The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty Two

"Stop it," I say as I finally find my voice. It doesn't sound like my voice. It's just a disembodied noise which has no effect whatsoever on the scene in front of me. "Stop it. Jesus Christ, Stop it!!" I move forward and grip hold of Aidan's arm, pulling him forcibly off my husband who he has pinned against the island in the middle of Ted's kitchen.

He's breathing hard and looks furious as he turns to me. His cheek is red and angry and there's blood running down from inside his nose. Oliver's top lip is split open and the neck of his t-shirt torn. They both look ridiculous as they glare between each other and me. I think they also look partially embarrassed as they try hard to hold onto their displaced anger. I'm the one they should be angry at, not each other.

I give them both a pointed look before moving to the stove to turn off the burning pancakes. Then I take a few deep breaths before turning back to face them.

"Do you both feel better now?" I ask. Aidan blinks at me a few times and touches his fingers to his nose, flinching slightly. Oliver throws a scowl at Aidan and begins righting his clothes, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and swearing under his breath. "I think we need to talk," I say to my husband before turning to Aidan. "I think you should go. There's a train back to the city from Westport at 1 pm. You can call a taxi to take you there."

His face contorts into confusion. "Are you fucking serious?"

I nod. "Yes, I need you to go."

He shakes his head slowly and a look of warning comes across his face. "Eloise, please don't do this." He steps toward me.

"Don't tell her what to do. She's my fucking wife," Oliver barks.

"Aidan, please. Please just go," I plead, softer. He stops still and stares at me for the longest time. I feel my insides churn and swirl. I feel sick. Physically ill.

Why doesn't he understand that he needs to leave now? That our bubble has well and truly burst? That whatever romantic notion we both may have had separately about what this was and how it would end has now been obliterated. Replaced by cold hard truth. I'm nothing more than a cheating wife who has been caught. I'd betrayed my husband. And whether or not he was fucking Nicole was irrelevant, Aidan must know that. He stares at me while Oliver stares at him, until finally he nods, pulls his shoulders back, turns, and walks out of the kitchen.

A weird flurry of panic washes over me at the sight of him walking away from me, my stomach continuing to furl and unfurl, gnawing at my insides like a living breathing thing. I really do feel sick. I'm going to throw up.  As Aidan's footsteps grow quiet above us I bring my hand up to my mouth and turn and empty some of last night's dinner into the sink.

I run the tap to wash away the sight and rinse my mouth out. Suddenly I feel him behind me, gathering my hair back and running a hand tenderly across my back. I consider pushing him away but something stops me. Some part of me in this moment needs my husband's hands on me, comforting me. Why he wants to comfort me is another question entirely.

I don't deserve it.

I turn off the tap and grab the dish towel to dry my mouth before turning to face Oliver. His expression is a myriad of emotion and I can't decide which one is strongest. He looks hurt and confused, concerned and frightened.

"Are you ok?" He asks me.

"Yes, fine," I lie. "Are you?" I glance at his mouth.

He nods, licking his burst lip with his tongue. "The airline lost my case. I need to go out and get a few things," he explains, still breathing hard. "When I get back, we'll talk. Once he's gone we can talk, ok?" His tone is odd. It's too soft. Why isn't he angrier? He should be angrier.