Free One Minute to Midnight by Amy Silver Page B

intact.
    ‘A couple of years ago. Okay, it wasn’t quite your situation, but he had an affair. With a friend of mine. A close friend. My best friend, in fact.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She looks stricken. ‘I’m so sorry.’
    ‘It was horrible. It was very painful.’
    ‘You left him?’ she asks.
    ‘No,’ I take a slug of my wine and set the glass back on the table, ‘but I thought about it. I thought long and hard about it, in fact. We were separated for a while. But I love him very much, and I know he loves me, and I know that he made a bad mistake, a terrible mistake, and that he regrets it enormously. We had counselling, for several months, and we worked through everything. And, eventually, we were able to live together again, to be close again …’
    I tail off. She’s looking at me intently. ‘And you forgave him? You really forgave him?’
    ‘I did.’
    ‘I’m afraid,’ Annie says, gazing a little mournfully into her wine glass, ‘that every time we argue, every time something goes wrong …’
    ‘You’ll throw this in his face? His affair, his betrayal?’
    ‘Exactly. I’m afraid we’ll never get past it. Or that I’ll never get past it, anyway.’
    This was the moment. The big sell. ‘That’s why I think you should do the programme, Annie.’
    She shakes her head again.
    ‘No, I mean it. That’s where the counselling will be invaluable. We won’t be asking you sordid, tawdry questions, we’ll be getting you – and your husband, and your sister – to really talk through your emotions, to deal with issues of guilt and recrimination. You can tell them how you feel, how they’ve made you feel. And I hope you’ll find a way, just as my husband and I did, to move past this and get on with your life.’ She’s listening carefully, I can tell she’s weakening, I have her on the ropes. I go for the jugular. ‘I know betrayal, Annie. I know how it feels, and I feel sure that working with us on this programme can help you, and help others in similar situations, too.’
    She looks down at the tablecloth and back up at me. There’s hope in her eyes. In that moment I hate myself.
     
    We finish our coffees, I pay the bill and we leave the restaurant.
    ‘Thanks for meeting me, Annie,’ I say, as we walk out into the watery afternoon sunshine. ‘I really appreciate you taking the time.’
    I want to ask her whether she’ll reconsider doing the interview for the programme right there and then, but I feel it’s best not to push. Instead, I shake her hand, give her my warmest, most reassuring smile, and head off along St Giles towards the city centre. I’ve only walked a few yards when she calls after me.
    ‘Nicole,’ she says, ‘What about your friend?’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Your friend? You said that your husband had an affair with your best friend?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right. Alex.’
    ‘And did you forgive her, too?’
    ‘Yes, I did. It took a while. For some reason, her betrayal seemed even worse than his. I mean, you expect men to play around, don’t you? You don’t expect it from your mates.’
    ‘Or your sister.’
    ‘No, quite.’
    ‘But you’re okay now, you and her?’
    ‘We’re fine,’ I lie. ‘We’re good.’
    She smiles at me warmly and, quite unexpectedly, gives me a hug. ‘Thanks for talking to me, Nicole. I’ll email your assistant with some times for an interview tomorrow.’
    ‘You’ll do it then?’ I ask her, slightly incredulous.
    ‘I’ll do it.’ As I watch her walking off down Little Clarendon Street, I feel a peculiar mix of emotions. There is the satisfaction of a task completed, of course, that mission-accomplished sense of jubilation, but there’s certainly no pride. Quite the contrary. I feel ashamed of the lies I’ve told.
    * * *
     
    I check my watch. It’s just after three: lunch went on longer than expected. What I should do, I know, is to go straight back to the car and drive back to London. Instead, I cross the road and