Page 7 of Don't Say A Word
I check my watch. Where is he anyway? Still playing tennis? He loves tennis.
Should I worry about that? Because shortly after we moved here, he started going to tennis every night after work. On the one hand, we barely see him, which is a relief, but still. It’s worrying.
It makes me wonder if it’s happening again.The affair.
Honestly, most women in my position would be cheering if their psycho husband was having an affair, but not me. I almost lost Holly because of it. Or that’s what it felt like. Max had an affair with a client at work. When I found out – it was Holly, actually, who found a stupid love note in his office and showed it to me – I begged, pleaded for him to give up his lover and give us another chance. I have no idea if he just wanted an affair on the side and stay married to me, or if he was going to leave me, but I couldn’t take the chance.
He liked me begging. I could tell. So I cried and pleaded, like I was the one who had to be forgiven. And finally, he agreed. A fresh start, away from London. Max’s company agreed to transfer him to Brookford so he could lead the branch here. We uprooted our lives, bought a house (orhebought a house), found jobs, a new school for Holly, and honestly, I don’t know if I could go through all that again.
I’m just being stupid. We’ve only been in Brookford a couple of months. He couldn’t have met someone so soon, could he? Someone at work? Oh God, I hope not.
For goodness sake, Kate, get a grip. He’s playing tennis – not gallivanting with a client.
Then I hear the key in the lock, and my stomach gives a sharp twist. I quickly go to stand at the stove and stir the sauce.
‘Hey,’ he says, one hand on the doorjamb. He is still in his tennis gear: white shorts, white polo shirt, white sneakers. I always marvel at how normal Max looks for a psychopath.He’s chiselled, well-groomed, takes care of himself and keeps fit. He doesn’t smile often. Unless he’s in public, flirting with his coworkers or the ladies at the country club, in which case he’s all smiles.
‘Hey, you,’ I say back.
He slaps the doorjamb twice. That’s his thing, one of his little quirks. ‘I forgot something, didn’t I,’ he says. ‘Something important. Like your birthday.’
‘Of course not!’ I laugh. ‘I just thought, since Holly is out, that we might do something nice – you and me.’
He lets his tennis bag slide slowly down his shoulder and to the floor.
‘That’s nice.’ He cracks his neck. The first time I saw him crack his neck like that, I thought he was dying. It’s the way his eyes roll into their sockets while he rotates his head slowly, like some kind of giant reptile, before pulling it to the side until it’s almost parallel to his shoulder.Crack!
He brushes his fingers through his hair. As usual, a chunk of it flops right back over his forehead. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Did you win?’ I ask.
‘I most certainly did. Poor Jonathan. He didn’t know what hit him. I guess I’d better get cleaned up,’ he says.
‘I guess you’d better.’
He slaps the doorjamb, twice, then picks up his bag and runs upstairs.
‘This is really nice, Kate,’ he says, frowning and wiping up the last of the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. He’s slurring his words slightly. Let’s just say he enjoyed the wine. I’ll tell him that I should pick up Holly. That’s good. He might not even realise what time it is.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘And you look nice,’ he says. ‘I like your hair like that.’
‘Thank you. And you look nice, too,’ I reply. He’s wearing tailored chinos, a light-blue shirt and his white leather Tom Ford sneakers.
He checks his watch. He has to extend his arm to focus. God, he really has had too much to drink. Not that I could do anything about that, but it really does make me nervous.
‘As much as I’m enjoying myself here, it’s eight twenty. I should go and get Holly.’
My heart starts to race. So much for not realising what the time is. ‘Why?’ I pat my mouth with my napkin. Then, without looking at him, I say, ‘We said ten.’
He blinks at me. ‘Who said ten?’
‘I thought you did.’
He does it again, the cracking of his neck, the rolling of his eyes. ‘I said eight thirty, Kate.’
‘Oh, did you? That’s funny. I was sure you’d said ten. Anyway, that’s what I told her.’
