‘How was your day?’ I say.
He doesn’t answer, which I know means not good. He asks how my session of therapy went.
‘Okay.’ I’m aware I sound unconvincing. ‘Good, I think.’
He comes over, puts a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t give up on it. It takes time. I know you’re doing the right thing.’
I smile, then go back to the dinner. Hugh says he’s going up to his office, and I’m glad, but as he turns to leave I can’t bear it any more. He’s not himself. His voice is flat, he’s moving as if the air is thick. Something is wrong.
‘Darling?’
He turns round.
‘What is it?’
‘Bad day,’ he says. ‘That’s all.’
I put down the knife I’d been using to chop vegetables. ‘Want to talk about it?’
He shakes his head. The disappointment slices into me and I realize how much I want to feel connected with my husband. Right now, after what happened this afternoon – after what I did – I need him to confide in me. His reticence feels like a rejection.
‘Hugh?’
‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘Honestly. We’ll talk later.’
We eat our dinner, the three of us, then sit at the table in the kitchen. Connor is opposite me, his computer open in front of him, a notepad and a stack of biology textbooks next to it. He’s studying the valves of the heart, his father’s subject, and leans into the screen, clicking his trackpad regularly. He has a look of intense concentration. Hugh sits next to him with a paper, making notes of his own, occasionally glancing at Connor’s work, making a comment when he’s asked a question. He seems back to normal now; whatever was bothering him earlier is forgotten, or pushed below the surface. It was probably nothing. Just my imagination.
My phone buzzes as another message arrives.
– I wish I’d bought you flowers this afternoon. You deserve a little romance.
I put my phone back, face down. I look up at my family. They haven’t noticed, and couldn’t possibly see what it says, yet still I feel guilty. I shouldn’t be doing this, not here, not now.
But I’m not doing anything. Not really. It buzzes again.
– You’re amazing. In a weird way it feels like I’ve known you for ages.
This time I have to reply.
– Really? You think so?
– Yes.
His reply is instant. I picture him, at his keyboard, waiting for my next response.
– You’re not so bad yourself.
I press send, then type another message.
– And you did buy me champagne.
– Which you didn’t drink.
– But you bought it for me. That’s the main thing.
– It’s the least you deserve.
Hugh coughs and I look up. He’s looking at me, at the phone in my hand. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I’m trying to keep my voice steady. ‘It’s just Anna. She’s thinking of coming over.’
‘To stay here?’ says Connor, looking up expectantly. I wonder if he’s thinking about Kate, about what he might find out about his mother from her oldest friend.
‘No. No, I don’t think so. She’s coming for work. I imagine they’d put her up in a hotel.’
He says nothing. It crosses my mind that it might do him good, to get to know Anna a little better. I tell myself I’ll make sure they meet, when she comes.
I look back at my phone. Another message.
– What are you up to?
The question is undeniably sexual. Yet when he’s asked me that before, back when we were first chatting, the same words had been entirely innocent.
Or maybe I’d just chosen not to see them for what they were.
Hugh stands up. ‘I’ll make a coffee,’ he says. ‘Julia?’
I tell him I don’t want one. He goes over to the machine and switches it on before filling its tank from the tap behind me. I hold my phone closer to my chest. Just slightly.
‘How is she?’
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I think.’
‘I hadn’t realized you were still in touch.’
I’m surprised. He must know we’ve been talking. It crosses my mind that he suspects, somehow, that I’m lying.
‘Oh, yes.’
He doesn’t answer. As he sits back down my phone buzzes once more.
– Are you there?
Hugh notices. He looks annoyed, or upset. I can’t tell.
‘Sorry, darling.’
‘It’s fine.’ He picks up his pen, as if he’s about to go back to his paper. His annoyance has lasted only for a moment. ‘Message your friend. We’ll talk later.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I switch my phone off, but Connor has already started asking his father something about arteries and in a moment Hugh will be busy with an explanation. I’m hurting no one.
‘I’m just going to go and do some work,’ I say.
I cross the garden and go into the shed that is my office. I put my phone down and open my laptop.
– Sorry, I type. I was out. I’m at home now.
– Doing?
– Nothing.
– Wearing?
– What do you think?
There’s a pause, then:
– I need to see you again. Say you want to see me, too.
Yes, I think. I do. Funny how much less ambiguous my desires are now that they can’t be fulfilled.
– Of course I do.
– I’m imagining you. Naked. It’s all I can think about…
I’m sitting on the stool. I can feel the metal footrest under my feet, the hard acrylic of the seat beneath my buttocks. I close my eyes. I can see him, here in the room with me. He seems real. More real than anything else.
I don’t reply for a moment. I see my family, in the kitchen, Connor puzzled, Hugh helping him, sipping his coffee, but I push it down and instead imagine what Lukas is describing. I imagine what he wants to do.
I begin to type. I picture him as I write. He’s standing behind me. I can smell his aftershave, the faint aroma of his sweat.
– I want to be naked for you.
– I want you so badly.
I think of his urgency this afternoon, his desperate need. The shock of his desire. I let it course through my body. I feel alive.
– I want you, too.
– I’m imagining it. I’m reaching over to you. Running my hand through your hair.
Again I flash on my husband, my son. This is wrong, I think. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should protest. But I can feel his hands on my scalp, both rough and gentle at the same time. Lukas is drawing it out of me, bit by bit he’s making me feel safe, moment by moment encouraging abandonment. He coaxes out my fantasies and they’re unfurling in front of him.
– Tell me what you want.
My hand goes to my throat. I imagine it’s him, touching me.
– Tell me your desires.
I turn round. I slide the bolt that locks the door from the inside. I take a deep breath. Can I do this? I never have before.
– Tell me your fantasies.
There are lots of things I’ve never done before. I undo a button on my shirt.
I begin to type.
– I’m alone. In a bar. There’s a stranger.
– Go on…
I let the images come.
– I can’t take my eyes off him.
– He’s dangerous…
– Someone I won’t be able to say no to.
– Won’t be able to say no to? Or who won’t take no for an answer?