her eyes shut and makes the requisite noises that tell him his foot massage is hitting the spot.
She finishes her glass of wine, then another. She begins to feel better. Derry and Clive come down and announce they’re off to have dinner in the city. They might stay over in a hotel for a night or two, and can Tom manage on his own for that long?
“No,” Tom says. “It’ll all be obliterated by the time you get back.”
Clive points at Tom and draws a line across his neck with his finger.
“Have an incredible time, you two,” Aurelia says, arms outstretched. “You so deserve it.” She blows them both drunken kisses.
When they leave, Aurelia pours herself the rest of the bottle. Tom says nothing. She deserves it. If the shoe was on the other foot he couldn’t cope. Nine months without wine? Forget it. Childbirth? Not without being knocked out first, and for about six months afterward.
“I wouldn’t wish a marriage like theirs on my worst enemy,” Aurelia says with a sneer.
Tom double-takes. “What, Clive and Derry?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Why’s that?”
“Tom.” She says his name flatly, as if he’s missed a whole chapter. He pushes his glasses up his nose, in that way that signals he hasn’t a clue what’s going on.
“He’s your friend, Tom. Surely you know . . .”
“Know what?”
She rolls her eyes and swirls the wine in her glass. “About his affairs? Apparently he’s had loads of them. Derry always takes him back. Apparently she says it’s just the way he’s built, can you believe that?”
Tom looks genuinely confused. “Clive has affairs?”
She laughs, flicks her long buttery hair across her shoulder. “Oh, Tom.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise. “He’s never mentioned it.”
He looks cute when he’s befuddled. “Never?”
“No. I mean, guys don’t tend to . . . share the way women do.”
“Bollocks. He’s got to have said something . . .”
“. . . I mean, we’ll pass comment on whether we find someone attractive, but that’s hardly the same, is it?”
“You tell me.”
He catches her eye and her meaning at once. “I didn’t mean . . . Look, Clive has never mentioned anything like this to me. But some blokes do that, don’t they?”
She’s struggling to follow him. “Do what?”
“Affairs. Look at Matt and Imogen. He’s had a few, hasn’t he?”
“One, I think.”
“What about Shrek and Fiona?”
“Who?”
He grins. “You know who I mean.”
She laughs. “What, Chris and Anoushka?”
“Yeah.”
“He so does not look like Shrek.”
“Yes, he does. That’s how you knew who I was talking about.”
She covers her face with her hands. “Oh, blimey, I can’t unsee that now. He has the ears and everything.”
“Didn’t he go off with one of her colleagues for a bit?”
“I think they’re back together now . . .”
“They’ve had problems for years, though.”
She imagines Anoushka as a cartoon character with the voice of Cameron Diaz. Tom’s right—she looks exactly like Fiona.
Tom’s trying to picture Clive cheating on Derry. They seem pretty happy, though he imagines Clive would be hell to live with. “Maybe it was a long time ago. I mean with Clive and Derry.”
It’s Aurelia’s turn to look surprised. “Oh, OK. That makes it all right, does it? The passing of time . . .”
“Well. Perhaps they’ve put it behind them. They’re trying for a baby now.”
“Tom, are you saying that it’s fine to screw around? Is that your stance on it?”
“I’m saying that every marriage is different. Some couples are fine with the odd indiscretion here and there . . .”
“Indiscretion?”
He falls silent, afraid to say anything else that will land him in hot water. He feels as though she’s trying to trick him, that she’s deliberately misinterpreting him. He’s never been great with expressing himself. He often wonders if he’s got some form of dyslexia, the kind that affects speech. For him, language is another form of measurement, not an art. Space, structure, light and shadow—architecture is both art and language. At dinner parties Aurelia occasionally likes to bring up the fact that Tom has never once written her a love letter. Not once. Even his text messages are dry, to the point, devoid of kisses, emojis, emotion. They’re like chalk and cheese, she’s said more than once. He can’t deny it.
“You know I would never . . .” he begins, reaching out to take her hand. He can sense her insecurities rippling all over her. She feels hideous after the birth. She comments often on her “disgusting” stomach, surveying her body in the mirror with disdain. He doesn’t understand it. She’s compared