I think back to that day; our coming together, like most things in life, being entirely dependent on a ‘sliding doors’ moment. If the sun hadn’t been shining. If I hadn’t been sat on a bench in the hospital grounds. If I hadn’t been frustrated about being held against my will in a place that looked after people unlike me. Then perhaps I wouldn’t have been open to the idea of talking to a stranger.
But that day, for whatever reason, I turned at the sound of crunching gravel on the drive and watched as a man, dressed in a well-tailored suit, got out of a sleek Mercedes. He laid his jacket on the back seat and reached in for his briefcase. In that simple action, I was reminded that there was still a world going on out there. Without me in it.
I imagined him having just come from meeting important clients. Perhaps he’d won their business and was still flush from the thrill of it. My stomach lurched at the memory of how that felt; the adrenaline that rushed through my veins whenever AT Designs won a pitch. I closed my eyes and pictured the scene, wishing, more than anything, that I was in his day, rather than him being in mine.
It was a turning point for me. For the first time since losing Tom three months earlier, I wanted to be out there, living the life I still had to live. The sudden realization shocked me.
I didn’t think the man would ever know the part he played in breathing air into my deflated lungs. Not until he came through the day room and out onto the terrace, shielding his eyes as the low sun sliced across his vision.
‘If you take a seat here, I’ll just go and see if Mr Miller is up to seeing you,’ said Eileen, the only staff member who bent the visiting hour rules.
By the time she came back out to say Mr Miller was sleeping, the man in the suit and I were exchanging pleasantries.
‘Thanks, I’ll wait,’ he said to Eileen. ‘I’m Nathan, by the way,’ he said to me, extending his hand.
And that was it. We’d talked until the sun had gone down that day; about his life outside the hospital and mine on the inside. I can’t remember whether that was when he told me that he was going through a messy split, or whether that came later. It had felt like we talked about anything and everything. Poor Mr Miller didn’t ever get to see his visitor.
‘I think it was over by the time we met,’ I say, in answer to Beth’s question.
‘You think?’ she asks. ‘Wouldn’t you know whether your new boyfriend was still with someone?’
‘Well, our early days weren’t very clear cut. I wasn’t my normal self and wanted to take things slowly. He was working away a lot, which suited me at the time, but now, come to think of it, perhaps he was still tying up loose ends with her.’
‘So, he cheated on her with you?’
I’m taken aback at her accusatory tone. ‘No, it wasn’t like that. They’d split up – I’m sure they had.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘It doesn’t make you seem like a great advocate for the sisterhood, does it?’
Didn’t it? I’d never thought of it in that way. Had I blatantly ignored the silent code of conduct in my desperation to feel wanted and needed?
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, denying the implication. ‘He’s not that kind of man, at least . . . I didn’t think he was.’
‘Once a cheater, always a cheater, is all I’m saying. A leopard never changes its spots, it just creates a smokescreen for them.’
‘So, you think everything is pointing to him having an affair?’ I ask, though I already know the answer.
She grimaces. ‘There may be a perfectly understandable explanation, but . . .’
‘So, what should I do?’ I ask.
‘Just keep looking for clues,’ she says. ‘Check his phone, his emails, anything that might incriminate him.’
‘Isn’t that crossing a line?’
She looks at me aghast. ‘So, let me get this right. He gets to sleep with anyone he wants, yet you’re not even allowed to look at his phone? There’s something of a double standard going on here.’
I feel too foolish to even respond.
‘Just carry on with what you’re doing,’ she continues. ‘Check social media for any accounts that he might have set up. Keep an eye on the