Robert learned of his wifes betrayal in a curious and peculiar wayIsabel confessed it herself, tears pouring like rain on a foggy London evening, imploring with trembling hands that he forgive her. He stood unmoving, ears full of a distant, surreal echo: how could Isabel have done such a thing? Shed always darted about on whims. He recalled how, on the second morning after they’d exchanged vows beneath the grand stone arches of an ancient English church, Isabel had announced, over marmalade toast, that shed taken out a loannow placing them both in debt. Robert accepted this news as one accepts the presence of sudden mist over the Thames: with a sigh of resignation.
Then came strange fevers that left Isabel pale as bone-china. The ambulance, blaring through the winding streets of Oxford, came for her. Only later did Robert learn, as if from behind frosted glass, that shed lost a pregnancy, a secret shed never shared, the complications leaving everything blurred and fragmented.
Were both gainfully employed now, flush with pounds and not wanting to scuff up our financial reputations with a child, she later explained, her voice a distant bell. But now, this betrayal I suppose, for balances sake, you ought to betray me in return, Isabel declared one night, her tone dreamily logical in the way of dreams. She engineered the solution herself, introducing Robert to a tall, fair-haired friend named Charlotte, her figure graceful as a willow.
But Robert recoiled, unable to pierce the absurdity of the arrangement. The room seemed to tilt. Charlotte asked, Are you not a real man then? Her blue eyes were pools of question. Only a regular bloke. I cant cheat on my wife out of principle, he murmured, feeling as if the words might float away on the next draft.
Morose, Robert returned home, the citys orange streetlamps flickering past his window as he packed his things and retreated to a mates flat in Camden. Silence lingered in the air, thick as the London fog. Soon after, Isabels call camea voice half-lost in static, saying, Im expecting. So, youll need to come home regardless.
But Robert felt hollow, detached. The idea of home, or child, or marriage now seemed stranger than fiction. He drifted through a Waitrose aisle and there, as if conjured from a nursery rhyme, spotted Charlotte again. What are you seeking here? she inquired, her words staticky. Did Isabels plan of a baby work, then?
The logic shimmered and evaporated. Roberts doubts swirled, surreal. Let me see the medical certificate. Or at least the ultrasound, he demanded. Why wont you simply trust me? objected Isabel, but he only shook his head, After all thats happened, belief isnt so easy.
She had nothing to show. Her silence hung heavy as old London air. Robert realised her story was woven of clouds and smoke. He spoke the word divorce, which echoed and echoed, echoing still as the dream rolled away.
