Gary stood before the front door looking down at the bottle of red wine and the flowers he had bought for her. He had somehow convinced himself earlier that these tokens of affection would pacify her, soften her and make it easier for him to tell her what he had done. But there on the threshold of their home, the rain cascading down his face, his clothes drenched, the flowers drooping sadly with moisture, he realised how pathetic and clichéd he looked: the repentant boyfriend, naively believing that a few cheap gifts would make everything alright.

Gary took a few deep breaths, placed the bottle under his arm and with his free hand foraged around his coat pocket to get his key.

"Hello darling," called Amy from the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

"Hi," said Gary weakly, shaking the rain off and stamping his feet.

Amy emerged from the kitchen drying her hands on a tea towel. "Oh, you poor baby; you’re soaked."

"Yeah," said Gary, chuckling half-heartedly. "I got you these," he added, holding up the dripping flowers.

"Aw," cooed Amy. "They’re lovely. I’ll go put them in water." She planted a kiss on Gary’s cheek.

"And I got some wine," he said.

"Ooh, Merlot. I’ll get some glasses. Go and get changed; dinner is almost ready."

Upstairs in the bedroom, Gary sat at the edge of the bed, their bed, drying his hair with a towel. He gazed at the bed, gently stroking the duvet. This was where he slept with Amy, the woman he loved. And he did, he did love her. He loved her so much and yet he had…

"Dinner’s ready," Amy called from downstairs.

"Coming," Gary called back. He had to tell her. He had to. He could no longer bare the burden of his secret, of his betrayal. It would hurt her, he knew, but he could not carry on lying to her.

Amy had prepared a selection of Cantonese dishes: chicken with cashew nuts in a black bean sauce, sweet and sour pork, fried rice and egg noodles. By the time Gary came back down the stairs, Amy had neatly laid the dishes on the glass topped dining table. Cantonese cuisine was his favourite but he merely poked and prodded his food, only occasionally taking a mouthful and chewing slowly. He stared down at his plate unable to look Amy in the eye.

Once Amy was sated she pushed her plate away from her and wiped her mouth on a napkin. She poured more wine for Gary and herself; Gary, all hunched over his plate, still did not look up. Regarding him thoughtfully, Amy said, "Gary? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said quietly and then, forcing a smile across his lips, added, "this is nice."

"How would you know?" Amy asked. "You’ve barely touched the food. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, it’s delicious. I’m just not very hungry."

"I didn’t mean the food," said Amy. "I was talking about you."

Gary laid his fork down and wiped his lips on his napkin. He then folded the napkin slowly and precisely before placing it on the table. As he did this he did not once look at Amy.

"Gary?"

"I… need to tell you something," Gary mumbled.

"What is it," said Amy, a fearful tone now entering her voice.

"You… you won’t want to hear this," said Gary looking at the ceiling, the floor, the table, anywhere but at Amy.

"Gary…"

"I… I have been… lying to you…"

"Gary, what do you mean?"

"I… I have been… faithful… to you."

"Faithful?"

"I haven’t been sleeping with other women behind your back."

"My God… Faithful?"

"I’m sorry."

"But… what about all those women you’ve brought back here?"

"I never… I just talk to them for an hour or so and then sleep on the couch."

"You didn’t have sex with them?"

"No… sometimes I don’t even pick them up on a night out… I just pay an escort to come back and sleep in the spare room."

"Gary… Tell me this is some kind of joke."

"I can’t… I just haven’t been sleeping around."

Amy covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes bulging with disbelief. Gary could not be saying what he was saying, he just could not.

"Amy, darling," Gary began.

"No. Don’t say anything," said Amy standing up, hugging herself and pacing around the dining room. As she walked around in small circles she shook her head, muttering to herself. Gary watched her, desperately wanting to go to her, hold her, make the pain of his confession go away, but he knew he could not.

Amy finally turned to face him, eyes moist with sadness but also filled with anger. "What about all my friends, all our friends?"

Gary shuffled awkwardly like a schoolboy sent to the headmaster’s office. "I haven’t slept with any of them."

"You… you haven’t…?" Amy was gasping in disbelief, the words choking in her throat. "Not even… what about Julie?"

Gary squirmed where he sat, the world closing in on him, oppressing him, accusing him. "Well, I did kiss her… but… I didn’t…"

"You only kissed my best friend? You didn’t fuck her?"

"I nearly let her suck me off," said Gary desperately hoping that having let Julie come within an inch of fellating him would appease Amy in some small way.

"What?" Amy exploded. "You nearly let her give you a blowjob?"

"I tried... but I couldn't go through..."

"Oh my God! She is my best friend, Gary! Even if you haven’t slept with anybody else the least you could have done is fuck my best friend!"

"I know. I’m sorry."

"Sorry!" screamed Amy, eyes swollen and red, cheeks streaming with salt water. "You’re sorry? You bastard! You say you love me and then go and do this? How could you? I told you! I told you, didn’t I? When we got together? I told you that if you didn’t sleep around the relationship would be over. That’s what I said, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Answer me, you bastard: isn’t that what I said?"

"Yes," said Gary, unable to hold back his own tears.

Amy shrugged and paced around the room for a moment. Suddenly, she wheeled around to face him. "Okay," she said, "how long have you not been sleeping with other people?"

"Look, Amy," Gary began.

"Tell me! How long?"

Gary looked at his feet. "Since we got together."

Amy gawped at him. Her mouth moved but no sound came out.

"Look," said Gary, standing up and moving towards her.

"Don’t come near me!" Amy wailed. "Don’t you fucking come near me. Four years, Gary. Four fucking years… and you are telling me that you never slept with anybody but me?"

"I tried, but…"

"But what, Gary?"

"I couldn’t… I would always think of you and I just couldn’t."

"Jesus… After all the men I have slept with for you. You think I did that for fun? Huh? You think I fucked all those other men because I wanted to? I did it for you, Gary: You, because I loved you. And now you just stroll in here and casually tell me that you… have… been… faithful!"

"I’m sorry. God, I am so sorry. Amy, please. I love you. I do. I’ll prove it. Here, phone all your girlfriends: Julie, Sarah, Helen, Tamsin… Go on, call them: I’ll do them all, right here, tonight…"

Gary moved towards Amy, arms outstretched, begging, pleading with her to forgive him.

"Don’t touch me!" she screamed and fled the dining room.

"Amy, please," implored Gary, following her out into the hallway as she sprinted up the stairs. "Please, Amy, I love you."

Gary stood at the bottom of the stairs as he heard the bedroom door slam shut. He lingered there helplessly as the sound of Amy’s sobs floated down the staircase and invaded his head and stabbed at his conscience. His chest was tight with the guilt of having caused so much pain to the woman he loved. All he could do was vilify his stupidity and his selfishness.

He turned and slowly made his way to sleep on the couch.

- Originally published in Flush Fiction Magazine - January 2002