The mistake that didn't matter in the end

THE MISTAKE THAT DIDN’T MATTER IN THE END

“Look Rachel. It happened. It was a bit of fun and a good release for us after clinching that deal. End of story. It happens all the time. People have too much to drink and make mistakes. Just keep it to yourself and it will be alright. I promise you. Don’t make it more difficult than it should be. No one needs to know but us and I won’t be telling anyone.  I’ll see you tomorrow morning.  He lay back on the bed, perfect smoke rings gently floating up to the ceiling and he felt relaxed. Turning his phone off, he stubbed out his cigarette, shut his eyes and drifted off.

Sitting on the edge of the motel room bed, her phone still in her hand, she lit a cigarette. ‘What have I done?’ she though, flicking ash into the glass ashtray and sighing. She felt sick in the stomach. She remembered having the same feeling when she was caught stealing money out of her mother’s purse. Her mother had questioned her “Why are you taking money out of my purse April? All you have to do is ask. This has really disappointed me”. The uneasiness in her stomach had been a mixture of guilt and the unknown of what would happen next. It made her feel as if she needed the toilet. She had stammered “I don’t know why” and burst into tears, remorseful and ashamed.

She couldn’t sleep. Picking up her book and opening it where the floral bookmark was she started reading, but it just wasn’t working. Her concentration was at zero level and she kept reading the same passage over and over, not even remembering what she had read. She threw the book down on the bed and stood up, wanting to ring Paul, just to hear his voice. “He would never forgive me if he knew and it would be over” she said out loud, tears welling up in her eyes. When Paul’s sister’s husband cheated on her Paul wanted to punch him, and told his sister to leave him. “Once they have crossed that line sis, you just can’t trust them”. April thought it was probably more because Paul had never taken to the man – in fact he really didn’t like him at all.  

“I can’t ring at 2.30am though. I’ll ring before he heads off for work”.

April began to feel nauseous. She was remembering that she had drunk far too much at dinner and then afterwards there were the night caps. If she had of stopped there she wouldn’t be in this mess – but she slowly crept past her limit, where she could still reason and think a little clearly, and stepped over the blurry line into regret.

After she had finished vomiting into the toilet, she had a shower. Her head was throbbing and a little man with a hammer was banging it against her skull. “I just want to wake up and it’s all been a dream, but as she ran back into the bathroom to be sick again, she knew it was real.

‘Headache tablets and water will help a bit’ she told herself as she lay down on top of the bed cover, sweating and shaking a little. She dozed off and slept fitfully, tossing and turning, sometimes quickly reaching for the little metal bin she had put on the table next to her. The thought of what she would say to Paul when she saw him was racing around inside her pounding head.

The bright sun shining through the window felt like it was piercing her eyes and woke her after not much sleep. “Oh I should have shut those curtains” she told herself as she put her head under the covers. It still pounded but not as badly as last night. Then it hit her. What had happened last night was reality. Her stomach tightened as if it had just been tied in a knot and she ran her hands through her hair, messy and in need of a wash. “I need to talk to Damien. I can’t cope with this” and she started to cry, deep guttural sounds of despair. After a few minutes she stopped crying, and sobbing into her tissues she knew what she had to do.

She sat opposite the man she had slept with the night before, full of regret and self-loathing. He on the other hand had ordered the full breakfast and was tucking in as if he had never eaten before.

“Look April. It’s over and done with. Let’s just forget about it and carry on as normal. We had too much to drink and it was a bit of a laugh, a celebration for getting the deal done” he said in between his mouth full of egg and bacon.

“Damien, I’ve decided to tell my husband. I can’t live with this lie” she told him quietly, adding “You have some Kale in your front teeth”. She found it difficult to look at people with food in their teeth, and right now she not only hated that, but she also hated him and herself. The knot in her stomach hadn’t left her – she could no more face breakfast than she could run a marathon. ‘One mistake’ she thought to herself, ‘and I’ve ruined everything’.

He put his knife and fork down sharply on his plate, “No! No, April. Not a good idea. I have a fiancée, to consider, and no way am I telling her. This stays between us two”. Picking up the implements and deftly getting what was left on the plate all on his fork, he shoving it into his mouth, he sat back, wiping his lips with the napkin. “You’re not eating then?” he asked her, surprised.

“Damien, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not in a good way this morning. Not only do I have a headache from drinking too much, but I have a conscience and right now it’s got ‘guilty’ stamped all over it. This is new to me. I’ve got the feeling that you have done this before but I haven’t. I’m ashamed of myself”. All she wanted to do was cry, but her eyes were already bloodshot and stinging. She licked her dry lips and poured herself a glass of water. It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach when the water reached it following the big gulp. A wave of nausea reached up to her throat and as she held her breath, it crept back down again. Grateful it had, she pushed the glass away thinking that she didn’t want anything to eat or drink all day.

April’s life went back to the same old routine that it had before the event she would always regret had happened. Outwardly she still looked the same, although her mother had asked her a couple of times if she ‘was eating’ because she was looking thin. But inwardly, for April, everything had changed. The guilt she felt was always lurking at the back of her mind. Even if she was feeling happy about something, a tiny niggling thought about that dreadful night, seemed to lessen her laughter, and joy of anything in life.

Damien was moving on, leaving the company - to plenty of pats on the back, drinks and going away gifts, with the promise that ‘there will always be an opening here for you Damo’. April didn’t go to the farewell ‘do’ – she was glad he was going. ‘Maybe this is what I need, to not see his face or be near him ever again’.

Her relationship with her husband seemed to have changed. ‘It’s me, I’m the problem. I just can’t relax anymore’ she told herself. ‘But now that Damien’s gone it will be different. I’ll make an effort to eradicate those demons from my head, and move on with my life’. She thought about how lucky she was to be married to a man who loved her unconditionally, no matter if she seemed a little quieter and withdrawn these days – no questions asked.

April had decided to go to counselling and get some professional help – she still couldn’t decide whether to tell Paul or not – it weighed heavily on her mind and the fact that she couldn’t tell anyone was really stressful.

Mr. Peters the counsellor thankfully sounded the opposite of the way he presented himself. April walked into his office, and glancing at his desk stacked high with papers and coffee cups, sighed to herself. She had been hoping that the person recommended to her for ‘her friend’ had looked a little more professional than this. Little black specs which sat on the end of his nose were bound together at the bridge with sticky tape of some sort. But once the introductions were made and a firm handshake with a very dry but clean nailed hand offered, she relaxed. He oozed confidence and a quiet strength. Mr. Peters with his curly collar and dishevelled hair, a comb over that had flicked itself back so the long strands gently bounced up and down on one side of his head when he moved, spoke well. He seemed engaged and interested in her problem and April always felt positive at the end of his counselling sessions. The one time she cringed a little was when he told her that this was a ‘very common problem’ in this day and age, and don’t feel as if you’re the only one, but instead of that being a comforting thought, what he told her made her feel like she was ‘just one of those people who has a fling’.

She knew what she was going to do. In her mind, to move forward completely she had to tell Paul the truth.

She wasn’t going to tell him until the end of the week – the weekend. The day after tomorrow was their sixth wedding anniversary – so it would at least be after that. But Paul had two days away for work anyway and would be leaving very early in the morning. After all this time, it could wait for another couple of days.

She woke to the shrill sound of her alarm. Stretching her arms above her head she put her hand out to the other side of the bed and then remembered that Paul had left at about 3am. The crinkled sheets on his side were cold but before she had even opened her eyes her hand touched something papery with her finger tips. ‘Oh it’s not our anniversary until tomorrow. Paul’s left me a card. He won’t get ours until the day after. I should have put his in the kitchen last night next to his coffee cup. Blast!’ she felt annoyed with herself. It had taken her quite a while to write the poem inside but she also liked cards to be read on the special day if possible.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up against her pillow. It was a white envelope with just her name on the front, quite small. ‘I’ll open it now – he won’t know’ she said aloud. Ripping open the top of the envelope she pulled out what she thought would be a card, all hearts and flowers and loving words, but it was a single sheet of paper.

‘Dear April’ it began, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now, but I thought you might have sensed something wasn’t quite right’. She dropped the thin paper on the bed. Her heart was beating fast and she felt light headed. Taking a few deep breaths she retrieved the note and looked down. The words looked jumbled and she was finding it difficult to focus. Staring at the paper for a few seconds seemed improve her vision and she read on. ‘You have seemed a little distant lately, so I thought that you could feel me pulling away from you. I never meant to hurt you and I will always care about you, but not love you. I’ve met someone else – not here but while I was away for work. We truly love each other. I didn’t think this would ever happen to us but it has and I am so sorry. I wanted to tell you face to face because of our promise we made to each other, to always be honest, and I ask your forgiveness for failing to live up to that promise’.

She let the paper drop onto the bed, knowing there was more to read, but not having the energy to continue.

She doesn’t know how long she had sat in her bed; all track of time had been lost. It had drifted away with any logical thoughts she had woken up with. Her mind felt fuzzy and she was finding it difficult to believe what she had read. Looking around the room her eyes rested on the small photo of the two of them, taken on their honeymoon. She remembers that they had asked a little old man to take a photo of them with their camera, in front of the Eiffel Tower. They had picked the wrong person – he had no idea how to use a camera, couldn’t speak English and his glasses kept slipping off the end of his nose! After they had thanked him, for nothing, they chose a rather sensible librarian looking lady and she took the photo April was now staring at. ‘Six years ago next week we were there’ she thought, and at that the tears began to slide down her pale face.

It was late afternoon when April climbed out of bed, there was a chill in the air and she felt sick from her headache. ‘I don’t have any more tears left to cry’ she said aloud. ‘For now anyway’ she added. I just feel so sad that it’s over for us. All of a sudden April began to giggle, slowly and quietly at first, and then slightly hysterically ‘How ironic’ she yelled out, ‘I make one stupid mistake and the guilt and remorse are almost unbearable, and it’s been consuming me’. But Paul has been being enjoying himself leading a double life. Her anger kicked in at what he had written and she yelled to nobody, “He’s just a lying and cheating sod”. And he will never know what I did. I will always be the good wife spurned by the cheating husband.