"Goodbye Connie. Remind me never to cross you…"
A frivolous remark; one spoken in jest; intended to lighten the atmosphere slightly - to rid him of his own unease. Myself, I was contented enough with silence; how can one possibly put into words the way I'm supposed to feel right now? My husband's been arrested; set up by his spouse; his better half; his wife; me.
I suppose I ought to feel sadness, or relief, guilt even. But I don't… The only thing running through my mind at this moment is entirely selfish, although not totally unwarranted. It's a mere practicality, a technical hitch I forgot to iron out before I went steaming in all guns blazing with my master plan to outwit my own husband; What the hell I'm going to do now.
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"Let go of me, I know the way!"
Although a thousand possible explanations flick through my mind immediately, I know before I see the flash of betrayal in Michael's eyes that he's been found out. They're the kind of words associated with a television drama; something we never truly believe would happen in real life. But then again I suppose I never banked on Michael Beauchamp… None of us did.
It would be easy to feel remorse in this situation; no doubt that's what men like him set out to do; make you feel guilt for things over which you hold no control. But I don't, I don't feel regret or even stupidity for having trusted him, I just feel numb…
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All curiosity on the second woman's face was lost on the first as, painfully white and in silence, she follows the man she had always trusted implicitly. Coming to a stop on the other side of the desk, her gaze doesn't move from him, despite the questioning which follows.
"What happened?"
"The swab test result… It was positive."
A revelation. Incredulation. Shock.
"Why did you say it was negative?"
"I couldn't trust you Chrissie."
And then pain. Ongoing…
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The first woman moves to her desk draw sombrely, unscrewing the bottle which lay within it with an ease brought only through years practise in disappointment. "Drink?"
The latter shakes her head with blatant distraction, her face home to an expression of pure bewilderment at her companions apparent indifference to their situation. "You… told them?"
The woman looks up sharply. "You didn't expect it?"
"I thought the result was negative."
She laughs, a bitter element sounding through; irrepressible. "What can I say? I'm a clever girl..."
Sensing the veiled emotion behind her words, she replies with care. "What do you mean?"
The reply travels with a sigh; the tiredness of her eyes only just beginning to become apparent. "When has there ever been a meaning behind words? They're chosen for effect, nothing more. Sentiment is lacking in all statements of truth."
Silence elapses as the pair eye each other with a renewed intrigue, the outlines of each face deepen increasingly as a weariness becomes reflected on each; The week's events now taking their toll. Contours sharpening, creases folding, eyes narrowing as they notice each fault on its own merit; wrinkles suddenly more pronounced, eyes becoming grey, vicious smile fading.
"Did you love him?" She asks abruptly, surprising even herself.
"It wasn't serious" Comes the anticipated response; now automated from years of telling, still no more believable than the first time used.
"How long?"
"What does it matter? It's over now."
The first statement of reality, bringing them back to the ground at colliding force.
"Of course it's over" The elder snaps, the full realisation sinking beneath the surface of her cool façade. "He's going to be locked up."
Each face echoes their wish to throw away the key. Betrayal is perhaps the strangest emotion, bringing together women who until today were enemies. Not close enough to be referred to as friends; more strangers with one thing in common; A man who never mastered the art of quitting while he was ahead.