My Lies, Your Lies - Susan Lewis Page 0,6

the Artesian Village of Notting Hill to go and live in Hammersmith with Martha. Clearly this meant that he now preferred Martha’s company, Martha’s body, Martha’s love, Martha’s everything in fact. She’d become so important, so vital to him that he’d put aside twenty years of marriage as though for him it had amounted to little more than a book that had been enjoyable but had come to an early and unsatisfactory conclusion.

Was that really how he saw it?

Needless to say Martha was no longer a friend. Callum, however, remained the big love of her life and she had absolutely no idea how to remove him from that space. She was crushed by the weight of pain and grief that had accompanied her every move and thought since he’d told her he was leaving. It even hurt to breathe. He wouldn’t know that, because she had no intention of letting him see how afraid she was of trying to move forward without him. She had her pride and a few shreds of dignity left – and now she had a new assignment.

‘I don’t understand,’ he’d said, ‘why it has to be so hush-hush. Is it dangerous?’

Joely had walked to the table – the one they’d had specially made to fit their kitchen, had sat around with their families at Christmas and for birthdays; it was their daughter’s homework desk and often where Callum had spread out his own work if Joely was using their shared study. She picked up the mug he’d filled with coffee when he’d come in and rinsed it.

She turned to face him. He was still sitting at the table looking faintly baffled and far too present, too in charge, too much as if he’d never gone away. His hands were bunched loosely in front of him, large, masculine, not beautiful or straight, just his hands – the ones she’d gripped during Holly’s birth, that had folded her to him on their wedding day, that had aroused her in so many different ways, had stroked and comforted her through the wrenching grief of her father’s death. There they were now looking as though they had nothing to do, that they might even be contemplating a way back to her, but really they were momentarily resting or waiting before returning to Martha.

She could see them on Martha’s skin, brushing lightly over her hair, touching her face …

How could imagining something hurt so much? It was like taking a flame to her insides and holding it there. Wasn’t reality painful enough without using her own mind to make it worse?

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. She hoped her moss green eyes showed only impatience and perhaps a hint of distraction. I’m busy, I really don’t have time for this. Her shoulder-length sandy hair was a mess, twisted awkwardly into a knot at the back of her head, and she knew her face was strained because she could feel it. He wasn’t seeing her at her best, but it hardly mattered any more.

‘Holly mentioned your assignment,’ he explained, ‘and I thought … Well, I wondered why you’re not telling her what it’s about.’

She said, ‘The client has requested confidentiality, which I’m respecting. As the producer of highly sensitive documentaries, I’m sure you understand that. Now, can I remind you that you have a new life? You left this one, remember? So please see yourself out and the next time you come you’ll find I’ve changed the locks.’

He looked startled, and hurt. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ he protested. ‘I thought we could be friends.’

Were all men so na?ve, delusional, stupid?

She turned abruptly away and switched off the coffee machine.

‘Are you going back to reporting?’ he asked. ‘Is that what this new assignment is about? Are you going undercover or something?’

She almost wanted to laugh. He knew very well that her reporting days were over, that she was well established in her new career as a ghostwriter so this was a transparent attempt to provoke an answer.

More minutes ticked by until, with her back still turned, she said, ‘I’m leaving tomorrow and as yet I’m not entirely sure how long I’ll be gone. I’ll be on my mobile in case of emergencies, but I know Holly will be fine with you.’ She didn’t add, and Martha – that would have been too hard. And if Holly wasn’t fine with them, she’d go to her grandma, Joely’s mother, where she had her own room, an inter-generational best friend and