"It is now. It wasn't then, but I think it's the same place. Peter always insists on taking me back there for our anniversary. The place of my downfall, and I'm meant to think of it as 'our place'. I hate it, not for what it is, but for what it symbolises."
Again she paused, again I waited.
"Anyway, we had a nice lunch. Peter was great company. But there was nothing overtly sexual, I promise you. You could have sat in the corner and watched. There was nothing going on. Just two friends, who happened to be different genders, having lunch. But when it got time to leave, Peter asked if I was going to be OK to drive when we got back to the Hospital. And I said, I wasn't sure. I think I needed another cup of coffee and a bit of time to recover."
"How much had you had to drink?"
"Not that much, but probably enough to put me over the limit. I had a G&T when we sat down. Then we had wine with the meal, maybe I had slightly more than my fair share, as Peter had a bottle of water as well, he was driving after all. Then at the end, Peter asked if I'd ever tried grappa, as he never had. Well I hadn't either, so he ordered two glasses of grappa with the coffee. He took one sip of his and said he didn't like it. I didn't mind it, I wasn't a great fan, but it was OK. I ended up drinking both his and mine. So, a bit too much, but not a huge amount."
"So what happened?"
"Peter suggested that instead of having another cup of coffee there, that we go to his place. He'd bought this flat overlooking the old docks, and he was so proud of it. He'd been talking about it for weeks. So, he suggested that we go back there so that he could show it off, we'd have a cup of coffee there, and then he'd run me up to the Hospital to collect my car." She paused to collect her thoughts again, "I often wonder at what point I made the mistake. I guess accepting that invite may have been the start of it, but I promise you, Chris, honest to God, I didn't have any ulterior motive. And I don't think Peter had either."
"So when did that change?"
"Well, we got to his flat, and it really was quite impressive. It was all wood floors, and minimal furniture, quite a bachelor pad. Anyway, I was standing looking out of the window at the view of the old docks when I hear this terrific scream from the kitchen. I rushed to find out what had happened, and Peter is tearing his clothes off. He'd spilt boiling water right down his front. He couldn't get his shirt and trousers off quickly enough. It was an accident with his kettle. Once he'd wiped himself down, and said it he was OK, I went back to looking at the view. But, I'll admit, I had rather enjoyed the view of this sexy semi-naked man in the kitchen. That was the first time I was aware of sex that afternoon. And he was good looking, and he had a body that was so different to yours. Not that you aren't good looking, but he doesn't have any hair on his chest, and his skin colour was a darker tan than yours, that's what I mean by different.
"No offence taken."
"Anyway, I was looking out of the window again, and Peter came up right behind me, in just his Calvin Kleins. I could smell his cologne. I could feel his body heat through my blouse. And he stood right behind me, pointing out the sights. You could see the SS Great Britain in its dry dock and even that little recreation of the old ship that sailed the Atlantic was there, moored to the side."
"The Matthew? John Cabot's boat that he sailed to the America's in, at the end of the fifteenth century - I think."
"That's the one. It's so tiny. And to think men set sail right around the world in boats like that in those days."
She paused, but I wasn't going to let this slip into a discussion on maritime history, so I just waited.
"Sorry, where was I? Yes, the moment of my downfall. There was this tremendous sexual tension in the air. He leant forward and just kissed me, very lightly, on the side of my neck. It was as if there was a bubble around us. There was only the two of us in the whole world. Where were you? Where were the boys? Where was everything that was important to me? It should have been there to protect me. It should have been right at the front of my mind. Our love should have stopped me, why didn't it?"
She broke down in tears. I wondered if I should comfort her, but I knew my emotions were pretty unstable and I didn't trust them That stopped me. But by now I was truly listening, comprehending and reacting.
Eventually, she wiped her eyes. "I half turned and he kissed me fully on the lips. And suddenly, all I could think about was wanting him. I wanted him so badly, I wanted him in me, right there, right then. I'm sorry, Chris, but just for that moment I forgot you. I'm not going to tell you anything but the truth."
I think I was about to explode, and she saw it, but it didn't stop her. "We sort of shuffled into the bedroom, I guess he was leading me, because I didn't know the way. We were tearing at our clothes. Or I was, he only had to take off his boxers. I didn't have time to really undress, I slipped off my pants from under my skirt, I unbuttoned my blouse, but I only pulled......no I think he pulled my bra up above my breasts. And we did it. There was no foreplay, it was missionary position and then we rolled over and I rode him. We came at about the same time. And then the bubble burst. And then you were there in the room, I felt I could see you watching me. I remember sitting astride him, looking down at him, and I was horrified. I couldn't get off him fast enough."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing. I don't think either of us said anything from the first little peck on the neck until the end. Then I was babbling about it being a mistake, and how I had to go. I found my shoes and pants, and I got out of there. I was still doing up the last buttons on my blouse when I got out onto the street. I found a taxi, and I went back for my car at the Hospital."
"And that was it?"
"Yes. But that's bad enough. I drove home, I'm not sure how, I probably wasn't emotionally fit to drive, let alone how much I'd drunk. But I did. And I had a very long, very hot shower. I was so ashamed of myself. I'd betrayed everything in my life. Everything that I believed in, everything that was good. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Again she collapsed in tears. I just watched. Now that I knew this full story, it didn't seem so bad. But how would I have judged it then? Then I was an innocent. I hadn't fucked my way around the brothels of the world. I hadn't had so many one night stands that I've lost count.
Molly looked up, "By the time I'd finished in the shower, I suddenly realised that it was time to collect the boys off Susan. I should have collected them a lot earlier, and I phoned and apologised, and went and collected them." She laughed, "And that was the start of you finding out. Jamie had got some plastic cartoon character out of the cereal packet that morning. I can't remember which one, but it was bright yellow, I do remember that. And Ben had got hold of it when they were in the back of the car, and they were squabbling. Their Mother had just betrayed them, betrayed you, and everything we believed in, and they were squabbling about some damned bit of bright yellow plastic. I stopped the car in the middle of the road and turned round and screamed at them. That was the start of me letting my anger at myself out on them. I shouldn't have done it, it adds to my shame. But that evening, I tried to act normally, and just hoped it would all go away. That time would let me get over it."
"But I noticed."
"Yes, you must have picked up on something. Suddenly, with all the pressure on you, you still found time to be an even better Dad. You got in to read them their bedtime stories. You were the perfect father and husband, and I was the evil, traitorous wife. Why did you have to be so bloody good that week of all weeks? Don't answer that, I know why. But it made it all the worse for me. Well you know what happened, you caught on that something was wrong, perhaps you knew or guessed it all, I don't know. But, eventually I confessed on that Sunday evening."
"You had been to work that week, and you did see him again?"
"Yes. Twice. I told him it was all a mistake, a dreadful mistake. And I didn't want to talk to him or see him again. Two days later, he delivered a huge bunch of flowers to my desk to apologise. I accepted his apology, but told him we couldn't be friends."
"I can understand why you didn't tell me when it happened, but when I found out, why didn't you just tell me all this then? Why did you let me believe that he was more than that to you? And above all else, why couldn't you tell me that you simply loved me? That was the bit that really hurt the most."
