She hums a little more. ‘Well, I don’t know what’s happened there then, but they’ve definitely gone to the correct address.’
‘Well, do you have the sender’s name? Perhaps you could give them a call to make sure they’ve given you the right address?’
‘The sender is a Mr Davies, but I don’t seem to have a phone number for him. Oh, that’s annoying.’
‘Wait,’ I say, as a buzzing sound rings in my ears. ‘Nathan Davies sent them?’
‘Yes, do you know him?’ Her voice is hopeful, eager to solve the mystery.
‘He’s my husband,’ I say, ignoring the band of pressure that is tightening around my head.
‘Well, there you go then,’ she says happily. ‘They have gone to the right place.’
She has no idea what she’s just done.
Tears fill my eyes as I end the call and stare at the phone in disbelief. Nathan must have ordered them to go to another address, but they’ve sent them to his billing address by mistake. I imagine how furious he must have been at their faux pas, and how well he kept his emotions in check whilst he was professing his undying love for me.
I take the stairs, two at a time, to our bedroom, feeling like a drug addict desperate for a fix. I want to numb the pain, but I know that once I find what I’m looking for, it will only multiply it tenfold. It doesn’t stop me though – I have to know.
Nathan’s wardrobe looks like a display in an exclusive men’s boutique. A row of identical white shirts hang above a shelf of neatly stacked handkerchiefs, a separate pile for each colour.
I realize I don’t actually know exactly what I’m looking for as I carefully lift the lid of his watch box. I pull out the miniature drawers and finger his cufflinks; I recognize them all. His underwear drawer reveals nothing new and I even find myself looking at the bottom of his shoes, though for what, I’m not quite sure. Do I really believe my sleuthing skills are so advanced that I would be able to determine the ground type from the tiny pitted indents on his soles? And from that, establish that he visited a particular hotel, with a certain type of woman? I laugh hollowly at how insane this all is.
I bend to pick up the laundry I’d left by the door, and just out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Nathan’s overnight holdall. It will be empty by now; he’s been home for three days and it’s not in his nature to leave things in there. He wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of them getting creased. I drop the washing again and wander slowly towards the bag lying beside his shoe rack. I’m filled with a sense of foreboding, as if I already know that something incriminating is lurking in there. I almost wait for it to jump out as I approach, willing it to, so that I know my suspicions are warranted. Why would any wife wish that on herself?
I unzip the various compartments, saving the inner pocket, the section most likely to harbour a secret, until last. I pull out a small bundle of Japanese yen, folded around a piece of paper. If I knew my world was about to implode, I wonder if I would’ve just slipped it back in, zipped it up and walked away.
The headed paper is concise enough; The Conrad Hotel. I smile as I read Room Service Breakfast, imagining him sat at a table in front of a floor to ceiling window, eating his eggs Benedict, overlooking the vast metropolis of Tokyo below.
I think I’d already seen the x2, printed beside the à la carte breakfast, before I’d even pictured him. I guess it’s the brain’s automatic attempt to derail us; to un-see what’s already been seen.
I gaily carry on tracing down the bill with my finger, in staunch denial of what I know to be there. I smile as I see he’d had five of his favourite G&Ts during his stay, but choose to ignore the four cosmopolitan cocktails. I marvel that he’d had time to get a full body massage in the spa, yet pretend not to see the word ‘couples’ written in front of it.
I make sure to fold it neatly, just the way it was, and fight against the overwhelming heat that is rising up from my toes. I try to stand, but feel giddy