Junction X by Erastes (digital ebook reader .TXT) 📗

But according to Phil, something had been wrong for a while, and it had got worse as the summer wore on.

“She started making excuses. You know what it’s like. ‘I’m tired, I’ve got an early class, do you mind if we don’t…’”

I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.

“I even got to the stage where I asked her if there was someone else. She swore to me there wasn’t.”

“So when did she tell you there was?”

“This morning. I came back from that meeting with Carhart this morning and found her bags in the hall. Evidently she’d planned to leave me a note. She wasn’t even going to bother to tell me to my face.”

“Have you ever seen this man?”

“Man? He’s hardly more than a boy,” he said bitterly. “No. I haven’t. She wouldn’t even give me the address she’s going to. She says she doesn’t want anything. She’ll be back, I know. When she’s fed up with living in squalor.”

I wondered if Phil had considered that this artist might not be poverty-stricken, but I didn’t say anything. He was maudlin enough as it was. So I sat, listened and poured more alcohol into him. Finally, when he passed out on the couch, I rang for a taxi and left.

 I think what shook him more than anything was that Claire had told him she was pregnant.

“She swore she’d never wanted kids,” he’d slurred. “It never bothered me one way or another—they are all right, and yours are great—but, apart from your two, she’d never taken an interest. I used johnnies for her sake—and God knows, I hate them. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Now it seemed all that had changed, and Claire and this artist were thrilled to be expecting.

+ + +

The next day being Monday, I sought him out at work and wasn’t surprised to find him not in. I rang him when I got in that evening and he sounded sober, if a little hoarse.

“I’m all right. I suppose I behaved like an idiot last night? Or did I? Did we…?”

I wondered if he meant ‘Did we have an episode?’, and I was quick to reassure him. Another time I might have left him guessing, but he had enough on his plate. “No. You were fine. You talked a lot. Some of it made sense.” My attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. I could hear him breathing in the silence. “Do you want me to come round?” Say no, I thought treacherously.

“No, I’m all right.”

I felt ashamed at my relief. “If there’s anything either of us can do.”

“All right,” he repeated. The line went dead.

I gave a heavy sigh and went through to the dining room where Valerie was dishing up. “How is he?” she asked.

“He’s taking it hard.” I’d let her know what I’d gleaned from Phil when I’d got home the night before.

“Hardly surprising. He adores her.”

I went silent for a while, mulling that over in my mind. His reaction had surprised me, it was true. But he’d never displayed any adoration that I’d noticed. They’d seemed well-matched; they’d met at a Young Conservatives ball, I remembered. But did he adore Claire? If so, then he had a funny way of showing it. In a way, he was more affectionate with me, and that was saying something. Phil was a careless shark, seemingly unaware that his actions might cause ramifications. The casual charm, the hail-fellow-well-met charisma, the steady but impressive rise throughout the firm. Nothing had ever seemed to affect him, and that was why this collapse had surprised me.

My skin crawled for a moment. I suddenly wondered if Phil had used his occasional preference for male company to facilitate his rise. I could hardly believe it to be true, given the men he’d have to charm, but one never knew. To the outside world I doubted if I looked the type of man who was capable of crushing Phil against leather car seats, his tongue in my mouth and his cock hot and heavy in my hand.

How much do we know about other people? Did he adore his wife? Or was it just wounded pride that had caused such a paroxysm of depression? The more I thought about it, the more confused I felt and the more I realised I knew nothing of what really went on behind other people’s closed doors.

I didn’t see Phil at all for the next week or so; even though he was back at work, our paths simply didn’t cross. I didn’t see much of Alec either, and I tried to tell myself that it was good that I didn’t. I called Phil once or twice to see if he wanted to play golf, but he was rarely in—working his way through the separation, I assumed. My obsession with Alec remained, even though I only caught glimpses of him here and there, and I refrained from catching his attention when I did.

But sometimes fate—or one’s own sense of self-destruction—has other plans.

+ + +

One Tuesday I had an early meeting out of town, so I used the Bentley, though I didn’t enjoy driving the big car in and around London. By the time I came off the main road, my shoulders aching, I was glad to see the final roundabout at the end of the dual carriageway. As I turned into The Avenue, a leggy figure in a black blazer ran across the road in front of me, hurrying slightly as he heard the engine. It was Alec and, by the quick glance he gave the car as he scurried by, it was obvious that he’d seen me. I remember willing my foot onto the accelerator so I could drive by, but my feet were no longer under my control. Instead, I braked beside him and rolled down the window.

“Need a lift?”

He grinned, his teeth white in the dusk, and hurried around to the other side while I unlocked the door.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t make a habit of kerb crawling, you know.”

“I believe you.”

The ride was too