Happily Ever After_ - Benison Anne O'Reilly [39]
‘Who was it?’
‘Does that really matter?’
‘Yes it does.’
‘Just a flight attendant I met.’
‘How original…and someone you could be working with again someday too. How are you supposed to manage that?’
‘No - she works for another airline.’
‘I bet everyone at your work knows about this. I bet they are all laughing at me.’
‘No.’
‘You’re just saying that…I bet they are…How long did it go on?…How many times?’
‘You don’t need to know those things.’
‘What was her name? I want to know.’
‘No, I’ve told you enough already. What good will it do to know?’
‘You’re just trying to protect her. You care more about her than you do about me.’
‘No! For fuck’s sake calm down, Ellie.’
He made a move towards me.
‘Keep away from me you bastard. You’re an arrogant prick who cares about no-one but yourself. I hate your guts.’
I fled into the spare bedroom where I sat on the bed and cried for I don’t know how long: great shuddering sobs that shook my whole body, giving way to short hiccuppy shrugs and, finally, still silent tears, until all my energy was spent. He didn’t come to see if I was alright, not once. Presumably he thought he’d wait until my anger died down and we could have a rational discussion about the fact that while I was struggling with sleepless nights and a screaming baby he was off fucking another woman.
I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. On the way I walked past the open door of our bedroom. He was asleep. He’d casually destroyed the last shreds of my confidence and my trust in him and our marriage and then he’d just gone to sleep. He didn’t even care enough to stay awake.
I wanted to rush over and scrape my nails down his bare back, leaving great gouges of red open flesh that would fester and scab. But when I tried to rouse myself to the fight all my energy was gone. Instead I just got down on the floor outside our bedroom door and sat there the rest of the night listening to him sleep, my arms wrapped around my knees and my head resting upon them. I stayed there for hours, like a small creature in a cocoon, until I was roused by Isabel’s early morning cry. I don’t know long she’d been crying before I heard her.
And when the creature emerged from its chrysalis it was no longer a spitting viper, nor sadly a sparkling butterfly. It was a defenceless grub again and utterly diminished.
***
I functioned on autopilot that first Monday. Having a small baby helped, the necessary rituals of caring for her filling up most of the day. Every time my husband approached me I put my hands up in a defensive pose and backed away. I refused to speak to him except to tell him to move his belongings into the spare room.
For two weeks it was much the same. I ate virtually nothing and drank a bottle of wine by myself each evening. Nights were filled with images of him touching her, being intimate with her; they disturbed both sleep and wake. Still, I could never get a proper picture of her in my head. What sort of woman would my husband choose? What was his type? It always irritated me that I didn’t know.
When he was home I kept my silent distance, my head bowed so I didn’t have to meet his gaze. When he was away I took my wine with me to the bedroom, where I systematically combed through his belongings in a masochistic hunt for evidence of her - the faceless flight attendant. I found nothing: no trace of perfume or lipstick, no stray hairs of a colour that didn’t match mine, no personal notes. Once when he was home but in the shower I feverishly scrolled through his mobile phone messages, but found nothing incriminating. He’d covered his bases well. It probably helps to be anally retentive when you’re having an affair.
I went to work as planned, although I’m not sure exactly what I achieved during this time. Melanie kept asking if I was okay but I said nothing. Some things are just too raw to talk about.
Isabel’s christening had been scheduled for the Sunday two weeks after Tony’s knock-down punch. I would have cancelled if I’d had a choice but the