Her Best Friend's Husband, page 12
Surprisingly it wasn’t Mum who was crying, it was my father. His head in his hands, bent over the table with Mum leaning over him, rubbing his back and whispering to him. Shocked, I watched this immensely private moment between my parents, embarrassed at witnessing such an intimate act. Quietly I crept back upstairs, shut my bedroom door and got back into bed, pulling the covers over my head.
I never mentioned it and the next day Mum behaved as though it had never happened. I ached to question her, to ask what had caused the tears, but never found the words.
My phone began to ring and I mentally lugged myself back to the cottage. Will was in a noisy bar and had to shout to make himself heard. His team had won and they were celebrating. He kept it brief, words slurred and endearments many. He was an affectionate drunk who would lavish anyone and everyone with love after a few. I told him how much I was looking forward to him coming home, and that I loved him. Paying lip-service to our marriage.
Though my body was dull with fatigue, it was only eight o’clock, and too early to retire to bed. I retrieved a blanket from the wardrobe in the bedroom and reached down beside the bed to grab my second phone before returning to the living room. I topped up my glass for the last time and demolished the remains of the bread.
I then settled under the cheerful multi-coloured woollen blanket and sent a message to my daughters. They replied with a selfie, on their way out to the birthday party. Poppy in a clinging, short black dress, Eva in red. I was overjoyed they were such great friends, that they had an unshakeable bond. They relied on each other and knew they had each other’s backs.
Which led me to reflect on my own sister Liz and the offences we had committed against each other. Tit for tat. I was as much to blame as her and deeply regretted my actions. Her offence had been committed when she was a teenager, whereas mine occurred when I was an adult, and should have known better.
She had failed me when I needed her most, my big sister who had thrived in the school of my nightmares. Good-looking, self-assured, with many friends and even a boyfriend, she too had shunned me when I hit rock bottom.
And years later I had screamed abuse in her face, justifying my verbal bashing of her by reminding myself she had married an alcoholic who treated her like Dad had treated Mum. Unable to comprehend how she could have tolerated the cycle of drink, fight, sleep it off, repeat. It was all my fault though, according to Liz. I lacked the capacity to appreciate addiction. Which was amusingly ironic, as I was addicted to obtaining payback, no matter who accidentally got destroyed in the process.
Basically we let each other down and I knew she had frequently tried to make amends to me over the years. In my wretchedness, I had been unable to forgive her.
Impulsively, I sent her a text:
Do you want to meet for coffee?
If she told me to get lost, I wouldn’t blame her. If she wanted to meet, I would apologise. Biting the skin beside my thumbnail, I stared at the screen, willing her to reply. Unexpectedly, it was essential we met up.
She sent a response within a few minutes:
Only if its yr treat. 🙂
It was going to be all right. One debt paid to the past. Grinning as relief flooded through me, I asked where she wanted to meet. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot by unintentionally insulting her. She selected the time and place and I agreed readily.
Completely spent from trawling through my past, there was one last thing I wanted to do before I sought the reprieve of the bed.
I scrolled through the photos I had taken this weekend, and sent the most contentious one to my burner. I then browsed through the photos and video already stored. Only ten photos in total. Each told their own story of a sordid relationship, plainly taken over several months. No words were needed, no explanations required. Objectively I watched the short clip, its meaning unequivocal.
My main phone pinged with a Book Club WhatsApp message. Ford’s wife had sent a cute photo of the two of them together, raising a toast to something. My lips lifted in a smile at them, blissfully ignorant as to what the future held. Soon it would be time to end this charade.
I sent a cheery response back to her photo, quashing the desire to reply with a photo of the log-burner and the rug, as a reminder to her husband of what he had been doing a few hours ago.
Fun, happy, faithful friend Claire replied ‘Fantastic! Hope you two enjoy!’
Cheating, two-faced, dishonest Claire sat on the sofa and raised a toast to herself and her future.
I flopped into bed a short time later, leaving a small lamp in the corner of the room burning dimly. Afraid of the dark and the dreams which were sure to haunt me, after this rummage through my history. At first I lay awake with my eyes open, mind capering, but it didn’t take long for sleep to come.
Curiously I slept through the night, undisturbed by nightmares. In their place, I dreamt Liz and I chased each other through a leafy garden with water pistols. Light-hearted and lively, only the two of us. I woke to find my cheeks wet, yet didn’t feel sad.
Strangely I felt the unfamiliar sensations of happiness and hopefulness.
For too long, this had all been one massive mess, but a thin sliver of hope now penetrated it. Tantalising hints of a happier future lay ahead of me.
Lying in the comfortable bed, glimmers of positivity filled me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Before I left Crofters Cottage, I had another solo walk along the sand and through the village. It occurred to me I could become addicted to walking by the inclement Irish Sea, wind whipping my hair, savouring the tangy taste. Content, I gazed out towards the horizon and recalled Laura doing the same thing a few weeks ago. Then I had been unable to comprehend her thirst for fresh air, salty breezes and a choppy ocean. Now it made perfect sense. Nature has a way of soothing the soul. Even bruised and battered souls like mine.
On my return home late morning, I vowed to be the best wife I could be to Will over the next few weeks. Therefore when he arrived home, I met him at the door to the kitchen wearing a wide smile and little else. I held him close, startling him with my ardour.
‘I’m going to have to go away more often if I get this welcome when I get back,’ he laughed gleefully, his face grey with fatigue. Worn-out by the late nights and overindulgence in alcohol.
‘You better not!’ I replied instantly, turning to pour him a beer and offering him supper. The best wife I could be. Uncharitable criticism of him had to be shut away with all the other things I felt ashamed about.
On Tuesday, Kate sent a message suggesting a Book Club meeting at hers, supposedly to discuss our upcoming Christmas night away. After much discussion, we had ultimately settled on a Saturday night at the start of December at the fabulous Mourne View Hotel in County Down. It included use of their spa facilities and a five-course meal followed by music featuring a ‘famous’ DJ Big Bert. Which didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence. When I googled him, I discovered he had once played a gig as The Waterboys’ support act in 1992. Famous indeed.
We duly met at Kate’s house the following Friday night, when it was pouring with rain and the wind raged as I drove down into the village. I would leave my car overnight in her street, and Will would pick me up after work. I’d been ambivalent what to wear with my dark blue skinny jeans and after much internal debate, chose a plunging ivory silk blouse with a layered gold necklace nestling in my cleavage. Over the top for a casual Book Club evening, but I was not going to feel second best tonight. Forever comparing myself. Rarely satisfied with the results.
I stepped out of the car and observed the silent houses, dim light spilling out of some, others in darkness. One by one I studied them.
Annie’s. Vicky’s. Kate’s. Laura’s.
What lay behind those walls?
Unfaithful spouses. Unhappy wives. Unfulfilled dreams. Secrets and lies.
I shivered before I turned briskly and walked up Kate’s drive. I pressed the bell, hoping she would hurry as my wet hair dripped down the back of my neck. However it was David who opened the door with a smile. It was almost as if he had been waiting for me behind it.
I grinned back at him, brushed my hair back and leaned in to kiss his cheek as I said a cheery hello. We always greeted the men with a peck on their cheeks when we socialised, a habit I enjoyed as I appreciated rough cheeks and soft lips.
‘They’re all in the sitting room,’ he said, before asking, ‘Can I get you a drink first?’
‘Yes please, G&T if you have it. Wine of any description if you don’t.’ It was our habitual greeting.
I followed him through into their kitchen, the voices of my friends barely audible from behind the closed door. I glanced around their kitchen with a critical eye, noting it would benefit from some TLC. I became aware of David watching me and he shrugged, before reaching into the freezer for ice.
‘We have three untidy kids who leave everything lying about.’ He coloured slightly as he handed me my drink, subconsciously defending the mess.
‘You don’t need to explain anything to me,’ I said as I accepted the glass, ensuring my fingers grazed his, holding his gaze. He really did have the most mesmerising eyes, reflecting almost black under the spotlights above the kitchen island. Just then their youngest daughter Sophie burst into the kitchen, demanding food as she was ‘starving’, and the moment passed. Her dark eyes glared as she went straight to the fridge, without acknowledging me. Their tricky child.
With a rueful smile, I walked alone to the sitting room, where everyone was chittering animatedly. Kate and Vicky sat together on a sagging green sofa while the others had taken the mismatching armchairs. I perched on the sofa, squashed between Vicky and Kate, uncomfortable at our enforced closeness. Kate’s perfume was cloying and it caught the back of my throat, making me cough.
I realised too late I wasn’t in the mood for them tonight; giggle, chit-chat, smile. I didn’t much care what we should wear to the Christmas party night, or how Vicky’s receptionist had upset her yesterday. I gritted my teeth when Annie griped yet again about the long hours Matt spent rowing and Kate’s vocal concern about Laura. The evening stretched interminably ahead with only the gin to dilute my tetchiness.
Laura was the only one who didn’t agitate me that night. Who slyly winked at me when Vicky became distracted by her phone, and Kate got over-the-top excitable on a single glass of wine.
We decided, as if there had been any other option, we would dress to the max for the party night at the hotel. We’d go as early as possible so we could make use of the spa and we’d travel together in Vicky’s car. And we’d all bring some bubbly with us to drink in our rooms. I’d volunteered to have a single room, declaring ‘hot flushes’ kept me awake and I wouldn’t wish to disturb the others. Primarily I was unnerved in case I woke in the night snivelling, and dripping in sweat from a night terror. Unfortunately though there was a shortage of available rooms and we had booked a twin Laura and I would share, and a triple for the others.
If I’d known as a child I would one day become jaded by the ease at which I could spend three hundred pounds on a single night’s dinner and entertainment, I would have scoffed with derision. Three hundred pounds was a fortune then; it may as well have been one million pounds. The unpalatable fact was, I had become accustomed to it, for I had been spoilt by a husband who could see only the good in me. Who was blinkered to my faults.
And the worst thing was I stupidly took it all for granted, assuming the adulation would never end and the money tree would forever keep giving.
No matter what I did.
The evening dragged and I repeatedly checked my watch. How could the minute hand move at snail’s pace tonight, when it usually sped so fast, it made me dizzy.
As the clock crept close to midnight and the possibility of my escape, Laura anxiously asked the question I’d been half expecting. ‘So, what did you all think of Sam?’ She lowered her eyes and became fascinated by her nails, the dark red polish a departure from her standard nude tones. I noticed for the first time she no longer wore her wedding band, and now wore a silver Claddagh ring on the middle finger of her left hand. A ring which signified love, loyalty and friendship. I briefly wondered if she had bought it herself, or if it had been a gift.
‘He’s absolutely lovely!’
‘Gorgeous!’
‘So kind. Imagine, a hospice doctor devoting his life to caring for others.’ That was Kate, who was trying her best to cry at the astounding emotion of someone doing their job.
‘And is he just a friend?’ I threw it out there, as the others were hesitant to ask. The words left my mouth with little consideration, as I softened them with a smile.
Laura tentatively looked at me and I raised my eyebrows in a question.
‘He’s an old boyfriend who’s been a rock these past few weeks. Friends now. Who knows in time…’ her voice tailed off and her smile wobbled, as if anticipating a barrage of shock and outrage.
Which, I was relieved, didn’t come. No scandalised comments, no gasping with horror. To reinforce I was on her side, I said quickly, ‘We all want what’s best for you, Laura. No one would ever judge you for finding love again. Would we?’ Here I meaningfully glowered at the others, daring any of them to disagree with me.
No one did. I didn’t care what their real opinions were, but no one derided Laura, or made her feel embarrassed about Sam and I smiled at them all. They would bite their tongues and accept him. To Laura’s face at least.
Will messaged to let me know he was outside in the car and I gratefully said my goodbyes. The others stayed on to finish their drinks, but I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I left without seeing David again, though I could hear a raised voice in the kitchen as I slipped out of the front door.
Will looked at me wearily, having come off another long shift, and was visibly hankering after some rest.
‘Did you have a good evening?’ he asked, as I clicked my seat belt into place.
‘Great thanks,’ I answered him with a smile, filling him in on the evening, glossing over my touchiness.
The exterior lights were on at home, shining bright over the driveway and garden. I scurried inside and headed straight into the kitchen to pour a large glass of water. Will was not behind me as I’d expected, so I opened the text which had been sent to me while I was with the Book Club.
When can we meet?
True to form, Ford had messaged when I was with his wife. I exhaled slowly and didn’t immediately reply. I called out to Will, but silence reverberated back at me. Wondering where he was, I searched for him down the hall, and found him asleep on top of the bed. He was fully dressed, shattered by his long shift and not yet recovered from his weekend away. His face was blameless and a sudden, sharp pain made me catch my breath. Contrite once again, I pulled a blanket over him, turned off the light and went through to Poppy’s double bed.
I retrieved my phone and stared at the message, questioning once more why he insistently contacted me when I was with his wife. However, it changed nothing.
His reasons were unimportant. The outcome would be the same.
Destruction of the thing they held so dear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I woke late the morning after Book Club with a thumping headache, as I’d hardly slept again. Despite the comfortable bed, I’d lain awake for hours, my mind active. I’d fallen asleep at some point during the night’s darkest hours, after Ford had messaged repeatedly, sending an explicit photo among the texts. Ultimately we had arranged to meet late Friday afternoon, when I hoped Will would be at work and lies and excuses weren’t required.
There was a gentle knock on Poppy’s door, as Will arrived in his dressing gown with a breakfast tray. He kissed me on the forehead and apologised for falling asleep so quickly last night. Undeserved atonement about such a minor thing. As recompense, he’d made me a frothy coffee and hot buttered toast, dripping with my favourite orange whisky marmalade. I eased myself against the velvet headboard, thanked him and patted the other side of the bed, encouraging him to join me.
As I chewed on the toast, we discussed our imminent weekend away to Crofters Cottage, our plans for Christmas, how well his golf swing was coming on. Mundane married chatter.
While he talked, my thoughts drifted. I assured myself yet again when he learned what I’d done and my reasons behind it, he would undoubtedly feel some degree of hurt or even anger. He always forgave me and surely this time would be no different. His love was unequivocal and my selfishness knew no bounds.
Still guilty over falling asleep so quickly, he asked me what I wanted to do for the rest of the day. It lay enticingly before us with no plans. We had the luxury of whiling away the day exactly as we pleased.
‘Whatever you would like,’ I answered, remembering my vow to be the best wife ever, eager to please. I snuggled into him, swallowing my discomfort at the recollection of the photo Ford had sent me in the early hours. I’d hastily screenshotted it, forwarding it to my burner phone, before deleting it. My guilt was not so easily deleted.
Will proposed lunch at Jennings, a fantastic local fish restaurant on the coast. I instantly agreed, pleased to see his face break into smiles. He lifted my dirty dishes and retreated to the kitchen, while I had a hot shower, scrubbing until I felt reinvigorated.
Concentrating only on my lovely day out with Will, I dressed in an emerald jumper dress, complete with knee-high black leather boots. Even with a two-inch heel I’d only reach his chin, something I revelled in as it made me feel small and cherished. I viewed myself objectively in the mirror, pleased with the results.
After I applied my lipstick, I joined Will, who was flicking through the sports channels on the television in the living room. He’d dressed in a navy rugby shirt and cream chinos, thankfully no old man trousers today. I dropped a kiss on his forehead before we left, laughingly having to rub off the pink stain of my lipstick. His hands roamed over me and I hugged him close, my mind shuttered and still.
