Chapters (40)
- Cover
- About the Author
- PENGUIN BOOKS
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- THE BEGINNING
‘I’m listening.’ Her voice was stern grey; she sat up very straight in her chair, locked her knees and screwed her hands together. He was a long way off from her and she was looking through a telescope at him, as if he were already just a memory.
‘You probably already know.’
‘Go on.’
‘When you asked if I was having an affair.’
‘Yes.’
‘I – I didn’t tell you the truth.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I didn’t know how to tell you … I thought it would all go away … I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Say it. Fucking say it.’
‘Listen, you have to believe that I never meant to hurt you like this.’
‘Fucking say it.’
‘There’s someone else.’
Irene looked at him, leaning towards her, while upstairs their three daughters slept and on the wall the clock ticked too loudly. His face was loving, as it hadn’t been for weeks, months. He had new wrinkles round his eyes. She looked down at her hands wrung together on her lap. Loose wedding ring, calloused skin, blue veins. Of course he was having an affair. She swallowed hard and focused on him again but it was hard to see properly when he was so far off, this man she used to know.
‘Who?’ she said at last.
‘Are you sure you want to …?’
‘Who?’
Into the faint sigh of waves, the name fell cleanly as a stone: ‘Frankie.’
‘Frankie?’ For a moment, the name made no sense to her. She blinked and shook her head. ‘Frankie Peveril?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean, Karen’s sister, Frankie?’
‘Yes.’
Frankie who used to follow her and Karen around like a shadow; who used to fall over and wail. Young, blonde, sexy Frankie, who wore tight shirts over full breasts, had glossy lips, white teeth, smooth skin. For a moment, like a florid pornographic film bursting onto the screen, she saw them together: legs tangled, flesh wet, his mouth on her nipple, her hand between his legs, her head thrown back, his face screwed in that special anguish. Upstairs, they heard footsteps padding into the bathroom. They sat in silence. A lavatory flushed, the footsteps padded back again.
‘How long for?’
‘A few months.’
‘Be specific please.’ Her voice was hard and cold; stinging metal. ‘When did it start?’
‘Thirtieth of December,’ he answered.