I flattened myself against the floor and stopped breathing properly, and the whole thing turned in about four seconds from a joke into something else.
A lighter clicked.
And then cigarette smoke came drifting down under the bed.
Grayson had told me his mother gave up in 2016. He had told me that story twice, with a detail about a hypnotist.
But in that moment I was not thinking about the lie.
I was thinking about the call she made next.
She said: hello, Grayson? I’m in the bridal suite. Where’s your wife?
And she put him on speaker, because she is sixty and that is what she does with every call.
His voice came out of that phone and for about a second I did not recognise it.
He said: she’s probably wandering about with her friends somewhere.
He said: don’t worry, Mum. She has no idea what we’re doing.
Everything in me went cold, from the shoulders down.
Lorna gave a low little laugh and said: good. Is the apartment on the coast in her name yet?
He said: it is.
He said: I told her it would make her feel secure. She thinks I bought it for her. But I kept every receipt.
He said: give it a few months, we say we’re incompatible, and I use the purchase records to take the property when we split.
That apartment was our wedding present to ourselves.
He was the one who insisted it should be in my name alone.
He sat in a solicitor’s office in the November and said, out loud, in front of that solicitor, that a woman should always have something of her own.
I cried in the car afterwards.
I believed it was love. It was a plan with a solicitor as a witness.
