You, Me and Other People. Fionnuala Kearney

House, followed by a soothing massage to ‘release the stress knots’ in my shoulders, followed by sex – yes, I’m calm. The wrestling session has left me exhausted but I’m calm. And shallow. Shallow enough to need sexual release when everything is going to rat-shit. Shallow enough to keep going back to Emma since she’s the only one who seems to think I’m incredible.

      My phone pings a text from Matt. ‘Call me. Urgent.’

      I dial the number via the Bluetooth connection.

      ‘About time,’ he says almost instantly. ‘Where have you been?’

      I decline to answer on the grounds that I would definitely incriminate myself.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says. ‘I need to bring you up to speed. Adam?’

      ‘I’m here.’

      ‘Well, they didn’t fire us.’ He sighs. ‘But it was a tough meeting. As suspected, you’re off the account.’

      I remain silent.

      ‘Where are you? Can we meet?’

      ‘No. I’m a few minutes from Weybridge. Meeting Beth tonight to see what happens from here. I won’t get back until late.’

      ‘Early breakfast meeting? Starbucks? We need to talk.’

      ‘I think you’ve probably said enough.’

      ‘Adam, not everything is about you? We need to discuss this mess we’ve been left with and you need to get your arse in gear, get your finger back on the pulse.’

      I can’t even speak. Matt telling me off like a child makes my blood boil, even if he’s right – probably because he’s right.

      ‘Starbucks at seven thirty,’ he continues. ‘Oh, and by the way – it’s not me, it’s you.’

      I hear the phone disconnect and can’t help a short-lived smile at his attempt at break-up humour. Moments later, the smile fades as I steer into the driveway of what was my beautiful home and now appears to be Beth’s beautiful home.

      She answers the door so quickly, I don’t really have time to gather my thoughts.

      ‘Hi.’ She stands back and ushers me in. She looks well. She’s wearing a little makeup, eyeliner, lip gloss, blusher. She has on what I know to be jeans from her ‘skinny’ clothes, kept on the left-hand side of the walk-in wardrobe we shared. The blouse, too, I recognize from the same rack of clothes that Beth now fits easily.

      ‘I never knew,’ I say, as she takes my jacket.

      ‘Knew what?’

      ‘That you don’t like horseradish.’ My head nudges to the wall art and she shrugs.

      ‘I guess you know now,’ she replies. We head to the kitchen. ‘Wine?’

      ‘No thanks, I’ll just have a coffee.’ I pass a photo of Beth and me taken years ago on a ski trip. We’re smiling and there is such love in our eyes that it rattles me. She flicks the kettle on, takes out two cups and the scene seems so normal. I realize I miss this. This afternoon’s sex, the last few months, all seem to disappear when I see a photo of Beth and me the way we were and she’s making me a cup of coffee in our kitchen.

      ‘How’ve you been?’ she asks.

      ‘I’m okay. A tough day at the coalface … You?’

      She shrugs, doesn’t reply. She hands me my mug, takes her cup of green tea and sits opposite me at the island in the kitchen. I try to catch her eye. ‘Beth, I …’ I reach across and touch her free hand. She snatches it away.

      ‘Please, I need to explain.’

      ‘I forgot you take sugar,’ she says, heading back to the larder, removing the bowl and handing it to me with a teaspoon. ‘Have you heard from Meg this week?’

      ‘No. I … Look, there’s not much point in saying it just happened, but it did, really. She came on to me. No, I didn’t stop her. I should have stopped her. I wish I’d stopped her, I wish I’d stopped myself. I wish none of it had happened and I was home here with you.’ I banish any thoughts of this afternoon’s antics from my mind. I am here to talk to Beth. I’m here to try and get her to listen. I’m not even sure what I want to say, but I do know that here and now, in this moment, I’ll tell any lie necessary, because I’m not ready for my marriage to end.

      Beth is staring downwards at the oak flooring. ‘Meg’s got her exams soon, don’t forget.’

      ‘Beth? It’s sex, just sex. You and I, we …’

      Beth, her head still pointed downwards, looks as though she’s trying to swallow a golf ball. I shrug, helpless. ‘Sex, that’s all … You stopped wanting me.’ I bite my tongue; the last thing I want to do is make her feel like I’m blaming her.

      She looks up. ‘We need to sort out the details. What happens, how we actually separate … I don’t want to lose the house.’

      Jesus Christ. I sip my coffee. ‘Is that the only reason I’m here, Beth? My wallet, the house?’

      ‘You left to shack up with your whore,’ she murmurs.

      ‘I’m not shacked up with her. I’m living in Ben’s place. And you threw me out.’ I don’t bother defending Emma’s honour.

      ‘I don’t want to do this.’ She’s standing suddenly, one hand on her hip.

      I don’t move. ‘What, you don’t want to do it now? Or never? We have to do this. We can’t pretend nothing happened and just talk money!’

      ‘Why not?’ She finally looks at me.

      Suddenly, I’m weary. ‘Don’t you want to talk? We’re broken, Beth. I know it’s all my fault, but please—’

      ‘Adam, are you still with that woman?’ Both hands are now on her hips and she seems to be saying that as long as Emma is in the picture, conversation is pointless.

      I think of this afternoon, debate lying, and decide against it. ‘It depends on what you mean, but I guess the answer is yes, I’m still seeing Emma.’

      Beth’s beautiful head shakes in slow motion.

      ‘Seeing her … How quaint. Don’t you mean: shagging her and letting her give you the rampant blow jobs that you think you never got at home? Maybe in some of the underwear you bought for her?’

      For the second time today, I feel colour course through my neck and land firmly on my cheeks.

      ‘Transparent, that’s what you are. What could you possibly have to say? To “talk” about?’ She turns back towards the sink, tosses her green tea into it and heads to the fridge. There, she takes out a wine bottle and pours herself a glass. She takes a large gulp from it and speaks with her back still to me. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? Back then, way back whenever, that’s when we should have talked. You could have and should have talked to me then.’

      ‘You’re right,’ I tell her spine. ‘I’m sorry.’

      She stares into the kitchen window. With her back still to me, she asks my reflection. ‘When did it start?’

      ‘Beth—’

      ‘I need to know, Adam.’ She turns around. ‘How long have you been lying to me?’

      I sit very still. That is a very difficult question, and has so many potential answers that I quickly reason she must only mean Emma.

      ‘Not long.’

      ‘How long exactly?’

      Though I know the answer to be about five months, I hear my considered reply. ‘Three months.’

      She focuses on my eyes, blinks twice and then looks away. I know she’s trying hard not to cry. I watch her take a wedge