I felt empty, stolen from − utterly robbed. I was too exhausted to confront Claire immediately, the soft memory of my night with Sarah caving under this new disappointment and the prospect of another sleepless night, with Claire breathing beside me as if everything was hunky-dory, stretching out in front of me. I joined Claire in the shower and washed the dust off only to have it replaced by a fresh film of doubt and deception, soaking through my skin right into my blood and core. I didn’t flinch when she touched me and I didn’t waver when she kissed me goodnight. I waited until she was asleep, her body too close to mine. I picked up her phone from where I had left it earlier and scrolled through the call list. If this Susan was a regular caller I needed to know. I needed some ammunition to defend myself with because Claire was an expert at disarming me − it was what she did best. That and then twisting the knife in the wound. A few calls from Theresa popped up in the incoming calls list, along with a slew of numbers that could be anyone’s. If this was a one-off it sure as hell didn’t sound like one. I navigated to the outgoing calls and there it was, like clock-work, every night for the past five days Claire had telephoned Susan around eleven PM. If it hadn’t been so painful I’d have felt like a right Sherlock, gathering evidence and drawing my conclusions. Next I investigated her text messages and soon found one from Claire to Susan, sent at ten-twenty − when I was lugging her bags up the stairs − saying, “Can’t call tonight. Will explain tomorrow.” Obviously Susan hadn’t received it, or had decided to ignore it. Claire purred next to me as if she was the most innocent person in the world. And me, I was made a fool of once again. I longed for Sarah then, for her love − or whatever it was − which came from another place entirely than Claire’s sex-starved self-serving soul. Hell, even a night with Lucy would have been better than waking up beside Claire the next morning.

I sat there, naked on the edge of my bed, Claire’s phone, as proof of something, burning in my hand. It wasn’t even midnight yet. Then I heard the soft thud of the front door falling in the lock downstairs. Eleanor was home. She could give me some advice, or at least listen to me and make this night bearable. I stood up to put Claire’s phone back on the desk but, not paying attention to all the foreign objects she had brought into my room, tripped on one of her boots − the really sexy ones − and dropped the phone hard on the wooden table.
“Are you all right, baby?” Claire asked, half-asleep, feeling for me in the bed with one arm. “What’s wrong?” I looked at her, the pout of her lip − the one thing that always grabbed me by the throat − infuriating me and I couldn’t hold back. Her guard was down and this was my time to attack.
“I forgot to tell you, but you got a call from Susan when you were in the shower. I took the liberty of answering it.”
“What? Who’s Susan?”
“I don’t know, Claire. You tell me.”
“Come back to bed, Lee. She’s nobody.” I felt ridiculous standing there, all naked in the darkness of my room with Claire ready to resume her slumber. What was she made of on the inside? Concrete? Steel? Cold hard stones? I flicked on the light and she hid her eyes under her hands. She looked so vulnerable all of a sudden − helpless and old.
“Either you pack your stuff and get out of my room now, or you tell me who the fuck Susan is. Your choice. Baby.”

To be continued…