Richard left the Manor House to find Eko after a bust up with Delcie and Charles, who he thought were ganging up on him. In his absence, Delcie sought comfort in Charles, but he seemed only interested in sex. This extract reveals her inner turmoil.
1. My adulterous behaviour was disloyal, deceitful, and despicable, and before the tsunami my affair with Charles would have been mere caprice. After Richard left I hoped to embrace a deep and meaningful relationship, but Charles’s inability to understand my emotional turmoil became apparent. His complaints about my frequent mood swings — blinding migraines brought on by my imminent change of life -- only distanced him further from me.
2. I felt bad. My affair with Charles was despicable. Instant gratification (every time) was no substitute to being disloyal and deceitful to Richard, God damn it. Laying in my lover’s arms, if I thought maybe he could understand my moods -- blinding migraines brought on by my imminent change of life -- I was wrong. If I hoped for a deep and meaningful relationship, I was wrong. Charles dismissed them, while his hands roamed over my body yet again. While my body responded, my mind felt detached. I was losing him.
3. Oh God, how many more times does he want it? How many more times do I open my legs and feel him thrusting inside? Does it matter I feel disloyal and deceitful to Richard? Charles doesn’t care I need more than a quickie every ten minutes. Not even time for a vodka chaser. He’d scoff at a deep and meaningful relationship, while pumping me to another orgasm. Sure, I enjoy him making me explode — what woman wouldn’t — and Mary loved it, the scheming bitch. Maybe she’d be the same — mood swings, blinding migraines, change of life — oh God, I hope she suffers interminable grief when he complains. She can have him — complaints and all — I’m bowing out being his plaything. Alcohol’s more important. So there.
4. Forget him, girl. Charles is only good for one thing, but that one thing makes me tremble when he touches me. Oh God, don’t start again. Please. So much for me laying in his arms and thinking about a deep and meaningful relationship. All he needs is a few deep thrusts every ten minutes. And I need a vodka chaser right now. Helps with my mood swings, blinding migraines, change of life — and blotting out his constant complaints when I kick him into touch. I can’t hack it anymore; Mary — that scheming bitch — can have him, I’m finished. I’ve realised my affair with Charles was mere caprice, and all I want is my husband supporting me, even though he is a pain in the arse. Now, when I look in the mirror, my expression reflects my disloyalty and deceit to him. Despicable. It shames me.