"Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked at last.
"Like what?"
"Explain?" he suggested. "I still can't believe you'd talk to Jock, and not to me. Why didn't you tell me Annie was beaten up? You know I'd have come clean if I'd realized how serious it all was."
"When?"
"What do you mean, when?"
"When would you have come clean?" I asked evenly. "I told you at the time what PC Quentin said about the bruising-but you just said we were talking bollocks. As I recall your comment was, 'Since when did a neurotic bitch and a disgruntled policeman know the first damn thing about pathology?' You could have told me the truth then and given me and Andrew Quentin a fighting chance against Drury ... but you didn't."
He dropped his head into his hands. "I thought you were wrong," he muttered. "I was pretty stressed out at the time, and you didn't make it easy for me."
"Fine. Then you've nothing to feel guilty about. You were saving me from myself. No one's going to blame you for that." I looked impatiently at my watch. "Can we go now? I'm hungry."
"You're not making this very easy for me," he said. "You must know how awful I feel."
"Actually, I don't," I said honestly. "You've never felt awful before. That year, 1978, was one of those little unpleasantnesses-like where the cutlery drawer is and how to boil eggs-that you manage to erase so successfully from your memory. I've always envied you for it, and if you're troubled now it's probably just a reaction to knowing you've been rumbled. It'll pass. It usually does."
He tried a different tack. "The boys are twitched as hell," he said. "They keep asking me what I've done that's so bad you'd want to run away."
"Oh, for Christ's sake!" I said bluntly. "If you want to make me angry, then hiding behind your children is the surest way to do it. Luke and Tom know damn well I don't run away from things. They also know I wouldn't abandon them unless I was on a life-support machine somewhere. In any case, I told them I wouldn't be home until late so I imagine they're lying in front of the telly, as per normal, wondering why their father has suddenly gone 'round the bend."
"We had a row," he admitted. "I told them they were unfeeling bastards."
I didn't bother to comment because I wasn't in the mood to massage his bruised ego. "Look," I said, tapping my watch, "I haven't had anything to eat all day and I'm starving, so can we either go home or get a takeaway? Have you and the boys eaten?"
"Tom made some spag bol for him and Luke, but I wasn't hungry."
"Good, then we'll have a curry."
"Why didn't you eat on the train?"
"Because it was trolley service," I said crossly, "and the only thing left to eat by the time it reached me was a packet of dry biscuits. So I had some wine instead ... and now I'm fighting mad and in no mood to play silly buggers with you or anyone else."
"I don't blame you," he began self-pityingly as he fired the engine. "I just wish there was something I could do or say-"
I cut him off. "Don't even think of apologizing," I said. "As far as I'm concerned you can grovel to me for the rest of your life. And it won't make a blind bit of difference. It'll make a difference to Jock, though. The sorrier you are the happier he'll be, and you'll be back in each other's pockets before you know it."
He mulled this over quietly as we turned on to the main road. "I've already apologized to Jock."
"I assumed you would."
"He calmed down pretty quickly as a matter of fact, once I'd explained what a mistake the whole damn thing had been."
"Okay."
"It didn't mean Jack shit, you know ... just something that happened while you were away. The trouble is, Libby took it more seriously than I did. She and Jock weren't getting on too well at the time and it sort of ran out of control." He paused, inviting me to say something. When I didn't he went on, "Jock understands that. He's been there himself, knows what it's like to be caught between a rock and a hard place."
"Okay."
"Does that mean you understand?"
"Of course."
He flicked me an uneasy glance as he turned left at a pelican crossing. "You don't sound as if you do."
I sighed. "I'm your wife, Sam, and I've known you since I was twenty. If I don't understand you by now then I doubt I ever will."
"I didn't mean, do you understand me. I meant, do you understand how the thing with Libby happened? What a fucking disaster it was? How sorry I was afterward?"
I gave a small laugh. "The thing? Do you mean your affair? The time you rogered your best friend's wife because your own wife was away and you hadn't had sex for twenty-four hours?"
"It wasn't like that," he protested.
"Of course it wasn't," I agreed. "It was Libby's fault. She caught you at a low ebb, plied you with drink, then persuaded you into a quickie on the kitchen floor. Afterward, you found yourself in an impossible position. You regretted it intensely and hoped it was a one-off. She loved every minute of it and looked on it as the beginning of a great love affair." I watched him for a moment. "I should imagine Libby's version is a little different-you seduced her in other words-but the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle."
"I knew you'd be angry," he said unhappily. "That's why I never told you."
"Now you're flattering yourself," I said. "It's probably a huge disappointment but the only emotion I have ever experienced re you and Libby is indifference." Of course I was lying ... but he owed me ... I had honored my promises ... and he hadn't. "If I'd been able to work up the energy to feel angry, I think you'd have realized something was wrong. Certainly Libby would, but then she's a woman and women are better at picking up vibes."
He pulled up in front of the Indian restaurant. "Wasn't it her who told you about us?"
"No. I suspect she's even more embarrassed than you are. We're hardly talking Abelard and Heloise in all conscience."
He clamped down on his anger. "Who then?"
"You." I smiled at his expression. "One night in Hong Kong. Not in so many words ... You weren't that drunk ... but you said enough for me to put two and two together. It was quite a relief, actually. I remember thinking, So that's what this has all been about-a grubby little affair with Libby Williams. I even laughed about it afterward. I kept picturing you and her working up a sweat in Jock's bed while he was out getting blow jobs off the Graham Road tart. There was such a sweet irony about it-you being piggy in the middle of a couple of predators. It explained everything. Your unpleasantness ... your lies ... your dash to leave England. I even felt sorry for you in a funny kind of way because it seemed so obvious you'd sold your soul to the devil for something you hadn't enjoyed very much."
He shook his head in bewilderment. "Why didn't you say something?"
"I couldn't see the point. We were on the other side of the world. All I'd have been doing was closing the stable door after the horse had bolted."
Sam wasn't designed to remain humble for long. "Do you know what this feels like? It feels like I'm married to a stranger. I don't even know who you are anymore." He propped his elbows on the steering wheel and ground his knuckles into his eyes. "You always tell people what a great marriage we have ... what great kids we have ... what a great father I am. But it's all just crap ... one huge pretense at happy families when the truth is you hate my guts. How could you do that? How could you be so bloody devious?"