Chapter 14

In February, an advertisement arrived at Mike's office announcing an electronics trade exhibition in Brighton to be held in April. Rosemary suggested they take a stall. Bernard could set it up for Mike and Mike could swan around, press the flesh and answer questions about their service and research.

The family went to Scotland for Easter and they stayed for Easter week. It was a relaxing time for everyone, especially Siobhán who was preparing for her GCSEs. They returned the weekend after, and Mike went to Brighton on the following Sunday.

Mike was a fool, he admitted as much to himself. He should have taken a couple of staff, because the week was totally exhausting, but despite all the frenetic activity he managed to do a good turn for someone, and neglect to do something else, which cost him dearly.

He phoned Claire and children on the first three nights, and since there was nothing he could tell them about his work there, and he was in any case dead beat, he listened while they told him about their day. On the Thursday he could not get through, and though he tried on Friday morning, again he got the answer-phone.

After lunch on Friday, however, he was on his way home. It was a long journey from Brighton by train, nearly four hours, arriving at Manchester at 6:30pm after two changes including a crossing of London by tube. He arrived home after seven, utterly exhausted.

He had looked forward all the way home to Claire's welcoming arms but he was disappointed. He entered the hallway to a quiet house. The children were not at home. He put his bags down and went to the kitchen. No one. He put the kettle on to boil and went into the living room.

Claire was sitting on the sofa. She looked haggard and upset.

"What–?" was all he managed to utter before she started in on him.

"You heartless, lying, cheating, bastard," she began, the tears wetting her cheeks anew. "How could you do that?"

"Do what?" he inquired, totally puzzled. This was not the welcome he needed; he was all in after an exhausting week.

"Don't give me that! You know what I'm talking about. Shagging your blonde bimbo," she snarled. "You fucking hypocrite, all that cant about how faithful you always were, all those protestations of love, that my scars meant nothing. All that shit about never needing a pretty girl now you had me. You low, fucking, lying pig."

He said nothing. He had not a clue what she meant. She glowered at him, hugging her knees to her chest, taking his silence to mean guilt.

"Trying to find some lame excuse?" she taunted him. "Oh darling it didn't mean anything! Oh darling I love only you. Oh darling it was only sex! You're pathetic."

He remained silent, still trying to make sense of her outburst, but she was on a roll.

"You betrayed me, the children and our marriage. You've destroyed any trust I had in you. Your stuff is in your old room until I decide what I'm going to do. God! If only I'd not sold the house! This marriage is over, Mike. I can't live with a cheating bastard."

She lapsed into silence herself. He'd had time to think, and now he thought he knew what she was talking about. His first impulse was to try to explain; his second to feel affronted that she had no trust in him, nor was she going to give him a chance to defend himself. The second impulse won; Mike could be an obstinate bugger.

"Have you quite finished?" he growled. She simply stared at him, eyes full of hatred, which provoked him further. Then he had an idea.

"Where are the children?" he asked with some aggression.

"Julie's taken them for the evening," she said malevolently. "I've explained to the girls what you've done. I'd thank you to keep away from them."

That was too much. The implication about the children was obvious, and devastated him.

"That's low even for you!" he retorted, "and I think you've just gone beyond my ability to forgive. When the truth comes out and you're begging me to take you back, don't expect me to agree. Someone's been filling your mind with lies. How could you poison the children against me without hearing my side? Have you never thought there may be an explanation for this?"

"I don't need anything from you!" she shouted. "I've got all the evidence I need, and you won't wriggle out of this: I won't listen to your lies. Keep yourself separate from us. Get your own meals. Understand?"

He felt suddenly deflated. The woman he loved more than his life had no trust in him, no belief that he could be innocent. He couldn't live with that.

"What I understand is that you are making a big, big mistake," he said quietly. "This is your last chance. Are you going to listen to me?"

For a brief moment she looked uncertain. Then her face hardened. "Why don't you pack some things and just get out of our lives?" she said. "There's nothing you can say that'll make any difference."

"OK," he snapped. "You had your chance. I'm leaving."

It was obstinacy on his part, He could easily have told her what happened at the conference, but he was bitter and angry that she didn't want to give him a hearing and had turned the children against him. What Ryan must be making of this he couldn't imagine.

He took his bags upstairs and unpacked. Then repacked with fresh clothes. He rang Tom. Tom was surprised – again, but like the good friend he was, he offered a room for as long as Mike needed it.

"What's happened?" Tom asked after giving him beans on toast, and settling him in the guest room.

"Someone has maliciously poisoned Claire against me," he said morosely.

"Again? I don't understand," Tom countered. "How could anyone do that? She wouldn't listen to a word against you."

"I thought that until tonight," he replied. "Tonight she wouldn't hear a word from me! And she told me to keep away from the children, and you know what she was implying by that!"

"I still don't understand; it's not like her at all."

"That's the point! I didn't know what she was on about, then the penny dropped. Someone must have seen me with a woman at the trade fair."

"A woman?"

"Let me begin at the beginning. You know I was running round like a headless chicken before the fair, getting our stuff together? Well, just as I was finally ready to leave for the train, I got a phone call from Rosemary who told me that one of our girls, Ingrid Pearson, had just got a message that her grandmother was very ill, in fact she was dying. Well, the grandmother lived in Brighton where I was going and would I let her go, give her compassionate leave of absence?

"Well, what could I say? I volunteered to buy her train fare and go down with her. When we got there she said there was no room for her at home because a lot of relatives had arrived, so I took her to the hotel and got her a room. Someone must have seen us there.

"I gave her dinner, and on Monday she went off to visit the family and her grandmother. I was busy at the fair. Bernard our fitter had been down there and put up all the equipment but the two of us were rushed all day. He was a brilliant support.

"I was coming out of the restaurant, when Ingrid came in through the front door. She was in tears, and naturally I went to her and she cried on my shoulder. I put my arms round her, got her key and took her to her room. We sat and she told me the old lady had died and then reminisced about the good times they had with her and how loving she was.

"I left the room at midnight, called her on the hotel phone and invited her for breakfast before she went off to see the family. Then I crashed.

"We had breakfast together in the mornings and last night we had dinner and a drink in the bar. Then today I was coming home and she was staying on for the funeral on Monday morning.

"Tom," he added, "I think some evil minded sod has told Claire I was with a woman down there. I can't think of any other explanation."

"And she won't listen to you?" he asked sympathetically. "Sounds extreme: the girl could have been anyone."

"Wouldn't hear a word," Mike said disconsolately. "Said she had hard evidence. I can't think what that could be."

"Why don't you ask Julie next door?" Tom suggested. "Claire might have told her more."

Mike thought that was a good idea, and with that they retired to bed. Once safely tucked up, it struck Mike that he'd ruined Tom's Friday night out.

After a troubled night, Tom urged him to phone Julie.

"Mike I'm surprised you have the nerve to phone me after what you've done to Claire."

"Julie please," he begged. "I don't know exactly what I'm accused of. I think someone's poisoned her mind against me."

"Oh Mike," she sounded patient and reproving. "I've seen the photographs. You know what you've done."

"Photo's?" he exclaimed. "What photo's?"

"Photo's of you with a blonde girl in Brighton. You always used to go for blondes, didn't you?"

"Only because Tom prefers brunettes." he responded, "and you know all that stopped when Claire came into my life."

"Clearly not," she said, "from what I saw."

"Julie," he said, exasperated, "I was helping a girl out with a problem. She was upset. I listened to her, gave her dinner. That's all."

"Mike," she sighed, "The photo's don't lie. In some of them there was a lot more going on than having dinner."

"Then they're fakes!" he insisted, annoyed, "but since I wasn't given the chance to see them, I can't really comment. Look, you know me, we've been neighbours for years and years. I'm asking you to believe me, at least until I've seen this so-called evidence."

"Well, Mike," she said, though clearly not convinced, "You've always been straight with me. I'll reserve judgement."

"Thanks Julie."

He relayed the information to Tom, who as always came straight to the point.

"Someone's out to get you," he said. "Photo's? So there has to be a photographer. Did you see anyone taking photographs while you were there?"

"Anyone?" Mike laughed dryly. "There were plenty of photographers there, working for newspapers from all over the place. The BBC did a piece, and ITN."

"It would have to be someone local to us. See anyone you recognised?"

"No," Mike said. "You should have seen the crowds! No chance."

"Hmm."

Tom was thoughtful. Mike could tell Tom had an idea, but Tom said nothing more.

"What I can't understand Tom is that nothing happened," he added in the silence that followed. "All right. I walked her into the hotel. I sorted her room key with reception. We had dinner, for God's sake Tom, she was upset.

"Then when she came back in tears, I comforted her, in the lobby Tom! Full view, nothing secretive. Then another dinner. Yes, I spent some time in her room while she talked, but I remember the curtains were totally closed. So what was on public display was open to misinterpretation but it would have begged an explanation, not the certainty Claire displayed. I don't understand her reaction."

"Well," he said, "until we see the photographs we won't know."

"I'm not going near her," Mike was vehement. "I've done nothing wrong; she's condemned me without trial, showing me the evidence or listening to my explanation. I've no time for that sort of behaviour. She can divorce me if she wants."

"And of course it's nothing to do with the fact that she doesn't believe you!" he laughed sagely. Then he added, "But she might talk to me."

"If you find anything out don't tell her," Mike cautioned grimly. "When we get to the bottom of this I want that pleasure."

Tom nodded and left immediately with a wide grin, but returned an hour later with a much more thoughtful and solemn expression.

"What?" Mike asked as he sat down.

"She showed me the photo's. I told her nothing as you asked, but we've got trouble."

"So?" Mike urged. "What do they show?"

"Someone's definitely out to destroy your marriage," he began. "The photo's show everything you told me about. Someone was following you taking those pictures.

"But that's not all. There are photo's of two different women. I assume the girl in the public photo's is this Ingrid girl.

"But there are explicit sex photo's of you with another blonde: it's Bryony! You can't see Bryony's face clearly enough to recognise her but there's a small birthmark on the inside cheek of her bum. Good photo of you, all of you, and the bum – very clear!"

Mike sat there dumbfounded.

"How?" He eventually stammered.

"You're not the only one to shag Bryony," he laughed. "I did her up the rear – she loves that. You wouldn't notice it from what you were clearly doing with her, at least from what the photo's show you doing – comfortable position for eating her out by the way, must try that!" He laughed.

"No not that, you idiot," Mike grinned. "How did they get the Bryony photos at all?"

"Taken through a hotel window, telephoto lens. High quality camera and lens."

"But?"

"Yes, I know. I'll bet those pictures are from when we went out together and I got Sharon. That was the only time you nearly shagged Bryony, unless you've been holding out on me?"

"No," Mike replied. "Only the once and as you say, I didn't shag her. Gave her the touch-tour and then oral but she fell asleep on me and I didn't feel like it next morning. I never noticed any birth mark. You remember she misunderstood who I was in love with, thought it was Cheryl, caused all that trouble in hospital."

"So you took her to the Majestic Hotel, your usual seduction room?" he grinned. Mike nodded.

"There's the Clarence across the street," Tom remembered. "That's where they took the photo's from!"

"But who?" Mike wondered out loud. "Why suddenly decide to photograph me 'in flagrante' with Bryony? It was consensual sex between two single adults, and a long time ago."

"I don't know," Tom replied, "but Claire showed me two other things. A brief note appended to them, though I know that was bogus. It talked about you having sex with the girl as if there were only one in the pictures. Mind you, Ingrid and Bryony are very alike; could be twin sisters, and Bryony's face is not clear – her head was thrown back, and she'd raised one knee and it obscured much of her face from the camera angle while revealing the birthmark."

"Yes, you're right," Mike said. "Hair's same honey blond shade but different lengths, at least from what I remember of Bryony."

"This note said something like, 'Pictures of your husband with my whore of a fiancée, thought you might like them.' The note was computer printed, not hand written, and of course it was anonymous."

Tom made coffee and both men thought about it.

"How d'you feel about Claire, now you know how convincing the so called 'evidence' was?" Tom asked tentatively

"I understand how she feels, but not giving me a chance, that hurts. I never gave her any reason to doubt me and yet, the first time there's a question she condemns me. And to tell me to keep away from the children, as if I was some sort of a paedophile!"

"I think she's still carrying damage from that bastard ex-husband of hers, not to say her facial scars. She's very insecure about her looks I think," Tom opined. "If you love her you'll take that into account. She's still damaged as far as I can see."

"I hope I can forgive her, but what she's done hurts, and worries me. If I do forgive, she's going to suffer a little for this. I couldn't stand it if it happened again."

"Umm," Tom said, clearly unconvinced. Then he sat up.

"Yes!" he cried. "Can you remember that night with Bryony and Sharon?"

"Vaguely, we were in our favourite club if I remember rightly."

"Remember who I saw, albeit briefly?"

Mike thought hard, but nothing came.

"Cheryl!" Tom said triumphantly. "It was just before she came to see you. You said she knew about Claire living with you before she visited. I wonder if she got the photo's to show Claire, warn her off; show her what a philanderer you were, but never got the chance what with Siobhán threatening her an' all."

"Hang on," exclaimed Mike. "I think I remember when Cheryl came that first time, she actually asked me did I have a good time with Bryony! She even mentioned the Majestic and my 'usual' room. How did she know?"

He thought for a moment and was then puzzled again.

"But how would she get the photos?" he asked. "Cheryl must have been on a night out like we were, and we don't carry precision cameras round with us. Mobile phones couldn't get pictures as clear as you say they were, showing birthmarks!"

"But who was she fucking at the time, as well as Bob I mean?" Tom said smugly.

Light dawned on Mike.

"That bloody photographer Steven from the paper! Now he might just have had a camera if they were returning from a story or doing a thing on clubbing.

"The cow! I always knew she hadn't finished with Claire and me. Claire was all forgiving, we had our first major row about Cheryl coming to apologise after the honeymoon. I said Cheryl had another motive, but Claire wouldn't have it."

"Wouldn't be difficult for them to get a room in the Clarence," Tom remarked, "Very lax, their staff, from what I hear, the receptionist gets a backhander and they get an empty room across the street."

"Oh I'm going to enjoy this!" Mike crowed. "Claire finds out the truth about me and I know she'll be mortified! Then she finds that Cheryl caused all this suffering and tried to destroy the marriage. Oh Yes!"

Tom grinned but Mike could see he had reservations. Tom was a kind man; he did not like people suffering for any reason. He did not voice his misgivings to Mike; he knew better than that.

"When d'you want to sort things with Claire?" Tom asked.

"The sooner the better, but I want Ingrid and Bryony with me. Ingrid's got the funeral on Monday, but she'll be back that evening. If we can reach them both, Monday evening would be good."