Surprise Me

‘Sylvie!’ he exclaims, too loudly. ‘I was just showing Mary …’ He trails off as though unable to think of a convincing story. Then Mary appears in the doorway – and the look she gives me makes me feel chilled. It’s unmistakable. It’s a look of pity.

For a moment our eyes are locked and I swallow, my throat tight, unable to speak.

‘Actually, I must be going,’ says Mary in that soft voice.

‘Already?’ says Dan, but he doesn’t sound too sorry, and as we head back into the kitchen, the other two are also standing up, talking about tubes and Ubers and thanking us for a wonderful time.

This evening has got away from me. I want it to slow down. Press pause. I need to gather my thoughts. But before I have a chance to, we’re in the hall, finding everyone’s coats and exchanging kisses. Mary won’t look me in the eye. I’m desperate to pull her aside and ask, ‘What were you talking to Dan about just now?’ And ‘Why did you two go off like that?’ But I’m not brave enough.

Am I?

‘Mummy! I woked up!’

Tessa’s shrill voice interrupts my thoughts and my heart sinks.

‘Tessa! Not you too!’

I hurry upstairs instinctively, scooping her back before she decides to join in the party. Children being out of bed is like the five-second rule – you have to be swift. I bundle her back into bed and sit there until she’s closed her eyes, listening to all the final goodbyes below in the hall and the front door closing. When Tessa is gently snoring, I creep back out on to the landing. And I’m about to head downstairs, when something stops me. Something hard and splintery and suspicious. Instead, I move silently into the bathroom which overlooks the front of the house and peep out. Dan and Mary are on the pavement, talking, just the two of them.

How did I know they would be there?

I just knew.

There’s a horrible squeezing feeling in my chest as I crouch down by the window and silently open it a crack. Mary has wrapped herself up in a pashmina and her face under the streetlight is wreathed with concern.

I lean my head against the windowsill, trying desperately to pick up scraps of conversation.

‘Now you understand,’ Dan is saying in a low voice. ‘I just feel … pinned in a corner.’

My throat tightens in shock. Pinned in a corner? He feels pinned in a corner?

‘Yes. I get it,’ Mary is saying. ‘I do. I just …’

Their voices descend lower, and I can only pick out the odd word. ‘… talk …’

‘… find out …’

‘… she won’t …’

‘… be careful …’

My heart is thudding as I peep out of the window again to see that Mary is clasping Dan in a hug. A tight hug. A passionate hug.

I sink back on my heels. I feel faint. Dark shapes are scudding across my brain. Am I the ultimate, trusting fool? Were the pair of them playing me all evening? I’m rerunning Mary’s friendly, charming air. Her soft voice. The hand she kept putting on my arm. Was it all an act? ‘Men … seem to have an extra capacity for deceit,’ she said – and now I remember the look she gave me. Was that a hint? A warning?

I hear the front door closing and hastily come out of the bathroom to see Dan in the hall, staring up at me. There are shadows on his face and I can’t read his expression and all I can think is: He feels pinned in a corner.

‘You go to bed,’ he says. ‘I’ll just stack a few plates. We can do the rest tomorrow.’

Normally I’d say, ‘Don’t be silly, I’ll help!’ and we’d clear away companionably and pick over the evening and start laughing over something or other.

Not tonight.

I get ready for bed, feeling a bit numb, and I’m still lying there, totally rigid, wondering what on earth I do next, how on earth I proceed … when Dan finally gets in beside me.

‘Well, that went well,’ he says.

‘Yes.’ Somehow I manage to speak. ‘The lamb was delicious.’

‘They’re a fun crowd.’

‘Yes.’

There’s another long, weird silence, then Dan suddenly says, ‘Oh. I need to send an email. Sorry.’

He gets out of bed and pads out of the room in his bare feet. And for ten seconds I lie still, my mind trying to self-soothe. Dan is always sending emails. He’s always getting out of bed with some sudden late-night thought. He’s a busy man. It doesn’t mean anything. It really doesn’t mean anything …

But I can’t help it. My suspicion is like a desperate hunger; I have to obey it. Without making a sound, I swing my legs round, stand up and move silently to the door of our bedroom. The door of Dan’s study is open and the light is on. I lean forward noiselessly until I glimpse him, and feel another profound shock.

He’s standing in his study, tapping away on a phone I’ve never seen before. A Samsung. What’s that phone? Why does he need two phones? As I watch, he drops it into a drawer and locks it with a little key. It’s on the same key ring as his house keys. I never even knew he had that little key. I didn’t know he kept a drawer of his desk locked.

Why does he need to lock a drawer? What’s he hiding from me? What?

For a few moments, we’re both motionless. Dan seems transfixed by his thoughts. I’m transfixed by Dan. Then he suddenly turns and in fright I leap backwards, skittering silently away. I’m back in bed within ten seconds, the duvet pulled right over me, my heart banging furiously.

‘Everything OK?’ I ask as he gets back into bed.

‘Oh, fine.’

And I don’t know if it’s my desperate optimism surfacing, or my belief in giving everyone a fair chance, but I can’t rest until I’ve given him an opportunity to make this all OK again.

‘Dan, listen.’ I prod his shoulder until he turns, his face all tired and ready-for-sleepish. ‘Seriously. Is everything all right? Please. You look so stressed. If there’s anything, anything wrong … or worrying you … I mean, you would tell me, wouldn’t you? You’re not ill, are you?’ I say with a sudden gasp of horror. ‘Because if you were …’ Tears have started to my eyes. For God’s sake. I’m a nervous wreck.

‘Of course I’m not ill.’ He stares at me. ‘Why would I be ill?’

‘Because you seem so …’ I trail away desperately.

Because you were hugging Mary. Because you’re hiding something. Because you feel pinned in a corner. Because I don’t know what to think.

I gaze at him silently, willing him to see the words in my eyes. To react. To feel my pain. I thought we were psychic. I thought he would pick up on my every fear and reassure me. But he seems impervious.

‘I’m fine,’ he says shortly. ‘It’s all good. Let’s get some sleep.’

He turns over and within moments he’s breathing the heavy, regular breaths of someone who was so tired, they couldn’t hang about being awake any longer.

But I don’t. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my resolve hardening. Because I know what I’m going to do now. I know exactly what I’m going to do.

Tomorrow I’m going to steal his keys.

THIRTEEN

I’ve never stolen anything before. I feel so guilty I don’t know what to do with myself. I swiped Dan’s keys while he was in the shower and put them at the back of my underwear drawer. Now I’m hovering round the kitchen, wiping things that don’t need wiping, talking to the girls in a false, high-pitched voice and dropping spoons every five minutes.