Chloe is upstairs on the phone, she can hear her voice shrilling away, the high notes of her exclamations, but not the words. The red cabbage is simmering on the slow plate. The potatoes are in the oven. The steaks won’t go on until the last minute. There’s the table to lay before Tom gets back. She pours herself another glass of wine and takes a big gulp. Getting drunk. The stage of numb paralysis has passed, and Belinda finds herself in an unfamiliar world where nothing is what she supposed it to be. Has she been blind for years? Does everyone know but her? She keeps switching between panic and disbelief. She tells herself Lisa made it all up to hurt her, to break up her marriage, to get Tom for herself. Tom can’t be having an affair. They have a good marriage. So it’s not perfect, but it works, doesn’t it? She argues with him in her head as she mixes the eggs and cornflour and sugar and cream and halved plums. You’re not having an affair, Tom. Don’t give me that crap. You’re not the type.
