Read Online Marriage and Other Games by Veronica Henry - Free Book Online
Authors: Veronica Henry
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unlucky.’
He looked up at her, his expression so bleak that for a moment her heart went out to him. Then she realised the truth: he just didn’t get it.
‘The problem is,’ she explained as patiently as she could, ‘that what you are blaming yourself for is the fact the deal went wrong. You can’t seem to see that the whole scam was inherently immoral. If you could have got away with it, you would. Even now. And that’s what I can’t handle.’
Ed’s face was expressionless.
‘Are you saying it’s over?’ he asked flatly.
‘I don’t know.’ This was the truth. Charlotte had no idea at all how she was going to deal with what had happened. She couldn’t bring herself to be supportive to Ed, to console him at all, to show him even a modicum of sympathy. But to walk out after six years of marriage, when until the night before she had loved him with every bone in her body, was anathema.
She looked at him. She could hardly believe that just over a week ago she had clung to him, trying to absorb his very skin into hers in her desire to be close to him. Now the man in front of her seemed a stranger. She didn’t want to touch him; the very thought of close contact made her recoil.
Would that repulsion fade over time? Did she want it to? Did she want to be able to forgive him for what he had done? Or would she live the rest of her life wondering what else he was capable of? She had misread him so severely; to have overlooked the fact that he had such a calculating streak showed she was an appalling judge of character.
‘I need time to think,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not going to walk out, or kick you out. That’s not going to change anything, or help our situation. But at the moment, I can’t forgive you. Or see how we’ve got a future together.’
He nodded in understanding, then managed a smile.
‘At the moment?’ He was repeating her words back to her. In a flash she understood him completely. He was a gambler, a risk-taker. He always had hope, which was why he would never come to terms with their childlessness. That was the difference between them. And that was, in the end, what would drive them apart.
The following week was a nightmare. Ed’s misdemeanour was all over the papers on Monday, with varying degrees of disparaging editorial comment. Ed was put on immediate gardening leave pending an investigation into what he had done. As Charlotte was essentially self-employed, she negotiated a few days off work, shuffling her diary around to give herself some breathing space. It wasn’t that she wanted to be at home for Ed; it was more that she couldn’t face the people she worked with, or her clients.
They barely spoke. Charlotte threw herself into spring-cleaning: a mindless task, but vaguely therapeutic, and as they would no doubt have to sell up, her time wasn’t wasted. Everything was filed, or folded, or shredded, or thrown away. She dusted, polished and buffed until everything shone. There wasn’t a misshapen pair of pants or an out-of-date magazine or a worn towel left. She defrosted the freezer, chucking out anything that couldn’t be identified.
She didn’t know what Ed did, apart from go running along the riverbank, and then shut himself in the office. She cooked enough supper for two, but didn’t set the table as usual; just helped herself to what she wanted and went and sat in front of the television. For once she was grateful for the inanity of reality shows and soap operas. They helped avoid the need for conversation, and filled in the hours before bedtime. When Charlotte found herself actually looking forward to the next episode of EastEnders , she wondered in how many marriages it helped to paper over the cracks.
Not a single friend had phoned to commiserate, or see how they were. This wasn’t surprising, as many of their friends worked in finance or in the City, and to be associated with a high-profile fraud
He looked up at her, his expression so bleak that for a moment her heart went out to him. Then she realised the truth: he just didn’t get it.
‘The problem is,’ she explained as patiently as she could, ‘that what you are blaming yourself for is the fact the deal went wrong. You can’t seem to see that the whole scam was inherently immoral. If you could have got away with it, you would. Even now. And that’s what I can’t handle.’
Ed’s face was expressionless.
‘Are you saying it’s over?’ he asked flatly.
‘I don’t know.’ This was the truth. Charlotte had no idea at all how she was going to deal with what had happened. She couldn’t bring herself to be supportive to Ed, to console him at all, to show him even a modicum of sympathy. But to walk out after six years of marriage, when until the night before she had loved him with every bone in her body, was anathema.
She looked at him. She could hardly believe that just over a week ago she had clung to him, trying to absorb his very skin into hers in her desire to be close to him. Now the man in front of her seemed a stranger. She didn’t want to touch him; the very thought of close contact made her recoil.
Would that repulsion fade over time? Did she want it to? Did she want to be able to forgive him for what he had done? Or would she live the rest of her life wondering what else he was capable of? She had misread him so severely; to have overlooked the fact that he had such a calculating streak showed she was an appalling judge of character.
‘I need time to think,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not going to walk out, or kick you out. That’s not going to change anything, or help our situation. But at the moment, I can’t forgive you. Or see how we’ve got a future together.’
He nodded in understanding, then managed a smile.
‘At the moment?’ He was repeating her words back to her. In a flash she understood him completely. He was a gambler, a risk-taker. He always had hope, which was why he would never come to terms with their childlessness. That was the difference between them. And that was, in the end, what would drive them apart.
The following week was a nightmare. Ed’s misdemeanour was all over the papers on Monday, with varying degrees of disparaging editorial comment. Ed was put on immediate gardening leave pending an investigation into what he had done. As Charlotte was essentially self-employed, she negotiated a few days off work, shuffling her diary around to give herself some breathing space. It wasn’t that she wanted to be at home for Ed; it was more that she couldn’t face the people she worked with, or her clients.
They barely spoke. Charlotte threw herself into spring-cleaning: a mindless task, but vaguely therapeutic, and as they would no doubt have to sell up, her time wasn’t wasted. Everything was filed, or folded, or shredded, or thrown away. She dusted, polished and buffed until everything shone. There wasn’t a misshapen pair of pants or an out-of-date magazine or a worn towel left. She defrosted the freezer, chucking out anything that couldn’t be identified.
She didn’t know what Ed did, apart from go running along the riverbank, and then shut himself in the office. She cooked enough supper for two, but didn’t set the table as usual; just helped herself to what she wanted and went and sat in front of the television. For once she was grateful for the inanity of reality shows and soap operas. They helped avoid the need for conversation, and filled in the hours before bedtime. When Charlotte found herself actually looking forward to the next episode of EastEnders , she wondered in how many marriages it helped to paper over the cracks.
Not a single friend had phoned to commiserate, or see how they were. This wasn’t surprising, as many of their friends worked in finance or in the City, and to be associated with a high-profile fraud
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