In Jeopardy Read online

  I returned late that evening, at the start of the weekend to an empty apartment. Lucy was aware of my plans, but didn’t leave a message stating where she was or when she would be home. She didn’t answer my call for some hours, didn’t want to talk and informed me she would arrive home late Sunday. When I pressed her about a time she gave a vague excuse about traffic delays from Bristol. This was odd; she usually travelled within striking distance of London and out of town by train to avoid traffic congestion.

  I had made a restaurant reservation to eat out, so I cancelled the booking and ate at home alone waiting for her to return. She called again telling me not to wait up; was delayed and would go directly to work then return home at the usual time.

  I missed her to the point that my insides ached. These feelings gave way to blind fury and thoughts that she better have a good explanation. I couldn’t sleep, and I blamed and cursed her. She had treated me shabbily and her explanation suggested that she lied. Curiosity and the pained pleasure of wanting to know something that you regret knowing once you find out became torturous.

  Not seeing Lucy until the next day felt like an age, even though it had only been three weeks. It didn’t matter how I tried to justify the situation, she dismissed me with a flimsy excuse and I expected the worst was yet to come.

  The next morning, as minutes passed, I became more desperate for her return. I called her at work and was told she rang in sick. This news inflamed my worst fears and I doubted that this time the situation could be papered over by an awkward explanation.

  That evening she didn’t subject me to a litany of excuses. Instead she presented me with no whitewashing, only the truth. At the time a carefully orchestrated lie would have been preferable, even though I knew she had betrayed me. Before I met Lucy I had a succession of girlfriends and lovers. I lived with some of them, but these were casual relationships. After initial heartache, a blow to my pride or relief it was no real loss when they ended.

  Lucy was caught in a whirlwind romance. The short time I was away she had been swept off her feet by Harry. Before she realised what was happening, what she was up for, she became engaged to a boy, a stranger she recently met. That weekend she fell madly and blindly in love with him. This situation was only marred by the complication that she hadn’t ended our relationship.

  Harry drove her to Bristol to meet his parents who moved from London some years earlier. She met his brother and sister-in-law over that long weekend. They were married weeks later. It was high summer. She told me years later the reason he gave for wanting to have the wedding in such haste was to catch the good weather before it turned. She was truly sorry about the news she assaulted me with. I spared her further awkwardness, claiming she need not be, and that all was fair in love and war. At this point I understood the bruising effects of heartbreak and how it differed from merely being jilted.

  I missed Lucy, had been in two minds about contacting her. I knew to see her again would only enlarge the hole in my heart and amplify this empty feeling. Other times I wanted to lash out at her with angry words, accuse her of being smug; berate her about the self-satisfied state of her idyllic life. It tore me apart that all was well in her world while mine imploded. Each dull day was much the same as the previous one.

  I rehearsed many conversations over and over again in my mind. These were all variations of the same theme. Each contained that same phrase, Lucy you are a love rat. One day you will live to regret your cruelty. When my emotions subsided I was able to see the situation more objectively. Love can be cruel and heartbreak is a real part of the human condition. I didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did to be dispensed with, exchanged, for someone else.

  To dull the raw pain I threw myself into my work. I undertook extended projects to more dangerous places, indifferent to the risk of death or injury, at times hoping that I would die in an explosion.

  Do you remember visiting me in London?

  Christine nods.

  I think you were in the relationship with Richard or it might have been just before you met him. You may have even been engaged at the time. I recall being aloof, reprimanding myself for this, ashamed of my conduct. If memory serves me well you wore that dreamy look, anticipating a promising future. Perhaps I projected this onto you, imagining that this was how Lucy’s life was unfolding. This impression, however mistaken it may have been, heightened my misery.

  I didn’t reveal what happened in my life, instead I sulked inwardly. I reminded myself that you hadn’t travelled halfway across the world to be subjected to brooding stretches of silence. I chastised myself at the time. Later, when you left London, I was troubled, disappointed that you probably found my hospitality lacking.

  Remember our trip on the Flying Scotsman?

  Again she nods.

  When we stopped at York before pressing on to Edinburgh, I left you alone in York to continue the trip we planned, while I returned to London. I hadn’t been honest with you. It was true, I was ready to begin another project; untrue, that I was called to the office.

  Before leaving for the trip I sent Lucy’s birthday card to her work. When my phone rang I thought it was work, instead it was Lucy. I excused myself from our cabin, raced to another section of the carriage to return her call. I felt renewed hope.

  Lucy was on a lunch break when I called. I asked when she was expected to return. Her colleague offered to check if she was in the staff lunchroom. I waited, disappointed and expecting I couldn’t be this lucky. Lucy coughed into the phone before thanking me for remembering her birthday. She told me she called my apartment. When I didn’t answer she assumed I was assigned to a project out of town.

  An awkward silence suspended our conversation before she asked where I was. She expressed interest in your visit, asked questions about you, then the tone of her voice dropped. A longer pause followed as if she was attempting to disguise disappointment. I asked if things were okay then beat down my sentiments of concern. I berated myself for being interested in her welfare.

  She suggested we meet over coffee or lunch. My initial impulse was to snap back, A bit late for that. This thought was instantly replaced by blind optimism, even to just see Lucy again. I realised that although she was unavailable, this woman wielded power over me.

  I dared not admit to anyone what I was about to do fearing that I would appear foolish. Christine, Lucy was the reason I lied then left you in haste. She waited for me around the corner from the inner-London library she worked at. Her ivory complexion had paled, contrasting with my skin that was flushed with colour after running from the station. The train arrived late and I cursed every lost minute.

  I expected to find her more cheerful. Instead she was subdued and indifferent. At the time I was unaware that she was masking feelings of disappointment about her recent marriage. Perhaps it was true that marriage dampened love and romance and shifted to a state of mundane normality. Had her marriage soured? Did she want to meet me again to patch things up between us, continue where our relationship left off?

  I rebuked myself for being thoughtless. Was it malicious of me to wish misfortune on Lucy? I felt no compunction wishing ill on her partner and justified this attitude as he was an adversary. Months after she left, I still longed for the relationship I lost, and for her to return. Although curious about why she appeared flat, I dared not ask and was cautious not to offend her. She had cast a spell over me. I was angry at her, at times I hated her, but I savoured every agonising minute I could spend in her company.

  Again she apologised that she hadn’t contacted me sooner to thank me for the card. She was unwell, and it wasn’t until a few years later that I learnt the truth. I refrained from pressing her for details about her life with Harry, instead, filling the time up with polite conversation. We continued to meet over lunch or coffee. She was quieter than I recalled. Still, although curious about her life with Harry, I refrained from prying. These thoughts contrasted with the desire to bark out accusations about how she had treated me. In
stead, I made a point of asking how Harry was.

  Chapter Six

  Whenever we met she’d launch into a bland account of her life, only informing me about what she thought I should know. Then one day she seemed unaware that she revealed far more about Harry and her life with him than she intended.

  They lived a few suburbs west of Wimbledon. This was Harry’s family home and an early inheritance. Harry was an architect who had shunned an orthodox career and occupied his time taking on project work with small practices or with teams of architects within large companies. These contracts and conditions suited him, fitting around the band he played in.

  Occasionally when I met Lucy she filled in details about Harry. At least the bits she knew about him and believed appropriate conversation fillers. He and his brother went through the public school system. Both of them were heavily involved in the extracurricular sport and music expected at these privileged schools. At university Harry became involved in a student band. He told his parents, to their horror, that music was the real education and would become his vocation.

  During the first year of their marriage Harry undertook a twelve month contract. Although this was full-time work he continued to play gigs with the band he formed some years ago, sometimes into the early hours of the morning. He sympathised with Lucy’s disappointment and complaints that he left her alone too often. In the earlier days of their relationship she regularly watched the band until becoming exhausted from staying up late then facing work the next day. She rarely watched Harry play on weekends as much of her time was spent cleaning the large house they lived in. I guess in the early days this was a labour of love.

  She said enough to reveal the cracks in her relationship that were rapidly emerging. It became difficult for Lucy to refrain from disclosing what happened. She could not disguise the tightening muscles in her neck becoming ropey when she spoke. Sometimes her face appeared pinched as if she were flinching from pain. She prefaced conversations with words like: Is it that long since we met? And, I’m glad we have remained friends.

  I still wanted us to be more than friends, but consoled myself that we hadn’t parted on bad terms. She simply fell in love with someone else. I came to terms with this reality by continuing to commit to longer projects and avoiding the possibility of new romance. Other times I cursed Lucy, hated her, but somehow, I kept this to myself.

  Do you wonder why I’ve revealed this much about my relationship with Lucy?

  ‘Tell me.’

  Lucy found herself in much the same predicament that you are in. She continued to drip feed me details about her life.

  I was away on foreign correspondence and hadn’t seen Lucy for about a year. Tired and on a break from a challenging spell of work, I met her for lunch. She didn’t need to announce her news. I didn’t know what to say. Did I congratulate her? She announced the baby was due in weeks, but didn’t appear excited, almost making excuses about her circumstances. She said Harry was looking forward to being a parent. He wanted to find out the child’s gender and when he found out they were expecting a son, he named him Troy.

  From this point I saw less of Lucy, spending more time with colleagues and friends.

  I started seeing a divorced woman with an eighteen year-old son. Janet’s son moved to Canada to live with his father. He wanted to complete secondary school there and planned to study either in Canada or the U.S. Since becoming free from being the main carer of her son, Janet became a foreign correspondent. The relationship developed when we continued to find ourselves often either working alongside each other, crossing paths locally or abroad.

  It was impractical to extend our relationship into a live-in arrangement. I had adapted to living alone and spent less time at home. Janet had her own place on the northern edge of London, further from the city centre than where I lived. We often travelled to the city by train to meet. She stayed at my place rather than returning home by train or taxi. Following mornings we would go to a movie or some other activity. This arrangement weaved itself seamlessly into my life. Neither of us sought a relationship with greater commitment nor did we discuss plans about a permanent future together.

  You might think I’m hedonistic and selfish. I hadn’t reached the state of being single and contented until long after Lucy left. Janet’s company was easy to wear. I lived every day as it came. When we met again the relationship picked up where it had left off without a hiccup. I had no expectation of a future with Janet and she never expressed any thoughts of this to me. At times we didn’t see each other for several weeks as she travelled to Canada to see her son during school vacation. Alternatively, he returned to London and she spent time exclusively with him.

  Meanwhile, Lucy continued to maintain a façade about her life with Harry. Troy was almost one when Lucy returned to work part-time.

  She knew I worked with Janet, who was often sent to cover an angle on a project I was assigned to. She didn’t ask questions. I guessed at the time that Lucy understood the nature of my work abroad, the dangers some places involved. She must have assumed I was strategically teamed up with Janet to offer protection.

  The cracks in Lucy’s marriage multiplied and enlarged to the point where it was only a matter of time before she could no longer contain her misery. She couldn’t keep the fireworks in her relationship with Harry locked away behind a closed door indefinitely.

  I continued to enquire about her and Harry’s wellbeing. I was tempted, but I refrained from asking, if Harry’s musical genius had been recognised or if he was on the cusp of fame after being scouted by a famous band or producer. However, I wasn’t prepared for the day when I mentioned Harry’s name and Lucy threw me a hard and bitter look, one I hadn’t seen before, followed by a bitter exclamation that she never wanted to see him again and questioning what possessed her to have anything to do with him at all.

  I didn’t know where to look and spoke without thinking when I should have said nothing. ‘Surely you’re not serious?’

  The tone of her voice was laced with venom: ‘Absolutely serious.’

  Despite her absence of words another look of bitterness spread over her face, her eyes narrowed then gave way to an expression of malicious intent. This was an angle of Lucy’s personality I hadn’t seen. She created an awkward silence and I couldn’t look her in the eye when I spoke. ‘What happened? Whatever has been said will blow over.’

  She spat the words out, slowly and deliberately. ‘You have no idea what happens in that hell house, what my life has become.’

  Again I spoke without thinking and felt the awkwardness of my words. ‘I don’t wish to pry. Only tell me what you want me to know.’

  Her composure gave way to an incoherent babble of tears. Troy’s eyes wore a wide-eyed unfocused look, his mouth was downturned. He was subdued, perhaps in shock.

  Lucy dropped her face into her hands.

  What she revealed was almost beyond comprehension. I wasn’t so naïve that I was ignorant of the day to day reality for many people. Despite her appearance of innocence and fragility, she was no fool.

  I wanted to remove Lucy from the attention her distressed state was attracting. I paid for the coffees then we left. As the weather was mild we relocated to a park that fortunately had children’s play equipment. The worst of Lucy’s raw emotions blew over, followed by silence and few words spoken while Troy played and climbed. As we walked through the park Lucy found her voice and described the nightmare she had been living with Harry.

  Months after their marriage she regretted her decision and chastised herself for being foolish. Rather than leave, she put this mistake down to experience, resigned that she would stay and live with the consequences. She talked herself into believing the situation would improve, didn’t want to abandon the relationship then later regret that she didn’t give it the best chance.

  Warning bells continued to sound. One evening when he returned home from an alcohol-fuelled binge after the band played a gig, she was assaulted with another Harry epi
sode. She believed that he didn’t take drugs or wind up hopelessly drunk, but that night he was under the influence of something. He was aggressive towards her. She wondered how much of the evening he would remember and how he managed to return home. He taunted her then thrust his face at her. What the f—k does it matter? When she insisted on an explanation he threw her a sinister grin. You really want to know? Baby – where would you like me to start?

  When she asked how he managed to decorate his neck and chest with interesting marks, his cruel laugh laced with stale beer washed over her. Do you really want to know? He didn’t wait for her answer before he recounted every sordid detail. Weeks later she was diagnosed with a sexually-transmitted disease. When she confronted Harry with this information he shrugged, That’s life sweetheart.

  She said, ‘Despite his actions, he always says sorry, begs my forgiveness.’ She paused and had this faraway look.

  She gained a reasonable settlement, was able to buy her own place and move away from the shadow Harry had cast over her life and all that she endured in that house.

  ‘He must be Richard’s double.’ Christine pauses. ‘Only – Richard is too meticulous to let anything like that happen.’

  ‘Despite Harry having a respectable profession and a family, he’s nothing more than a waste of space. He thought he would be a big star until it was too late.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s worse, the way Harry treated Lucy or the way Richard expected me to switch from being the society wife to the bedroom slut.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It wasn’t simply a fetish for Richard, he made his expectations clear. Can you believe he wanted me to pierce my nipples like some eighteen year old?’

  I snort derisively.

  ‘But wait – there’s more. He wanted me to put a ring through my clitoris.’

  My eyes widen in horror. I shake my head in disgust. ‘Richard’s been watching too many porn videos – it’s a wonder he didn’t want to put you in handcuffs.’