Free Infidelity by Hugh Mackay Page B

word.’
    â€˜A bit in-your-face?’
    â€˜Precisely. As if he thought I’d got away with it for long enough, though God knows what I was supposed to have got away with. I’d have said he was the one getting away with murder. Perhaps he just wants me to suffer because he is suffering.’
    We sat in silence for several minutes before I noticed tears on her cheeks.
    I moved to take her hand but she shook her head.
    â€˜I’m all right, really, Tom. Well, obviously I’m not all right. But I mean, well . . . this is as much about you as Perry. It’s just so lovely having someone – you – to talk to when I get back. It’s always an unpleasant train trip on Sunday nights. Even the passengers annoy me. They seem rowdy, or something – not like the solid citizens on the Friday night train.’
    â€˜This might be in the eye of the beholder, of course.’
    â€˜Oh, I realise that. It’s true. I’m always a bit raw by the time I start the return journey.’
    â€˜What do you do down there?’
    â€˜Do? I wish I knew. I read – the study is my refuge. Sometimes I try to do a bit of marking. I chat to Mrs Hepworth. We talk in murmurs, upstairs or in the garden, as if we’re conspirators. She occasionally goes too far – I don’t want to hear about Perry’s carnal adventures with the night nurse, however passive.’
    â€˜I thought he had motor neurone disease?’
    â€˜Let’s not go into the details, shall we? There’s evidently no loss of sexual function – enough said. At least they desist when I’m in the house. Or I assume they do. Goodness knows what he’s paying her. Plenty of danger money, I hope.’
    â€˜But you can do some work there, by the sound of it.’
    â€˜Serious work is impossible. This great anger Perry exudes . . . I’m on edge the whole time. I feel as if I’m on red alert, from the moment I arrive. Silly, isn’t it? My house, and I feel like that.’
    â€˜You don’t strike me as the sort of person to be cowed by this.’
    â€˜Cowed? Never. I go on the attack. Assert myself in all sorts of childish ways. I play my own music very loudly. Change the channel on his wretched TV sets. Or turn them off sometimes, when I can no longer bear it. I insist on making his Sunday lunch when he’d far rather have the day nurse do it for him. I even read to him, for God’s sake, though he always closes his eyes so I can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep. There’s rarely even a grunt of acknowledgement, let alone appreciation.’
    I refilled our wine glasses and pondered those contradictions. She couldn’t work there, but she did work there. She camped upstairs with only the housekeeper for company, but made Perry’s lunch and read to him. She was intimidated but assertive.
    â€˜Tom, I hardly know you. Yet I feel as if we’ve known each other for years. I find I really can say anything to you. You seem . . . what? Familiar sounds very tame. But your presence here tonight is a real comfort. No, more than a comfort. I feel secure, somehow. So thank you.’
    We fell silent for a moment and Sarah consulted her watch.
    â€˜And now to bed, I think. I need to ring Fox – she’s always standing by on Sunday nights. I’ll do that from the bedroom.’
    We looked at each other.
    â€˜So . . . Monday is my heaviest lecturing day. I’ll be up and off before you need to surface. I have an early breakfast with a couple of colleagues at King’s every Monday. Shall we have supper together tomorrow night?’
    â€˜Let me cook something. Or would you rather eat out?’
    â€˜No, here would be best. Can you cook?’
    I shrugged. ‘Try me.’
    â€˜I should be back about seven. Do you have any plans for tomorrow yourself?’
    â€˜A long walk – I might even get to one of the Tates. I’ll do the food