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When I get there, I’m consumed with doubt again. The downstairs lights are off – maybe she’s in bed? It’s not even eight o’clock, but everyone who works on the farm starts really early in the morning, so they’re not exactly night owls. I’m not sure whether to go through with this; I haven’t spoken to her since the hay store incident, so I doubt she’ll be that pleased to see me. If I wake her up, that won’t help at all.
I step back and look at the upstairs windows. There is a dim light in one of them so, if she is in bed, she’s not asleep yet. I summon all my courage and ring the doorbell. After a few seconds, I see a light come on behind the downstairs curtain, and then the front door swings open and there stands Becky, wrapped in a dressing gown.
‘I’m so sorry for disturbing you,’ I begin. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but I’m looking for James and I thought for a moment he might be here.’
‘Why would he be here?’ she replies, and her tone is hostile. She’s got a nerve, really. If anyone has the right to be annoyed, it’s me.
‘Like I said, it was a silly idea, and I’m really sorry… hang on a minute, what are they doing here?’
As I’m talking to her, my eyes have landed on something familiar in the room behind her. James’ boots. Before she has a chance to stop me, I’m barging past her and marching into her house.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she shouts angrily, as I head for the stairs.
‘Finding out what my husband’s bloody boots are doing in your house!’ I call, equally angrily. I sprint up the stairs with Becky hard on my heels and throw open the door to her bedroom.
The room is empty.
‘Have you lost your mind?’ she demands. Both of us are breathing heavily.
‘I… I don’t understand.’ I tell her. ‘Those are definitely his boots, and his car is parked just up the road.’
She opens her mouth to reply, but just as she does, the door of her wardrobe pops open slightly and the movement draws both our eyes. I’m just about to shift my gaze back to Becky when something extremely odd happens.
Very slowly, as if trying not to draw attention to itself, the door closes again.
‘Excuse me,’ I say to Becky, and march over to the wardrobe, where I yank open both doors.
Inside, half hidden by Becky’s clothes and naked as the day he was born, is James. He’s clutching a bundle, which I guess is his clothes, and trying to cover himself up with it.
It’s almost impossible to describe how I feel. I don’t cry or start screaming the place down, which is what you might expect. Instead, I feel oddly triumphant, like Hercule Poirot when he gathers all the suspects together to unmask the murderer. Behind me, I’m aware of Becky’s shoulders slumping as the fight goes out of her.
‘There you are!’ I say to him, as if this is nothing more sinister than a game of hide-and-seek. He looks absolutely terrified, as he should.
‘Sophie, this isn’t what it looks like…’ he begins.
‘I think it’s exactly what it looks like,’ I interrupt him, moving aside and indicating the crumpled sheets on the bed behind me. ‘What other reason could there possibly be for you being in Becky’s wardrobe with no clothes on? I know! Maybe you were playing an innocent game of strip poker, and you lost. But where are the cards? And why would you be hiding in a wardrobe?’
I turn to Becky. Her dressing gown must have come undone while she was chasing me up the stairs and she’s in the middle of re-fastening it, but it’s patently obvious she’s not wearing anything underneath it either.
‘It’s a bit late for that, love!’ I laugh, slightly manically. ‘He’s already seen it all, and I’m totally not into you. Have you got any theories about why my husband is stark bollock naked in your wardrobe, or shall we all stop pretending now?’
There’s an awkward silence. James comes out of the wardrobe and starts pulling on his underpants.
‘I wouldn’t bother with that, if I were you. The horse has kind of bolted,’ I tell him.
‘Sophie, let’s talk about this. Let me get some clothes on and—’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ I cut in. ‘I’m leaving you, James. I’m going to go back to the cottage now and start packing. You may as well stay here, because there’s no way in the world I’m letting you in, do you understand?’
I turn back to Becky. ‘He’s all yours. Good luck,’ I tell her.
Without giving either of them a chance to reply, I spin on my heel and sprint back down the stairs, banging the front door behind me.
11
As I drive back towards the farm, I feel oddly calm. There are no tears and I’m not feeling the hurt in the same way. I’m angry, absolutely, but mainly at myself for wasting four years of my life on James. Actually, let’s make that seven, to include the time I should have been dating pretty much anyone else. At least this time there’s no doubt about what I’m going to do.
The good thing is that, although there are lots of people in the village with whom I’m on friendly terms, I don’t have any really close friends down here, so I don’t feel that I’m leaving anything massively important behind, besides my marriage, of course. The dogs greet me enthusiastically when I get back in, and I realise that I will miss them, but you can’t stick around with a useless husband just because you like his dogs, can you? I lock the front door behind me and insert the key, twisting it a quarter turn so James can’t push it out to get his key in. I’m certain he won’t be far behind me, and I meant what I said about not letting him in. He’s very much made his bed, and it’s not a bed I’ll ever share with him again.
