Out of the Blue

‘I … OK,’ he said. ‘OK, I admit it. She’s very attractive. She’s single. She fancies me. And yes, I fancied her.’

‘She’s got short blonde hair,’ I said suddenly. It had come to me in a flash. What the French call an éclaircissement. Andie was that unknown blonde photographed with Peter in Quaglino’s. ‘She’s got short blonde hair,’ I said again.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She has. But how the hell do you know?’

‘Because … ’ Oh God, I couldn’t tell him. ‘Because … Oh, female intuition,’ I explained. ‘I feel sick,’ I announced as I fiddled with my pudding spoon. ‘You’ve had an affair. How could you?’

‘I’ll tell you how,’ he said, and by now his voice was rising as well. ‘Because you’d accused me of having one, and then the opportunity was there and I thought damn it, why not go ahead and do it!’ I was aware by now that we were beginning to attract strange looks.

‘Any dessert?’ enquired the waiter. ‘And, er, I’d be grateful sir and madam if you could keep your voices down.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I will not keep my voice down, because my husband has just been unfaithful!’ I was aware of eyes swivelling in our direction, and of the sound of breath being sharply inhaled.

‘Well, madam,’ said the waiter, ‘I just feel that … ’

‘I don’t care what you feel!’ I hissed. ‘We are having marital difficulties here.’ By now all conversation in the restaurant had stopped and everyone was staring, but I couldn’t have cared less. ‘After fifteen years of marriage,’ I informed the waiter, ‘my husband tells me that he’s strayed.’

‘– poor woman,’ I heard someone say.

‘– isn’t she the weather girl on that morning TV show?’

‘– faithful for fifteen years? The man must be a saint.’

‘– of course you were unfaithful after five.’

‘– no need to bring that up!’

‘Now madam,’ said the waiter, ‘I am very sorry that you have this, er, problem.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ I corrected him, ‘it’s a crisis.’

‘And actually I’m divorced myself.’

‘Oh, well, I’m sorry.’

‘My wife left me.’

‘Oh, bad luck,’ said Peter.

‘So although I am sympathetic, I must nevertheless ask you to keep your voices down.’

‘Yes, Faith,’ Peter whispered hoarsely. ‘Please would you keep it down!’

‘That’s right, keep it down,’ I said with a hollow laugh. ‘Don’t rock the boat. Be a big girl. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t cry. And above all, above all – don’t mind. Well, I do mind!’ I wailed. ‘I mind terribly. How could you, Peter?’ I added, aware that the table had begun to blur.