The Confession

'Are you sad, my darling?' said Becky to her daughter.

Tara nodded, sniffing.

'Why are you sad?' asked Becky.

'Because you're going away.'

'I'm only going for a couple of days. I'll be back on Sunday, I promise.'

'But why?'

'I told you, my darling. I have some things I need to think about.'

'What things?'

'Grown-up things. Things it wouldn't be fair to burden you with.'

'What's "burden"?'

Becky adjusted the child on her lap as she thought about it. Bryan watched in silence, his expression neutral.

'A burden is something heavy,' said Becky to Tara. 'You know when we go to the supermarket, we buy the shopping and then take it to the car in bags?'

'Yes,' said Tara.

'Well, imagine that I took one of those heavy bags and said that you had to carry it. Would that be fair?'

'No!'

'Why not?'

'Because I'm only little.'

'Exactly. So because I want to be fair, I will never give you a burden that's too heavy for you to carry. Do you understand?'

Tara frowned as she pondered this. She looked so cute, Becky had to resist the temptation to squeeze her and kiss her chubby cheeks.

'But Mummy,' said Tara. 'Does this mean that you're carrying a heavy bag?'

'Yes, in a way,' said Becky. 'A grown-up problem can be like a heavy bag.'

'Can't Daddy help you carry it?'

'Not this time, darling. Some bags you can carry with other people, but other bags you have to carry alone. The bag I'm carrying is that type of bag.'

'Can't you put it down?'

'I'm considering that, darling.'

Becky hugged Tara close and rested her chin on top of the child's head. That way, Becky could look at Bryan without their child seeing it.

'I'm considering putting the bag down,' said Becky. 'But tell me, Tara... what would happen to a shopping bag if I put it down in the street and walked away?'

'Someone else might take it.'

'That's right. And I would have lost my shopping. So the question I have to ask myself is: Do I want to keep the bag? Or do I want to put it down? Because you see, my darling... some bags are worth carrying even when they're heavy. And other bags are not.'

Becky took her chin off the child's head and looked her in the eyes.

'That's what I need to figure out,' said Becky. 'And it's very important that I get it right. That's why I need a couple of days, to really think about this. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Mummy.'

'And I'm very sorry that I can't tell you what it is. It's not because I don't trust you, my darling. It's because there are grown-up things that it's not fair to put on a child. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Mummy. I love you, Mummy.'

'I love you too, my darling girl!'

Becky hugged Tara and began to cry. But it was crying born of happiness, so Tara didn't cry herself. She just basked in her mother's love, hugging her back and feeling safe and secure.

Bryan watched the two women in his life hugging each other. Then he uncrossed his legs and quietly left the room.

*****

2

THE COACH & HORSES INN was built in the days when men wore top hats and women wore petticoats. The stableyard was now a guest car park and you booked in online rather than having your name scribbled into a great leather-bound ledger. Even so, as Becky locked the car and walked to the side entrance with a porch, she felt a bit like a traveller in a Dickens novel. She even carried the roller-case by the handle as the crunching sound of the wheels felt incongruous to the atmosphere and irritated her.

The interior through the old door was all dark wood, with great beams across the ceiling which you could reach up and touch. The floor, the narrow staircase, the reception desk and its panelled wall, all centuries-old oak or cherrywood. There was also panelling around the room and the walls were whitewashed stone and plaster. Becky loved it.

There was the sound of a busy bar coming from elsewhere in the building, which somehow made Becky feel welcome and expectant. She went up to the high front desk which had one of those old-fashioned hotel desk bells. Behind that was a writing desk and modern swivel-chair with the jacket from a two-piece suit hanging over the backrest. With the computer monitor, keyboard and cordless phone in its holder, it was a little corner of modern objects within the historic, like a museum in reverse. Becky hit the desk bell.

'Ping! Ping!'

A door opened and a well-dressed, youngish man came through. So, thought Becky, the jacket over the chair was from a three-piece suit! The waistcoat looked trim on the man's elegant frame, his white shirt was immaculate, and his tie perfectly tied with a Windsor knot. Still, despite the wide shoulders and muscular neck, there was a boyish air to the slight curls over his ears and the way he smiled.

'Good evening!' he said as he walked to the desk. 'You look well!'

'Why, thank you!'

'Did you travel far to get here?'

'About a two-hour drive.'

'Okay! Um, the kitchen will be closing in ten minutes, if you're hungry?'

'No, no... I had dinner before I left.'

'Very wise. Well, let's check you in.'

The well-dressed man fired up the computer and began clicking the mouse. Becky realised she was staring at him and turned to frown at a framed etching on the wall.

'So...' said the man. 'Rebecca Robinson. Checked in for two nights' bed and breakfast. I see that you've paid in advance, thank you. Um... check-out time is ten o'clock, Sunday morning. Is that okay?'

'Of course.'

'We can look after any luggage if you want to spend the day in the area.'

'Thanks, but I have my car. It's okay.'

'All right. I do need to see some ID.'

'Oh.'

Becky felt like kicking herself. The man looked puzzled.

'Your driver's licence will do,' he said.

'It's not that,' said Becky. 'It's just... all my IDs are in my married name.'

'I see.'

He frowned at the computer screen. Becky panicked and said:

'I not here to do anything, um... you know...'

'Madam, I just need to confirm your identity, that's all. The reasons for your stay are entirely your own business.'

Becky nodded back and dug the small wallet out from her coat pocket. Her hands were shaking and she had difficulty getting the licence out. As she tried to grip the smooth plastic, the fingernail of her forefinger bent back.

'Ouch!' she cried. 'Fuck!'

'Madam...'

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'

Becky burst into tears. She stood in that beautiful room, hair coming loose from its bun, crying her eyes out like a child. It appalled her. She had been fine this whole evening, having dinner at home and putting Tara to bed. She had even called Bryan from the car and listened with dry eyes fixed on the road as he told her about the night he cheated on her. There was nothing in his story that surprised her and afterwards she had felt strangely unmoved, as though it had happened to a fictional TV couple. Becky already believed deep down that men were hardwired to fuck whenever they got the opportunity and Bryan simply confirmed that he was just like the rest of them.

Yet here she was now, hit by a wave of emotion that seemed to come out of nowhere. Becky was vaguely aware of a man's hands firmly but gently leading her into another room, sitting her down on a leather settee that squeaked as she sat, and calling out for somebody.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' said Becky between sobs.

'It's all right,' said the man. 'Please, just take your time.'

Becky realised that she was sitting in some sort of lounge area. There was a fireplace and windows with the curtains closed. One of the two doors opened and a woman came in carrying a glass of water. She was around the same age as Becky and smartly dressed in a waistcoat and matching skirt.

'Here you go,' said the woman.

'Thank you,' said Becky.

She accepted the glass and took a gulp of water. The man and the woman looked at each other.

'Has this lady checked in?' said the woman.

'Not quite,' said the man. 'She still needs her key-card.'

'Why don't I sort that out now?'

'Thanks, Cathy.'

The woman left the room. The man sat next to Becky, leaning on his knees. Becky drank the rest of the water and leaned forwards herself, staring at the wall.

'I'm sorry about this,' she said.

'It's no problem,' said the man. 'We all need a good cry sometimes.'

'Yes, but not while checking into a hotel.'

'Ah, but this is not a hotel.'

'It's not?'

'Nope. You're in an inn.' The man smiled. 'Try saying that after a couple of drinks.'

The two of them exchanged a glance. Becky was feeling better and she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss this man. He smiled back and held eye contact for perhaps a shade longer than was strictly professional.

'Well,' he said. 'Cathy will be back in a moment.'

He gave his leg a pat in prelude to standing up. Becky suddenly wanted him to stay sitting next to her and she said the first thing that came into her head.

'I found out yesterday that my husband had cheated on me.'

The man froze in his seat.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said.

'It did happen several years ago.'

'That doesn't make it any easier.'

'No,' said Becky. 'No, it doesn't.'

The door opened and the woman called Cathy came in. She was holding a white plastic card about the size of a credit card. The man got to his feet and Becky followed suit, still holding the empty glass.

'You're in room three,' said Cathy. 'I took the liberty of taking your roller-case up.'

'Thank you,' said Becky.

Cathy exchanged the key-card for the glass. Becky held the card and looked at the man and the woman.

'You've been very kind,' said Becky.

'You're our guest,' said the man. 'We take care of our guests.'

'And listen,' said Cathy. 'The bar's open 'til eleven if you fancy a drink.'

The man turned to her and said:

'There's a minibar in the room.'

'Yes, John, but there is a difference between sitting in a cosy bar and drinking alone in your room!'

For the first time, Becky got the sense that these two were a couple. This feeling was strengthened when Cathy looked at her in a way that was clearly woman-to-woman.

'Men, eh?' she said.

***

Becky lay on the bed fully clothed, discarded shoes on the floor, and gazed upwards. The ceiling was whitewashed plaster with a great wooden beam running all the way across it. 'That beam is maybe two hundred years older than I am,' thought Becky. She wondered how much sex that beam had seen in this room. Why was she thinking about sex?

'Because you want to get even with your husband,' said the inner voice.

'Yes,' thought Becky. 'That's exactly right.'

She began to think about John, the man from reception. She imagined him knocking on her door, coming in with some excuse and then admitting it was just an excuse... that the real reason he came upstairs was because he couldn't stop thinking about her. That he wanted to kiss her and hold her in his arms. Becky's breathing began to quicken and her body began to feel warm. She reached down and touched her leg.

'Oh, God...' she murmured.

'I take it you're not actually calling on Him?' said the inner voice.

'No, of course I'm not!' said Becky in her head.

She was frustrated and annoyed. Who needs an opinionated mother when your own mind will do the job for her?

'I can go away if you like,' said the inner voice.

'Really?' thought Becky doubtfully.

'Of course. You are always free to make your own choices. I simply answer any questions you may have on the way.'

'So you don't disapprove of what I want?'

'I neither approve nor disapprove. I simply advise.'

Becky lay on the bed and pondered this. She thought about Bryan, Tara and her marriage. Then she thought about her attraction to John and wondered whether he really was in a relationship with the woman Cathy. It could all get rather complicated.

'All right, here's a question,' said Becky to herself. 'What should I do now?'

'Go downstairs for a drink,' said the inner voice.

'No, I mean--'

'I know what you mean. My answer is the same: go downstairs for a drink.'

Becky frowned. She had been expecting something more profound than 'Go for a drink'. She reached for her phone and checked the time.

'There's only ten minutes before the bar closes!' she said to herself.

'You asked a question, I gave you an answer,' said the inner voice. 'Whether you listen or not is up to you.'

Becky sighed. She forced herself to get off the bed, opened the roller-case and spent five minutes wondering whether or not she should change into something else. Realising that time was ticking, she slipped on her shoes, put her phone, wallet and key-card into a string purse and left the room. She hurried down a different flight of stairs, went along a corridor lined with framed etchings of horses and foxhunts, and entered the bar.

The place was empty, except for a barman in his twenties who was just locking the main door with a series of bolts and thick metal keys. He had light brown skin and a small fluffy afro--probably mixed-race parents--and when he turned and saw Becky, his expression was pained and sympathetic.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I was just closing up.'

'It's okay,' said Becky.

'Are you a guest here?'

'Yes.'

'Well, there should be a minibar in your--'

'She knows about the minibars!' said a female voice.

Becky turned and saw Cathy walk in from the same corridor she had just come through. Cathy had unbuttoned her waistcoat and was carrying a tablet and electronic pen. She walked past Becky and put her stuff on the bar.

'Come on, join me for a drink,' said Cathy. 'Oh, Jake, bring me the rosters, would you?'

'Sure,' said the barman.

Jake made his way back to behind the bar. Cathy sat herself on a barstool and set up her tablet. Becky stood in the same spot, a little unsure whether she was allowed to do this. Cathy spoke without taking her eyes off the tablet.

'You'll find it more comfortable over here,' she said.

'Sorry.'

Becky went over and sat on the barstool next to Cathy's. Jake was printing out a long strip of paper from a black box connected to the cash register, then he tore it off and brought it over, along with a clipboard of papers. He turned to Becky and gave her a big smile.

'What can I get you?' he said.

'Oh, um... diet coke, please.'

'Get her a proper drink,' said Cathy. 'It's on me.'

'Okay,' said Jake. 'And how about you?'

'I'll have my usual.'

'Okey-dokey.'

Jake looked back at Becky, raising his eyebrows.

'Um... I'll have whatever she's having,' said Becky.

'Will do!'

Jake went off to make the drinks. Cathy was absorbed by the screen, tapping the glass with the pen and occasionally referring to a piece of paper.

'I'll be done in a couple of minutes,' she said.

'Oh, don't worry about me,' said Becky. 'I really appreciate this, thank you.'

'Well, after what John told me, I thought you could use it.'

Cathy turned her head and gave Becky a very direct look. Her eyes seemed to say, 'If you have a problem with John telling me about your husband, now is the time to say something.' Becky realised that, despite the smart clothes and professional manner, Cathy was a tough cookie and not afraid of a fight. Becky felt an immediate respect for the other woman and gave a nod to indicate that she was not offended.

Jake appeared and placed two straight glasses onto the bar before the two women. The drinks were clear, with ice and lemon. Becky could smell the quinine and she gasped.

'Oh, my god,' she said.

'You don't like gin and tonic?' said Jake.

'No, I do,' said Becky. 'It's just that... it was the drink I bought my husband on the night we met.'

'What a lovely coincidence!' said Jake.

His big smile vanished when he saw Cathy's expression. She signed the tablet, gathered the papers together and held the clipboard out to the barman. He took it away and Cathy turned and lifted her glass.

'What would you like to drink to?' she said.

Becky considered. The first thing that came to into her head was 'To making Bryan sorry.' She wanted to hurt him, to punish him, to fuck him up real bad. Yet the thought of saying it out loud made her feel sick.

'I don't want to forgive him,' she said. 'That feels too weak. But I don't want to be a vengeful woman either. They always seem to end up bitter and resentful.'

'What do you want to be?' said Cathy.

'I want to be strong,' said Becky. 'But I don't actually know what "strong" looks like. Not in this situation.'

'Then let's drink to that.'

Cathy lifted her glass.

'To finding the true meaning of strength.'

Becky felt as though her heart had suddenly shed a heavy burden. She lifted the gin and tonic and clinked glasses with the other woman.

'The true meaning of strength,' said Becky.

***

On Saturday morning, Bryan watched some telly with his daughter. After that, he made her breakfast and then the two of them went into town to do the big food shopping for the week. When the car was packed with groceries, he bought her a bite to eat at a lunchtime café and learned more than he ever wanted to know about something called the Powerpuff Girls.

On arriving home, he let Tara sit in the living room and play with the tablet while he took the shopping to the kitchen. Bryan was halfway through putting stuff away when his phone buzzed. He saw the name on the screen and his heart leapt. After swiping the green spot, he spoke in a lowered voice with one eye on the half open door.

'Hi there,' he said.

'Hello, Bryan,' said his wife. 'How's it going?'

'So far, so good,' he said. 'We just got back from shopping.'

'Is Tara with you?'

'She's in the living room right now. I gave her an hour's tablet time.'

'Okay.'

There was a silence. Bryan thought he could hear wind blowing against Becky's phone. He guessed she was outdoors somewhere and he said:

'How are you doing?'

'I don't know,' said Becky. 'I swing from one extreme to the other. Sometimes I just want to come home and get back to normal, but other times I want to smash our life to pieces.'

'Okay...'

'Is it okay?'

'I don't know, Becky,' he said. 'I honestly don't know.'

'You usually have an answer for everything, Bryan.'

'Not this time.'

There was another silence. Bryan went over to the dining room door and quietly closed it.

'I have a question I want to ask you,' said Becky. 'And I want your word that you will tell me the truth.'

'Do you still trust my word?' said Bryan.

'Yes, funnily enough, I do.'

'Why?'

'I don't know exactly. Let's just say I'm trusting my gut feeling on this. Do I have your word, Bryan?'

'Of course you do. Yes, you have my word.'

'Okay.'

Bryan heard his wife take a deep breath.

'Since we got together,' said Becky, 'how many times have you cheated on me?'

'Once.'

'So that time with Siobhan was the only time? In all our years together?'

'Yes.'

'Do you swear it?'

'I swear it.'

'Just to be clear,' said Becky. 'I'm giving you the chance to come clean if there are any other skeletons in the closet.'

'I get that,' said Bryan. 'I also understand that if I withhold information now and you find out later, you and I are done. You'll divorce me, right?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'Okay. I stand by my statement. Siobhan was the only time.'

There was silence on the line. Bryan opened the door and listened into the hallway. Tara was just about audible, giggling at whatever game she was immersed in. Bryan closed the door again and leaned against the door jamb.

'All right,' said Becky over the phone. 'I accept that.'

'Great.'

Bryan stood listening, fighting the temptation to ask whether she would be coming home now. He felt a strong desire to make love to her and he held his breath as he waited for her to say something.