Here's the scene I think a lot of people have been waiting for -I hope I've done it justice
She couldn't cope any longer. Now that it was in the open, now that Martin knew and it was wafting around her mind like an irremovable odour, Deborah couldn't cope with the incessant nagging that clawed at her throat.
Of course, the fact that she wasn't Captain may have sounded like a ridiculous thing to get worked up about, and in truth it was. Except it wasn't her rank that worried her. It was the fact that once the words met the air, it would be out in the open that she had lied.
She had hidden something huge from her husband, and although it wasn't significant, it was solid evidence that she had been keeping part of herself back from him.
All Deborah could do was hope that he realised that her honesty was a gateway to fixing their relationship.
Damn Martin…Deborah could barely find the energy to be mad at the Captain for making the realisation that her marriage was crumbling seep to the surface of her skin and stay there like a tattoo that only she could see.
She pulled her knees up to her chest, inhaling slowly as she pushed the covers from her legs. Deborah had retreated to their bed an hour ago, leaving Harry in front of the television watching one of his awfully sparkly shows. It wasn't too late, so she had feigned boredom and disappeared.
They had had a lazy day in, spending the day together while going about their own chores. Harry had gone out briefly to have coffee with one of his friends from work, and Deborah had engaged in the longest conversation that she had had with her daughter in months.
Apparently she had loved her small part in her class's production 'very, very much', and couldn't wait to come and spend some of half-term with her Mummy. Just her Mummy; Verity hadn't warmed to Harry in quite the same way that she had her step-mother. That was to be expected of course; he hadn't been around long, and Verity wasn't around often.
Now Deborah sat in bed, working up the courage to go and talk to Harry. It shouldn't have been so hard, not really. Harry knew her, for all that Deborah held back. But proper honesty, that was something that she wasn't good at.
No, Harry knew her because suavity so often faltered into muted acceptance, rather than the decision to engage in raw conversation, or relax without trying to impress him.
The only people she didn't try to impress by overacting were her colleagues, and that was only because they were impressed enough by her genuine skills.
Harry didn't need genuine skills, he wanted a perfect wife, which Deborah could provide. She could…it just took a little equivocation.
But he loved her, so he wouldn't care when she told him the truth.
With a long held sigh, Deborah pressed the back of her hand to her shuttered eyelids and relished some last moments of peace. Then she took the hand from her eyes and took in the bedroom, before squaring her shoulders and kicking her legs over the side of the bed.
When she entered the sitting room, the nerves remained, but she merely intertwined her hands where the hung at her front, and tread lightly to the sofa, to lower herself down beside Harry. The lights had been dimmed to a warm orange glow, and the television had been replaced by the book in his hand, which he lowered when he felt the cushions dip.
"You alright, Debbie?" Harry inquired, shifting his feet aside so that she could better fit beside him; she tried not to fiddle with her hair as his eyes mapped her face, "You look a bit…peaky."
Deborah nodded quickly, her lips thinning in a semblance of a smile.
"Yes, yes of course I am." She replied, and then thinking better of it; that was no good, "Actually Harry…I need to talk to you about something."
Harry straightened up immediately, hoisting himself so that his head was at the same height as hers.
"What is it?" he demanded, seeming more worried than anything else, "Are you alright?"
Deborah nodded quickly, smiling again in an effort to comfort him; she even reached across to place a placatory hand on his knee, only retracting it when he calmed and the tension left his muscles, his arm resting over the back of the sofa as he leaned in.
"Everything's fine, nothing's wrong." Deborah assured him, keeping her voice soft and low, maintaining eye contact lest she lose her nerve, "I just…realised that there is a slight misunderstanding between us that should be…rectified."
"I don't understand, what kind of misunderstanding?" Harry's expression was withheld, cautious, and he didn't reach for her hand as he was wont to try and do.
Deborah decided that the best thing to do, now that she had him sat down and listening, was to just jump right in and say what she had to. That was the plan at least. In reality, she inhaled sharply to speak, exhaling dejectedly each time without even opening her mouth, eyes widening in frustration.
On the third try, at the sight of Harry's eyebrows furrowing, she managed to spit the words out with an airy lilt.
"I'm not the Captain at MJN." Deborah stated; when she saw Harry's eyes narrow in confusion, she hurried to add, "I didn't lie, I just didn't correct you when you assumed that I was. I just felt that you should know that…for the sake of openness."
Harry nodded slowly, hands coming to rest on his own lap. Deborah turned her head away to glance at the coffee table, the nervousness making itself heard once again. With nothing else to do, she shifted so that she was perched more towards the edge of the sofa, legs together as if ready to carry her elsewhere.
"So if you're not the Captain, then who is?" Harry asked, and Deborah had to stop herself from noting that he had missed the point of her confession entirely; she watched as Harry's eyes widened and his bewilderment turned to disdain, as he gestured unabashedly at their front door, "You don't mean to tell me that Martin, that Martin from the other night, is your Captain – the same Martin that you keep going on about?"
"Well he's not doing that bad of a job." Deborah retorted indignantly, unsure why she felt the need to defend Martin at such a time; it just wasn't fair was all. He didn't deserve to be insulted behind his back, let alone by a man that had never properly interacted with him.
"Fine- fine…" Harry agreed, raising a hand in surrender.
Deborah slipped her arms around her chest, let them hang loosely, as Harry turned to place his feet on the floor, tipping forward to place his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, rubbing them over his face and groaning with exhaustion. She wished that she could tell what he was thinking, but she really couldn't.
Harry raised his head, and without saying a word, he ran his eyes down her body, across her face, as if searching for something unknown; his expression was unreadable, and Deborah hated the way it made her stomach churn.
"Are you angry?" she asked tentatively, prepared to take the blow if he said that he was; it wouldn't be the first relationship she had watched crumble in on itself.
Harry's eyes softened, and he shook his head.
"No, of course I'm not angry; this isn't anything to get angry about. I'm glad you told me." He assured her, and he reached across to take her hand in his, squeezing gently; Deborah felt a flicker of hope, "But…" the flicker was doused as quickly as it had emerged, "this…you keeping this from me…it's made me realise. Debbie, love…now that I've heard your secret, I should tell you mine."
Deborah tore her hand away, tucking it into her elbow as her arms wrapped tighter around her chest; she stiffened, trying her best to measure her expression and tone, though if the trembling of her lip was real, she wasn't succeeding.
"What secret?" she demanded coldly, praying for anything better than lying about his job title; there was so much worse that he could pick from, "Harry, what have you done?"
Harry swallowed, and then seemed to steady himself, accepting the distance that his wife put between them.
"Debbie, I'm sorry, I really am…but I've been seeing my Tai Chi teacher." He explained calmly; on seeing on response, save for a sinking expression and a paling of Deborah's cheeks as her eyes flittered over his face for any sign of jest, he pushed on, "I've been having an affair…I'm sorry."
Oh, he's sorry, Deborah thought viciously, everyone's sorry when they're called out. Martin's sorry, Harry's sorry. Except Harry doesn't mean it.
"Why?" Deborah gritted out; she didn't know what to do. She wasn't even sure what he had just said had actually sunk it. All she knew was that she was shaking, ever so slightly, while her arms kept her contained.
Harry shook his head as if dispelling a fly, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips; just like it did when he was lying. She paid attention, even if he didn't.
"Deborah, I love you, I really, really, love you." Harry insisted, leaning forward, hands clasped to implore her; he stilled when she leaned away from him, "It's just…there's supposed to be that one person, the one that, even though they're not perfect, makes you feel like you want to be there with them forever, no matter what you're doing…" Deborah shook her head imperceptibly, a broiling, burning fury rising up over the stabbing pain in her guts with each word he said, "…and…as much as I love you, I don't feel like you're the one. I didn't want to hurt you."
Deborah scoffed, and threw herself to her feet, rounding the sofa so that she could stand at the arm, a physical barrier between her and her husband.
"No – no…if that were the case – if you felt that we weren't right, you would have said something, you wouldn't be sneaking around getting a good time elsewhere and then coming home to your wife to deal with the rest of you." Deborah snarled, her voice wavering as her hand shook where it gestured furiously in the air, "No, there's something else – why now? Why when I'm actually honest with you?"
"That's just it, Debbie!" Harry blurted, leaping to his feet, throwing his hands in the air, face scrunched, "You said you were Captain and you aren't. You were honest, and you know what? The truth just lets you down."
Deborah took a step back, arms clinging to the other elbow again as she shook her head; she didn't know whether she was angry and sad, in pain or about to rip his throat out.
"Let's me down?" Deborah repeated, gaping in offence as Harry nodded, a twisted smirk on his lips that told of just how long he had been bottling this all up.
"Exactly! You build up all these expectations, and then you can't meet them!" Harry yelled, hands outstretched to encompass her as a whole, pointing out her flaws, "You act like you're this suave and mysterious jet-setter who's perfect at everything and pulls of so many clever schemes – and when we got married, you were, you were funny and exciting and gorgeous-" he reeled off every complaint, and Deborah held herself stoicly, staring at him as if in a new light, "But now – all that mysteriousness is just to cover up that you're a bit silly, your 'clever schemes' get you sacked and in trouble more often than not, and you're barely ever here-"
"I'm working!" Deborah insisted, letting her anger take over; it was far better than the icy pit that seemed to be collapsing in on itself in her chest, making the rest of her want to follow its course, "I'm working, day and night, because if I didn't, I wouldn't have a job at all!"
Harry scoffed and shook his head, running an agitated hand through his hair, but Deborah wasn't finished. She hadn't know quite how much she had to throw at him.
"And I might as well enjoy being at work," she drawled viciously, smirking bitterly as she caught his attention, "It's the only fun I get considering how when I am at home, you're off with your work mates – or were you really shagging your bit on the side?"
"Well what do you expect?" Harry shot back cruelly, "You don't let me know you anymore. All I ever hear is 'on this flight', 'that bloody woman', 'Martin this, Martin that', always going on about sodding Martin!" he mocked; Deborah wasn't sure what to say, "Hell, I've barely met the man, but I can tell you that his favourite colour's blue, and he's very good at maths – that's how much you go on about him, all the time."
"I spend twelve hours a day sometimes locked in a small metal room with the man." Deborah exclaimed, throwing her hands to the side in a despairing surrender, "What else should I talk to you about? Should I check to see if you've been getting as much sex as you need, or is that not considerate enough?"
"Deborah we're not working!" Harry bellowed; his chest was heaving in the silence that followed.
Deborah let her arms drop, and her lips wobbled as she tried to form words. She could barely form the thoughts that might have fixed the situation. Because there it was…the one thing that she had been trying to avoid.
And now…and now?
She just wanted him to go away. All her efforts to try and keep him, and now she just wanted to curl up in bed and know that he wasn't anywhere near her.
It hurt. She had been betrayed and abandoned before, but she had been so sure that this time, this time, she would be able to settle down.
But in that moment she could barely stand to look at the man she had settled down with. Harry just looked lost now, his eyes tracing the carpet as his hands swung lamely at his sides.
The 'right one'; he may have been lying when he had mentioned that perfect person, but Deborah would have given the world for that one person. They didn't exist; he wasn't Harry, and he wasn't real, because there was no one in the world that could make her happy, make her feel loved, make her love him, and make her want to be around him forever.
She had hoped that settling would be enough, but apparently nothing was as good as she was going to get.
"Out." Deborah said quietly, but in their sitting room, in that moment, it might have been a scream.
"What?" Harry had the audacity to look confused, but he didn't move to approach her.
Deborah shook her head, running her head over her eyes. She wasn't cruel.
"I want you out tomorrow…I can't have you here, I can't." She explained sourly, refusing to meet Harry's eyes, "You can sleep on the sofa tonight, and when I go to work, I want you to get your things, take whatever you want, and then leave me alone."
Harry's eyebrows knitted as he watched her wave her hand carelessly about the room; she noted detachedly that even now, their possessions sat separately on their shelves.
"Don't you want to try and work things out?" he asked hopelessly; or at least, Deborah thought that he sounded hopeless. She didn't want him to want her anymore, that would just make things difficult.
With great effort, keeping her expression as cool as she could while tears threatened to well up in her eyes and her cheeks were heated, her lips wavering, she lifted her gaze to meet his, fingers digging into her own arms.
"I want to stop being unhappy." Deborah told him firmly.
Harry waited for a moment, and then it was as if the realisation that it was all over, just like that, flooded his eyes, and he looked so sad; then he nodded, looking anywhere but at his wife.
"Okay…" he almost whispered.
Deborah saw him lower himself back onto the sofa, slowly, but she was already striding from the room. She slammed her bedroom door behind her and hurled herself onto the bed, pulling the duvet to her chest and gripping it tightly until her knuckles ached, hiding her face in the suffocating warmth.
She didn't know when she stopped shaking.
oOoOoOo
The next day, Harry kept out of her way, allowing her free use of the kitchen without his presence until she stepped through the front door and into the outside world; it was like stepping through a void where the crisp air negated the choking vacuum within.
The entire drive to the airfield Deborah kept running through her mind the fact that when she returned home, there would be no husband waiting for her, no Harry to go to sleep beside, no other person to work around…
It hurt. The ache in her chest, that leeched into her pores and made her want to crack every joint to try and realign herself, didn't let up, remaining an ebbing throb.
But at the same time, it felt like there was a weight off her shoulders. True, it may have been the weight of the last of her hope in the world, but it was a weight nonetheless. It was as if the knowledge that she wouldn't have to keep track of what someone else was doing all the time was freeing…at the same time, she didn't want it to start.
But work was a different world, with a different her, and she could package away her home life for a while.
She arrived far earlier than she had since her first day at MJN, so Deborah sat in her car, taking deep breath after deep breath. Martin was here; she could just about see him pacing through the porta-cabin window.
Making her decision, Deborah exited her car and strode into the porta-cabin, pleasant smile in place as always. Though Martin looked up and greeted her warmly, pausing as if to follow her to the desk that she wasn't going to sit behind yet, and Arthur tried to corral her into looking at whatever it was he had discovered, Deborah only nodded politely in their direction and headed straight to Carolyn's office, shutting the door behind her and leaving their disappointed faces.
At the unwelcomed entrance, Carolyn set her stationary down on her desk, movements stilling, and glared in surprise at Deborah, who was leaning with her back against the door, as if it could hold out the world.
"Deborah? I assumed it was too early for your species to rise." Carolyn remarked coolly, taking in her pilot's unusually smart appearance; Deborah had decided to take extra care in putting on her uniform, just to rub it in Harry's face if he saw her, "May I inquire as to why you've dropped in uninvited?"
"I need to talk to you, Carolyn." Deborah sighed, dropping her head into her hand; she was so tired, so mentally exhausted, she didn't know which way was up anymore, "Please…"
Carolyn must have picked up on her dire mood, as her surprise didn't lessen, but her expression softened, and she beckoned with a hand to the solitary spare seat; that didn't soften her words, as if anything ever could.
"Oh, sit down you useless employee." Carolyn scolded lightly; Deborah smirked faintly, and followed her instructions, lowering herself miserably into the seat, "Now, explain to me what's going on before I assume that you've been traded for a badly reconstructed fake-Deborah."
Deborah wet her lips and sighed before replying, rolling her eyes. She was reminded oddly of being a child, sitting in the headmistress's office, twiddling her hands to provide a distraction from her face.
"You know how when I cost us a lot of money, you make up for it by taking a chunk out of my pay-check?" she remarked; Carolyn nodded and hummed in understanding, so Deborah continued, knowing too well how her suggestion was going to be received, "I need you to not do that anymore."
"What? Why not?" Carolyn squawked, looking affronted at the very idea, "We agreed that those were good terms considering the agony you put my company through."
"I know we did, but my circumstances have changed, literally overnight." Deborah argued, blinking imploringly at her employer; she thought that Carolyn might have understood, or accepted her miserable demeanour with a rush of sympathy, but it seemed that that was not the case, "Carolyn…Harry's gone, I can't rely on his wages to cover the bills anymore."
It seemed that that was the ticket; Carolyn's eyes managed to soften while narrowing, and her confusion lacked its usual sharkish anger.
"What do you mean he's gone?" she demanded; and she was always the one to insist that she couldn't care less about her employees' lives, "Where did he go?"
"He had an affair, so I sent him away." Deborah stated shortly; the last thing she needed was to go over it again when she had barely placed the idea in her own mind.
She was somewhat shocked to find that when she stopped inspecting her fingernails, Carolyn was eyeing her with something akin to pity…or it might even have been sympathy. Both seemed unnatural on her face.
"I understand." Carolyn replied, sounding unusually without sharpness, "I suppose I can't cut your wages if it would risk leaving you homeless."
Deborah merely nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. She hadn't been entirely sure, or even slightly confident, that just asking would work.
So she rose to her feet, and headed towards the door. Carolyn was obviously finished with her anyway. Just as her hand curled around the handle, Deborah turned back to the room, adopting a more cavalier grace.
"And Carolyn…" she caught the older woman's attention, "Please don't tell Martin or Arthur…I have a reputation to uphold."
"You want to pretend you're still with you husband?" Carolyn remarked, raising her eyebrow, pen in hand; Deborah knew that she could see right through her, so shrugged half-heartedly.
"At least until I can get my head around it." She answered truthfully.
Carolyn nodded, and Deborah took that as her cue to leave.
That was surprisingly difficult to write. I had the ideas, but keeping it flowing was hard. I meant to post it last night but the internet got turned off.
Hope you liked it