The Dinner Guest B Walter (readict books TXT) 📖

always will. I suspect difficult times may lie ahead for you, and I wanted to make it clear that whatever support you need, whether that be friendly advice, a shoulder to cry on, someone to whisk you away or simply help you forget about the pains of the day, I am here for you. I’d better stop there, because I fear this letter is teetering dangerously on the verge of becoming poetry – or worse, song lyrics. But I mean what I say. Please consider it. Whatever you need, I am here.

With much love, always,

Rupert.

I suppose one could say this moment was that important tipping point. The moment when a course of action is decided that will affect the lives of many for years to come. Was it at that point I decided to do what I did? I can’t be quite sure. When did I know I was capable of it? Was it when I got that email, basically giving me both a motive and a happy ever after? Although of course, if that were the case, wouldn’t it have been easier to divorce Matthew and walk off into the sunset with Rupert without the threat of prison hanging over me?

Of course, it isn’t that clear cut.

A perfect storm had to be created in order to get me to that point, and I was already being battered around by it while sitting in The Ritz, getting drunk on expensive glass after glass. But no, I didn’t pre-plan it, not in scrupulous detail or with any degree of criminal ingenuity. I just sat there and imagined it. Imagined all the ways I could hurt Matthew the way he had hurt me. It wasn’t that the love I had felt for him over the years had vanished; if anything that fuelled the violence of my imagination. After all, they say love and hate are closely related. And, by God, they are.

It was Archie I ended up calling. There are some moments when you realise your best mate from school knows you better than anyone – even those you’re supposed to love. I slurred my words down the line, telling him that it was all over with Matthew. He drove down to The Ritz and was there within half an hour, not that time meant much to me by that point. He helped me stagger out of the bar, bundled me into his car, and drove me off to his house in Park Crescent.

I woke up in a state of dizzy disorientation the next morning in one of his guest rooms amidst the cool, new-feeling sheets, and wearing a pair of Ralph Lauren Polo Sport tracksuit bottoms that weren’t mine. My brain was filled with hangover fog, and with a mounting sense of horror I remembered the revelations of the previous day. Rupert’s email, the rise in anger and hatred towards Matthew. My sense of hurt and betrayal was still raw within me, as if I’d just discovered a physical gaping wound on my body.

I padded across the landing, barefoot and feeling a little chilly. I heard some noise coming from downstairs and before I could get to the final step I heard Archie’s voice.

‘That you, Charles?’ he called out.

I went down into the hallway and found Archie sitting in the kitchen. ‘How are you?’ he said, looking uncertainly at me over the rim of his coffee. Without waiting for a response, he got up and poured me a cup from the machine. I took it from his outstretched hand and sat down at the table.

‘I’m … not sure.’ I took a sip of the warm, dark liquid, not properly tasting it.

‘Well, considering how out of it you were last night, I’d say that’s not as bad as things could be.’ He was still watching me intently, as if I might start shouting or crying.

‘You should look at your phone,’ he said, and got up and walked over to the kitchen counter.

‘My phone?’ I replied, puzzled.

‘Your clothes are being washed. You were sick on them. I put your phone on charge down here.’ He went to the end of the kitchen countertop and unplugged my iPhone. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t normally read your messages, but I couldn’t help notice one that popped up on the screen this morning.’

With an unreadable expression, he passed me the phone, the movement causing the screen to light up. And I saw what he meant instantly.

I’m coming home. Should be there by 7pm. We could have food in and talk about things? I could pick up some Ottolenghi? I love you.

Matthew was coming home.

Suddenly, the little safe-haven of Archie’s house felt under threat. The real world was going to come spilling in.

‘I don’t want to see him,’ I said.

‘So what are you going to do? Ignore the problem?’

I noticed the breakfast pastries and fruit on the table and helped myself to a pear. I cut it up, thinking about my answer, trying to do a temperature test of my own feelings. You see, to some it may sound insane to say it, but even at that point I knew exactly what I needed to do. What I wanted to do was go back upstairs to Archie’s guest bedroom and spend the day pretending I didn’t have a husband, or an adopted teenage son who was acting out, or a mother who wasn’t being honest with me. But that was different to what I needed to do. And that, to me, was obvious.

I was intelligent enough to know that most people wouldn’t be able to make such a mental leap. I also knew that it would be a mistake to tell Archie about my plan. Like so many others, he wouldn’t have appreciated the clear beauty in justice for betrayal. Corrective action for lies that have been told. I remember once Matthew looking through a copy of the Sunday Telegraph and remarking on a piece about a woman who had killed her cheating husband by driving