aftermath, we lie in bed and he tells me how much he loves me, and I say the same. I turn off the lamp and I’m in his arms, wondering what just happened. I’m slightly unsettled by the way we made love, but at the same time it was so exciting, I hadn’t wanted him to stop.
‘I can’t get my head around the fact that the idea of Tom watching us excited you,’ I say.
He doesn’t answer me at first, and just as I think he must have gone to sleep, his voice creeps over me in the darkness. ‘Did it turn you on?’
I hesitate. ‘It was… good.’
‘Did it feel like me?’
‘No… it felt different.’
‘Like you were doing it with someone else?’
‘I… Yes, I guess.’
‘Like you were doing it with Tom?’ he asks.
I don’t answer, I want to say no, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about Tom, Alex was mentioning his name throughout.
For a few moments we lie in silence, until he says, ‘You haven’t answered me.’
I don’t want to spoil everything, in admitting the truth, that would hurt and make him jealous, so I say, ‘No, it was definitely you.’
I smile in the darkness, waiting for the feel of his kiss on my head, the reassuring brush of his hand on my face, but he’s still and silent, and then I hear him murmur, ‘Lying bitch.’
It’s dark and I can’t see Alex’s face. Is he joking? I’m not sure, so I lie there waiting for him to add something, but after a few minutes I hear his slow breathing as he falls asleep.
Surely I’m mistaken. Lovely gentle Alex wouldn’t say anything like that. To me. But like the chorus of an awful song that won’t go away, it plays on a loop until eventually I fall into a difficult sleep. Lying. Bitch.
Chapter Eighteen
This morning, Alex is as loving as ever, but I keep returning to those words he whispered in the dark. It’s the kind of phrase that sounds horrific if it’s meant, but I mustn’t overthink it. He was probably half asleep, in that state between waking and dreaming. At the moment, Alex and I are happy, we seem to be working through everything, and I will, at some point, come to terms with his marriage – so now isn’t the time to make something of nothing. I hope that spending time together will help to bond us again and erase the niggling doubts I now have. But remembering last night, being pushed against the window, and Alex’s arousal at the idea of Tom watching us, seems rather surreal. It was so out of character. I can’t help but think about it – was it just a harmless sexual fantasy or was it something more?
‘As it’s the weekend, I’m going to make you breakfast,’ Alex is calling from the kitchen.
This is the Alex I know and love, the kind, caring guy who only wants to make me happy. So who was that last night who took me without warmth, who murmured that I was a lying bitch? I wish I could wipe away those niggles, I wish I could go back to yesterday morning when I thought I knew the man who shares my bed, my life, my future. But I can’t, so I need to try and move on.
‘You don’t seem to have anything in for breakfast,’ he’s saying now.
‘Oh Alex, I’m sorry. I even left the meal I’d bought for us in the fridge at work.’
‘Yes, we were supposed to be dining here last night, weren’t we?’ He pops his head around the door. ‘Come to think of it, no wonder I’m hungry – I haven’t eaten since… lunch.’ His voice fades on the final word and we look at each other.
‘I was too upset,’ I say, a gentle reminder that all is not forgotten, and offering to make me a Saturday morning breakfast isn’t going to eradicate the fact he lied to me.
‘I’ll go out and get us something,’ he says.
‘There’s always Harry’s dead croissant in the fridge,’ I joke.
‘No there isn’t. I threw it in the bin as instructed.’ He pulls on his jeans. ‘What’s with him and the bloody pastries anyway? He’s like your feeder – it’s weird.’
‘It’s not weird. I told you, his girlfriend has the café down the road; he just brings us the leftovers.’
‘Well, I think it’s weird,’ he says, walking over to where I’m sitting. ‘Does he have the hots for you or something?’
I