My Husband’s Lies: An unputdownable read, perfect for book group reading. Caroline England

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СКАЧАТЬ is surprisingly low. It nearly went last week but the woman had a pet, which isn’t allowed. You don’t have a pug do you?’ She stands back to study Seb’s face, then grins. ‘No, of course not. You look more like a golden retriever guy to me.’

      Feeling a surge of release, Dan laughs and picks up the telephone. ‘I can give Salim a bell now if you’re really interested. He’s the property man.’ He nods at Maya. ‘Or if Andrew has got a slot this afternoon?’

      ‘He’s back from his viewing. I can ask him right now.’

      There’s a pause for a moment; Seb’s eyes are on his. ‘What about you, Dan? Can’t you show me around?’

      ‘Sorry, Seb, I’m mad busy today. Friday’s are always the worst. I’ve had four completions this morning and there’s another four of the bastards before five …’ Dan knows he’s babbling and can’t quite meet Seb’s steady gaze. ‘I would if I could. I’m sure Salim will be—’

      ‘Let’s make it tonight then. I can buy you a pint afterwards.’

      Feeling hot and stiff in his suit, Dan drives straight from the office towards the other side of Wilmslow. The afternoon lurched by with little time to think of anything other than the house completions, two of which went pear-shaped.

      He feels culpable as he weaves through the heavy traffic, sorry for those families whose excitement has been crushed and replaced with anxiety. He wishes he didn’t care, wishes he could shrug it off. Like Salim or like Will. But then he remembers Will’s face at the wedding. A look of astonishment, replaced seconds later with sheer panic.

      Loosening his tie at the traffic lights, he sighs, then has to brake sharply not to overshoot the gated access of Oak House. Thinking it could do with some lighting, he slowly accelerates up a sweeping driveway enveloped by stark looming trees. The red-brick property bursts out at the top. A Victorian mansion, no less. He grabbed the sales particulars before leaving the office but hasn’t had time to look. Not that he knows much about property per se. He’s the solicitor, Salim has the surveying qualification.

      Dan sighs at the thought of Salim. The anxiety is there, a disquiet he’s never felt before, a need to know that everything’s fine on his side of the business. How can he be sure? Geri took voluntary redundancy from the City Council when it was on offer last year and he’s the sole earner. They have a baby on the way.

      He parks his car next to a large flower bed of severely pruned roses. There is no sign of Seb or a car.

      The February evening is dark and sharp, but Dan feels sweaty, no longer from the stress of appeasing angry clients, his rush from the office or his fear of being late, but from his thoughts, which have now kicked in. Is this viewing for real? Can Seb genuinely afford to rent something so opulent?

      He stares through the windscreen. The residence is a far cry from the large semi he shares with Geri. Their house is in a nice part of Chorlton, a repossession he bought at a good price and Victorian too, but nothing compared to this grandeur, albeit desecrated by the modern trend of flats. He looks at the photographs. A discerning revamp, he supposes. As Salim points out, a tasteful renovation is preferable to a tasteless one, or even worse, a fun pub.

      He pictures Geri’s sunny smile. ‘Are fun pubs so bad, Dan? Child-friendly food, soft-play areas for kids? Beer gardens with swings. That might be us one day.’

      He’ll be a father in just over two months. The thought is still incredible.

      ‘Furniture optional,’ the sales leaflet says. Would Seb need furniture? He split with his girlfriend, Claudia. They lived in France. She was beautiful, good in bed and a cunt. That’s all Dan knows. He looks again at his watch, then checks his mobile for messages. They arranged to meet at seven o’clock; it’s now seven-thirty. Could Seb already be inside?

      He walks to the panelled front door, the clatter of pebbles under his work shoes sounding loud in the still dark. He has no idea whether the other apartments are already let, whether Seb could have gained access. This situation feels unreal; he has no idea why he’s here, he has no desire to view other people’s properties and he’d like to go home. Examining the keys to separate out the correct one, he turns at the crunching sound of a car approaching.

      Seb dips his head to climb out of a black cab. ‘Left my car in France along with everything else,’ he says easily as he approaches the door. ‘Sorry I’m late. The first taxi didn’t come. Could’ve borrowed Mum’s car, but no insurance.’ He puts a firm hand on Dan’s shoulder. ‘Shall we go in?’

      They stand apart in a small lift. Seb presses the button for the top floor, but for moments nothing happens.

      ‘Reminds me of that scene from a Peter Sellers’ film,’ Dan says to fill the silence. ‘The out-takes are famous.’ He glances at Seb. His expression is blank. ‘A fart scene? You must have seen it. They had to film it again and again because the actors kept laughing. Corpsing, I think they call it.’ He knows he’s babbling again. ‘Have you pressed the right button?’ He leans over Seb’s chest, takes in the aroma of coconut shampoo, notices Seb has changed his shirt, then presses the button to close the doors. ‘Maybe that’ll do the trick.’

      The lift takes them to a personal entrance hall with a vaulted ceiling, which leads to the glossy white door and the intercom. Dan knows the atmosphere smells of fresh paint and polish but he can’t escape the smell of coconuts. He fumbles slightly with the keys, pleased when the heavy door opens with only one turn of the double lock. He switches on the light and they’re met with cream; a carpeted drawing room with pale walls, high ceilings and two large windows looking out to the dark Cheshire countryside. The wide room is sparsely decorated with a three-piece sofa suite at one end, a glass dining table the other.

      Dan stands at the door, playing with the keys. Through his peripheral vision, he watches Seb opening doors and glancing in. ‘Furniture is optional,’ he eventually comments to fill the muffled silence. He doesn’t know what else to say.

      Seb stops and stares through a window before abruptly turning. He looks as though he might speak, but heads towards the master bedroom instead.

      Dan clears his throat. ‘I’ll wait in the kitchen. Give you time to have a proper look.’

      Sitting at a high bar stool, he absently strokes the soft bristle on his chin and looks around. He and Geri were due to refurbish their kitchen, but now it’s on hold. On hold until after the baby is born. It’s fine and it’s good. He just wishes the words on hold weren’t quite so obscure.

      Suddenly aware that minutes have passed without any word from Seb, Dan looks at his watch. He takes a deep breath before leaving his hiding place. Seb is in the drawing room, sitting on the middle sofa and gazing at an empty cream wall.

      ‘I guess that’s where you’d hang a flat-screen television or a mirror. Or maybe a Renoir if you have one spare in the attic,’ Dan says, trying to lighten Seb’s silence. He perches on a two-seater sofa and breathes through his nose, glad the visit is nearly over. ‘Seen everything you want to see?’

      Seb doesn’t answer the question, but turns his focus to Dan. ‘If I rented this place, would you visit?’ he asks.

      ‘Don’t start—’

      ‘Don’t start what?’

      The surge of heat in Dan’s chest hurtles to his face. ‘I’m not gay, Seb,’ he blurts.

      Seb СКАЧАТЬ