Her Best Friend's Husband, page 4
Suddenly furious, I shouted at Alexa to play The Killers and prepared the food, singing along to ‘Mr Brightside’, refusing to allow the pain of a bygone age to intrude on the present.
In the brightness of the kitchen, with music drowning out the incessant internal noise, and the reassurance of my husband in the next room, I believed I could defy it all.
For I was resilient, I was strong.
I just had to repeat it often enough and it would be true.
CHAPTER SIX
I had no time to consider the reunion as I had work the next day, followed by yogalates with Vicky in the evening. We always celebrated with a frothy coffee after we had planked, stretched and relaxed, though that evening I would have been happy to forgo it. The two of us sat next to the extensive windows of the leisure centre café beside the Irish Sea. The moon shone pale on the tranquil water, a glimmering white stripe slicing the blackness. The sea was flat calm, inviting in an icy, freezing kind of way.
Vicky was in talkative form, chatting about Tom and their two daughters, remarking how strange it was now they were both at university and the house was empty without them. I empathised with her, feeling the absence of my own daughters deeply. I encouraged her to chitter on as we drank our lattes, content to let her do most of the talking when it became clear she needed a sounding board.
Generally, I preferred at least three of us to get together, as sometimes I found seeing my friends on a one-to-one basis challenging. If someone else was there, I could leave them to steer the conversation, and I could add as much or as little as I wanted. Friendship hadn’t come naturally to me, as every friend I’d had before failed me in one way or another. Even those I had trusted, ultimately betrayed me.
All those years ago when Laura moved into the village and was frantically scouting out potential friends, she had approached me with the idea for a book club when I was pleasant to her at the school gates. It had been so long since anyone had extended the hand of friendship, I had been paranoid about her reasons. When I got to know her better and truly liked her, I was pathetically grateful she had chosen me. My inherent suspicion of female friendship had been superseded by the desire to be included. I had been an outsider for so long, I was terrified of rejection, but amazingly the four women readily welcomed me. Initially I didn’t know who else would be in the Book Club, and when I found out, it was too late and I was an integral part of the group.
The Book Club had its advantages, and once we stopped pretending to read more than the wine labels, I enjoyed it better. Although we still called ourselves a book club, we had become so much more. Our husbands had become friends, and the ten of us had socialised together routinely over the years. Our children had grown together into adulthood, causing us worries and fears we shared openly, knowing no one would gossip or judge. We trusted each other.
And from a place of distrust, I had learned acceptance.
With our coffee cups drained, the conversation was beginning to stall. I missed Laura’s easy chat and ability to make us laugh. The café staff were shooting us daggers, obviously ready to close up, so we said our goodbyes with a friendly wave in the leisure centre car park. I hurried to the car, which I had cautiously parked under a streetlight. A thick band of cloud had blocked out the moon and it was pitch-black as I manoeuvred my way along the country lanes towards home. I kept the radio on for company and idly contemplated what mood Laura would be in during our walk on Thursday. Surely grief would hit her hard at some point, though she was proving to be tougher than I would ever have expected.
Wednesday evening was spent selecting an Airbnb for my night with Ford. I preferred somewhere no further than an hour’s drive. And it needed private parking and an out-of-the-way setting. Also, a small kitchen where we could heat food, so we didn’t run the risk of being spotted while eating out.
I browsed through the cottages I’d favourited earlier, while Will watched golf on the widescreen television in the living room. Frustratingly as I’d left booking late, I had limited choice. In the end I selected a quaint stone cottage on the North Coast. It would be roughly an hour from the village and we could park both cars safe from curious eyes. Crofters Cottage itself looked blissful, tucked into the sweeping curve of a sandy strand, its white gated fence edging the beach. On a whim, I booked it for both the Friday and Saturday nights Will would be in England. When Ford left on the Saturday, I could remain there on my own until Sunday.
Satisfied with finding the perfect hideaway, I then scoured the internet for a decent hotel the Book Club could stay in for our Christmas night away. Much to my delight, I stumbled across the Mourne View Hotel in County Down, which was offering party night packages at a reasonable rate. Enthusiastically, I posted the link on the WhatsApp chat, and waited for the obligatory disagreements to start about dates. I’d ignore the discussions as long as possible, for once they accepted the venue, the dates were irrelevant to me.
On Thursday afternoon, I collected Kate and Laura from their houses, before driving them to the coast. It was a beautiful early autumn day with a mild balminess in the air as we zipped along the uncommonly quiet coastal road with the top down. The road tended to be snarled up with day-trippers, but remarkably we weren’t hindered by campervans dawdling at thirty miles an hour, instead only the occasional motorcyclist gamely overtook us.
Laura had suggested a popular beach, renowned as a surfers paradise, which to me implied angry breakers and a strong wind. We pulled into the car park and I put the top up in the car, then we strolled towards the shore, where white tipped waves played chase. There were few robust surfers and body boarders today, leaving long stretches unoccupied. The sun was high in the sky with wisps of white cloud, however the air was cooler on the shore and I shivered, glad of my gloves, feet sinking into the damp sand.
To begin with, we chatted light-heartedly as we ambled along. Then Laura’s face changed as her lower lip wobbled and her eyes brimmed with tears. One by one they rolled down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself, staring out to the horizon like a sailor’s wife waiting for her husband’s ship to reappear. Kate stood closely by, rubbing Laura’s back and murmuring words of comfort. I handed her a hankie to wipe her nose, uncomfortable in the face of such palpable suffering, and at a loss about what I could say or do to support her.
Cold gusts whipped us as we huddled in a group, when from nowhere, a fierce stab of sorrow threatened to floor me. These girls thought they knew me inside and out, but they didn’t. For they knew nothing of the emptiness inside and the deception I was intent on.
Unable to help myself, I began to weep too. Great ugly sobs anyone watching would assume were in sympathy with my bereaved friend, but in reality were because I was ashamed of my true self, and frightened they would dislike me if they uncovered it.
It seemed Kate couldn’t be outdone and began blubbing too, and soon the three of us were wailing like we were possessed. I envisaged the men in white coats appearing and popping the three of us menopausal women into the back of a van, before locking us up somewhere secure.
I’d forgotten how cathartic a good cry is and once I’d dried my tears, I temporarily felt optimistic. When Laura regained her composure, she suggested we get a takeaway coffee from the van in the car park, which we could drink in the fresh air. We sat together at a wooden picnic table at the verge of the car park, the hot drinks warming us. Seagulls hovered above us, then lunged low, scrounging for food, their shrieks mournful. I raised my face to the sun, unforeseen contentment washing over me.
‘How are you feeling now?’ asked Kate apprehensively, brow knitted.
I hesitated briefly, considering my answer. Which was fortuitous when I realised she was directing it to Laura.
‘I’m so sorry for crying,’ she replied. ‘I was thinking back to the last time I was here, when I was so unhappy Robbie was at university in Scotland.’
She lifted her eyes to us and it seemed she was about to say more, but her gaze was drawn back out to sea and she fell silent. Emotions chased across her face; dejection, sadness and a hint of regret. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if this stretch of coastline reminded her of James, but I didn’t want to upset her further by mentioning him, so held my tongue.
‘Does this stretch of coastline remind you of James?’ Kate queried, instantly infuriating me.
‘No, James didn’t like coming here even though I love it. We rarely walked by the sea. In fact,’ Laura smiled sadly, ‘he never once walked with me on this particular beach at all. This place was mine, all mine.’
There was something so poignant and sad about how she said it, I was genuinely moved. Imagine having a no one to walk on the beach with. Hot tears pricked my eyes again. Try as I might, it was impossible to be unaffected by her obvious pain. Sensing my dismay, she grasped my hand firmly between her own cold ones.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you girls,’ she said, her voice thick with tears. I somehow smiled back, my throat constricting at the maelstrom of feelings.
To make matters worse, Kate joined in and the three of us sat with our hands built in a pyramid for what seemed like an hour. Doing nothing but peer forlornly out to sea, as Laura wiped her wet eyes, Kate sobbing noisily beside her. I found myself staring at our hands, fingers intertwined and an unaccustomed sensation spread within me.
This is what inclusion felt like.
It had been many years since the walls I had built to protect my heart had been erected, and just as long since I had chipped away at them. As we sat beside the benign Irish Sea, fracture lines appeared, and I basked in the unexpected glow of friendship for a short time.
However peace was transient. For I imagined when they discovered my secret, they would desert me in exactly the same way I had been deserted before. Therefore I withdrew my hand from theirs, and the cracks in my defences sealed over as I hid my face and swallowed my pain.
Soon I would be alone again.
It was inevitable.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Because I had agreed to Ford’s suggestion we meet at my house on Saturday morning, it was imperative neither of my daughters would arrive unannounced and disturb us. I’d messaged first Eva, then Poppy, and bribed them to meet me in Belfast for an all-expenses paid lunch on Friday.
I found a parking space easily at Victoria Square, an exclusive city centre shopping centre, and walked briskly through it, barely pausing to scan the shop windows. There were a couple of expensive lingerie shops in the complex which caught my attention, and I considered treating myself to something new. Luckily I realised it would be inappropriate to be seen by my daughters carrying racy underwear from Boudoir Confidential, so hurried past the scraps of lace and satin.
The city centre streets were bustling, packed with shoppers and tourists who had been discharged from a massive cruise ship docked at Stormont Wharf. I inhaled the fumes, the racket and smells of the city before I sank onto a free seat in the chic French bistro beside City Hall. There I ordered a glass of mineral water while I waited patiently, for I knew my daughters would be late. It seemed arriving at the prearranged time was old-fashioned, but I had learned patience over the years and rarely reprimanded them for it. Will was forever rebuking me, certain we should teach them a lesson, but my heart was soft where they were concerned.
To pass the time, I relaxed back on the plush seat and glanced around at the other customers. A group of middle-aged women gossiped and shared a bottle of Prosecco. A curmudgeonly looking elderly man threw infuriated glances at them as the volume grew. The pretty young waitress was too busy flirting with the floppy haired barman to notice.
Bored, I retrieved my phone from my bag and scrolled through the MAAF app, reading its daily quotes.
I don’t need you to like me, because I like me
Which was so flagrantly untrue I nearly laughed out loud. I moved on to the next one.
Do not be afraid to show the real you to the world. For you are perfect in every way.
Now it was simply teasing me and inexplicably I was so incensed, I deleted the app on the spot. I didn’t need my make-believe friend pretending to bolster me while actually exposing my failings.
My reflections were rudely interrupted by the commotion which accompanies my daughters everywhere. Their vivacity was infectious, and instinctively I grinned at them, happiness rising within me as they hugged me tight. They both resembled Will, with warm brown eyes and wide smiles. Eva had piled her hair into a messy bun, while Poppy’s dark curls almost reached her waist. Today they were dressed alike in wide legged jeans and black leather biker jackets. They were my Irish twins, with only eleven months between them, and were each other’s best friend.
For the next couple of hours, they blethered constantly, filling me in on city dwelling. They were both in their last year of studies, and were hoping to get jobs in Belfast when they graduated. They had outgrown the village and the countryside, and I knew neither of them would choose to live permanently with us again. The knowledge saddened me occasionally, when the remoteness of our home made me regret not buying a house in the village. However, at the time I had been determined to live far from intrusive neighbours and the seclusion had appealed.
I hauled my attention back to the girls as we finished our lunch and listened to them, chattering happily, squabbling in the manner only siblings can.
A small part of me envied their youth and exuberance. Their whole lives spread before them, they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted with whomever they wanted. Because they had been protected, coming from a secure homelife, I knew they wouldn’t suffer the insecurities I had been forced to face. I was proud of them both and the success we had made of parenting. Primarily, they gave my life meaning.
‘Why don’t we go shopping, Mum?’ said Poppy innocuously, brushing her curls back from her clear, creamy brow.
‘What a lovely idea!’ exclaimed Eva, the wide-eyed ingenue, playing along nicely.
I knew this was code for ‘We’d like you to spend a fortune on all the pretty things we want.’ As I had not come up the Lagan in a bubble, I cut them off at the pass, gave them both fifty pounds, and told them to treat themselves as I had a hairdresser’s appointment. I excused myself, paid the bill and hugged them again before saying goodbye outside the café. They disappeared into the crowd, heads together, Eva a fraction taller, and I turned back towards the car park, my mind having already jumped onto other things.
My attention was once again taken by the window of Boudoir Confidential, so I gave in and spent a satisfying half hour selecting new, skimpy French navy lingerie before returning to the car. Tucking the bag into the footwell of the passenger seat, I exited the underground car park onto the busy city streets.
I was only half concentrating on my driving, thinking about how proficient I had become at separating my two lives. My marriage which represented so much, could seemingly be thrown aside, discarded as if it were insignificant. Which was absurd as without Will, I was nothing. It was him who helped heal the trauma of long-ago and who gave me everything I had ever desired.
Practically everything.
There was the crux of it.
Our marriage hadn’t fulfilled my every need, and conceivably I was destined to always pursue the unattainable.
Sat in the hairdressers a short time later, I barely made small talk, lost in reflection. I was oblivious to the apprentice washing my hair and offering me coffee. I blocked out the hum of voices around me as I remembered when I had crossed the line from content wife to devious liar.
It had happened less than a fortnight after the dinner dance, when Will was working late. Ford had come to my house ‘to chat.’ I’d worn a fuchsia jersey dress, far too smart for a casual evening at home, but I was fraught with nerves and it gave me the guise of confidence. I was split down the middle; on one hand despising what I was on the precipice of doing, on the other coolly anticipating what was certain to happen.
It had taken me by surprise, how speedily Ford had forgotten his wife and how passionate he had been. I questioned if this was his first time straying, or if it was habitual. The ease with which he requested another meeting. A facetious comment about unoccupied houses and a wealth of opportunity. I doubted he was a novice cheater, it came so naturally to him.
Afterwards I had stripped off my clothes and thrown them into the washing machine with an aching heart. Alone in the bathroom I ran a bath, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I half expected to see a different face observing me, as though my actions would be seared across my cheeks. Impossibly, I was physically unchanged.
The same features. A different person.
‘It will be worth it in the end.’ I had reassured myself. ‘Will knows me and will forgive me when I explain it all.’
Each time it happened, it became easier to convince myself the end justified the means. However the flashbacks and the dreams told another story.
I gave my hairdresser an extra-large tip to compensate for my coolness, and on my return to the car, I rashly decided to pay Ford and his wife a visit. I rarely made a reckless decision, but the urge to see them both grew as I reached the village. It was nearly six o’clock and everyone would have finished work. Cars were parked in driveways, children kicked a ball about and a sullen teenager walked a yappy dog while riveted to his phone. There was a beat-up Focus outside Laura’s house on the corner, though no sign of life.
My excuse at the ready, I pulled up to the Fords’ driveway. I’d found one of his wife’s earrings down the side of my sofa after the last Book Club I’d hosted. It had been quite a while ago, and I hadn’t returned it until now. Ford liked to be in control about how often and when we met. He disliked it when I showed initiative and I knew he would not appreciate me turning up unannounced on his doorstep. There was a small chance it pricked his conscience.
