Chapter 7

The doorbell. I opened the door and there she was. Sally looked the same as she did the week she left, except her hair was different – shorter. She was just as slim, just as shapely. Her face was just as pretty, but her eyes had lost something; I took it that they were harder, less peaceful and carefree. Not surprising, considering what she had come to do.

“Hello Sally,” I said evenly. How do you greet a wife who’s left you for someone else, I wondered briefly. “Come in, let me take your coat.”

She smiled. Yes it was the same smile, though some of the brightness had gone – or was that my imagination?

“Hi, Caleb. You look well,” and she shrugged off her coat and I hung it on the newel post at the foot of the stairs. It was where she always used to hang it. She glanced towards it and I knew she thought the same. She did not offer her cheek for a kiss. I was glad: it would have been awkward to rebuff the gesture.

“Let’s sit at the dining room table,” I suggested, “I’ve got some paperwork and it’ll be easier. Would you like some tea?”

She preceded me into the dining room and sat at the table. “Yes please Caleb; that would be nice.”

We were evidently both on our best behaviour; both of us hiding and suppressing any feelings we might have. I stood opposite her and pushed the folder of papers towards her.

“I’ve put some ideas together about how we should divide our assets. Have a look while I make the tea.” I left her to it; I had noticed she had brought nothing with her.

When I returned with the tray containing the tea things, she was reading the papers. I poured the tea and set it before her.

“Oh, Caleb, you remembered my favourite biscuits!” She smiled and I could have sworn there was at least some affection there. I wondered if I detected a slight moistness about her eyes. Please, I thought, no waterworks. I briskly sat down opposite and began.

“Half the value of the house is yours, as is half our joint savings. You’re also entitled to part of my pension when I retire for the years when you were at home with the children. Anything in the house you want you’re welcome to, though I’d prefer it if you would let me have the desktop PC and peripherals. I can give you the price of them if you want.

“With your agreement, I would like to keep the house. I can have it valued and take out a mortgage to pay you your half. The car is getting on in years, but you can have it if you want it. I think that takes care of the assets. I will take care of the Lizzy’s university expenses. I’ve already sorted Martin out. You know he’s in the States?”

She nodded.

“If you feel entitled to more, please say so,” I went on, “I’m not going to argue over money. I don’t want you feeling I’ve cheated you in any way.”

As soon as I uttered the last comment, along with its emphasis on ‘I’ve’ and ‘you’, I regretted it. It was petty and snide, but I just couldn’t help myself. She had the grace to flinch, and I detected a flash of anger. She held the paper in her hands loosely, between thumb and forefinger as if it were somehow dirty.

“Caleb, this is too generous. After what I’ve done, you don’t deserve this.” Her voice trembled. I knew that according to her religion I was answering evil with good, and ‘heaping coals of fire upon her head’ as the Bible puts it.

“The divorce laws no longer take guilt or innocence into account,” I said. “I’ve only put down what any court would order in any case.”

“Apart from Lizzy’s money,” she said. She was an accountant after all and she saw it immediately.

“I’m not trying to turn her away from you, Sally,” I responded. “I’m settled and making good money as you know. I’ve no idea what your situation is.” I countered with what I thought she might be thinking. She coloured; I was right.

“Caleb,” she changed the subject, “Keep the house. I don’t want half its value. You live here; it was I who left. You should not be out of pocket just so you can stay here. I’ve bought a car, so I don’t need ours. And I want none of your pension. Please, let me be a little generous too?”

I thought, if you think it will make you feel less guilty, but I said nothing and again chastised myself for the thought. I could feel emotions surging below the surface, and I was not going to allow them out. She would not be treated to my upset and grief, or indeed any of my other feelings.

“Well,” I answered, “You do realise the value of the house and what you are giving up? Over a quarter of a million?”

“I am an accountant, Caleb,” she said patiently. “You should know I’ve built up quite a little business where I’m living. I’m doing all right. I’ve also arranged a good pension scheme.”

Then a look of worry crossed her face, as if she’d said the wrong thing. I ignored what I did not understand, but I took the message she was definitely living a new life without needing me.

“Have you a solicitor?” I asked, changing the subject.

“No. I trust you, and you’ve just shown me how much I can trust you.” Now there definitely was a watering in her eyes; I tried to ignore it.

“Well,” I said, “you need to agree to everything. I will pay the costs of the divorce even though it says you are liable. After all, I’m the one asking for it.”

“Yes, you are.” She said it very quietly, under her breath, but I heard it and it puzzled me. Surely she wanted it too? What do they call it? Closure?

“Will you be out of pocket?” she asked suddenly.

“It’s very little expense. Gordon is doing it for free, and the court fees are small.”

“You wrote that the bailiff was expensive.”

“I was being petty. Forget it.” I shuffled the papers, gave copies to Sally and stood. “Well, I think that wraps it up.”

She stood also, somewhat reluctantly, I thought. I preceded her to the door and helped her on with her coat. I opened the door.

“You’ll get the Decree Nisi about three or four weeks after you give them the response, and the Decree Absolute will follow after another six. Then it will all be over.”

I spoke more cheerfully than I felt. It was the final burial rite of a relationship of nearly a quarter of a century after all.

She stopped in the doorway.

“Caleb, this has been a business meeting, I appreciate that. Can we meet again? There’s a lot I want to tell you, and there are things I want to know. You’ll have questions as well, though I don’t know if I can answer them all.”

Oh dear, I thought, I don’t want this.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said. “At the moment we’re being civil. That may all disappear when we get into things. We may never be able to be friends after that, you know.”

“Please Caleb,” she begged. “I need this. I’m willing to risk anything to talk properly with you. I have to clear the air.”

I gave in. After all, Nicky had insisted that I get the answers, or at least as many as possible now that Sally was here.

“Very well,” I said grudgingly. “Sometime tomorrow afternoon? You’ll be going to Mass in the morning, I suppose.”

She looked flustered. “I’ve not been near a church since I left here.”

“Make it the morning, then. About ten? That’s not too early is it?”

We were fencing round each other.

“Fine,” She had hesitated a little, but seemed to make up her mind. I decided to turn up the pressure.

“Nicky will probably be here,” I added, “but she’ll keep well out of the way. You may want to talk to her as well at some stage.”

Now her face clouded and I could see she didn’t want her there, but she said nothing. The silence grew but I was not going to back down; Sally had to face the fact that I too had moved on.

“She belongs here Sally. She’s left today to give you space. It’s not fair to kick her out a second time.”

Now there was another flash of anger and resentment. She was about to make a retort but I saw her bite her lip and hold it back. I did not understand, but I hoped it would wait until the next day. It had been enough of an ordeal just seeing her today. Perhaps it would be easier tomorrow. It would definitely be easier for me if Nicky were in the background.

I opened the door and stood back to allow Sally to leave. This time, as she passed me she kissed me on my cheek and sighed. Then she was walking briskly away. I watched, seeing her hips sway as they always did. It used to fire me up as a young man, but now all I had was a feeling of regret and emptiness.

I turned and shut the door, went straight to the phone and called Nicky. “Nicky,” was all I needed to say.

“Be right there,” she answered before I could say more. She certainly knew me well! She blew in like a gale. “Well, what did she say? Did she explain? Is she sorry?”

“Hey! Slow down!” I countered, knowing she was going to be annoyed in a few seconds. I was right. “We didn’t discuss anything but the financial arrangements for the divorce.”

“What?” she almost shouted. “You had her here for all that time and you didn’t find out a thing? Honestly Caleb, you’re impossible!”

“Nicky!” I was sharp and it pulled her up, “She’s coming back tomorrow morning for what I believe is called a ‘full and frank discussion’ – euphemism for an almighty row! Though really I hope not.”

She relented and smiled, but I soon wiped it off. “Tomorrow morning at ten, Nicky, and I want you in the house, please.”

“D’you think that’s a good idea, Caleb? I’d be better off out of the way. I’ll go back to the flat.”

“No,” I was obdurate, “I want you in the house. Sally has to learn that just as she’s in a new relationship, so am I. But you’re right about one thing, I want you to give us room. We’ll use the study; there are two easy chairs there, and it’s out of the way of the rest of the house. You can then have the run of the house. In any case, Sally may want to talk with you as well, and I might need you to back me up.”

She thought about it for a minute or so. Then, “I could bring you coffee and croissants or biscuits. You both might need it.”

“Perhaps.” I smiled, not knowing whether she was serious or not. She laughed; she was joking, but though secretly I thought it may be a good idea, I said nothing.

It was getting dark and my thoughts turned to food. I realised that I hadn’t really eaten a proper meal all day. I was about to suggest we go out for a meal, when doorbell rang. We looked at each other.

“Sally?” we both said in unison, and laughed.

Nicky got up and made for the door. “You said she should know we’re together. Now you get your wish!” She threw the remark over her shoulder and sashayed to the door grinning. I heard her exclamation. “Colette! Come in!”

Colette came into the room. She was worried.

“Caleb, I thought I’d come in person rather than phone you. I’m on my way somewhere else, so I won’t sit down.”

I was going to speak, but she carried on.

“Sally came back to us very angry. She was muttering about you deceiving her and being a hypocrite. She was saying you and Nicky here have been having an affaire for years, and yet you were taking the high ground and digging at her because she had had an affaire of her own. We told her it was not true, but she was adamant. She said she had evidence; someone had seen you both. Is it true Caleb?”

Colette’s flood abated and I got a word in.

“Colette, this afternoon we had a discussion about dividing the assets of the marriage. As far as I remember, there was no mention of our troubles at all. I wanted to give her half the value of the house and she wouldn’t hear of it. There were other matters we disagreed on, but they weren’t about refusing to share the money, but that each of us wanted to give more than the other wanted to take! I don’t understand.”

“She said something like, you said she’d cheated you but you weren’t going to cheat her.”

Then I remembered. “It was a passing comment. I regretted it as soon as I made it. I said this: ‘I don’t want you to feel that I cheated you in any way.’ I know she didn’t like it, but we passed on to other things.”

“But have you been having a long term relationship with Nicky?”

Nicky broke in. “Colette, I’ve loved Caleb for years, but he only had eyes for Sally, and I knew I had no chance. When Sally left, I helped him to get through it, but only as a friend. If he’d given me the slightest hint that he wanted more, he could have had it, but he didn’t.

“There was one moment when he was really low and we kissed rather passionately, but he was quick to tell me he was still married and he couldn’t have a relationship until it was clear she was not coming back. So no, we’d not been having an affaire until nearly Christmas, when we finally accepted the fact that she was not coming back. I trust that answers your question.”

Colette stood still and silent and shocked, then she said as if to herself, “I wonder where she got the idea that you’d been going together for years?”

“Colette,” I said firmly, “Leave that until tomorrow. I want to find out what she means as well. I hope she’s not making it up to relieve her guilt. There seems to be a lot she doesn’t know. Tomorrow morning will get us somewhere I hope. Don’t say anything to her please. She is still coming I hope?”

“Oh yes!” replied Colette. “She’s gunning for you.”

“And I for her,” I responded dryly.

She looked at me for a long moment, was going to say something, thought better of it and restricted herself to “Right ho, Caleb, good luck tomorrow. I’ll be praying for the pair of you.”

“Thanks, Colette,” I said, and I meant it. “By the way, you know she’s not been in a church since she left here?”

She nodded, “Yes, we asked if she was going with us to Mass tomorrow, but she said as much to us. Anyway, goodnight Nicky, goodnight Caleb.”

Nicky saw her to the door and then returned.

“Well,” she said, “I wonder what all that meant?”

“We’ll know tomorrow. Shall we eat out? I’ve not eaten all day since breakfast, unless you count the odd biscuit.”

So we went to our local Asian restaurant and ate curry. We said little, and returned home well satisfied. We drank a glass of wine and then went to bed. By unspoken mutual consent we did not make love.

We entwined limbs and caressed each other, kissing often, but it was comforting rather than arousing and very comfortable. So perhaps we did make love, just not sexually. Perhaps sometimes such cuddling is more intimate than the most intense sexual congress. But at the back of it all was Sally, we both knew it. Unfinished business, I thought, as Nicky slept in my arms, and I too fell asleep.

Over more than twenty years, for me Sunday had not been a day for lying in bed. It was a day for accompanying Sally and the family to the ten o’clock Mass. It meant getting up at eight to dress and feed the children. I used to go along in solidarity – we always presented a common front to our children. In any case, I enjoyed the sermons.

I was still in the habit of rising early, though now with Nicky I returned to bed and we celebrated a different ritual, more carnal, but still a spiritual and loving service to each other. Not this morning. We did rise at eight thirty; we had a breakfast of (English) muffins and tea. We showered together, taking some time over each other in the shower and emerging sexually satisfied and clean, to dress ready for the morning.

Nicky was good to me: she said nothing, but allowed me some space. There was so much I didn’t understand about Sally, but I hoped I was about to find some answers. More to the point, Sally was going to learn a lot more.

I was actually looking forward to it by then. I was now impatient, frustrated with all the delays and the lies. There was also a dead, hopeless feeling, like attending a funeral, with all the emotions that come with a bereavement, but in this case mixed with a cold determination.

At three minutes to ten the doorbell rang, and there stood Sally. She walked in without a word and hung her coat on the newel post before I could help her off with it.

“Where?” she asked, with a face like thunder.

“Study,” I snapped in return.

We sat in the two armchairs that faced each other at forty five degrees.

“Drink?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

Thank you? I thought dryly.

“Ok, Sally. You seem to have got yourself full of righteous anger, so I assume this isn’t going to be a pleasant visit. Say what you want to say. You asked for this meeting. When you’ve finished, I’ve got things to ask you. Go ahead.”

I sat back and prepared for an onslaught.

She gathered herself and then launched into a diatribe. It was delivered quietly and full of venom.

“I was upset when my affaire with Tony became public. I felt and was guilty and he was definitely guilty. I remembered your pontificating about not being able to trust, or forgive such behaviour. You talked about lies and deceit. So I went away in shame to think things through.

“At the end of May I wrote to you asking your forgiveness and begging to be taken back. I’ve been living with a school friend and she said she would deliver it – she was coming this way on her way to a conference. When she got here, she found you were already living with Nicola. Two months, Caleb, and you had installed your girlfriend in this house!

“She said she watched you and it was clear this wasn’t something new. So all the while you were being all holier than thou, you were screwing your secretary. I bet you’ve been screwing her since she started working for you. And I trusted you; I thought you were a loving faithful husband, and you’ve been deceiving me. For years!

“She brought the letter back and I wrote another. This time I demanded an explanation from you. She posted it for me in Bangor so you wouldn’t know where I was. I gave you a post office box number so you could reply. Did you reply? No, you didn’t bother. So that was it. I started a new life without you. You could have replied asking my forgiveness and perhaps we could have found a way to get over it, but no. You were so happy now your fuck-buddy had moved in with you that you ignored me. So guess what? I’ve found someone else as well. His name’s Bryn and he’s wonderful. So now I don’t need you either.

“So how do you feel about that?” She sat back with a grim smile. It was not pleasant. I remained silent and waited.

“Well, what have you got to say?”

I waited a while longer. Then I began.

“Why didn’t you answer the letters I sent you care of Judith Connor?”

She looked perplexed. “What letters? I got no letters. You’re lying; you sent no letters.”

Then it clicked with her. “How do you know her name? I didn’t tell you her name. And anyway you didn’t know where I was.”

“Well, you can call me a liar about the letters, but why didn’t you respond to the divorce papers that the court sent you, again care of Connor, in January? I didn’t send you them, but you ignored them as well.”

Now she looked thoroughly puzzled. She had calmed down and began to look worried. Then her face cleared and she smiled again. Again it was still not pleasant.

“If you didn’t know her address, how could you send me anything? You’re lying again Caleb. I can’t believe I trusted you all those years.”

“I knew where you were, Sally. Friends Reunited sent a reminder email. We found Judith Connor on that site. Also Robert Fortman got a mate in the North Wales police to see if you were anywhere in North Wales. Both put you with her.

“Sally, one letter going astray is possible given our wonderful postal service. But three? Can’t you put two and two together, Sally, or has Bryn Price totally addled your brain?”

She was silent but I could tell there was much going on.

I continued, “I went to Judith Connor’s house to meet you Sally. She abused me to my face, calling me a wife beater (she said you’d told her that I was a violent man and that’s why you’d left me) and she told me she’d never let me know where you were. She also gloated that, and here I quote: ‘She’s with someone else now, a nice man. You’re history Mr Latimer. Why don’t you just go home?’

“I asked Connor politely if she would forward a letter from me, since we would have to sort out a divorce settlement. She slammed the door in my face.”

“But ... When was this?”

“A Friday in November. It poured with rain. You’ll probably not remember coming back to Bryn’s place for the night when you saw a ‘lost man’ under an umbrella watching you kissing him.”

“That was you? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“It took me by surprise, and you were away walking to his house when Bryn got in my way. But good acting Sally. You know it was me: Bryn told you. But you must be joking about talking to you. You’d spent months fucking that priest, you ran away for months and now you were with yet another man, telling him you’d spend that night with him. I was shocked.

“You clearly remember the incident; it was pouring with rain and you immediately walked away while he was coming over to accost me. As a result of that conversation he actually realised who I was, but he wouldn’t let me talk to you, or even follow you, because you had said I was violent to you.

“You know all this as well: I gave him the message for you, you know, that I’d be at the hotel overnight but was going home the next day – and that I wanted to talk to you? I even invited him along to protect you from me.

“Then, since he was not going to lead me to you, I walked back to the hotel. You didn’t come to the hotel. It was clear to me then that you didn’t want me; you wanted him. Connor’s lie about me sleeping with Nicky, and that was a lie, must have made you hate me a lot for you to do that.”

“What lie? You have been sleeping with Nicola. Don’t try to deny it – I’ve seen you with her myself don’t forget. And this stuff about a message is another lie of yours, isn’t it? Bryn said nothing about it. It never happened. You’ve had plenty of time to concoct that story with your girlfriend.”

“I’m tempted not to dignify that with an answer. Even you should see how stupid that idea is. If I was already with Nicola, I wouldn’t have bothered to go looking for you, would I? In Winter? I’ve given you details of that night: where would I have got that information if I’d not been there? Why would I have come all that way at all if I didn’t want to see you and talk to you? Wake up, Sally. you know it’s the truth.

“I came back home. Nicky had stayed at the house. I had a breakdown and she fed me and I slept for a day. The next day she came to my bed for the first time, get that Sally? Yes, that was the first time we made love. I needed comfort and she gave me comfort.

“You were living with a second man. What hope had I? The next day I wrote the first of three letters care of Connor, the last of which was telling you of the divorce papers coming to her address. You answered none of them, and ignored the court papers.”

Once again she was silent. Then she shook her head but I did not give her the chance to speak.

“Let me spell it out for you,” I continued. “You fucked the priest. You ran away. You trusted Judith-fucking-Connor and Bryn Price. What had I ever done to make you fuck the priest? In our past was l a regular liar? You used to trust me and did I ever let you down? But now you’ll trust them over me, even though Connor had no evidence Nicky and I were having sex, because we weren’t. In any case how could she get any firm evidence even if we were?