The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  ‘We could do Sunday lunch or something!’

  I hadn’t really been listening.

  ‘When I come round,’ she went on. ‘We could make it a Sunday?’

  ‘I’ll definitely check the calendar with Paul and let you know,’ I laughed.

  ‘I can’t wait to meet him properly!’

  ‘He wants to meet you too!’

  It was wonderful – and I was excited at the thought of being close friends again, yet somehow a bit sad and uncomfortable, because it meant I’d founded this new beginning on a lie.

  * * *

  That evening I was sitting at the breakfast bar, thoughtfully nursing a cup of tea.

  ‘How was your first day back, then?’ He put his hand on my shoulder, making me jump.

  ‘Oh! Good thanks! Great. No problem. I went out for lunch with Emma, actually.’ I hadn’t realised my tea had gone cold.

  ‘Oh yeah.’ He hopped onto the stool next to me, reaching out and flipping over a menu flyer for a Chinese takeaway. ‘How was she?’ He flipped it back again.

  ‘Good. She was good.’ I could feel him watching me, waiting for me to reveal more. I couldn’t broach the subject of her coming round.

  ‘She asked me if I was pregnant.’

  ‘Christ!’ he laughed. ‘Bit random wasn’t it?… Or is that why she thought we’d got married? How sweet and old-fashioned.’ He chuckled, shaking his head. ‘What an awful thought.’

  ‘What? Having kids? Is that so awful?’

  He heaved himself off the stool and went to walk off.

  My eyes followed him. ‘That’s not something you’d want, then?’

  He paused, and then went around to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s pretty important, so I think we should at least discuss it. Can we discuss it?’

  ‘Lucy,’ he frowned. ‘We’ve only been married five minutes.’

  ‘I know. I know. I don’t mean now,’ I shrugged. ‘I’m talking about the future. I know it’s a huge deal given what happened… before—’ I broke off, suddenly realising he might not want to talk about it.

  He stared off into the distance for a moment and then his gaze landed blankly on me.

  ‘Can’t we just enjoy our time together?’ He sounded irritated. ‘It’s like we always have to be working to some kind of event-planner.’

  ‘I only meant—’

  ‘Can we drop it?’ He slid the flyer back across the table. ‘Do you fancy something from here? Save us cooking. Celebrate your return to real life.’

  I looked down.

  ‘I was thinking about beef in black bean sauce with a combination fried rice. How about you?’

  I bit my lip. I would’ve liked him to ask about my thoughts, my feelings.

  ‘You like that fish stuff, don’t you? Which I don’t mind, so we could have both and share…’ He raised his eyes. ‘Oh hell, don’t sulk!’

  ‘I’m not sulking, I just—’

  He grabbed the menu up and waved it in my face. ‘Now stop all that, and listen: I’ve got something exciting to tell you! So while you’ve been earning an honest crust, what do you think I’ve been doing?’

  ‘I’m sure I’m going to find out.’

  ‘Are you? Well, you’ll need to get out of this strop first. You see, while you’ve been getting wound up about nothing, I’ve arranged a surprise.’

  ‘What kind of surprise?’

  ‘Ah, ah!’ He waved an admonishing finger. ‘Now you’re interested! Are you still stroppy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go on then. Ask me.’

  I sighed. ‘What’s the surprise?’

  ‘I’ve found us a house.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Well, we can’t spend the whole of our married life holed up in my tiny flat or yours, can we? So I’ve spent the last week looking.’

  I couldn’t quite get my head around it. ‘While you were at work? You can’t just “find a house”, Paul. It doesn’t work like that.’ I stared at him, flabbergasted, as his mobile tootled into life and he pulled it from his pocket. He didn’t answer. He just held it, watching it ring.

  ‘Someone you don’t want to speak to?’

  ‘An estate agent who’s been chasing me. I’m trying to push them into lowering the price. I’ve told them I’m a cash buyer. If they think I might walk away, they’ll shift their position, I expect.’ He clicked it off.

  ‘There were an awful lot of “I’s” in that sentence, Paul. I think you’re going to have to rethink this.’

  He leant back and folded his arms. ‘Okay, You’re right. Of course you’re right, but I challenge you not to love it when you see it. Seriously. I know I shouldn’t have gone about it this way, and if you look at it and hate it, then that’s that. You absolutely have the right of veto.’

  ‘You’re more than generous and fair,’ I inclined my head sarcastically. ‘And so, you have the money to pay for this?’ I was scared even at the thought.

  ‘With a careful bit of juggling. Look, we’ll pool our resources. We sell yours and this and we’ll start afresh. A new life. That’s what marriage is supposed to be, isn’t it?’

  My gut turned over. Just as Emma predicted. ‘Sell my flat? Sell? Wow.’ I tried not to let him see my expression.

  He got up and came over to put his arms around me. ‘There’s no “my” and “I” anymore,’ he grinned. ‘Or so I was informed very recently.’

  ‘You’re funny,’ I said straight-faced, but finally forced to twitch into a smile.

  ‘Think about it. You’re the one who was just on about kids.’ He swept a hand about the room. ‘There’s no way you could have kids in a place like this, is there? It’s lovely but even you hate the stairs, so—’

  ‘So you’re saying—?’

  ‘So I’m saying one step at a time Luce. I’m saying create a future with enough room to grow so that all our options are open. That’s what I’m saying.’

  I couldn’t argue, how could I argue? We still hadn’t talked about children, and yet we had sort of… in a way. A whole unsteady sea of change washed over me – one that I thought I was ready for, but now I wasn’t so sure. I was being asked to let go of my lovely apartment: the one thing I had clung onto that was mine, that thing that no one could take away. But now…? Now I’d got married, I’d bound my life with his, I’d made a new commitment. The past had to be the past.

  Paul came round and kissed the side of my head. ‘You won’t believe what I’m going to show you,’ he laughed. ‘Get ready to fall in love.’

  * * *

  Oh my god.

  Love.

  Yes, absolute love.

  We had driven through Palmers Green into Winchmore Hill, past newsagents with their plaques outside still shouting Cassie Edwards’s name in big black and white letters. I turned away; I couldn’t look. Viv had deliberately kept me away from all that, and I was grateful.

  We drove through streets of 1930s houses and then turned into a quiet cul-de-sac with big houses on either side. It was like another world. Pulling up outside, I looked out of the window – and I knew as soon as I saw it. The house stood on a corner plot with an amazing copper beech tree, its heavy purple branches hanging right over the front stone wall that curved around the garden, protecting it from view. I got out of the car slowly, savouring the moment: each step, each glance. I knew I was walking into something magical.

  The place had been empty for over a year so the estate agent had given Paul the key and told us to take as long as we wanted. On the right was a space for cars, and on the left a pathway that was ramshackle and cottagey. It was full of weeds and tall grass, totally overgrown, but none of that mattered. The thick branches above us shushed in the breeze as we carefully picked our way around the back to a wild, untouched garden, busy with summer bees, the mass of green tangled with splashes of acid yellow and soft pinks, and then the soft brown of rust on an old lawnmower poking its handles out of a hedge.

  ‘This garden will have colour all yea
r you know. Look at that massive viburnum! That’ll flower even in winter.’

  We pushed our way through, our hands trailing, taking it all in. There was at least twenty years of planting that had gone on here – Someone had clearly loved it and taken great care. We found mounds of white-trumpeted bindweed that we realised was hiding a load of rusty ironwork seats.

  ‘Wow! Could we clean those do you think?’

  ‘Of course we could. Come on. Let me show you inside.’

  He took my hand. Two small stone steps led us up to a dirty stained-glass door, that, with a bit of a shove and a lot of protestation, creaked open. The light caught the glass and I saw, with amazement, the astonishing beauty of it. A trail of red roses, garlanded by leaves and birds. Exquisitely painted, the colours like muted jewels.

  ‘My God, have you really looked at this?’ I breathed.

  ‘I know. Wait till you see the rest.’

  As soon as I stepped over the threshold, it was as though I’d lived there before. It was so mine – from the grimed Victorian tiled entranceway to the echoing high-ceilinged rooms with their fly-dirt bay windows. I knew I’d come back and haunt the place. It was so perfect. I loved it all.

  Paul walked purposefully about, tapping walls, turning the taps on and off as though he knew what he was doing, while I wandered into the bedrooms. There were three: a large spacious one at the front that was clearly earmarked for us, a middle one with a very pretty art deco fireplace and then a smaller one at the back overlooking the rear garden. It was bright and sunny, and I knew where my thoughts were going.

  I played with them, carelessly. I envisioned the cot and the comfy rocking chair near the radiator, and me, my socked feet resting on the top, looking down at a child, suckling, heavy-lidded, breath as soft as moth wings against my skin.

  I saw all that as the future I’d never allowed myself to think about.

  I shivered as though someone had walked over my grave.

  ‘Come and look at this!’

  I went out onto the landing. He was pointing up to an arch of ornate plaster moulding.

  ‘What do you think of that, then?’

  ‘Absolutely stunning. It really is.’

  ‘Well don’t keep wandering off, we’re supposed to be enjoying this together.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Show me all the things you’re in love with.’

  ‘You, for starters.’ He kissed my ear noisily. ‘Look at this!’ He ran his fingers over the rich warm mahogany of the wooden banister. I touched where he touched, running my fingers over the dust and dismissing all negative thoughts. I was too excited, too thrilled, too head-over-heels with the whole idea of it all. Maybe this was where everything turned around. I saw my single life going into cardboard boxes, my flat being viewed through an estate agent’s eyes. I saw all that, and somehow it didn’t matter, because here I was in a house that was talking to me, telling me our pasts were behind us and this was our future. This was more than just bricks and mortar and plaster and glass, I knew this place; it was in my bones. I’d come home.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve got a buyer,’ I told Emma. ‘So I’m officially putting you on hold until the housewarming.’

  We were having lunch together. We did that most days now. It was a strange ‘new beginning’. There were things I would have told her six months ago and now found that I couldn’t. It seemed disloyal. We kept the conversation chatty rather than intimate, which suited me fine as I got to talk endlessly about the new house until I knew she was sick of hearing it.

  ‘Christ that was quick! And the offer has been accepted on the new place?’

  I nodded, a thrill of excitement turning my stomach upside down. ‘The logistics are a bit of a nightmare, so all my stuff has gone into storage. What we need now is for Paul to get around to sorting all his gear out. Honestly, you’ve never seen so much crap – cupboards full of the stuff! It’s unbelievable.’

  ‘Lucy, are you totally sure about all this?’ She gave me a look.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean everything seems to be happening so fast. You haven’t had time to process everything, surely? With all the things that are happening.’

  I could detect where this was going and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  ‘You know, after the break-in he’s never felt the same way about the flat. It’ll be good to leave it all behind.’

  ‘I was meaning you, not him.’ She leaned forward. ‘We all worry about you, you know.’ She saw the look on my face and checked herself. ‘But if you’re sure, I’m not going to put a dampener on it. Wow! A summer housewarming! How fabulous is that?’

  ‘It’ll be a bloody Christmas party at this rate!’ I laughed. ‘So don’t hold your breath!’

  But I didn’t really feel like laughing. ‘We all worry’ had been enough to make me step right back. She’d moved away from me and gone to ‘them’. I knew then that Emma had been whispering.

  * * *

  June became July and we waited. Every day we checked for emails back from the solicitor or the surveyors, every day we eagerly searched the pile of letters on the mat as the process ground interminably on, until suddenly we were taken by surprise and it all happened in a matter of days: packing up, removers, bills to settle, new utility accounts, keys to collect, and no time to do it.

  Paul stood with his hands on his hips peering into the jumbled gloom of his storage cupboard.

  ‘It’ll take me ages to clear out this lot. I really should’ve done it before.’ He gazed at the piles of books and boxes of paperwork.

  ‘No! Really?’

  He ignored the sarcasm, kneeling to drag out a huge plastic bin and begin leafing through the contents. I looked around. He’d made a start at least; there were empty suitcases, packing boxes, cardboard files and black plastic sacks lying in readiness – just nothing in them. I could tell by the way he was approaching the task that it was going to be a very long-drawn-out process.

  ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it.’

  I didn’t think he was listening. He was busily trying to pull something from the back of the cupboard that was obviously completely jammed, and he wasn’t being very successful.

  ‘Do you want a hand?’

  ‘No,’ he said sharply, and then sat back on his heels. ‘Thanks, but I’ll manage.’ He gave me a preoccupied smile and waited for me to get out of the way.

  I walked into the kitchen and listlessly wandered about, opening and closing cupboard doors, wondering what I could start on, and, in desperation, peered into the half-empty fridge, to see what needed doing there – when a flashing green light on the worktop caught my eye. Paul’s work phone was blinking silently and I leaned over to look. There were several missed calls.

  I went and stood in the doorway, dangling the phone between my fingers.

  ‘You gave the storage people your number and they might be trying to get hold of you.’

  He stopped. He’d pulled a battered-looking briefcase out and pushed it into a black rubbish sack.

  ‘You’re throwing that away?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s just paperwork and rubbish. Years old. School stuff mostly.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  He gave me a withering look, reaching over to take the phone from my hand. ‘Trying to interfere won’t make it happen any quicker you know. All you need to do is leave it all to me. Seriously.’

  ‘So you’ll ring the storage people back?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll be fine, don’t stress. It’s all in hand.’ He waved me away. I skirted around all the gear in the lounge and went to the window, running a finger across the sill. A spider scurried on impossibly thin legs into the corner of the frame. Opening the sash, I attempted to help it out. The blast of air brought with it a zoom of cars and whirling voices and I quickly pulled it closed. This was a normal Saturday morning: people going places, car boots open in readiness, the shouts from kids running backwards and forwards, and across the road a lanky teenager of indete
rminate sex scuffing the toe of their trainer on the pavement edge. Ordinary lives. Ordinary people. Going back to work had made me realise how sick I was of dull tired offices and casework files and the endless depressive chaos of offenders. I wanted to do something clean and positive and creative. I imagined myself stripping floorboards and painting skirting boards in that little bedroom at the back of the house and I smiled.

  There was a family walking past, two women, and a little girl of about three running ahead with her dog, a little terrier thing. The dog was barking excitedly as the pair of them ran past a woman in a green coat. The woman stopped briefly and looked up towards me. My heart and throat met.

  Caitlin.

  She turned and walked back on the other side of the road.

  It was her, I knew it. She was standing quite still and I could tell by the way she was looking that she was searching the windows. I glanced over to where Paul was kneeling, engrossed in tearing up papers, and when I looked back, she was crossing the road. There was a sound behind me and I whirled round.

  ‘We need to organise curtains for the new house.’ Paul was staring into the street. He’d sounded strange and distracted.

  ‘You saw, didn’t you?’

  ‘Saw what?’

  I looked back and she’d gone. Something inside me folded a little. I wasn’t going to say her name. He turned and shifted a box with his foot. ‘We need curtains. Unless you fancy doing the northern version of interior design and putting blankets up at the windows?’ He laughed and then noticed my expression. ‘What’s the matter?’

  That whole argument wavered in front of us and I just couldn’t go there again.

  ‘Nothing, nothing. You’re right, we need curtains. Something cheap to tide us over.’ I scrabbled about, searching for the car keys and found them on the top of a roll of bubble wrap. ‘Okay,’ I shot him a look. ‘See you later.’ I squeezed past. He was bending, picking up a pile of papers and shoving them into a briefcase. If he’d seen her then he was being really calm about it.