have been arguing a lot recently, and Scarlett and I have been working very closely together on some projects, and things kind of grew from there.’
I know exactly what grew and it makes me want to castrate him.
‘Were you planning to man up and tell me at any point, or were you just hoping to keep me and Scarlett as some sort of harem?’
Another sigh. ‘I don’t know. Scarlett kept saying I should tell you, but it never seemed to be the right time.’
‘Well, your timing couldn’t be much more perfect now, could it? Merry Christmas, bastard.’
‘Charley, I’m really sorry. I never wanted to hurt you...’
‘Oh, spare me the bullshit, Josh.’
And with that, I get up, place my keys on the table and walk out of the flat, banging the door behind me.
2
The tears start as soon as I close the car door. Big, fat and salty, they cascade down my cheeks until I’m a snivelling wreck. Snot is running down into my mouth as I take huge gulps of air between sobs. I can’t believe what has just happened. It’s taken just over two hours for the last ten years of my life to fall apart. I’m suddenly single, homeless, and everything I own (which isn’t much) is crammed into this crappy car. I don’t even own decent bags to put my stuff in – I’m a bag lady. The thought makes me laugh hysterically for a moment before the misery comes crashing back in. What on earth am I going to do?
Josh has been cheating on me with Scarlett. Now that I know the truth, I just can’t get my head around it. Yes, we’ve had a bit of a sexual dry patch lately, but I thought that was because he was tired after working late so often. Well, he’s been working late all right, just not in the way that I thought. An image crashes into my mind of them kissing, of him touching her like he touched me, and I feel sick again. No, actually, I really feel sick. Hurriedly, I open the car door and retch into the gutter. I keep retching until there’s literally nothing left and I’m dry heaving.
‘Are you OK?’ An elderly man and his wife are standing on the pavement looking at me with a mixture of concern and horror on their faces.
‘Yes, yes, fine – sorry. I’m just a little under the weather.’
‘Are you sure you should be driving? I don’t want to pry, but if you had a heavy night last night…’
They think I’m hung-over! If only I were – if only that was all that was wrong with me. At least the vomiting has stopped the tears for now.
‘Don’t worry – I think it’s a stomach bug. I’ve been feeling a bit off colour for a couple of days.’ I have no idea where the lie came from, but I’m just desperate for them to leave me alone. I feel so humiliated, I want to crawl into a dark corner and never come out.
‘Well, it’s your decision, but it looks to me as if you shouldn’t be driving anywhere. You want to be tucked up in bed until you feel better.’
I think of our bed upstairs in Josh’s flat. I’d love to go back and undo the last two hours. To be tucked up in bed and start this day all over again. To have a different story unfold – one that doesn’t involve my boyfriend sleeping with his work colleague. I need to get out of here.
‘Don’t worry, I’m feeling much better now. I’ll be fine.’
I smile at them, close the car door and start the engine. Immediately, Whitney Houston starts crooning about how she will always love me. Hastily, I eject the cassette (yes, my car is old enough to have a cassette player), pull it out of the player and hurl it into the back of the car. Over the years, Josh has delighted in finding compilation cassettes in charity shops for us to play in the car. I’m tempted to throw the lot of them out of the window, but I’m conscious that the elderly couple are still standing there, watching me.
