Page 4 of All the Things We Never Knew

But he didn’t curl back. He sat up against the pillows, shifting uncomfortably like they had spikes inside instead of goose down or whatever they were.

‘You okay?’ I asked.

‘Not feeling great,’ he admitted. ‘Indigestion. Shouldn’t have made such a pig of myself.’

‘You didn’t eat that much.’ In the glow of the bedside lamp, I could see that his face was pale as putty and sheened with sweat. ‘Are you sure you’re…?’

But before I could finish, he flung himself out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Through the open door, I heard him throwing up and up, as if he’d never stop. When I went to help – although really, how can you help, until someone who’s being sick has finished being? – he told me to go away.

So I returned to bed and sat there, my knees up under the duvet, trying hard not to bite my nails, trying hard not to think of all the possible scenarios that could be causing this, which weren’t just rich food or a winter vomiting bug, until at last he came back.

‘Has this been happening a lot?’ I asked him.

‘A few times in the past couple of weeks. Guess I can’t stuff my face like I used to be able to. I’m all out of practice.’

I looked at him – his familiar, handsome face, his deep brown eyes. A new hollowness below his cheekbones; a new sallowness to his skin.

‘Gray,’ I said. ‘I think maybe you need to see a doctor.’

THREE

ANNA

I planned my confrontation with my husband as if I was a general preparing for a military operation. It was displacement activity, I suppose – by obsessing over every detail of what was to come, I avoided thinking about what I believed was happening, or had already happened, because when I’d checked Gray’s drawer the previous evening, when he was allegedly away with work, filming a commercial in Liverpool, the earrings had no longer been there.

It was the day after Valentine’s Day. The children were out – Lulu meeting friends to go bowling and Barney to go and see Transformers One and have a sleepover. I evicted all the clutter from the kitchen and buffed the countertops until they sparkled. I tinted my hair and painted my nails and picked up the plum-coloured cashmere dress Gray had always admired from the dry cleaner’s, where it had been languishing since Christmas. I bought beef short ribs from the butcher and simmered them in red wine for four hours.

If my husband was going to leave me for another woman, I wanted him to know exactly what he’d be missing.

By six o’clock I was ready. I’d set two places at the dining table, instead of at the kitchen counter where we usually ate. I’d dug out a highlighting and contouring palette and given my face what I hoped was a youthful glow. I’d lit candles and put a bottle of champagne in the fridge to chill.

I felt oddly calm; only my inability to sit still and the prickling of my dress under my arms reminded me how nervous I was feeling. I poured myself a gin and tonic and, as I was draining the potatoes into a colander ready to mash, I heard Gray’s key in the lock upstairs.

‘Hey, you,’ I called. ‘You’re home.’

From above, I heard the thump of his laptop bag as he put it down on the floor, then a pause which meant he was taking off his coat and hanging it up. Hearing his footsteps on the stairs, I turned, preparing a smile that I hoped looked more welcoming than wary. But as soon as I saw him, I felt it slide off my face as completely as if it had never been there.

He looked terrible. Tired, as he’d been looking more often recently, brushing off my suggestion that he should take a few days off, catch up on rest, maybe see the GP – but more than that. Exhausted. Haunted, almost.

‘Hey, Anna.’ He walked past the candles and the table settings and the champagne in its ice bucket as if they weren’t there, took a glass from the cabinet and poured a hefty belt of whisky from the bottle on the drinks trolley. He added three blocks of ice straight from the fridge dispenser, apparently not noticing that they caused miniature tidal waves when they splashed into the glass.

Then he stood by the kitchen island, resting his forearms on it as if he needed it to support his weight, both hands wrapped around his drink.

‘Whisky?’ I said. ‘It’s ages since you’ve had one of those. Bad day?’

He nodded. ‘You could say that.’

I felt a chill of apprehension. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. He was meant to be soothed by my charm offensive, lulled into security so that when I asked the tough questions I’d prepared, he’d succumb to my interrogation and come out with the truth.

Instead, it seemed as if he was about to come out with some hard truths of his own.

He’s going to tell me he’s leaving me for her, I thought. He’s going to be on the attack, not the defence.

The champagne forgotten, I poured a second gin and tonic, this one stronger than the last.

I said, ‘I made a boeuf en daube. Do you want to eat first, or tell me what’s up?’

Gray grimaced, and I noticed the pallor on his face grow even more ghostly. ‘To be honest, I’m not remotely hungry.’