Out of the Blue

‘Oh. Oh. Those cigarettes,’ he said as the car nosed forward again. ‘Yes, well, I didn’t want you to know this, but actually … I do smoke, just occasionally, when I’m stressed.’

‘I’ve never seen you do it,’ I said as the sign for the Hogarth Health Club came into view.

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d approve,’ he replied. ‘In any case, you’ve never seen me with serious stress before. But when I’m stressed, then just now and again, yes, I do like to have a quick fag.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I see.’ And then I suddenly remembered another thing that didn’t quite fit.

‘You don’t like chewing gum, do you?’ I asked as he parked the car.

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I hate it.’

‘So you’d never buy it, then?’

‘No. Of course not. Why on earth would I?’

‘Well, exactly,’ I said.

‘Look, Faith, I hope that’s the end of today’s inquisition,’ he said as he pulled up the handbrake.

‘No further questions,’ I said with a grim little smile.

‘And in future, Faith,’ he added as he turned off the ignition, ‘I’d rather you didn’t go through my pockets. You’ve never done it before and I don’t want you to start now.’ Of course he didn’t. Because then I’d find out for certain what at present I only suspected.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said breezily. ‘I won’t do it again.’ When we got home at nine thirty I pretended I was going to bed, but instead I crept into Matt’s room to use his computer. I knew he wouldn’t mind. There was a pile of CD Roms on the chair, and dozens of computer games on the bed. He seemed to be in the middle of reorganising his vast collection. I picked them up and looked at them – they’ve got the weirdest names: Zombie Revenge, Strider, Super Pang and Chu-Chu Rocket. Oh well, I thought, they keep him happy. Then I sat at his desk, turned on the computer and hit ‘Connect’. Eeeeeeeeeekkkk. Berddinnnnnggg. Chingggg. Bongggggg. Pingggggg. Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep. Blooooop. Krrrrrkkkkkkk. Krrrrrrkkkkkk. And I was in. I clicked onto Yahoo, did a search for the www.IsHeCheating.com website, then click, click, click … And there it was. As the page downloaded I quickly got the gist. It was one of these interactive sites. American. You could log on pseudonymously, e-mail your suspicions, and ask other people for advice. It was riveting to read. Sherry from Iowa was worried because she’d found a stocking in her husband’s car; Brandy from North Carolina was in despair because her boyfriend kept talking about a woman at work; and Chuck from Utah was upset because he’d intercepted his wife talking to her lover on the phone.

I’m almost certain he’s cheating, said Sherry. But although I want to know in one way, in another I don’t, because I’m scared of what I may find out.

Go with your guts, girl, advised Mary-Ann from Maine. A woman’s intuition is NEVER wrong.

Maybe it’s HIS stocking? suggested Frank from New Jersey. Maybe your husband’s a cross-dresser, and is too embarrassed to say.

Follow him to work, said Cathy from Milwaukee. But make sure you wear a wig.

I can’t. He’s a long-distance lorry-driver, Sherry had e-mailed back. I decided to log on as ‘Emily’ because that’s my middle name.

I think my husband may be having an affair, I typed. Or it could just be that I’m paranoid and insecure. But he has been behaving strangely, and I’m not sure it’s all due to pressure at work. He’s a publisher, I went on. So he gets to meet all sorts of glamorous people in the book world. And though I know he’s never strayed before, I think he may be doing so now. Firstly, he ordered flowers for someone in December, using our joint credit card. And when I challenged him about this he claimed – not very convincingly – that they were congratulatory flowers for an author. Secondly, I’ve been finding some odd things in his pockets – chewing gum, which he hates; and today I found a packet of cigarettes. But in fifteen years of marriage I have never, ever, seen him smoke. So I simply don’t trust him in the way I’ve always done before. And it’s making me feel terrible, so I’d be grateful for your thoughts.

The next afternoon I phoned Lily. ‘I need your advice,’ I said.

‘Of course, darling,’ she replied. ‘Whatever I can do to help.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s about Peter.’

‘Is it?’ she breathed. ‘Oh dear. What’s happened?’

I sat down on the hall chair. ‘I’ve found out a few things.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. But I don’t know what they mean.’

‘They probably mean nothing,’ she said confidently. ‘But I’ll tell you what I think.’

‘Right … ’ I began nervously. ‘He sent me flowers.’

‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Mmm,’ she added with a regretful sigh. ‘You know what they say about that.’

‘Yes, but the thing is,’ I said miserably, ‘that he sent someone else flowers, too.’

‘No!’ she gasped.

‘He claims they were for an author, Lily, but I’m just not sure. And then … ’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh Lily, I feel so disloyal telling you this,’ I said as I twisted my wedding ring back and forth.

‘Darling, you’re not being disloyal,’ she said quietly. ‘All you’re doing is protecting yourself.’

‘Protecting myself?’

‘Yes. Because if it is serious – though I’m absolutely sure it’s not – you don’t want to be taken by surprise. So tell me, what else have you found?’

‘Well … ’ I began again. And then stopped. ‘Oh God, I can’t go on, Lily. I feel so treacherous. I mean, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you see, you’ve never had a husband.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Faith,’ she said with a giggle. ‘You know perfectly well I’ve had lots. Now, what were you going to say?’

I heaved a huge sigh. ‘I’ve found some pretty strange things in his pockets. For example, a packet of chewing gum, but Lily, he hates the stuff. And yesterday I discovered a packet of Lucky Strike. But the point is, Peter doesn’t smoke.’

‘Mmm. How very strange.’

‘And then this morning when I got back from work I went through his pockets again … ’

‘Naturally … ’

‘And I found this note in his jacket.’

‘A note? What does it say?’

‘It says: Peter, Jean has already phoned three times this morning and is absolutely desperate to talk to you, desperate is underlined. Twice,’ I added anxiously.

‘Jean,’ she said. ‘Well … that could mean nothing, really. It could be quite innocent.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes. I do. And if it is innocent – which I’m quite sure it is – then he’ll be perfectly happy to tell you exactly who this “Jean” is. So my advice is to ask him outright, and watch how he reacts. Now, don’t worry about all this, Faith,’ Lily added. ‘I’m praying for you, by the way.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’